FIC: Body & Soul, Chapter 2
Title: Body & Soul, Chapter 2
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17 overall
Chapter 2:
Discord and love walk together, hands clasped.
Dean walks alone through the woods outside of the Ventuscastra home, clutching his wineskin and leather pouch to his body. When he finally gets far enough away from human eyes, he drops to the ground. The wings tear out of his clothes and his human skin is ripped off by shaking hands. He calms down as he devours the piece of ambrosia.
Another night of eating human food, and he nearly fainted at the table. It was like swallowing air to him, just filling his body without nourishing it. Sam loved to prepare food for them though, grape leaves filled with fish and rice and oils. He savored every bite, but Dean just tried to read his expression carefully. He learned his lesson when he ate an entire plate of fiery red chilies without so much of a twitch to his mouth. Sam furrowed his brow and asked if his stomach was cast-iron.
Dean sits back on his heels and carefully sips the nectar, thinking about his dwindling supply. When Dean had arrived to the house as Lysias, carrying all his bags, Sam just smiled and held him close. "I was afraid to ask you, but everything in my home is yours, love." He whispered to him. Unfortunately, there wasn't much in the house that was of use to Dean.
Before he left Olympus, he filled an entire sack with ambrosia and his father gave him as many wineskins of mead and nectar as he had on hand. But it's going to run out, eventually.
"You know, you don't have to be so stingy with that stuff. I mean, there's plenty of it back at Olympus… Oh wait, that's right. You got baaaaniiiished!" A wicked voice sing-songs. Dean stands and pulls his bow, but then drops it.
"Eris Meg."
"Eros Dean." Meg steps closer, out of the darkness usually surrounding the goddess of discord, her hands in the pocket of her black dress. "How are you faring, dear cousin?"
"Worse, now that you're here."
"Oho! Funny!" Meg claps, "Really Dean, this fasting is affecting your snappy comebacks. Care to try again?"
"Well, you did interrupt your very busy licking-Ares'-boots schedule to come see me. So, thanks for that."
Meg laughs, "God you're so pathetic. Hiding like this, running away like an animal, or cursed lupine. Why don't you just show yourself to the boy?"
"Uhh, 'cause maybe I'd like him to not be dead?"
"Oh c'mon Dean, you really believe those stories? About Zeus revealing himself to a mortal woman and her burning up all nice and crispy?"
"Of course I believe, 'those stories' I am those stories! We're gods, Meg. If a mortal were to gaze upon our true form, the sight would be so beyond human eyes to stand. They would be blinded, dumbstruck, brain-dead, and in some cases, combusted."
"I can't believe you haven't heard of the love-protection charm." Meg says, pulling her golden apple out of her pocket. She holds it in her hand as she talks, rubbing it on her sleeve.
"Of what?"
"If the god in question really, truly loves the mortal, then he or she has the power to protect them. Zeus isn't really the settle-down type, so no wonder his "brides" tend to burn. But you, you've got this whole setup here, Dean. Everyone knows your love is pure and true."
"What? No, no I don't believe you, it can't be possible."
Meg tosses the apple in the air, catches it, and tosses it back up again. Dean's eyes are following the movement of the golden orb, whether he realizes it or not.
"Dean, you're tired of living like this, aren't you?"
"Um."
"Dean, you're tired."
"I'm tired," Dean says and stares, his pupils dilating.
"If you really love him-"
"I do."
"Then you want him to know the truth, the real you."
"Yes."
"That's what this whole human façade was about, so he could fall in love with you, and not the god."
"Yes." Meg holds the apple steady, up to her face. Dean can't take his eyes off of it.
"You're the god of love, if anyone would have this protection, it would be you."
"It would be me."
"He'll be safe."
"Safe…" Meg shakes the apple one more time. Dean is still swaying slightly on his feet.
"Say, 'thank you Meg'," she says, condescendingly.
"Thank you… Meg…" Dean turns and gathers Lysias' clothes and skin, slowly puts them on, and leaves the woods.
Meg laughs and kisses her apple. "Oh, that mortal is gonna fry like bacon." She turns to her side. "Did I do good?"
Mary steps out of the shadows. "You did as I asked of you, thank you. But I wouldn't say anything 'good' was wrought."
"I don't get it though Aunt Mary, why don't you just have me or my father kill the mortal? We could even make it look like an accident."
"Dean has to learn, has to see that they are too different to be together. He can never be his true self amongst mortals. And he will learn of the fragility of their lives. How hard it is-" Mary sighs, "How hard it is to lose one you care for."
***
Sam stares.
Blinks, rubs his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose.
Stares some more.
His lover, his Lysias stands before him, the glorious god of love. White powerful wings pouring out of his back, muscles ripping the fine body. Inhumanly green eyes. No longer the plain peasant farmer, but the impossibly gorgeous god. His skin is actually glowing.
"Sam?"
"L-ly-"
"Dean, call me Dean, please. I want to hear you say my name, my true name."
"Fine, Eros Dean,"
"Yeah?" Dean smirks.
"You've got wings."
"So it seems."
"You're a god."
"Yes."
Sam lets out a breath, "I need to sit down." He finds a chair and puts his face in his hands.
"Sam?" Dean ducks his head to peer at Sam, "You're okay with this, right? I didn't want to tell you because I wanted you to love me, not because-"
"No, it's just-" Sam huffs, "All that time you listened to me talking about how the gods are just folktales used to teach children lessons, and you didn't say anything?!"
Dean snorts.
"Dean! This isn't funny! I blasphemed in front of a god! I'm going to Tartarus. Oh god, Tartarus is real! Oh god, I mean, oh gods you heard me talking about the one-god theories. Damn it!"
"Sam!"
"I don't want to go to Tartarus!"
Dean laughs and picks Sam up off the chair, scooping him up in his arms. "You're not going to Tartarus, I promise, I'll drag you out of there myself if I have to. Now-" Dean walks to the open window. "It's a lovely night for a flight, wouldn't you say?"
Sam nods numbly, now able to see Dean up close. He's beyond gorgeous, beyond words to describe his beauty. Sam feels a kind of love that he's never felt before, and winds his arms around Dean. "Okay," he says.
Meg watches them take off and wonders why she doesn't smell burning human flesh. She inspects the empty house thoroughly, and she doesn't smell charred anything. Just the stink of human and her cousin and-
Huh.
Scratch that. She smells something semi-human, with the underlying scent of ichor.
She smiles.
***
Kythira is sacred to Mary Aphrodite, rarely does she allow humans to pass upon her shores. But Dean has known the island guardians since he was a baby, and despite his current estrangement from his mother, they are more then happy to welcome him there. Sam just keeps staring at the strange nymphs and satyrs, until an hour ago he thought they were the stuff of Homeric fantasy.
Dean carries Sam in his arms, beating his wings against the wind. They reach the white sand of the beach, and Dean corkscrews down for a perfect landing. Sam climbs out of his arms and stumbles a bit. Dean catches him and holds him up.
"Air sickness?"
"I guess, whatever that is."
"It happens," Dean gives him a reassuring smile, then pulls his chin close for a kiss. Sam's stomach stops lurching and he moans against Dean's mouth. Sam pulls back.
"It's true then? The stories? The legends?"
"Most of them, yeah."
"You- you're really him. This isn't just one of my crazy dreams?"
Dean strokes his cheek. "I'm real."
Sam reaches trembling hands to Dean's chest, lays them flat against the porcelain skin. Feels a slow push of liquid in veins, but not a heartbeat. Doesn't see a rise and fall of lungs breathing in air. Gods don't have to breathe, and the ichor that flows through their bodies does so of it's own accord, not needing a heart to pump it along. Suddenly those silent nights in Lysias' arms all seem to make sense. He tips his head to the face. Lysias was plain, usually unkempt and wild-eyed. His green eyes fit better with the god's face, perfect lines and jaw and mouth. Soft mouth, pink and inviting.
"You're…so beautiful."
"You like me better, like this?"
"I love you. I love you no matter what you look like Dean, just-" Sam shrugs his shoulders and presses his head to the crook of Dean's neck. "You must know how beautiful you are, Dean."
"Sam, you're just as-"
"I feel like I'm not worthy of you anymore, of a god."
"Sam." Dean lifts his head. "I am not going to have this conversation again, about who is or isn't worthy of my love. I am giving it to you, all I want is for you to accept it. And continue to love me no matter what."
Sam swallows. "I was anointed into the temple of Artemis when I was six months old, after my mother died. I'm the son of the scion, heir to his responsibility as a-"
"You're a scholar and a student of rhetoric who doubts the existence of the gods, and now you're trying to tell me we can't be together because you've got some cultish devotion to my Aunt? Sam c'mon, that's pretty lame. If you don't give me a good excuse soon, I'm just gonna have to strip you down, and have my way with you all over this beach."
Sam swallows. "I'm not perfect. Like you." Dean sighs.
"I'm probably a bastard. The man I call my father might not have sired me. Speaking of which, most of my family members intermarry. Zeus and Hera are brother and sister, not cousins like the priests try to teach you. When I was a kid, I shot a Roman man and missed the woman he was supposed to marry, he ended up trying to bed a horse. I molt. I might be a god and bearer of incredible powers and abilities and still, every year I molt for a week. Everything I own gets covered in feathers and if any of them touch the earth, a hundred white doves spring forth from the ground. Also? I'm bowlegged because I got too used to flying when I was a kid and never learned to walk straight."
Sam blinks. "Wow."
"I'm not perfect."
"Yeah, you're pretty fucked up. I don't think this is gonna work out, see in my family we like normal people-" Sam can't help himself, he stops laughing and runs away from Dean. Dean smiles and leaps after him, tackling him to the sand.
