Fanfic - SPN: Whore Academy - Ch. 5 - Remembering and Forgetting
Title: Whore Academy [Evil!Sammy Universe]
Author: eboniorchid
Full Header for the Series
Chapter Five: Remembering and Forgetting
[059.Listless]
Sam gave a final grunt of satisfaction and tugged his cock out of Dean's mouth, tucking himself in. Then he unwound the leash from his hand and tossed it up on the desk near Dean's head with a thunk that made Dean cringe before reaching for the latch at his collar and snapping it off to stuff it all back into his pocket. Dean could feel Mr. Winchester moving behind him, too, letting his cock slip free from his hole with a long drip of come as he adjusted his clothes with a swish and a zzzip. Other than that, though, the room was utterly silent.
He could hear breathing as the two men moved away from him and wondered if he was allowed to get up yet, wondered if the students sitting mere feet behind him had enjoyed the fucking show so much they'd forgotten how to speak. Or … maybe they were just sitting there thinking about how it might be them next time. It didn't really matter, though, what they thought. He knew why he'd- … Or at least he thought he knew.
Trust me.
It hurt and it didn't make any sense and … as he pushed up from the desk and bent to pull up and fasten his pants, he felt ashamed. As he buckled his belt, not bothering to tuck in his shirt, he could feel the shifting of spunk in his ass and wondered, vaguely, if there'd be stains, if everyone would be able to tell just how recently and thoroughly he'd been fucked from discolored spots on his once pristine clothes. He kept telling himself it didn't matter, hoping that Sam was still with him, that he still … cared. It felt like he'd been wondering that a long time, though, and he wasn't sure if all this was really proof of anything.
"Clean up the mess." Mr. Winchester's voice, a breath away from his ear, nearly made Dean jump and he froze as a broad hand found his hip. "I want my desk put back just the way it was when you first walked in this morning. You understand me, whore?"
He couldn't find words for a moment, barely remembering how to breathe, but Mr. Winchester gave him no time or space to find his voice, sliding up behind him to press flush against his back.
"You're clearly not the type for idle hands, so … if you can't clean this to my satisfaction, then I'll just have to put you into service in ways that you've already proved yourself. … Know what I mean?"
Dean's eyes shut tight, but he nodded.
"Say it."
He swallowed and his breath shook, but he willed his voice into action. "Yes, sir."
Mr. Winchester didn't let him go right away, though, instead, reaching around to fiddle with the bottom front edge of Dean's untucked shirt. "You know this uniform is filthy, right, whore?"
"Yes, sir."
"I'd usually just tell you to go without, but … since you don't seem to care about the clothing that we graciously allowed you to have, why don't you just … not waste my good towels … and mop things up with this stained up junk on your back?" Mr. Winchester's voice dropped lower, hands pressing against Dean's thighs now, as he leaned in even closer until Dean could nearly feel the deep vibration of lips against his ear. "And besides … smelling like a dirty whore all day should help put things in perspective, don't you think?"
The words caught in his throat several times over as he tried not to just make things worse by pulling away from the sick heat of the teacher at his back. He wished he could see Sam, could know if he would - what? Allow this? He'd said he'd- … Sam would probably say this wasn't fucked up enough to keep him busy and have him lick things clean, like … before. Another twisted half-memory he had no context for.
"You listening to me, whore? I said, reeking like an overused slut will help you remember what you're good for, won't it?" The slick tones worming their way into his brain from Mr. Winchester's mouth sent an overwhelming urge to get away pounding into Dean's blood, but he was stuck to the spot. He was barely holding back the flock of fluttery things straining to escape from his come-filled stomach, but then there were fingers moving towards his fly and his heart sped out of control. "Or did you already forget what that was?"
"No." The word burst out of him quieter than he'd heard it in his head, but it was forceful enough to halt the progress of hands he'd only had on him much more intimately mere minutes earlier. Cleaning was better. He could- … Cleaning was better. "I'll clean … okay? Just … let me do it. I can do it."
