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gilascaveTitle: Heart's Desire IV: Where I Lay My Head is Home
Sequel to: Heart's Desire III: I Wanna Drive It All Night Long
Authors: Wolfling![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wolfling and James zortified
Pairing: Sam/Dean (Wincest)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 29,000 (story total)
Warnings: sex. angst. the usual.
Spoilers: Woman in White
Summary: Home is where the heart is.
Authors' Notes: Many thanks again towesleysgirl for awesome beta even if we did use 'towards.' And, bwahahaha! You had to put commas back in!
This is the fourth story in the Heart's Desire series. This story will be posted in parts. This is the first part.
*No longer cut off in midword. ;-) This is the full scene.
Anywhere I roam
Where I lay my head is home
-Wherever I May Roam - Metallica
part one
Dean pulled out the Apartment Finder's booklet, the newspaper, and the sheaf of printouts from the library, and tried not to think ungrateful things about his brother's need to be over-prepared. It was one thing to know what you were getting into when dealing with something that might kill you or possess your car, but this was, in Dean's opinion, a little ridiculous.
"It's that one," Sam said helpfully, leaning over and pointing out a listing circled in red. "I called ahead, the landlady should be waiting to show it to us."
"Why couldn't we just live in the motel?" Dean groused, though he knew perfectly well what Sam's response to that would be. He pulled the keys out of the ignition, giving the car a short pat on the dashboard in sheer defiance of the way Sam always smirked at him when he "fondled" the car.
Just like he was smirking now, in fact. "An apartment's more secure than a motel room," Sam said patiently, giving one of a number of reasons he'd repeated over the last couple of days.
"No, really?" Dean didn't bother making it sound like he wasn't being sarcastic. "I bet it's cheaper, too." Not that he'd really argued, but Sam had gone on and on about all the reasons why they couldn't just live in the motel. For a few days it didn't matter if they used a fake credit card, but for long term it had to be real money, which meant real cash.
Sam's full ride would help, but Dean agreed that paying motel rates for months on end was just stupid.
It wasn't that he really minded living in an apartment. It was the getting that made him want to drive back to Iowa and help dad clear out a house of ghosts and not come back until Sam said he'd signed the papers.
Sam sighed. "I know you hate this, Dean. If you really want me to, I can do it myself..."
"I don't hate it," he said quickly. He'd been fielding Sam's questions and looks all summer. Dean, do you really mean it. Dean, you don't have to go with me. Dean, are you sure. He didn't want Sam to think he'd been lying all those times he'd insisted this was what he wanted to do.
It was just so tedious. Why couldn't they just pick one in a good price range, and be done with it? It was pretty much what he and dad always did, other than sweep the area with the EMF meter. So why did Sam have to look at every single available apartment in town? With it being a college town, and them being here three weeks before the semester started, that added up to a lot of apartments.
"But you don't like it," Sam countered. He sighed. "Okay, I'll make you a deal -- we look at the three we were planning on going to today and unless they're all completely unworkable, we pick one of those. No more looking."
The offer completely surprised him. There were over a dozen Sam had circled, maybe even two dozen. Dean felt bad about being quite so obvious about his displeasure. "We can look at more than three," he said. "We've got plenty of time to find a place."
"If we decide on a place early, then we've got plenty of time for other things." Sam grinned.
"Shopping for furniture?" Dean said it with dread in his voice, even if he didn't actually mind that part. Testing out chairs and sofas they couldn't possibly afford, lounging in the leather chairs with the massage motors....
"Maybe. We could... test some mattresses."
"In the store?" Dean acted like he was shocked at the idea. Really, though, his cock was reminding him that for the last freaking month, dad had been with them. An entire month. Between Dad staying home with them or taking them both on hunts, Dean hadn't had Sam alone until two nights ago, when they'd finally reached the motel here in Palo Alto.
They hadn't got much sleep the last couple of nights.
"Well, maybe not in the store," Sam allowed. "Though... that might be a unique way of getting a discount."
Dean opened his mouth before he slapped his brain into gear. He knew ways to get discounts, and pretty damn good ones too, if he said so himself. Just not out loud, because he really didn't want to deal with Sam being all sad-puppy-eyed at him.
"Let's go look at this place before the landlady gives it to someone else," he said, getting out of the car. All the papers and whatnots slipped to the floorboards.
"Dean!" Sam scrambled over to try and catch the papers before they hit the floor and got all mixed up. After a moment of trying to reorder them, he gave up, shooting Dean a glare as he stuffed them in the new backpack Dad had bought him for school and got out of the car.