"Oooh, foolish mortal, you will pay for your insolence!" Dean starts tickling Sam, who bucks against him, laughing hysterically.
"Hahaha! Stop! I'm gonna erect a temple in your honor, dedicate it to horses and the men who- Ahaha! Dean!"
Dean leans in close and growls in his best Hera impression, "Blasphemous human! You will regret your transgression!"
"Pigeon-winged freak."
"Ouch."
"I'm kidding, I love the wings. They're amazing."
"Really?"
"I mean, you're still a freak. But a really, really pretty one." Dean laughs and wrestles with him some more. Sam starts rubbing against Dean, feeling each other through their robes. Dean leans over to look down at Sam.
"Hey, Sam?"
"Yeah."
"Feels like we're gonna be okay."
"Dean." Sam pauses, then smiles. "We're gonna be great. I love you."
"I love you too."
***
Dean wakes up on the beach, alone, his arms no longer filled with his lover. He stretches his body against the warm sand, realizes his situation, and begins to panic. Sam really shouldn't wander the island without him, lest he stumble upon an unforgiving Oceanid.
"Sam?!" He shouts.
He hears Sam's laughter behind him, and whips around quickly. Sam's in the dark water, up to his navel, naked as far as Dean can tell. His hair is dripping wet, down his body. Dean becomes lost in the sight.
"Dean! You have to come in! The water is amazing!"
Dean makes a face he usually saves for when his mother attempts to cook and he has to politely chew through burnt gryphon roast. He's actually never been too fond of water since an incident in his childhood when a wing got tangled up in a piece of seaweed.
"But then I'll get wet."
"Dean! Come on!"
"How about you finish up there and come here? And then we can do fun stuff! Where it's dry!"
Sam huffs, "Dean! You're a god!"
"Yeah, with wings! These things aren't exactly waterproof."
"Swans, ducks, geese…"
"Those are waterfowl!"
"I've seen sparrows happily bathing in fountains!"
"Damn sparrows," Dean mutters and stalks towards the water. He gets about ankle-deep, and folds his wings up as tight as they will go. The waves are slow but he can still feel some drops against his feathers. He sighs.
"Do I have to?" Sam blows out his frustration and wades over to Dean, grabs his arm and pulls him in.
"Quit being such a baby."
Dean sticks his tongue out but also happily notices that yes, Sam is swimming naked. That could be fun.
Sam gets tired of Dean lagging behind, turns around and scoops him up in his arms. "Wow, you're lighter then you look. Hollow bones?"
Dean crooks an eyebrow, "I'm a god."
"… So that's a no?"
Dean sighs. "I can control my density. Walk through solid objects, hide in shadows or clouds."
Sam's eyes go wide. "Wow, that is so cool… It makes sense though if you're-"
"You've gotta be kidding me! You are not getting off on the technical aspects of it, are you?"
Sam just smiles and holds him a little tighter. Dean shifts around until he's got his arms around Sam's neck and legs wrapped around his torso. "That's better."
"How so?" Sam asks as he finally gets to deep enough water to glide with the waves.
"I like seeing your face." Dean caresses the back of Sam's head, the wet hair sticking to his neck. Sam angles his head forward and they're kissing. Tasting saliva and the dark, blessed water that surrounds the island. Sam moans and bucks his hips.
"Dean, are you helping me float?"
"Maybe…"
"Dean…"
"Okay, I'm totally keeping you from drowning yourself."
"Good," Sam says and grinds his hips forward, Dean moaning into his mouth and grinding his own hardness into Sam's stomach. They hit just the right angle and Sam's just teasing the entrance to Dean. There's not enough friction, the water slows him down, but it's slow and wonderful.
"Beach…" Dean moans.
"Oh c'mon, I just got you out here."
"Beach! You fucking me into the nice warm sand. Mmmmn, Sammy…"
Sam pouts, but nods his head, "Okay, let's just-"
Dean opens his wings and in a few quick flaps they're airborne, then crashing onto the beach, wet and dripping into the sand. Dean wraps his arms around Sam and tackles him down. Sam rolls him over and presses him down, the sand sticking everywhere. They wrestle for a while, laughing and whooping.
Sam's panting from laughing too hard and lack of oxygen from all the blood flowing down to his groin. He flops down on the sand on his back. Dean straddles his hips. "Wanna see something cool, Sam?"
"I saw it last night Dean, and yes it is gorgeous."
"No, Sammy I mean, here-" Dean bends over him and canopies his wings over their bodies, surrounding Sam in white feathers. It's incredible. "See? In case some nosy little nymph decides to walk by."
"What, you wouldn't invite her to join us?"
"Don't believe everything you read on vases, Sammy." Dean shifts back, letting Sam's cock press at his entrance, Sam gasps as Dean eases himself down, tight and gripping, still impossibly wet from their dip in the ocean.
Dean slides up and down, slow, tight, incredible. He touches Sam's chest, bracing himself and Sam slides his hips up, wriggling himself around in the sand. Dean kisses Sam's chest, licks and teases his nipples sending shivers down his legs. Dean clamps hard on Sam when he finally gets the perfect angle for him to reach his sweet spot. Pulling Sam close and biting Sam's neck, knowing just the right places to nip at, to elicit just the right pleasure.
"Ohhhh, I believe! You're a God!"
And even though a nymph does decide to sneak by while they make love, she has to settle for only eavesdropping on the moaning, no visuals.
***
Dean likes trees, and Sam finds that hilarious.
He's currently perched up in a golden-leafed cedar elm, just a few yards outside the Academy.
Sam looks up at him, he's napping and lounging on one of the highest branches, like a jungle cat. His wings twitching slightly with the breeze. Sam bends down to pick up an acorn and toss it at his dangling arm.
Dean catches it, sits up and tries to drop it on Sam's head. They laugh.
"So, now what? Am I supposed to climb up that?"
"Nah, you're supposed to try and look pretty so I'll wanna come get you."
"Oh!" Sam pulls the corner of his tunic off his shoulder. "How's that?"
Dean leaps off the branch and winds down the tree in circles. If he flies straight down, Sam finds, he makes a lot more noise, and the force of the air he displaces knocks him off his feet. Dean tends to prefer graceful landings to forceful.
Today though, he snatches Sam up by his underarms and with two strong beats of his wings they're at the top of the tree. He places Sam on the high branch, carefully, before perching himself. Sam's got his back to the tree trunk, and Dean's further down on the limb, letting his legs hang off and sway back and forth.
"So, whatcha learn today?"
"We read from Herodotus' latest travelogue. I got asked a ton of questions because I'm the only one in the seminar who has actually been to Thebes and Phoenicia. Then again, I don't remember a lot of it. When I was kid my Dad was always on these crazy hunts, and sometimes I helped when I could, but mostly I was told to stay out of trouble."
"Still, it's rare that a student has done as much traveling as you have, Sam."
"Yeah, well I bet I'm not as worldly as you."
Dean closes his eyes and imagines whisking Sam off to a tropical island somewhere in the Pacific, or to a calm northern forest filled with snow-topped evergreen trees. Next time he's up that way, he'll bring back a pinecone and Sam can geek out over that.
"…So?" Sam asks.
Dean shakes his head. "I'm sorry, what?"
"So, did you break any hearts today, O mighty Love God?"
Dean laughs, touches the leather strap of his quiver. "Maybe."
The truth is, with his banishment from Olympus, he is forbidden to do work in the name of Love. He wonders if Sam has noticed it yet, the fact that everyone around him seems stuck in neutral. No relationships are ending, but none are beginning either. Dean hopes he could eventually work something out with his mother, she can't let humans suffer like this to prove a point, can she?
Sam touches his shoulder. "You're rather quiet today, love. Drachma for your thoughts?"
I'm in it deep, Sam. It's going to get real bad, real soon. I'm too scared to tell you. I miss home. I miss my parents and my crazy aunts and uncles. And I'm scared to lose you because of my stubbornness.
"Nothing, just- Hey! Let's go for a flight? You wanna see the Sphinx? I mean, the real one?"
***
A month goes by, and Dean is barely holding on.
He ran out of ambrosia two weeks ago, and it's all that he can think of. He's distracted, his head is fuzzy and his body is getting weaker by the minute. Sam notices, he's too famished to keep up appearances.
"Go to school, Sammy. I'm fine," Dean says, leaning down to pet their little black cat and she rubs up against his leg. "I'm just a little tired."
"No, Dean," Sam stays crossing his arms, "I'm staying with you until you get better, or you tell me what's wrong and let me help you get better.
Dean can't think straight, he's so hungry. All he can do is rise slowly, cradling Volupta in his arms, and let her contented purr buzz against his chest.
He doesn't realize he's swaying on his feet.
"I'm fine," he whispers.
"You don't seem fine," Sam says, reaching to take the cat away from him, setting her down on the floor. "Talk to me."
Dean's eyes roll back and he falls to one side, his wings sliding out simultaneously. It's getting harder and harder for him to remain disguised. Sam shouts and Dean feels him surrounding him. He can't stop shaking.
"You're not fine, Dean! What is going on?!" Sam starts panicking, Dean's head is hanging limp on his shoulder.
"What's 'going on', is that Eros Dean is going to go down in history as the only god ever to attempt to starve to death." A voice cackles from the shadows.
"No…" Dean whispers, his wings tremble and he gathers the last ounce of his strength and stands, shoving Sam behind him, and drawing his wingspan like a canopy. "Stay behind me, don't look at her, Sam!"
Sam's confused but he does as Dean asks. Meg slowly emerges from the dark corner of the room, trailing shadows like the train of her dress. Dean draws his bow and loads an arrow dipped in Hydra's blood. It won't kill her, but it will hurt like hell.