"Good." Mr. Winchester pulled back, his hands on Dean's upper arms now. "Thought you'd come around. Wanna make Sam proud, huh?"
It was more like 'wanna keep Sam safe', but he bit anyway, voice soft. "Yes, sir."
Dean felt the teacher finally turn away from him, then, calling for the next student, some girl named Mel, to start her recitation. The soft thud of her shoes coming his way reminded Dean that he was practically center stage and he quickly surveyed the damage to figure out where exactly to start. Before he'd moved, however, he felt a light tap on his shoulder and he turned around cautiously, coming face to face with a tall brunette with wavy hair, richly copper skin, and a warm smile that actually met her eyes and even seemed to be aimed his way.
"I think you're in my spot."
"Oh. Yeah. Sorry." He ducked his head, moving to bow out towards the scattered papers behind him, but she put a hand on his arm, so he halted, eyes downcast, not wanting any more trouble.
She didn't berate him, though, just leaned in close to his ear and whispered with obvious concern. "Take care of my boy, alright? He needs you."
Dean nodded, not entirely sure what she was talking about, but assuming she meant Sam, and he met her eyes once more when she let her hand fall away, trying to remember if he knew her. Nothing came to him, though, so he just moved on over to the mess covering the floor and knelt to start stacking and corralling all the displaced items.
He heard her speech in bits and pieces as he went about working behind and below her, replacing things on the desk and trying to make sure everything looked as close to his memory of it as possible. She seemed to be in the same program Sam was in, her words some modified version of the ones Dean had heard while standing in the corner, and when he looked up and really watched her for a moment, he realized that she was talking almost directly to the redhead down front and she had that girl grinning like she'd won the lottery or something. It made him smile a bit, but it also made him wonder if he was missing a whole lot more than just the story of how all this happened. Was he supposed to have that kind of adoration for Sam? Even with everything being all twisted and fucked up like this?
The question was still the dominant one in Dean's mind as he mopped up the last drips of come with his shirt and ensured that the desk layout was as close to perfect as he'd ever be able to get it. It meant that he was standing up by the blackboard somewhat dazedly when he was finally through and only came to himself when Sam passed by, grabbing his hand.
"Come here."
Dean followed, mind still churning, as Sam dragged him toward a couch in the front corner of the room that definitely hadn't been there before. He went, though, looking down at Sam for a moment after he'd sat down, and just tried to make sense of bits of things on his path to getting everything aligned in his head.
"Is that couch really there?" It felt like a stupid question but a smart one at the same time, as if the tightly stitched seams of this place were starting to give a little more now.
"Of course." Sam smiled genuinely and it clenched at Dean's heart, somehow wondering if it had been a long time since he'd seen that. "Sit with me."
He was wary only for a moment, then he slid down beside his brother, looking at the yellowing stains on the bottom of his shirt.
"You did well. Mostly. I wasn't sure for a bit there, but … you did well."
Dean turned to look at Sam, jaw clenched. "Am I supposed to say 'thanks' now?"
Sam shrugged, some, smile saddening a little. "That would be nice."
Huffing out air in disbelief, Dean shook his head at his brother, brow creasing. "I can't believe you just want me to go on like nothing happened, like- … like you didn't change back there."
There was the flash of something dark in Sam's eyes for a second, but no smirk came through as his head fell back, defiant. "Oh, like you didn't?"
Dean's eyes dropped then, heart stuttering with his breath as he pushed away memories of himself whoring it up pretty spectacularly mere minutes before. "Let's just … not talk about that."
"Fine." Sam nodded curtly and took a deep breath before letting his eyes wander back to the class session in progress. The redhead was up now, soft-spoken and deferential as her voice meandered through the winding oaths of a slave.