"What?" Dean shoved his hands into his pockets, glaring back, not really sure what bug had crawled up his brother's butt.
"We need those papers," Sam told him, exasperated, but not to the point of using his growly voice yet. "Unless you're planning on taking this place sight unseen."
"We don't need them in order to look at this place." Dean was pretty sure they didn't, at any rate. But he decided not to bother arguing with Sam about it, because otherwise they'd be standing out here for half an hour and not getting on with finding a place to live.
From the glare Sam gave him, he thought maybe a little damage control would do some good, so he walked over and grabbed his brother's jacket and tugged him in for a quick kiss. Sam stiffened for a second; neither of them were really used to being able to act like a couple in public yet. But it only took a second for him to relax into the kiss, even going so far as to slide a hand behind Dean's neck.
"We gonna go look at this place, sweetheart?" Dean asked, smirking a little at the look in Sam's eyes. They'd already agreed that it would be easier to let people assume they were lovers, not brothers, and Dean had his wallet filled with cards and ID that said his name was Dean Watkins. They hadn't had any chance to really test the idea that they could act this way in public, but Dean was looking forward to getting them both used to it.
As long as Dad didn't show up unannounced.
"Jerk," Sam said, but he said it with a smile. "Come on, we don't want to keep Mrs. Froson waiting."
"Bitch." Dean let go of Sam and headed towards the front doors to the apartment building. It was a converted house, a big one, that had been divided into several apartments. Dean had no idea which one was the empty one, but the building itself looked welcoming. The lawn out front wasn't huge, but it was big enough for grass and a flower bed, and the entire front walk was lined with some kind of scraggly flowering bush.
Unlike a lot of places Dean had lived, the paint wasn't peeling, and the windows looked in good repair. Most of the cars in the little parking area were cheap and old, but decent enough -- students lived here, he figured. Which made sense; that was what they were doing here, themselves.
Sam led the way inside and to the first apartment on the right and knocked. The door was immediately opened by a middle aged woman with salt and pepper hair pulled back into a pony tail and glasses perched on the end of her nose. Dean smiled automatically, cheerful and charming. She dimpled back at him, eyes glittering with amusement.
"I'm Dean, this is Sam," he said, though he was fairly sure the introduction wasn't necessary.
"And you're here to look at the apartment," she replied, smiling at them. "You boys are punctual, I'll give you that."
"We're pretty quiet, too," Dean said, giving her a sincere grin. Not that Sam had been all that quiet last night, but she didn't need that many details.
"Let me just get the keys and I'll take you up," she said, disappearing back inside for a moment and leaving them alone in the hallway.
"Dude, you're not flirting with her, are you?" Sam asked, turning a suspicious eye on him.
Surprised, Dean just said, "Of course I'm flirting with her."
"Dean, you can't flirt with our potential landlady!" Sam told him, keeping his voice low but still dripping with exasperation.
"Of course I can! Dude, if we want the place it'll help if she likes us. Thinks we're friendly." He grinned, then thought maybe Sam was thinking something else. He lowered his voice and hissed, "I'm not going to sleep with her, if that's what you're thinking."
Sam rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to say something else, but at that point Mrs. Froson came back, holding up the key.
"Here we are," she said, stepping out into the hallway and closing her apartment door behind here. "Now you boys just follow me and I'll show you where it is."
Dean gave her a smile -- deliberately making it as flirtatious as he could without making any promises he wasn't going to keep. As she turned to lead them to the apartment, Dean whacked his brother on the arm.
She led them down the hall and up two sets of stairs, the first wide and airy, the second set narrow and steep. At the top of the second set was a door; she put the key into the lock and turned it.
When she glanced back at them as she stepped through the door, Dean gave her an innocent, friendly smile. When her back was turned, he gave Sam a scowl. Not because Sam was up to anything, but because he was doing his 'I'm the Good Son, See How Well I Behave' act.
As if anyone who knew Sam for more than...well.. a few years, would believe it.
Dean scowled at him harder.
As they went up the last few steps, Sam kicked him in the shin. Hard. "Sorry," he said with a completely unbelievable smile. "Narrow stairs."
At least he was acting normally again, Dean thought, even as the pain in his shin made him wince. But they followed Mrs. Froson into the apartment like nothing was wrong, and looked around. It was large, and Dean realised it was a studio: just one large, single room. The kitchen was stuck in a corner, and two doors on opposite sides of the room were probably bathroom and closet.