He feels like she should suffer too.
"What's going on, Dean. Who is it?" Sam asks.
"Oh, you can drop the shield, dear cousin. Turns out the mongrel's got an immunity."
"But you said-" Dean starts.
"I set you up, genius. Now, drop the feathers. Little mutt's got some divine blood in him. I can smell it from here. And if I'd known that before, I would've just gutted him in the first place." Meg smiles sweetly.
Dean keeps his wings up, and his arrow trained on Meg.
"You have any idea what she's talking about, Sammy?"
"It-it's impossible! Gods can't-"
"They can." Dean says.
"They have." Meg adds.
"But, I'm not. My parents aren't-"
"It wouldn't take much, a half-breed, quarter-breed, just a few drops of ichor in the family tree and you can, y'know: 'Gaze upon the wonder and glory that is the Olympian gods of the heavens.' Without fear of getting toasted."
Sam swallows, Dean narrows his eyes and aims his arrow for in-between Meg's beady little eyes.
"You tricked me, tried to fool me into killing him."
"Just following orders."
"Ares." Dean spits the name out like a curse.
"Mmmaaaybe." Meg spins around and vanishes before Dean can shoot. Appears by Sam's side. "Hi, I'm Eris Meg. Nice place you got here, wow! You are pretty cute, I'll give him that."
Sam nearly jumps to the ceiling but Dean's got his arrow right at her throat and backs her against a wall in their kitchen.
"Hydra's blood, I'll assume?" Meg gulps as the point presses against her pale-white skin.
"Give me one good reason not to let go."
"Wait!" Meg giggles nervously. "I'm here on a peaceful mission, I swear! Sent by your mother to atone for the last one. Just to deliver a message, and a gift!"
Dean pauses, "I don't believe, don't believe you." He's losing it again, almost blacking out. Sam steadies his arm, not wanting his lover to show an enemy weakness.
"Dean, maybe hear her out?" Sam gives him a desperate look.
"Yeah, okay." Dean pulls back and tries to steady himself, "But make it quick." Dean starts falling again and Sam snakes a hand around his back to steady him, hoping she doesn't notice.
Meg rubs her neck and coughs a bit, hamming it up for the mortal. "Alright. Long story short, your mother wants you to come back home. No punishments, bygones, all is forgiven. Just come back to Olympus and do your damn job."
"Dean, what is she talking about?"
Meg's eyes light up and she releases a bleat of laughter. Dean ducks his head.
"Dean?" Sam presses into his arm.
"He didn't tell you?!" Meg claps her hands and laughs harder. "Oh this is too, too good!"
"… was gonna tell you, soon," Dean mutters.
"Tell me what?"
Meg's only too eager to tear Sam away from Dean, leaving him alone to sway on weak, wobbly feet. "Dean didn't tell you, how he defied his mother. She gave him an ultimatum, you or Olympus, and he chose you. So he's banished, forever, for his entire immortal life even after yours ends! And oh! The best part? He can't die, but he's probably run out of food by now, that crap you mortals eat is like air and cotton fluff to us! So he's gonna be forever starving to death, only there's no death! Isn't it like some brilliant never-ending tragedy? How he's just completely screwing himself over for you?!"
Sam turns to Dean, realization coloring his face as he takes in Dean's dull appearance. The glow of his skin long since faded, cheeks sinking in, muscles retracting, wings grey at the tips.
"This whole time… You knew what was happening. That it was my fault-"
"Sammy, no! This was my decision to make!"
"You think I want you to stay here if it means you'll waste away to nothing! Live forever in suffering and starvation?!"
"I can't die, Sam, I'll just-"
"Get worse," Meg chimes in. "Much, much worse. Now, I'm sorry to have to interrupt this lovely little relationship-destroying argument, and may I say: you're both doing an excellent job of it. Really, how you sewed those little seeds of discord, Dean? Couldn't have done it better myself."
"Get out, Meg," Dean growls.
"But I haven't given you the present yet!" Meg skips over to the wooden table in the center of the room. "A housewarming gift, from Mommy Dearest herself." She places her palms flat on the wooden surface, and lifts them off with a flourish.
A silver tray, heaping with amber-colored ambrosia, sits on the table.
She smiles at her handiwork, then turns to Dean, "The offer stands, you have a day to consider. The food is yours, dear cousin, tuck in." She spins on her heels to leave. "Oh, just one more thing-" her eyes narrow and her voice goes to a rasp. "The first taste's free…" And in a swirl of black smoke, she's gone.
There's a pause, both of them stare at the table. Dean turns away and braces himself on the wall. Sam's staring too, at Dean, at the table, his mouth covered. Sam's mind is racing, he's got more questions than answers.
Dean's eyes roll back and he falls to his knees. Sam crosses the room and catches him, wrapping him in his arms and petting Dean's hair soothingly while he trembles.
"…'m sorry I didn't tell you." Dean mumbles.
"Shhh…"
"I just wanted to be with you."
"You need to think about her offer."
"What?"
"I think you should eat something, Dean, and think about what she said."
"No, Sam, you don't know my mother. It's a trap. She wants me to eat the ambrosia, because it will make me start wanting it more and more until the need consumes me."
"You're not well, Dean. You shouldn't be making these kinds of decisions in the state that you're in right now! You need to eat something, get better, and think about this with a clear head. It's a good deal, in the long run."
"Sam?"
"You should consider-"
Dean shoves Sam off of him, and stumbles back on his heels. He fixes Sam with a shaken look.
"There is nothing to consider, Sammy. I'm not going. I'm not leaving you."
"Dean! This-being here-is killing you!"
"I can't die."
"But you can suffer needlessly pretty damn well."
"You actually want me to leave?"
"No, Dean I want you to stay, but not if it means every moment of your life is, some kind of living agony!"
"You can make the pain go away, Sam."
Sam stands up. "Just, eat something. I can't talk to you like this, you're not going to listen to reason." He turns to the doorway.
"Sam? Where're you going?"
"Need to take a walk, clear my head."
"Take it with you Sam, please. Just throw it away, I don't want to be tempted."
Sam stalls at the door, but opens it without looking back at Dean. "We'll talk later, when I get back."
He leaves, and Dean stares at the table, every fiber of his being screaming at him to eat.
***
Sam walks through the woods, into that familiar glen. The one he played in as a child, the one where "Lysias" and his father had their archery contest almost one year ago.
How the time does pass.
Sam flops to the ground beneath the willow tree, it's his favorite place to think and read and have quiet moments. He lets the back of his head fall against the bark, and the wind blows. He hears the leaves shudder, feels the calm returning to him.
He doesn't see the Dryad drop from the branches and blow a handful of sleep into his eyes.
***
He's still in the wood, dark and winding, but suddenly the trunk trunks shoot up into the air, all he can see are dark columns lining his pathway. A red glow settles upon the sky as far as he can see, like an ember's vestigial glow. Sam can feel heat wafting up from the ground beneath his feet, but he walks forward, unable to stop himself. He begins to hear a different rhythm from the wind shaking the trees, there's rattles, clinking noises. He hears the clang of metal against metal, the clash of stone against stone. The noise shakes him and chatters his teeth.
The closer he moves towards the source of the noise, the clearer the landscape becomes. Shapes moving through the columns, silhouetted in the dark red light, equipment lining the walls. He's not in some patch of wood anymore, but a great, dark workshop. Heat escapes from the rocky ground in bursts of steam.
There's a symbol on one of the columns, branded into the stone. An anvil crossed with two hammers.
Sam jumps as a massive figure crosses his path. He gasps at the sight of it when his mind focuses. It's a huge hairy Cyclops, carrying a vat of what looked to be molten metal. The first cyclops walks to another, holding a dark mold, and they pour the glowing liquid inside. Smoke rises in their faces, and they rub their massive hands over an equally massive watery eye.
Sam can see the lumbering figures he notes earlier, they are all like the others, great one-eyed workmen carrying massive loads and working with iron and fiery embers. Forging swords and metal pieces of armor.
His instinct is to go find a corner and hide, finally starting to remember the stories his father used to tell him about bone-grinding giants and man-eating beasts.
Dean's revelation has opened Sam's eyes a bit more to the possibility of things which reason cannot explain. His doubts and skepticism have turned in on themselves, he finds himself questioning more the natural phenomena then the presence of the supernatural.
"They cannot see you, boy," a gruff voice says in his head.
Sam looks over his shoulders, confused.
"I said they ain't gonna be able to hear or see you! Now get the hell over here, boy, 'n quit wasting my time!"
Sam snaps to, it's the kind of authoritarian tone his father would use on him, only rougher around the edges. He presses forward, still dancing around the lumbering one-eyed behemoths he passes by. He can see the light emanating from the center of the workshop, where the voice originated from.
There's a man, hunched over a cluttered workbench. He's hairy, dirty and scarred. He sits on a simple metal stool, legs mangled and somehow smaller than the rest of him. Sam peers at his face, scruffy beard, more dust and soot on his face, intense look of concentration on his face. He reaches over to one side and a cyclops hands him a glowing branding iron, which he presses into the scrap of leather he's working on.
He puts the iron aside and swivels in his chair to face Sam. "'Bout damn time." He grumbles.
The gears of Sam's mind finally shift just right and he blurts out, "He-Hephaestus-Singer?!"
"Samuel Ventuscastra, or is it 'son-in-law', now?"
Sam ducks his head and toes a scrap of leather on the ground. He may be blushing, it's hard to tell in the light.