For a moment, Dean watched Sam watch the girl, his brother's eyes occasionally flipping to the woman who'd whispered in his ear about taking care of him. It made him ache for more of the memories still lost in the ether somewhere. There was just so much that he was missing and he felt like he'd keep missing it if he didn't find it soon.
He swallowed as he spoke, quiet and uncertain. "Is that supposed to be me? I mean … is that how I'm supposed to …" feel? act? love? … surrender? "… be?"
Sam didn't look at him as he smiled sadly, almost turning away more as he shook his head. "Let's just … not talk about that."
Dean took in the soft strain written on his brother's features and felt like he'd fucked up somewhere … or maybe a lot of somewheres … and he didn't know how to fix it. So they just sat quiet, listening to a string of people repeating familiar words and others, like that pompous grey-eyed boy, swearing oaths of fealty to commanders as soldiers rather than slaves. Dean couldn't help but feel bad for whoever had to fight next to trash like that, even if he couldn't exactly remember anything about the supposed revolution that everyone seemed hell-bent on preparing for. Or … maybe it had already happened. That would rather explain all this talk of slaves and masters and hex-bound school rooms surrounded by Nothing with a capital N. His mind wouldn't let him ponder anything fully, though, and kept drawing him back into more and more boring, perplexing speeches until he felt himself nearly nodding off.
Reaching for his brother's shirt sleeve, he leaned in to try talking again, since sleeping in class was probably punishable to an even more extreme degree. "So … are we done?"
Sam's head tilting one way then the next before he turned to look at him. "Well … you still have a lot to learn." He smiled some, then, but his gaze shifted downward. "Me too, I guess."
Dean tried to keep calm by consciously steadying his breathing as his eyes swept idly over the mess of his brother's hair. "So … we're stuck here?"
"No." Sam lifted his eyes still clouded with a kind of sadness. "We'll learn more elsewhere."
Nodding, Dean spoke with a puff of a laugh despite the anxiety roiling inside him. "In this crazy school?"
"No." Sam's smile held the same sadness as his eyes, despite the wistful way he spoke. "Out in the world."
"Yeah?" Dean couldn't help but cheer up some at the thought of getting out of this bizarre place, but there were bits of him pushing him to doubt that it would truly be an improvement on his current situation.
Sam inhaled slowly and let it out with a sigh and a nod. "Later."
Dean's eyebrows lifted just a little as he nudged his brother, head jerking subtly in the direction of the door. "Why not now?"
"Just relax, alright?" Sam reached up to the side of Dean's face to brush what must have been imaginary stray hairs behind his ear with a broad smile that lit his eyes. "Give it time."
On any other day, Dean would've probably pulled away from that touch, but today, after everything, he found himself leaning into it and closing his eyes for a moment as they sat silently. His mind kept moving, though, slowly chugging its way through unanswered questions and ghosts of memories.
He didn't open his eyes at first, but eventually popped one open, squinting up at Sam. "Can you explain why there are sort of two of you here?"
"Hmm." Sam pulled Dean in, pressing a kiss to his forehead and guiding him down to lay out with his head in his lap. "We all get what we need here. Don't worry about it, okay?" He toyed with Dean's tie, fingers brushing over his shirted chest, slow and soothing. "It's all taken care of."
Dean twisted some in his recline so he could look up at his brother, unease roughening his voice more than curiosity. "What's taken care of?"
Sam just shrugged, lips quirking in a sort of smile as his fingers moved gently across Dean's abdomen and grazed over his hair. "Everything."
Sam almost sounded at peace with it all, but the fact that he hadn't really answered the question only succeeded in worrying Dean more. "What does that mean? Come on, Sam. Talk to me."
"Dean, you keep fighting." Sam's forehead creased as he shook his head sadly. "You're not there yet."
"Sam, just- … I won't, okay?" He knew his words were hasty and perhaps not entirely true, but … he didn't like Sam cutting him out like this. Again, he realized, though he still had no context, and his body tensed with frustration. "Just- … Whatever it is. Just tell me."