They couldn't even pretend they weren't sleeping together. Dean glanced over at Sam, wondering if Sam had bothered checking for this sort of thing when he'd made his list. Of course, this was Sam so he'd probably not only checked for that sort of thing but also the entire history of a property going back to when it was built.
"Appliances come with the place," Mrs. Froson was saying, leading them into the kitchen area. "Utilities and garbage are all included with the rent, you pay your own phone and cable. Oh, but we do have internet -- there's wifi all through the house. General rule is no pets, but I've been known to bend it from time to time."
Dean looked around, and, despite knowing the answer, couldn't help but ask, "The house ever been haunted?"
"What?" The look she gave him was reassuringly disbelieving.
Dean gave her his most charming and disarming smile. "I've just always been interested in stuff like that. Spent some time in New Orleans, and everyone says their homes have ghosts. You know." He shrugged, as though dismissing the silly things people would believe.
He didn't even have to look over at Sam to know what his brother was thinking. But that was all right; Dean owed him for the bruise on his shin.
Sam had moved away from Dean and the landlady, walking the length of the place like he was taking its measurements or something. Which left Dean to chat with the landlady, something he was more than happy to do. He had no idea what the rent was on this place, but he and dad had never once actually paid a security deposit since Dean was six years old and knew what dad meant when he said "look hungry."
He ambled towards Mrs. Froson, making it look like his attention was all on the kitchen and its amenities. He poked and prodded, opened doors and checked the fridge -- discovering it was actually clean and didn't smell of anything, which automatically gave the place bonus points.
All the while he kept up a steady stream of polite conversation, asking Mrs. Froson about the neighborhood, the other tenants, the apartment. Never completely venturing into personal questions, but making it perfectly clear he was interested in listening to anything she had to say.
He smiled, and looked at her eyes when she talked, and looked at the apartment when he asked questions about it. He laughed when she made a joke, and made a similar one himself, keeping it almost as clean as her own had been, but just a tiny bit racier.
She smiled, and rolled her eyes --- Dean figured she knew what guys were like, and she clearly didn't mind their antics. As long as they didn't bring the bloody axes and evil spirits home with them, he amended.
Sam eventually ambled back over to them and worked his own brand of charm on Mrs. Froson, smiling so his dimple showed and being all yes m'am and no m'am and just generally giving off an air that seemed to make women want to take him in and feed him.
Which was perfectly all right with Dean -- if she popped by with plates of cookies and casseroles and whatever else, he would be perfectly happy to help Sam eat them. And even if Sam was a bitch and didn't share, it would still put a dent in their grocery budget.
Finally they'd seen everything they could possibly hope to see, and they told her they'd have to think it over. Had more places to see, and they'd call as soon as they could. Then they headed back downstairs, and Dean waved goodbye as she watched them walk back to their car.
"So what did you think?" Sam asked.
"I think she likes older guys, and would rather adopt us -- she'll feed you at least once a week if you even look like you might be starving. She won't offer to help with laundry -- but anything that needs fixing around the house we can offer to do, and probably get a cut in the rent."
Sam laughed. "I meant about the place, not the landlady," he said, bumping hips affectionately as they walked. "Though you're probably right on all of that."
Grinning at the sound of Sam's laugh, Dean asked, "Did it seem a little... lofty?"
Truthfully he had no opinion one way or another on the apartment itself. It was clean, had no sign of hauntings, and Sam had already said that the police reports for the neighborhood were fairly rare. Add to that the presence of a landlady who would almost definitely feed them, and he couldn't think of anything bad to say about the place.
"I like that, though," Sam was saying. "Makes it feel like it has more space. And with all those windows, it's really sunny in there. Cheerful, y'know?" He grinned at Dean. "Besides, it's not like we're not used to living in one room. This one just won't be in a motel."
"You don't think Mrs. Froson will provide us with little bottles of shampoo?" Dean asked, getting into the car and running his hand across the steering wheel to say hello.
"Does it matter?" Sam asked as he climbed into the passenger seat. "You always use that expensive stuff anyway." He reached over and teasingly ran his fingers through Dean's hair.
He jerked his head away from Sam's hand, not because he didn't love it when Sam touched him, but because if he didn't, his brother would assume he could just fondle Dean whenever the hell he wanted.
Which, okay, he could. But Dean was obligated not to make it easy for him. They might be having sex, but they were still brothers, and some things took precedence. "I don't use expensive shampoo," he protested, despite the fact there was no way in hell he could get away with the assertion.