Hephaestus picks up the small leather piece, which Sam can tell is a pouch now, and threads it quickly with a black cord. Pulls it shut, tight, and ties it in a loop. He crooks a finger at Sam to come closer, and when he does he loops the pouch around his neck.
"What is-"
"Dean's strength," he interrupts, "Has always been in his heart. His devotion, his loyalty, his passion. You, are clever."
Sam fidgets with his mouth, the way Hephaestus said "clever", almost like it was something less than what Dean was.
"More then you realize, though. You show your strength in your wit, your glib words, and your ingenuity. Your real strength of mind, has yet to be fully disclosed to you, boy. Do not be afraid of it. It is a gift, your one link to your heretofore unknown heritage."
"So, you think I'm really part God?"
"I don't 'think', boy. Thinking is for mortals. Gods simply know."
"Then what do you know about my heritage?"
Hephaestus chuckles. "That glib tongue again. Get the hell outta my shop, bring that to my son."
Sam starts to protest but there's a pull and he's flung back into the dark woods. He can still smell the workshop though, hot metal and scorching leather. There's a light now, a light in his peripheral vision.
He turns and passes through trees that become marble and sees into a white room. It's amazing, lush and adorned with fine silks and pillows. There's a comfy looking bed, and flower petals waft through the sweet-smelling air. He realizes, he's in Dean's room on Olympus. He doesn't know really why he knows that, it just feels like it.
Dean throws open the doors, and locks them just as quickly, panic in his eyes. He reaches into his belt and pulls out a curved dagger.
"Dean!" Sam calls, but Dean can't hear him, can't see him.
Dean turns so he's got his back to Sam, and reaches over his shoulder with the dagger, placing it at the root of his left wing.
"No…" Sam whispers but it's too late. Dean's cutting into his wing and black-liquid oozes out and he screams and Sam screams and tries to grab him but he's pulled back again.
Branches wrap around him and pin him to the willow tree and he hears a voice, a weak voice whisper his name, "Ssssam…"
"Jess?"
***
Sam wakes beneath the willow tree, filled with an overwhelming sensation of familiarity, of his childhood. Of Jess.
The feeling lingers for a minute, and then dissipates. Sam stands up quickly and feels something hit his chest. He looks down to see the leather pouch still hanging from his neck.
"Dean!" Sam takes off for the house, suddenly his mind is clear, he knows what he needs to do to help Dean.
When Sam bursts through the door of the house, Dean is leaning back in a chair, feet on the table, licking his orange-stained fingers.
He's glowing, just as bright as he used to.
"Hey, Sam." He smiles.
Sam furrows his brow, the once overflowing silver platter is now empty save for some smears of ambrosia. "Dean, how much did you eat?"
"Only half… and then I ate half of the half I didn't eat, so three-fourths. But then I divided that in half so-"
"You ate the whole thing!?"
"You told me to!"
"I thought you'd at least have the good sense to save some for later!"
"I did! See!" Dean holds up a coin-sized piece of ambrosia. "I saved the last sixty-fourth. Oh wait, maybe it was hundred and twenty-eighth…"
Sam sighs with relief until he sees Dean moving the piece to his lips.
"Dean! No!"
"What?! I'm still hungry!"
"Dean, give it to me!"
"Give it to you? Sammy, this isn't people food. Bad Sammy. Go 'way."
"Oh for the love of-will you look at this!?" Sam shoves the leather pouch in Dean's face. "Here! Put it in here!"
"Father's emblem…" Dean says quietly. Sam takes it off his neck and hands it to Dean.
"Put it inside the pouch, Dean. I think it'll help."
"Where'd you get this?" Dean asks as he slips the ambrosia inside and dangles it in the air.
"Would you believe Hephaestus-Singer came to me in a dream?"
"Yeah, that sounds like something he'd do."
They watch the pouch, but nothing happens. It just twists in the air, back and forth.
"Damn," Sam kicks himself, mentally. "I thought for sure that it would work."
"Sam, stand back." Dean says quickly, pushing him with his free hand. The little pouch starts shaking and then-
"Wha-oh!" Dean happily shouts as the pouch expands ten, twenty, maybe fifty times its original size. He lets it drop on the floor as pieces of ambrosia, loaves of manna, and what he can only assume are nectar-filled wineskins spill onto the ground.
"Oh, my…" Sam gapes and Dean simply dives into the pile of food, grabbing a loaf of manna.
"It's still warm! How does he do that!?" Dean beams at Sam and wraps an arm around his shoulder squeezing tight. "I'd share it with you but-"
"Yeah, yeah, it isn't 'people food'. I got it."
Dean kisses Sam on the cheek, "This is why I love you! You get me!" And then grabs and armful of food, dumping it on the table and digging in.
Sam watches Dean eat for as much as he can stomach before he decides that he's famished as well. He stares at Dean.
"I'm hungry."
"Shm dafes ovvah durr. Shuh stee b' goof." Dean says, not even bothering to chew, he's unhinged his jaw or something in order to wolf down his load.
"Dates, right." Sam deciphers. He retrieves them from the pantry and munches on them while walking to the bedroom. Sam lies in bed petting the cat and relaxing. The dream actually left him a little more rattled than he'd like to admit.
About an hour later Dean pokes his head in the room and flops down on the bed, scaring Volupta away. "Hi," he says to Sam, playfully.
Sam eyes him over his scroll. "Feel better?"
"Feel amazing! I went to cinch up the leftovers, and I swear Sam, that bag refills itself. I think I'm gonna be just fine for food."
Sam puts the scroll down and chuckles. Dean eyes him. "What's so funny?"
He pokes Dean's stomach, rounder then it was before, the paunch sticking out nicely. "You're cute when you're chubby."
Dean frowns. "It'll be gone by morning. I have a fast metabolism."
"Damn."
"Shut up." Dean crosses his arms. "Wait? What do you mean by, 'when I'm chubby'? When have I been chubby?"
"Well… In the temple of Aphrodite they have these painted urns and vases and…"
"Augh!" Dean throws himself into a pillow. "Don't Sam, please don't."
"Oh c'mon it's adorable."
"You wouldn't be so damn cavalier if it was your baby picture on an urn for all of Greece to see!"
"Mmmm…" Dean pouts and sneers at Sam. He laughs. "Dean, I think I'm still hungry, those dates didn't do the trick."
"Well, there's still some bread and olive oil left, or I could fly to market and get you something else?"
"Dean, I think." Sam sits up and climbs on top of Dean. He shucks his tunic and paws at the barebones swathe of cloth Dean wears for some sort of strange modesty. "I think I know what I want to eat."
"Oh! Ohhhh…" Dean's eyes roll back as Sam kisses down his chest, to his soft, round stomach. In the morning, the skin will be tight again, stretching over firm muscles and strong dips of hipbones.
"Y'know," Dean moans, "You could get fat, I wouldn't mind."
"You just want more of me."
"Pretty much, yeah."
"You'll love me then? When I'm old and round and gray and my face squishes up and I look angry all the time?"
"I'll love you so much then. I'll love you even more because I'll have spent every moment with you, watching you get old and gray and round. You'll probably be angry because I'm not that way too."
Sam sighs. "You are what you are, Dean."
"Someday though-"
"You're delicious." Sam resumes kissing and licking his way down to Dean's groin, first taking a moment to nibble on the soft protrusions of his (albeit, temporary) fleshy hips. Then licking a long, sweet stripe of saliva to the base of his cock.
Dean moans and his cock rises up to meet Sam's wet, warm mouth. He happily licks and wraps his lips over the head, before opening wider and taking in more. Dean inside him now, salty precome sliding down his throat. Sam grips the base tight with one hand, another gripping his balls, alternating with harder pressure and gentle touches.
His hands fist in the sheets, and Dean arches up so he can splay his wings out, stretching every muscle in his body as far as it can go, trying to hold on as long as possible. Sam closes his eyes and focuses on Dean, just on his cock. If he thinks about those wings ruffling, and the curve of Dean's body when he bucks, he might lose it himself. His own hardness grows, pressing into Dean's leg.
Dean's hands leave the sheets and wrap in his hair. He's rubbing thumbs at Sam's temples, whispering dirty and devoted words. Love and lust, Dean is both at once. He is all impulse sometimes, all primal desire and physical need. And then a switch is flipped and Dean is passion and romance and fidelity. He is crude poetry and filthy prose.
Sam sucks him, swirling his tongue just the way he knows Dean likes. He's eventually rewarded as Dean comes quick and clean into his mouth, and Sam drinks him down with the same fervor Dean was giving his wineskins. When he's sure Dean is done, he lets him go with a silent sigh.
"So fucking beautiful, seeing my wet cock slide out of your fucking amazing mouth," Dean whispers. He pulls Sam up by the hair, nuzzling into his neck. His hand snakes down to wrap around Sam's dick.
"You want to fuck me with this, or you want me to drive you crazy first?"
Sam laughs. "You already do."
***
Mary would turn purple if she could, red is simply not an angry enough shade to her skin. She prickles visibly as she storms in on her husband in his workshop, drinking mead and laughing it up with "the gang". The cyclops' balk at her presence and quickly retreat to the comforting shadows.
Before she can speak, he does. "You got t' give him your gift. I gave 'im mine."
Mary huffs, "You really want him to never come home again?"
"I really want to be his father, Mare."
Mary doesn't know what to say to that, she's always doted upon Dean while Hephaestus kept a respectable distance. And yet, her son chooses him as the favored parent.
"Wish I actually was," Hephaestus grumbles and takes a swig of his drink.
Mary drops to sit beside him on the bench, grabs a drought of ale herself, and gulps it down. Turns to him with watery eyes, "So do I, Heph."
They drink in silence, and he carries her out of his shop, so she doesn't have to step in the soot.