"Not yet. You're not ready and you don't need to know." There was an edge creeping into the peace in Sam's voice, but as his fingers left Dean's tie and moved to brush lightly over his lips, Sam's tone brightened, full of honest affection. "Don't worry. I've got you."
Dean sighed, not nearly defeated, but a little less anxious. "Sam. Seriously. I'm going crazy here. I need- …"
Sam shook his head, voice firm and fingers pressing stronger against Dean's lips. "No. I know what you need and words aren't it."
Even with the weight of Sam's hand, Dean struggled to mumble out his request. "But, Sam, this is- …"
"Shhh."
Dean felt a wave of weariness come over him, sending his eyes fluttering shut, mind buffering itself against the truths of the day with the warm darkness of coming oblivion. He felt like he was leaving, all of a sudden, like Sam's hands had been keeping him there, but now he couldn't feel them and he was going somewhere else, somewhere he didn't want to go … not without Sam.
"Sam? Sammy?" His voice was barely a murmur, but it echoed gently as if he were floating in some cavernous space.
"Trust me."
He wasn't even sure, this time, if it was a whisper in the world or in his head, but he saw the white begin to roll back in, a dense cloud of brightness covering his eyes now more than blinding them. Memories tumbled into his mind on the heels of that white as if they'd been stuffed away and straining somewhere deep behind his eyes. Others, though, ones he'd glimpsed and made here, just crawled away in silence until he couldn't reach them anymore and forgot that they were ever even there.
And as the white faded into still darkness, "trust me" faded too.
Header - One - Two - Three - Four - Five
Further Author's Notes: I labeled this dream!fic, because there isn't really a category for ambiguously dream-like fic or seems-like-it-might-be-a-dream fic. I think there are tells that go in one direction or another, and I know what I think it is, but I'd just ask you to keep in mind the source of the information, being a very confused Dean. Also, just a quick FYI. My gay girl OFC was not a reaction to S2. I was totally Kripke'd! Not my fault. Though, mind you, I think mine is better. ;)
Author: eboniorchid
Full Header for the Series
Chapter Five: Remembering and Forgetting
[059.Listless]
Sam gave a final grunt of satisfaction and tugged his cock out of Dean's mouth, tucking himself in. Then he unwound the leash from his hand and tossed it up on the desk near Dean's head with a thunk that made Dean cringe before reaching for the latch at his collar and snapping it off to stuff it all back into his pocket. Dean could feel Mr. Winchester moving behind him, too, letting his cock slip free from his hole with a long drip of come as he adjusted his clothes with a swish and a zzzip. Other than that, though, the room was utterly silent.
He could hear breathing as the two men moved away from him and wondered if he was allowed to get up yet, wondered if the students sitting mere feet behind him had enjoyed the fucking show so much they'd forgotten how to speak. Or … maybe they were just sitting there thinking about how it might be them next time. It didn't really matter, though, what they thought. He knew why he'd- … Or at least he thought he knew.
Trust me.
It hurt and it didn't make any sense and … as he pushed up from the desk and bent to pull up and fasten his pants, he felt ashamed. As he buckled his belt, not bothering to tuck in his shirt, he could feel the shifting of spunk in his ass and wondered, vaguely, if there'd be stains, if everyone would be able to tell just how recently and thoroughly he'd been fucked from discolored spots on his once pristine clothes. He kept telling himself it didn't matter, hoping that Sam was still with him, that he still … cared. It felt like he'd been wondering that a long time, though, and he wasn't sure if all this was really proof of anything.
"Clean up the mess." Mr. Winchester's voice, a breath away from his ear, nearly made Dean jump and he froze as a broad hand found his hip. "I want my desk put back just the way it was when you first walked in this morning. You understand me, whore?"
He couldn't find words for a moment, barely remembering how to breathe, but Mr. Winchester gave him no time or space to find his voice, sliding up behind him to press flush against his back.