Sam gave him a 'yeah, right' look. "Dean, you buy it at a salon. That pretty much defines 'expensive shampoo'."
"It's the only thing that works!" He glared at Sam, knowing that the next thing would be Sam teasing him about caring what worked for his hair, much less knowing to find it at a salon.
"Of course it is," Sam fake soothed, not quite hiding his smirk.
He took a moment to thump Sam on the arm, hard as he could -- almost. Then he pulled the Impala out of its parking spot and turned it towards the road, listening for a moment to the sound of its engine. She was running good, feeling fine. She wasn't the only one.
Sam rummaged in his backpack and pulled out the papers he'd picked up from the car floor earlier. "You know where to go?" he asked, as he began putting them back in order.
"Not a clue," Dean said, just to rile Sam up. He pulled onto the road going the right direction and waited to see if Sam would give him directions or a smartass remark.
"That's why you don't toss papers away when you might still need them," Sam said, speaking as if to a particularly slow child, then in his normal voice added, "Take a left up here."
"Left where? You sure?" Dean waited until it was almost too late, then slowed down and took the turn. Then he flipped Sam off and said, "Then I turn right at the second light, drive two miles and it's on the left? That's the next one?"
"Bite me."
"I'm driving," Dean complained. "No fair you telling me your kinks while I'm busy driving."
Sam gave him the finger.
Dean sounded out the meaning of the gesture, mouthing the words clearly, but as though he wasn't quite sure what they meant. Then suddenly he said, "You want to fuck me?" as though the concept was totally new.
Ignoring the fact he'd been wanting the same thing for months -- years -- and wanting to fuck Sam as well. But every time he thought he could do it, he chickened out. Sam only ever asked if he wanted to, but never pressed him when Dean said no.
There was silence from the other side of the car for a long moment. Then Sam finally muttered, "No fair doing that to me when I'm being righteously annoyed with you."
"Righteously? Righteously? Dude, you have to be right before you can be righteous. Didn't they teach you anything at that school of yours?"
"I'm right about you being a jerk."
"Am not." It was the lamest comeback Dean had ever used, but he used it every so often, just because.
"You're also five."
Dean scowled, hard. "Am not," he said, as sulkily as he could. If he'd had his brother's ability to pout, he would have done that, as well.
Sam chuckled. "Yeah, and that's really proving it."
Dean gave him a grin, then said in a normal tone of voice, "Then I want something to suck on."
"No fair telling me your kinks when you're busy driving," Sam parroted back at him almost primly.
Dean just laughed. He pulled the car through an intersection, then spotted what looked like the right apartment complex. He drove up, saw the sign, and pulled over to park beside the curb. "Hey, is this--"
On the other side of the car, Sam whimpered.
Dean looked over at the passenger seat to see Sam staring out the windshield at the building, though the glazed look in his eyes made Dean doubt he was actually seeing it. He was also white as a sheet and trembling, as if there was a current running through him.
Without really thinking about it, Dean scooted over and pulled his brother towards him, turning Sam's head so he wasn't looking at the building. He tucked his arms around his brother, and whispered -- anything. It didn't matter, just reaching out to someone who clearly wasn't really hearing him.
He knew what it had to be -- a vision, or memory, or whatever the fuck it was. Dean felt a cold punch to his gut, remembering the last time Sam had gone so pale. Someone had died, that time -- himself, he figured. The car crash Sammy refused to talk about.
Dean wondered who had died in this apartment building.
It seemed like forever before Sam's arms slid around him in return, holding tightly as he took a deep, shaky breath.
He kept whispering to Sam, reassurances that might or might not be true. He just kept talking to him, giving Sam something to hold onto that wasn't...whatever he was seeing inside his head.
Finally Sam nodded and pulled back a little, although to say he was still shaken up would have been a huge understatement. "Sorry," he said in a raspy voice.
"It's okay," Dean whispered, and he gave Sam a light kiss. He said it again, brushing his fingers through Sam's hair, pushing his bangs out of his eyes. He didn't -- couldn't -- stop touching Sam, running his fingers lightly, rubbing and caressing his face. He wanted to keep doing it until the pain in his brother's eyes went completely away, but he was afraid of just how long that would be.
Sam leaned into the touches, eyes fluttering closed, then springing back open immediately as if he didn't want to see what was behind his eyelids.