***
Part 3
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17 overall
Chapter 2:
Discord and love walk together, hands clasped.
Dean walks alone through the woods outside of the Ventuscastra home, clutching his wineskin and leather pouch to his body. When he finally gets far enough away from human eyes, he drops to the ground. The wings tear out of his clothes and his human skin is ripped off by shaking hands. He calms down as he devours the piece of ambrosia.
Another night of eating human food, and he nearly fainted at the table. It was like swallowing air to him, just filling his body without nourishing it. Sam loved to prepare food for them though, grape leaves filled with fish and rice and oils. He savored every bite, but Dean just tried to read his expression carefully. He learned his lesson when he ate an entire plate of fiery red chilies without so much of a twitch to his mouth. Sam furrowed his brow and asked if his stomach was cast-iron.
Dean sits back on his heels and carefully sips the nectar, thinking about his dwindling supply. When Dean had arrived to the house as Lysias, carrying all his bags, Sam just smiled and held him close. "I was afraid to ask you, but everything in my home is yours, love." He whispered to him. Unfortunately, there wasn't much in the house that was of use to Dean.
Before he left Olympus, he filled an entire sack with ambrosia and his father gave him as many wineskins of mead and nectar as he had on hand. But it's going to run out, eventually.
"You know, you don't have to be so stingy with that stuff. I mean, there's plenty of it back at Olympus… Oh wait, that's right. You got baaaaniiiished!" A wicked voice sing-songs. Dean stands and pulls his bow, but then drops it.
"Eris Meg."
"Eros Dean." Meg steps closer, out of the darkness usually surrounding the goddess of discord, her hands in the pocket of her black dress. "How are you faring, dear cousin?"
"Worse, now that you're here."
"Oho! Funny!" Meg claps, "Really Dean, this fasting is affecting your snappy comebacks. Care to try again?"
"Well, you did interrupt your very busy licking-Ares'-boots schedule to come see me. So, thanks for that."
Meg laughs, "God you're so pathetic. Hiding like this, running away like an animal, or cursed lupine. Why don't you just show yourself to the boy?"
"Uhh, 'cause maybe I'd like him to not be dead?"
"Oh c'mon Dean, you really believe those stories? About Zeus revealing himself to a mortal woman and her burning up all nice and crispy?"
"Of course I believe, 'those stories' I am those stories! We're gods, Meg. If a mortal were to gaze upon our true form, the sight would be so beyond human eyes to stand. They would be blinded, dumbstruck, brain-dead, and in some cases, combusted."
"I can't believe you haven't heard of the love-protection charm." Meg says, pulling her golden apple out of her pocket. She holds it in her hand as she talks, rubbing it on her sleeve.
"Of what?"
"If the god in question really, truly loves the mortal, then he or she has the power to protect them. Zeus isn't really the settle-down type, so no wonder his "brides" tend to burn. But you, you've got this whole setup here, Dean. Everyone knows your love is pure and true."
"What? No, no I don't believe you, it can't be possible."
Meg tosses the apple in the air, catches it, and tosses it back up again. Dean's eyes are following the movement of the golden orb, whether he realizes it or not.
"Dean, you're tired of living like this, aren't you?"
"Um."
"Dean, you're tired."
"I'm tired," Dean says and stares, his pupils dilating.
"If you really love him-"
"I do."
"Then you want him to know the truth, the real you."
"Yes."
"That's what this whole human façade was about, so he could fall in love with you, and not the god."
"Yes." Meg holds the apple steady, up to her face. Dean can't take his eyes off of it.
"You're the god of love, if anyone would have this protection, it would be you."
"It would be me."
"He'll be safe."
"Safe…" Meg shakes the apple one more time. Dean is still swaying slightly on his feet.
"Say, 'thank you Meg'," she says, condescendingly.
"Thank you… Meg…" Dean turns and gathers Lysias' clothes and skin, slowly puts them on, and leaves the woods.
Meg laughs and kisses her apple. "Oh, that mortal is gonna fry like bacon." She turns to her side. "Did I do good?"
Mary steps out of the shadows. "You did as I asked of you, thank you. But I wouldn't say anything 'good' was wrought."
"I don't get it though Aunt Mary, why don't you just have me or my father kill the mortal? We could even make it look like an accident."
"Dean has to learn, has to see that they are too different to be together. He can never be his true self amongst mortals. And he will learn of the fragility of their lives. How hard it is-" Mary sighs, "How hard it is to lose one you care for."
***
Sam stares.
Blinks, rubs his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose.
Stares some more.
His lover, his Lysias stands before him, the glorious god of love. White powerful wings pouring out of his back, muscles ripping the fine body. Inhumanly green eyes. No longer the plain peasant farmer, but the impossibly gorgeous god. His skin is actually glowing.
"Sam?"
"L-ly-"
"Dean, call me Dean, please. I want to hear you say my name, my true name."
"Fine, Eros Dean,"
"Yeah?" Dean smirks.
"You've got wings."
"So it seems."
"You're a god."
"Yes."
Sam lets out a breath, "I need to sit down." He finds a chair and puts his face in his hands.
"Sam?" Dean ducks his head to peer at Sam, "You're okay with this, right? I didn't want to tell you because I wanted you to love me, not because-"
"No, it's just-" Sam huffs, "All that time you listened to me talking about how the gods are just folktales used to teach children lessons, and you didn't say anything?!"
Dean snorts.
"Dean! This isn't funny! I blasphemed in front of a god! I'm going to Tartarus. Oh god, Tartarus is real! Oh god, I mean, oh gods you heard me talking about the one-god theories. Damn it!"
"Sam!"
"I don't want to go to Tartarus!"
Dean laughs and picks Sam up off the chair, scooping him up in his arms. "You're not going to Tartarus, I promise, I'll drag you out of there myself if I have to. Now-" Dean walks to the open window. "It's a lovely night for a flight, wouldn't you say?"
Sam nods numbly, now able to see Dean up close. He's beyond gorgeous, beyond words to describe his beauty. Sam feels a kind of love that he's never felt before, and winds his arms around Dean. "Okay," he says.
Meg watches them take off and wonders why she doesn't smell burning human flesh. She inspects the empty house thoroughly, and she doesn't smell charred anything. Just the stink of human and her cousin and-
Huh.
Scratch that. She smells something semi-human, with the underlying scent of ichor.
She smiles.
***
Kythira is sacred to Mary Aphrodite, rarely does she allow humans to pass upon her shores. But Dean has known the island guardians since he was a baby, and despite his current estrangement from his mother, they are more then happy to welcome him there. Sam just keeps staring at the strange nymphs and satyrs, until an hour ago he thought they were the stuff of Homeric fantasy.
Dean carries Sam in his arms, beating his wings against the wind. They reach the white sand of the beach, and Dean corkscrews down for a perfect landing. Sam climbs out of his arms and stumbles a bit. Dean catches him and holds him up.
"Air sickness?"
"I guess, whatever that is."
"It happens," Dean gives him a reassuring smile, then pulls his chin close for a kiss. Sam's stomach stops lurching and he moans against Dean's mouth. Sam pulls back.
"It's true then? The stories? The legends?"
"Most of them, yeah."
"You- you're really him. This isn't just one of my crazy dreams?"
Dean strokes his cheek. "I'm real."
Sam reaches trembling hands to Dean's chest, lays them flat against the porcelain skin. Feels a slow push of liquid in veins, but not a heartbeat. Doesn't see a rise and fall of lungs breathing in air. Gods don't have to breathe, and the ichor that flows through their bodies does so of it's own accord, not needing a heart to pump it along. Suddenly those silent nights in Lysias' arms all seem to make sense. He tips his head to the face. Lysias was plain, usually unkempt and wild-eyed. His green eyes fit better with the god's face, perfect lines and jaw and mouth. Soft mouth, pink and inviting.
"You're…so beautiful."
"You like me better, like this?"
"I love you. I love you no matter what you look like Dean, just-" Sam shrugs his shoulders and presses his head to the crook of Dean's neck. "You must know how beautiful you are, Dean."
"Sam, you're just as-"
"I feel like I'm not worthy of you anymore, of a god."
"Sam." Dean lifts his head. "I am not going to have this conversation again, about who is or isn't worthy of my love. I am giving it to you, all I want is for you to accept it. And continue to love me no matter what."
Sam swallows. "I was anointed into the temple of Artemis when I was six months old, after my mother died. I'm the son of the scion, heir to his responsibility as a-"
"You're a scholar and a student of rhetoric who doubts the existence of the gods, and now you're trying to tell me we can't be together because you've got some cultish devotion to my Aunt? Sam c'mon, that's pretty lame. If you don't give me a good excuse soon, I'm just gonna have to strip you down, and have my way with you all over this beach."
Sam swallows. "I'm not perfect. Like you." Dean sighs.
"I'm probably a bastard. The man I call my father might not have sired me. Speaking of which, most of my family members intermarry. Zeus and Hera are brother and sister, not cousins like the priests try to teach you. When I was a kid, I shot a Roman man and missed the woman he was supposed to marry, he ended up trying to bed a horse. I molt. I might be a god and bearer of incredible powers and abilities and still, every year I molt for a week. Everything I own gets covered in feathers and if any of them touch the earth, a hundred white doves spring forth from the ground. Also? I'm bowlegged because I got too used to flying when I was a kid and never learned to walk straight."
Sam blinks. "Wow."
"I'm not perfect."
"Yeah, you're pretty fucked up. I don't think this is gonna work out, see in my family we like normal people-" Sam can't help himself, he stops laughing and runs away from Dean. Dean smiles and leaps after him, tackling him to the sand.