"You're clearly not the type for idle hands, so … if you can't clean this to my satisfaction, then I'll just have to put you into service in ways that you've already proved yourself. … Know what I mean?"
Dean's eyes shut tight, but he nodded.
"Say it."
He swallowed and his breath shook, but he willed his voice into action. "Yes, sir."
Mr. Winchester didn't let him go right away, though, instead, reaching around to fiddle with the bottom front edge of Dean's untucked shirt. "You know this uniform is filthy, right, whore?"
"Yes, sir."
"I'd usually just tell you to go without, but … since you don't seem to care about the clothing that we graciously allowed you to have, why don't you just … not waste my good towels … and mop things up with this stained up junk on your back?" Mr. Winchester's voice dropped lower, hands pressing against Dean's thighs now, as he leaned in even closer until Dean could nearly feel the deep vibration of lips against his ear. "And besides … smelling like a dirty whore all day should help put things in perspective, don't you think?"
The words caught in his throat several times over as he tried not to just make things worse by pulling away from the sick heat of the teacher at his back. He wished he could see Sam, could know if he would - what? Allow this? He'd said he'd- … Sam would probably say this wasn't fucked up enough to keep him busy and have him lick things clean, like … before. Another twisted half-memory he had no context for.
"You listening to me, whore? I said, reeking like an overused slut will help you remember what you're good for, won't it?" The slick tones worming their way into his brain from Mr. Winchester's mouth sent an overwhelming urge to get away pounding into Dean's blood, but he was stuck to the spot. He was barely holding back the flock of fluttery things straining to escape from his come-filled stomach, but then there were fingers moving towards his fly and his heart sped out of control. "Or did you already forget what that was?"
"No." The word burst out of him quieter than he'd heard it in his head, but it was forceful enough to halt the progress of hands he'd only had on him much more intimately mere minutes earlier. Cleaning was better. He could- … Cleaning was better. "I'll clean … okay? Just … let me do it. I can do it."
"Good." Mr. Winchester pulled back, his hands on Dean's upper arms now. "Thought you'd come around. Wanna make Sam proud, huh?"
It was more like 'wanna keep Sam safe', but he bit anyway, voice soft. "Yes, sir."
Dean felt the teacher finally turn away from him, then, calling for the next student, some girl named Mel, to start her recitation. The soft thud of her shoes coming his way reminded Dean that he was practically center stage and he quickly surveyed the damage to figure out where exactly to start. Before he'd moved, however, he felt a light tap on his shoulder and he turned around cautiously, coming face to face with a tall brunette with wavy hair, richly copper skin, and a warm smile that actually met her eyes and even seemed to be aimed his way.
"I think you're in my spot."
"Oh. Yeah. Sorry." He ducked his head, moving to bow out towards the scattered papers behind him, but she put a hand on his arm, so he halted, eyes downcast, not wanting any more trouble.
She didn't berate him, though, just leaned in close to his ear and whispered with obvious concern. "Take care of my boy, alright? He needs you."
Dean nodded, not entirely sure what she was talking about, but assuming she meant Sam, and he met her eyes once more when she let her hand fall away, trying to remember if he knew her. Nothing came to him, though, so he just moved on over to the mess covering the floor and knelt to start stacking and corralling all the displaced items.
He heard her speech in bits and pieces as he went about working behind and below her, replacing things on the desk and trying to make sure everything looked as close to his memory of it as possible. She seemed to be in the same program Sam was in, her words some modified version of the ones Dean had heard while standing in the corner, and when he looked up and really watched her for a moment, he realized that she was talking almost directly to the redhead down front and she had that girl grinning like she'd won the lottery or something. It made him smile a bit, but it also made him wonder if he was missing a whole lot more than just the story of how all this happened. Was he supposed to have that kind of adoration for Sam? Even with everything being all twisted and fucked up like this?