"Oooh, foolish mortal, you will pay for your insolence!" Dean starts tickling Sam, who bucks against him, laughing hysterically.
"Hahaha! Stop! I'm gonna erect a temple in your honor, dedicate it to horses and the men who- Ahaha! Dean!"
Dean leans in close and growls in his best Hera impression, "Blasphemous human! You will regret your transgression!"
"Pigeon-winged freak."
"Ouch."
"I'm kidding, I love the wings. They're amazing."
"Really?"
"I mean, you're still a freak. But a really, really pretty one." Dean laughs and wrestles with him some more. Sam starts rubbing against Dean, feeling each other through their robes. Dean leans over to look down at Sam.
"Hey, Sam?"
"Yeah."
"Feels like we're gonna be okay."
"Dean." Sam pauses, then smiles. "We're gonna be great. I love you."
"I love you too."
***
Dean wakes up on the beach, alone, his arms no longer filled with his lover. He stretches his body against the warm sand, realizes his situation, and begins to panic. Sam really shouldn't wander the island without him, lest he stumble upon an unforgiving Oceanid.
"Sam?!" He shouts.
He hears Sam's laughter behind him, and whips around quickly. Sam's in the dark water, up to his navel, naked as far as Dean can tell. His hair is dripping wet, down his body. Dean becomes lost in the sight.
"Dean! You have to come in! The water is amazing!"
Dean makes a face he usually saves for when his mother attempts to cook and he has to politely chew through burnt gryphon roast. He's actually never been too fond of water since an incident in his childhood when a wing got tangled up in a piece of seaweed.
"But then I'll get wet."
"Dean! Come on!"
"How about you finish up there and come here? And then we can do fun stuff! Where it's dry!"
Sam huffs, "Dean! You're a god!"
"Yeah, with wings! These things aren't exactly waterproof."
"Swans, ducks, geese…"
"Those are waterfowl!"
"I've seen sparrows happily bathing in fountains!"
"Damn sparrows," Dean mutters and stalks towards the water. He gets about ankle-deep, and folds his wings up as tight as they will go. The waves are slow but he can still feel some drops against his feathers. He sighs.
"Do I have to?" Sam blows out his frustration and wades over to Dean, grabs his arm and pulls him in.
"Quit being such a baby."
Dean sticks his tongue out but also happily notices that yes, Sam is swimming naked. That could be fun.
Sam gets tired of Dean lagging behind, turns around and scoops him up in his arms. "Wow, you're lighter then you look. Hollow bones?"
Dean crooks an eyebrow, "I'm a god."
"… So that's a no?"
Dean sighs. "I can control my density. Walk through solid objects, hide in shadows or clouds."
Sam's eyes go wide. "Wow, that is so cool… It makes sense though if you're-"
"You've gotta be kidding me! You are not getting off on the technical aspects of it, are you?"
Sam just smiles and holds him a little tighter. Dean shifts around until he's got his arms around Sam's neck and legs wrapped around his torso. "That's better."
"How so?" Sam asks as he finally gets to deep enough water to glide with the waves.
"I like seeing your face." Dean caresses the back of Sam's head, the wet hair sticking to his neck. Sam angles his head forward and they're kissing. Tasting saliva and the dark, blessed water that surrounds the island. Sam moans and bucks his hips.
"Dean, are you helping me float?"
"Maybe…"
"Dean…"
"Okay, I'm totally keeping you from drowning yourself."
"Good," Sam says and grinds his hips forward, Dean moaning into his mouth and grinding his own hardness into Sam's stomach. They hit just the right angle and Sam's just teasing the entrance to Dean. There's not enough friction, the water slows him down, but it's slow and wonderful.
"Beach…" Dean moans.
"Oh c'mon, I just got you out here."
"Beach! You fucking me into the nice warm sand. Mmmmn, Sammy…"
Sam pouts, but nods his head, "Okay, let's just-"
Dean opens his wings and in a few quick flaps they're airborne, then crashing onto the beach, wet and dripping into the sand. Dean wraps his arms around Sam and tackles him down. Sam rolls him over and presses him down, the sand sticking everywhere. They wrestle for a while, laughing and whooping.
Sam's panting from laughing too hard and lack of oxygen from all the blood flowing down to his groin. He flops down on the sand on his back. Dean straddles his hips. "Wanna see something cool, Sam?"
"I saw it last night Dean, and yes it is gorgeous."
"No, Sammy I mean, here-" Dean bends over him and canopies his wings over their bodies, surrounding Sam in white feathers. It's incredible. "See? In case some nosy little nymph decides to walk by."
"What, you wouldn't invite her to join us?"
"Don't believe everything you read on vases, Sammy." Dean shifts back, letting Sam's cock press at his entrance, Sam gasps as Dean eases himself down, tight and gripping, still impossibly wet from their dip in the ocean.
Dean slides up and down, slow, tight, incredible. He touches Sam's chest, bracing himself and Sam slides his hips up, wriggling himself around in the sand. Dean kisses Sam's chest, licks and teases his nipples sending shivers down his legs. Dean clamps hard on Sam when he finally gets the perfect angle for him to reach his sweet spot. Pulling Sam close and biting Sam's neck, knowing just the right places to nip at, to elicit just the right pleasure.
"Ohhhh, I believe! You're a God!"
And even though a nymph does decide to sneak by while they make love, she has to settle for only eavesdropping on the moaning, no visuals.
***
Dean likes trees, and Sam finds that hilarious.
He's currently perched up in a golden-leafed cedar elm, just a few yards outside the Academy.
Sam looks up at him, he's napping and lounging on one of the highest branches, like a jungle cat. His wings twitching slightly with the breeze. Sam bends down to pick up an acorn and toss it at his dangling arm.
Dean catches it, sits up and tries to drop it on Sam's head. They laugh.
"So, now what? Am I supposed to climb up that?"
"Nah, you're supposed to try and look pretty so I'll wanna come get you."
"Oh!" Sam pulls the corner of his tunic off his shoulder. "How's that?"
Dean leaps off the branch and winds down the tree in circles. If he flies straight down, Sam finds, he makes a lot more noise, and the force of the air he displaces knocks him off his feet. Dean tends to prefer graceful landings to forceful.
Today though, he snatches Sam up by his underarms and with two strong beats of his wings they're at the top of the tree. He places Sam on the high branch, carefully, before perching himself. Sam's got his back to the tree trunk, and Dean's further down on the limb, letting his legs hang off and sway back and forth.
"So, whatcha learn today?"
"We read from Herodotus' latest travelogue. I got asked a ton of questions because I'm the only one in the seminar who has actually been to Thebes and Phoenicia. Then again, I don't remember a lot of it. When I was kid my Dad was always on these crazy hunts, and sometimes I helped when I could, but mostly I was told to stay out of trouble."
"Still, it's rare that a student has done as much traveling as you have, Sam."
"Yeah, well I bet I'm not as worldly as you."
Dean closes his eyes and imagines whisking Sam off to a tropical island somewhere in the Pacific, or to a calm northern forest filled with snow-topped evergreen trees. Next time he's up that way, he'll bring back a pinecone and Sam can geek out over that.
"…So?" Sam asks.
Dean shakes his head. "I'm sorry, what?"
"So, did you break any hearts today, O mighty Love God?"
Dean laughs, touches the leather strap of his quiver. "Maybe."
The truth is, with his banishment from Olympus, he is forbidden to do work in the name of Love. He wonders if Sam has noticed it yet, the fact that everyone around him seems stuck in neutral. No relationships are ending, but none are beginning either. Dean hopes he could eventually work something out with his mother, she can't let humans suffer like this to prove a point, can she?
Sam touches his shoulder. "You're rather quiet today, love. Drachma for your thoughts?"
I'm in it deep, Sam. It's going to get real bad, real soon. I'm too scared to tell you. I miss home. I miss my parents and my crazy aunts and uncles. And I'm scared to lose you because of my stubbornness.
"Nothing, just- Hey! Let's go for a flight? You wanna see the Sphinx? I mean, the real one?"
***
A month goes by, and Dean is barely holding on.
He ran out of ambrosia two weeks ago, and it's all that he can think of. He's distracted, his head is fuzzy and his body is getting weaker by the minute. Sam notices, he's too famished to keep up appearances.
"Go to school, Sammy. I'm fine," Dean says, leaning down to pet their little black cat and she rubs up against his leg. "I'm just a little tired."
"No, Dean," Sam stays crossing his arms, "I'm staying with you until you get better, or you tell me what's wrong and let me help you get better.
Dean can't think straight, he's so hungry. All he can do is rise slowly, cradling Volupta in his arms, and let her contented purr buzz against his chest.
He doesn't realize he's swaying on his feet.
"I'm fine," he whispers.
"You don't seem fine," Sam says, reaching to take the cat away from him, setting her down on the floor. "Talk to me."
Dean's eyes roll back and he falls to one side, his wings sliding out simultaneously. It's getting harder and harder for him to remain disguised. Sam shouts and Dean feels him surrounding him. He can't stop shaking.
"You're not fine, Dean! What is going on?!" Sam starts panicking, Dean's head is hanging limp on his shoulder.
"What's 'going on', is that Eros Dean is going to go down in history as the only god ever to attempt to starve to death." A voice cackles from the shadows.
"No…" Dean whispers, his wings tremble and he gathers the last ounce of his strength and stands, shoving Sam behind him, and drawing his wingspan like a canopy. "Stay behind me, don't look at her, Sam!"
Sam's confused but he does as Dean asks. Meg slowly emerges from the dark corner of the room, trailing shadows like the train of her dress. Dean draws his bow and loads an arrow dipped in Hydra's blood. It won't kill her, but it will hurt like hell.
He feels like she should suffer too.
"What's going on, Dean. Who is it?" Sam asks.
"Oh, you can drop the shield, dear cousin. Turns out the mongrel's got an immunity."
"But you said-" Dean starts.
"I set you up, genius. Now, drop the feathers. Little mutt's got some divine blood in him. I can smell it from here. And if I'd known that before, I would've just gutted him in the first place." Meg smiles sweetly.
Dean keeps his wings up, and his arrow trained on Meg.
"You have any idea what she's talking about, Sammy?"
"It-it's impossible! Gods can't-"
"They can." Dean says.
"They have." Meg adds.
"But, I'm not. My parents aren't-"
"It wouldn't take much, a half-breed, quarter-breed, just a few drops of ichor in the family tree and you can, y'know: 'Gaze upon the wonder and glory that is the Olympian gods of the heavens.' Without fear of getting toasted."
Sam swallows, Dean narrows his eyes and aims his arrow for in-between Meg's beady little eyes.
"You tricked me, tried to fool me into killing him."
"Just following orders."
"Ares." Dean spits the name out like a curse.
"Mmmaaaybe." Meg spins around and vanishes before Dean can shoot. Appears by Sam's side. "Hi, I'm Eris Meg. Nice place you got here, wow! You are pretty cute, I'll give him that."
Sam nearly jumps to the ceiling but Dean's got his arrow right at her throat and backs her against a wall in their kitchen.
"Hydra's blood, I'll assume?" Meg gulps as the point presses against her pale-white skin.
"Give me one good reason not to let go."
"Wait!" Meg giggles nervously. "I'm here on a peaceful mission, I swear! Sent by your mother to atone for the last one. Just to deliver a message, and a gift!"
Dean pauses, "I don't believe, don't believe you." He's losing it again, almost blacking out. Sam steadies his arm, not wanting his lover to show an enemy weakness.
"Dean, maybe hear her out?" Sam gives him a desperate look.
"Yeah, okay." Dean pulls back and tries to steady himself, "But make it quick." Dean starts falling again and Sam snakes a hand around his back to steady him, hoping she doesn't notice.
Meg rubs her neck and coughs a bit, hamming it up for the mortal. "Alright. Long story short, your mother wants you to come back home. No punishments, bygones, all is forgiven. Just come back to Olympus and do your damn job."
"Dean, what is she talking about?"
Meg's eyes light up and she releases a bleat of laughter. Dean ducks his head.
"Dean?" Sam presses into his arm.
"He didn't tell you?!" Meg claps her hands and laughs harder. "Oh this is too, too good!"
"… was gonna tell you, soon," Dean mutters.
"Tell me what?"
Meg's only too eager to tear Sam away from Dean, leaving him alone to sway on weak, wobbly feet. "Dean didn't tell you, how he defied his mother. She gave him an ultimatum, you or Olympus, and he chose you. So he's banished, forever, for his entire immortal life even after yours ends! And oh! The best part? He can't die, but he's probably run out of food by now, that crap you mortals eat is like air and cotton fluff to us! So he's gonna be forever starving to death, only there's no death! Isn't it like some brilliant never-ending tragedy? How he's just completely screwing himself over for you?!"
Sam turns to Dean, realization coloring his face as he takes in Dean's dull appearance. The glow of his skin long since faded, cheeks sinking in, muscles retracting, wings grey at the tips.
"This whole time… You knew what was happening. That it was my fault-"
"Sammy, no! This was my decision to make!"
"You think I want you to stay here if it means you'll waste away to nothing! Live forever in suffering and starvation?!"
"I can't die, Sam, I'll just-"
"Get worse," Meg chimes in. "Much, much worse. Now, I'm sorry to have to interrupt this lovely little relationship-destroying argument, and may I say: you're both doing an excellent job of it. Really, how you sewed those little seeds of discord, Dean? Couldn't have done it better myself."
"Get out, Meg," Dean growls.
"But I haven't given you the present yet!" Meg skips over to the wooden table in the center of the room. "A housewarming gift, from Mommy Dearest herself." She places her palms flat on the wooden surface, and lifts them off with a flourish.
A silver tray, heaping with amber-colored ambrosia, sits on the table.
She smiles at her handiwork, then turns to Dean, "The offer stands, you have a day to consider. The food is yours, dear cousin, tuck in." She spins on her heels to leave. "Oh, just one more thing-" her eyes narrow and her voice goes to a rasp. "The first taste's free…" And in a swirl of black smoke, she's gone.
There's a pause, both of them stare at the table. Dean turns away and braces himself on the wall. Sam's staring too, at Dean, at the table, his mouth covered. Sam's mind is racing, he's got more questions than answers.
Dean's eyes roll back and he falls to his knees. Sam crosses the room and catches him, wrapping him in his arms and petting Dean's hair soothingly while he trembles.
"…'m sorry I didn't tell you." Dean mumbles.
"Shhh…"
"I just wanted to be with you."
"You need to think about her offer."
"What?"
"I think you should eat something, Dean, and think about what she said."
"No, Sam, you don't know my mother. It's a trap. She wants me to eat the ambrosia, because it will make me start wanting it more and more until the need consumes me."
"You're not well, Dean. You shouldn't be making these kinds of decisions in the state that you're in right now! You need to eat something, get better, and think about this with a clear head. It's a good deal, in the long run."
"Sam?"
"You should consider-"
Dean shoves Sam off of him, and stumbles back on his heels. He fixes Sam with a shaken look.
"There is nothing to consider, Sammy. I'm not going. I'm not leaving you."
"Dean! This-being here-is killing you!"
"I can't die."
"But you can suffer needlessly pretty damn well."
"You actually want me to leave?"
"No, Dean I want you to stay, but not if it means every moment of your life is, some kind of living agony!"
"You can make the pain go away, Sam."
Sam stands up. "Just, eat something. I can't talk to you like this, you're not going to listen to reason." He turns to the doorway.
"Sam? Where're you going?"
"Need to take a walk, clear my head."
"Take it with you Sam, please. Just throw it away, I don't want to be tempted."
Sam stalls at the door, but opens it without looking back at Dean. "We'll talk later, when I get back."
He leaves, and Dean stares at the table, every fiber of his being screaming at him to eat.
***
Sam walks through the woods, into that familiar glen. The one he played in as a child, the one where "Lysias" and his father had their archery contest almost one year ago.
How the time does pass.
Sam flops to the ground beneath the willow tree, it's his favorite place to think and read and have quiet moments. He lets the back of his head fall against the bark, and the wind blows. He hears the leaves shudder, feels the calm returning to him.
He doesn't see the Dryad drop from the branches and blow a handful of sleep into his eyes.
***
He's still in the wood, dark and winding, but suddenly the trunk trunks shoot up into the air, all he can see are dark columns lining his pathway. A red glow settles upon the sky as far as he can see, like an ember's vestigial glow. Sam can feel heat wafting up from the ground beneath his feet, but he walks forward, unable to stop himself. He begins to hear a different rhythm from the wind shaking the trees, there's rattles, clinking noises. He hears the clang of metal against metal, the clash of stone against stone. The noise shakes him and chatters his teeth.
The closer he moves towards the source of the noise, the clearer the landscape becomes. Shapes moving through the columns, silhouetted in the dark red light, equipment lining the walls. He's not in some patch of wood anymore, but a great, dark workshop. Heat escapes from the rocky ground in bursts of steam.
There's a symbol on one of the columns, branded into the stone. An anvil crossed with two hammers.
Sam jumps as a massive figure crosses his path. He gasps at the sight of it when his mind focuses. It's a huge hairy Cyclops, carrying a vat of what looked to be molten metal. The first cyclops walks to another, holding a dark mold, and they pour the glowing liquid inside. Smoke rises in their faces, and they rub their massive hands over an equally massive watery eye.
Sam can see the lumbering figures he notes earlier, they are all like the others, great one-eyed workmen carrying massive loads and working with iron and fiery embers. Forging swords and metal pieces of armor.
His instinct is to go find a corner and hide, finally starting to remember the stories his father used to tell him about bone-grinding giants and man-eating beasts.
Dean's revelation has opened Sam's eyes a bit more to the possibility of things which reason cannot explain. His doubts and skepticism have turned in on themselves, he finds himself questioning more the natural phenomena then the presence of the supernatural.
"They cannot see you, boy," a gruff voice says in his head.
Sam looks over his shoulders, confused.
"I said they ain't gonna be able to hear or see you! Now get the hell over here, boy, 'n quit wasting my time!"
Sam snaps to, it's the kind of authoritarian tone his father would use on him, only rougher around the edges. He presses forward, still dancing around the lumbering one-eyed behemoths he passes by. He can see the light emanating from the center of the workshop, where the voice originated from.
There's a man, hunched over a cluttered workbench. He's hairy, dirty and scarred. He sits on a simple metal stool, legs mangled and somehow smaller than the rest of him. Sam peers at his face, scruffy beard, more dust and soot on his face, intense look of concentration on his face. He reaches over to one side and a cyclops hands him a glowing branding iron, which he presses into the scrap of leather he's working on.
He puts the iron aside and swivels in his chair to face Sam. "'Bout damn time." He grumbles.
The gears of Sam's mind finally shift just right and he blurts out, "He-Hephaestus-Singer?!"
"Samuel Ventuscastra, or is it 'son-in-law', now?"
Sam ducks his head and toes a scrap of leather on the ground. He may be blushing, it's hard to tell in the light.
Hephaestus picks up the small leather piece, which Sam can tell is a pouch now, and threads it quickly with a black cord. Pulls it shut, tight, and ties it in a loop. He crooks a finger at Sam to come closer, and when he does he loops the pouch around his neck.