The question was still the dominant one in Dean's mind as he mopped up the last drips of come with his shirt and ensured that the desk layout was as close to perfect as he'd ever be able to get it. It meant that he was standing up by the blackboard somewhat dazedly when he was finally through and only came to himself when Sam passed by, grabbing his hand.
"Come here."
Dean followed, mind still churning, as Sam dragged him toward a couch in the front corner of the room that definitely hadn't been there before. He went, though, looking down at Sam for a moment after he'd sat down, and just tried to make sense of bits of things on his path to getting everything aligned in his head.
"Is that couch really there?" It felt like a stupid question but a smart one at the same time, as if the tightly stitched seams of this place were starting to give a little more now.
"Of course." Sam smiled genuinely and it clenched at Dean's heart, somehow wondering if it had been a long time since he'd seen that. "Sit with me."
He was wary only for a moment, then he slid down beside his brother, looking at the yellowing stains on the bottom of his shirt.
"You did well. Mostly. I wasn't sure for a bit there, but … you did well."
Dean turned to look at Sam, jaw clenched. "Am I supposed to say 'thanks' now?"
Sam shrugged, some, smile saddening a little. "That would be nice."
Huffing out air in disbelief, Dean shook his head at his brother, brow creasing. "I can't believe you just want me to go on like nothing happened, like- … like you didn't change back there."
There was the flash of something dark in Sam's eyes for a second, but no smirk came through as his head fell back, defiant. "Oh, like you didn't?"
Dean's eyes dropped then, heart stuttering with his breath as he pushed away memories of himself whoring it up pretty spectacularly mere minutes before. "Let's just … not talk about that."
"Fine." Sam nodded curtly and took a deep breath before letting his eyes wander back to the class session in progress. The redhead was up now, soft-spoken and deferential as her voice meandered through the winding oaths of a slave.
For a moment, Dean watched Sam watch the girl, his brother's eyes occasionally flipping to the woman who'd whispered in his ear about taking care of him. It made him ache for more of the memories still lost in the ether somewhere. There was just so much that he was missing and he felt like he'd keep missing it if he didn't find it soon.
He swallowed as he spoke, quiet and uncertain. "Is that supposed to be me? I mean … is that how I'm supposed to …" feel? act? love? … surrender? "… be?"
Sam didn't look at him as he smiled sadly, almost turning away more as he shook his head. "Let's just … not talk about that."
Dean took in the soft strain written on his brother's features and felt like he'd fucked up somewhere … or maybe a lot of somewheres … and he didn't know how to fix it. So they just sat quiet, listening to a string of people repeating familiar words and others, like that pompous grey-eyed boy, swearing oaths of fealty to commanders as soldiers rather than slaves. Dean couldn't help but feel bad for whoever had to fight next to trash like that, even if he couldn't exactly remember anything about the supposed revolution that everyone seemed hell-bent on preparing for. Or … maybe it had already happened. That would rather explain all this talk of slaves and masters and hex-bound school rooms surrounded by Nothing with a capital N. His mind wouldn't let him ponder anything fully, though, and kept drawing him back into more and more boring, perplexing speeches until he felt himself nearly nodding off.
Reaching for his brother's shirt sleeve, he leaned in to try talking again, since sleeping in class was probably punishable to an even more extreme degree. "So … are we done?"
Sam's head tilting one way then the next before he turned to look at him. "Well … you still have a lot to learn." He smiled some, then, but his gaze shifted downward. "Me too, I guess."
Dean tried to keep calm by consciously steadying his breathing as his eyes swept idly over the mess of his brother's hair. "So … we're stuck here?"
"No." Sam lifted his eyes still clouded with a kind of sadness. "We'll learn more elsewhere."
Nodding, Dean spoke with a puff of a laugh despite the anxiety roiling inside him. "In this crazy school?"
"No." Sam's smile held the same sadness as his eyes, despite the wistful way he spoke. "Out in the world."
"Yeah?" Dean couldn't help but cheer up some at the thought of getting out of this bizarre place, but there were bits of him pushing him to doubt that it would truly be an improvement on his current situation.
Sam inhaled slowly and let it out with a sigh and a nod. "Later."
Dean's eyebrows lifted just a little as he nudged his brother, head jerking subtly in the direction of the door. "Why not now?"
"Just relax, alright?" Sam reached up to the side of Dean's face to brush what must have been imaginary stray hairs behind his ear with a broad smile that lit his eyes. "Give it time."
On any other day, Dean would've probably pulled away from that touch, but today, after everything, he found himself leaning into it and closing his eyes for a moment as they sat silently. His mind kept moving, though, slowly chugging its way through unanswered questions and ghosts of memories.
He didn't open his eyes at first, but eventually popped one open, squinting up at Sam. "Can you explain why there are sort of two of you here?"
"Hmm." Sam pulled Dean in, pressing a kiss to his forehead and guiding him down to lay out with his head in his lap. "We all get what we need here. Don't worry about it, okay?" He toyed with Dean's tie, fingers brushing over his shirted chest, slow and soothing. "It's all taken care of."
Dean twisted some in his recline so he could look up at his brother, unease roughening his voice more than curiosity. "What's taken care of?"
Sam just shrugged, lips quirking in a sort of smile as his fingers moved gently across Dean's abdomen and grazed over his hair. "Everything."
Sam almost sounded at peace with it all, but the fact that he hadn't really answered the question only succeeded in worrying Dean more. "What does that mean? Come on, Sam. Talk to me."
"Dean, you keep fighting." Sam's forehead creased as he shook his head sadly. "You're not there yet."
"Sam, just- … I won't, okay?" He knew his words were hasty and perhaps not entirely true, but … he didn't like Sam cutting him out like this. Again, he realized, though he still had no context, and his body tensed with frustration. "Just- … Whatever it is. Just tell me."
"Not yet. You're not ready and you don't need to know." There was an edge creeping into the peace in Sam's voice, but as his fingers left Dean's tie and moved to brush lightly over his lips, Sam's tone brightened, full of honest affection. "Don't worry. I've got you."
Dean sighed, not nearly defeated, but a little less anxious. "Sam. Seriously. I'm going crazy here. I need- …"
Sam shook his head, voice firm and fingers pressing stronger against Dean's lips. "No. I know what you need and words aren't it."
Even with the weight of Sam's hand, Dean struggled to mumble out his request. "But, Sam, this is- …"
"Shhh."
Dean felt a wave of weariness come over him, sending his eyes fluttering shut, mind buffering itself against the truths of the day with the warm darkness of coming oblivion. He felt like he was leaving, all of a sudden, like Sam's hands had been keeping him there, but now he couldn't feel them and he was going somewhere else, somewhere he didn't want to go … not without Sam.
"Sam? Sammy?" His voice was barely a murmur, but it echoed gently as if he were floating in some cavernous space.
"Trust me."
He wasn't even sure, this time, if it was a whisper in the world or in his head, but he saw the white begin to roll back in, a dense cloud of brightness covering his eyes now more than blinding them. Memories tumbled into his mind on the heels of that white as if they'd been stuffed away and straining somewhere deep behind his eyes. Others, though, ones he'd glimpsed and made here, just crawled away in silence until he couldn't reach them anymore and forgot that they were ever even there.
And as the white faded into still darkness, "trust me" faded too.
Header - One - Two - Three - Four - Five
Further Author's Notes: I labeled this dream!fic, because there isn't really a category for ambiguously dream-like fic or seems-like-it-might-be-a-dream fic. I think there are tells that go in one direction or another, and I know what I think it is, but I'd just ask you to keep in mind the source of the information, being a very confused Dean. Also, just a quick FYI. My gay girl OFC was not a reaction to S2. I was totally Kripke'd! Not my fault. Though, mind you, I think mine is better. ;)