"What is-"
"Dean's strength," he interrupts, "Has always been in his heart. His devotion, his loyalty, his passion. You, are clever."
Sam fidgets with his mouth, the way Hephaestus said "clever", almost like it was something less than what Dean was.
"More then you realize, though. You show your strength in your wit, your glib words, and your ingenuity. Your real strength of mind, has yet to be fully disclosed to you, boy. Do not be afraid of it. It is a gift, your one link to your heretofore unknown heritage."
"So, you think I'm really part God?"
"I don't 'think', boy. Thinking is for mortals. Gods simply know."
"Then what do you know about my heritage?"
Hephaestus chuckles. "That glib tongue again. Get the hell outta my shop, bring that to my son."
Sam starts to protest but there's a pull and he's flung back into the dark woods. He can still smell the workshop though, hot metal and scorching leather. There's a light now, a light in his peripheral vision.
He turns and passes through trees that become marble and sees into a white room. It's amazing, lush and adorned with fine silks and pillows. There's a comfy looking bed, and flower petals waft through the sweet-smelling air. He realizes, he's in Dean's room on Olympus. He doesn't know really why he knows that, it just feels like it.
Dean throws open the doors, and locks them just as quickly, panic in his eyes. He reaches into his belt and pulls out a curved dagger.
"Dean!" Sam calls, but Dean can't hear him, can't see him.
Dean turns so he's got his back to Sam, and reaches over his shoulder with the dagger, placing it at the root of his left wing.
"No…" Sam whispers but it's too late. Dean's cutting into his wing and black-liquid oozes out and he screams and Sam screams and tries to grab him but he's pulled back again.
Branches wrap around him and pin him to the willow tree and he hears a voice, a weak voice whisper his name, "Ssssam…"
"Jess?"
***
Sam wakes beneath the willow tree, filled with an overwhelming sensation of familiarity, of his childhood. Of Jess.
The feeling lingers for a minute, and then dissipates. Sam stands up quickly and feels something hit his chest. He looks down to see the leather pouch still hanging from his neck.
"Dean!" Sam takes off for the house, suddenly his mind is clear, he knows what he needs to do to help Dean.
When Sam bursts through the door of the house, Dean is leaning back in a chair, feet on the table, licking his orange-stained fingers.
He's glowing, just as bright as he used to.
"Hey, Sam." He smiles.
Sam furrows his brow, the once overflowing silver platter is now empty save for some smears of ambrosia. "Dean, how much did you eat?"
"Only half… and then I ate half of the half I didn't eat, so three-fourths. But then I divided that in half so-"
"You ate the whole thing!?"
"You told me to!"
"I thought you'd at least have the good sense to save some for later!"
"I did! See!" Dean holds up a coin-sized piece of ambrosia. "I saved the last sixty-fourth. Oh wait, maybe it was hundred and twenty-eighth…"
Sam sighs with relief until he sees Dean moving the piece to his lips.
"Dean! No!"
"What?! I'm still hungry!"
"Dean, give it to me!"
"Give it to you? Sammy, this isn't people food. Bad Sammy. Go 'way."
"Oh for the love of-will you look at this!?" Sam shoves the leather pouch in Dean's face. "Here! Put it in here!"
"Father's emblem…" Dean says quietly. Sam takes it off his neck and hands it to Dean.
"Put it inside the pouch, Dean. I think it'll help."
"Where'd you get this?" Dean asks as he slips the ambrosia inside and dangles it in the air.
"Would you believe Hephaestus-Singer came to me in a dream?"
"Yeah, that sounds like something he'd do."
They watch the pouch, but nothing happens. It just twists in the air, back and forth.
"Damn," Sam kicks himself, mentally. "I thought for sure that it would work."
"Sam, stand back." Dean says quickly, pushing him with his free hand. The little pouch starts shaking and then-
"Wha-oh!" Dean happily shouts as the pouch expands ten, twenty, maybe fifty times its original size. He lets it drop on the floor as pieces of ambrosia, loaves of manna, and what he can only assume are nectar-filled wineskins spill onto the ground.
"Oh, my…" Sam gapes and Dean simply dives into the pile of food, grabbing a loaf of manna.
"It's still warm! How does he do that!?" Dean beams at Sam and wraps an arm around his shoulder squeezing tight. "I'd share it with you but-"
"Yeah, yeah, it isn't 'people food'. I got it."
Dean kisses Sam on the cheek, "This is why I love you! You get me!" And then grabs and armful of food, dumping it on the table and digging in.
Sam watches Dean eat for as much as he can stomach before he decides that he's famished as well. He stares at Dean.
"I'm hungry."
"Shm dafes ovvah durr. Shuh stee b' goof." Dean says, not even bothering to chew, he's unhinged his jaw or something in order to wolf down his load.
"Dates, right." Sam deciphers. He retrieves them from the pantry and munches on them while walking to the bedroom. Sam lies in bed petting the cat and relaxing. The dream actually left him a little more rattled than he'd like to admit.
About an hour later Dean pokes his head in the room and flops down on the bed, scaring Volupta away. "Hi," he says to Sam, playfully.
Sam eyes him over his scroll. "Feel better?"
"Feel amazing! I went to cinch up the leftovers, and I swear Sam, that bag refills itself. I think I'm gonna be just fine for food."
Sam puts the scroll down and chuckles. Dean eyes him. "What's so funny?"
He pokes Dean's stomach, rounder then it was before, the paunch sticking out nicely. "You're cute when you're chubby."
Dean frowns. "It'll be gone by morning. I have a fast metabolism."
"Damn."
"Shut up." Dean crosses his arms. "Wait? What do you mean by, 'when I'm chubby'? When have I been chubby?"
"Well… In the temple of Aphrodite they have these painted urns and vases and…"
"Augh!" Dean throws himself into a pillow. "Don't Sam, please don't."
"Oh c'mon it's adorable."
"You wouldn't be so damn cavalier if it was your baby picture on an urn for all of Greece to see!"
"Mmmm…" Dean pouts and sneers at Sam. He laughs. "Dean, I think I'm still hungry, those dates didn't do the trick."
"Well, there's still some bread and olive oil left, or I could fly to market and get you something else?"
"Dean, I think." Sam sits up and climbs on top of Dean. He shucks his tunic and paws at the barebones swathe of cloth Dean wears for some sort of strange modesty. "I think I know what I want to eat."
"Oh! Ohhhh…" Dean's eyes roll back as Sam kisses down his chest, to his soft, round stomach. In the morning, the skin will be tight again, stretching over firm muscles and strong dips of hipbones.
"Y'know," Dean moans, "You could get fat, I wouldn't mind."
"You just want more of me."
"Pretty much, yeah."
"You'll love me then? When I'm old and round and gray and my face squishes up and I look angry all the time?"
"I'll love you so much then. I'll love you even more because I'll have spent every moment with you, watching you get old and gray and round. You'll probably be angry because I'm not that way too."
Sam sighs. "You are what you are, Dean."
"Someday though-"
"You're delicious." Sam resumes kissing and licking his way down to Dean's groin, first taking a moment to nibble on the soft protrusions of his (albeit, temporary) fleshy hips. Then licking a long, sweet stripe of saliva to the base of his cock.
Dean moans and his cock rises up to meet Sam's wet, warm mouth. He happily licks and wraps his lips over the head, before opening wider and taking in more. Dean inside him now, salty precome sliding down his throat. Sam grips the base tight with one hand, another gripping his balls, alternating with harder pressure and gentle touches.
His hands fist in the sheets, and Dean arches up so he can splay his wings out, stretching every muscle in his body as far as it can go, trying to hold on as long as possible. Sam closes his eyes and focuses on Dean, just on his cock. If he thinks about those wings ruffling, and the curve of Dean's body when he bucks, he might lose it himself. His own hardness grows, pressing into Dean's leg.
Dean's hands leave the sheets and wrap in his hair. He's rubbing thumbs at Sam's temples, whispering dirty and devoted words. Love and lust, Dean is both at once. He is all impulse sometimes, all primal desire and physical need. And then a switch is flipped and Dean is passion and romance and fidelity. He is crude poetry and filthy prose.
Sam sucks him, swirling his tongue just the way he knows Dean likes. He's eventually rewarded as Dean comes quick and clean into his mouth, and Sam drinks him down with the same fervor Dean was giving his wineskins. When he's sure Dean is done, he lets him go with a silent sigh.
"So fucking beautiful, seeing my wet cock slide out of your fucking amazing mouth," Dean whispers. He pulls Sam up by the hair, nuzzling into his neck. His hand snakes down to wrap around Sam's dick.
"You want to fuck me with this, or you want me to drive you crazy first?"
Sam laughs. "You already do."
***
Mary would turn purple if she could, red is simply not an angry enough shade to her skin. She prickles visibly as she storms in on her husband in his workshop, drinking mead and laughing it up with "the gang". The cyclops' balk at her presence and quickly retreat to the comforting shadows.
Before she can speak, he does. "You got t' give him your gift. I gave 'im mine."
Mary huffs, "You really want him to never come home again?"
"I really want to be his father, Mare."
Mary doesn't know what to say to that, she's always doted upon Dean while Hephaestus kept a respectable distance. And yet, her son chooses him as the favored parent.
"Wish I actually was," Hephaestus grumbles and takes a swig of his drink.
Mary drops to sit beside him on the bench, grabs a drought of ale herself, and gulps it down. Turns to him with watery eyes, "So do I, Heph."
They drink in silence, and he carries her out of his shop, so she doesn't have to step in the soot.
***
Part 3