Dean stared at him, catching Sam's eyes. He kept Sam focused on him, looking at him until some of the panic seemed to dim. "You okay?" he asked, knowing that the answer couldn't really be 'yes.'
"I...uh..." Sam gave a little half laugh, though it was as far from amused as it could be. "I'm not sure."
"What do you need?"
Sam opened and closed his mouth a couple of times before saying, "Away from here."
"Okay." Dean nodded; it made sense, if whatever vision Sam had was triggered by the apartment building, or one of the ones nearby. Dean sat back in the seat and pulled away from the curb as quickly as he could. He had no idea where to go, but figured 'away' would be good enough.
It seemed to be because after a few minutes, Sam seemed to relax a little, leaning back against the seat wearily. "Guess I don't have to tell you I had another vision flash, huh?"
"I thought as much," Dean said, gently. "Seemed like a pretty bad one, too."
Sam gave another of those half laughs. "Yeah, you could say that." He paused. "I lived there. Or would have lived there."
It took Dean a moment to figure that one out -- he knew Sam had remembered his future, or possible future, or... well, that part of the whole thing didn't exactly make sense to Dean. But he realised what Sam was talking about before he said anything stupid.
He wasn't really sure what to say, though. He settled for reaching over and squeezing his brother's shoulder, trying for soothing.
"You remember that blonde I told you about? That I saw in the flashes about college?" Sam asked, staring out the windshield.
"Yeah." There hadn't been much about her -- Dean knew she'd been Sam's girlfriend, and that it had apparently been serious. In all the times they'd talked about plans for moving to Palo Alto, for Sam to attend Stanford, he'd never mentioned finding her. Dean had figured it was because, well, he and Sam were together. But apparently there was more.
"She died there." Sam's voice dropped down to barely a whisper as he added, "Like Mom."
Dean gripped the steering wheel, hard, and concentrated on not driving into oncoming traffic. "The fuck?" He almost continued shouting, demanding to know why he hadn't shared that piece of information before. But he knew his brother didn't always get everything from his visions the first time. Maybe he hadn't remembered until now.
Still. Dean took a deep breath and found a parking lot, some suburban strip mall thing, and he pulled into it and parked. Sam was staring out the windshield, sitting unnaturally still aside from a muscle twitching in his jaw. He looked terrified but was trying to hide it.
Dean turned to him, pulling one knee up on the benchseat and wanting...he didn't know what. To pull Sam towards him and tell him it wasn't real.
There was no way he could say that.
He swallowed, and asked, "When you say like mom, you mean... the demon?"
"She was on the ceiling." Sam wouldn't look at him, still hadn't moved at all. "I was lying on the bed and something dripped on me and I opened my eyes and she was on the ceiling."
Dean didn't remember much about the night mom died. He hadn't seen anything except flames and his dad putting Sam into his arms, then he'd run, gripped with the fear that he would trip on the stairs and drop his baby brother and break him -- then it was all outside and the fire trucks and dad saying things about mom that didn't make any sense.
But he knew what had happened. And what Sam was saying was exactly what dad had described. He reached out and grabbed Sam's collar and yanked him over, scooting forward to catch him. Sam clung to him like his sanity depended on it. This close Dean could feel how he was trembling with barely controlled fear.
The bitch of it was, there was nothing Dean could say to make it better. They'd been hunting the demon practically all their lives, and yet Dean had no clue how they were supposed to find and destroy it. Somehow, through the years of hunting, Dean had let himself think of the demon as something abstract -- a goal they'd never reach, but also something they'd never again be threatened by.
"We need to call dad," he said, making a decision.
He felt Sam stiffen. "No."
"What?" Dean pulled back, just enough to look at Sam without letting go of him. "Sam, he has to know about the demon--"
"No," Sam said again, shaking his head in denial.
"Sam," Dean said, firmly. He reached up and took hold of Sam's chin, turning his head to face Dean. It was on the tip of his tongue to say they had to -- and he was hit with the full impact of the fear in Sam's eyes. "Sammy, it'll be okay," he said instead.
"It's me. It wasn't just a random... Twice is a pattern. It's because of me."
"You don't know that," Dean said sharply. "You said yourself you don't get everything in these visions. How do you know it isn't happening other places, to other people?" He knew he was grasping at straws. But better anything than to listen to his brother blame himself for what the demon had done.
"You think it's just a coincidence?" The disdain dripping from Sam's voice was sharp enough to cut.
"I think we don't know enough about what the demon wants to be able to guess," Dean said, trying hard to stay calm. "You were six months old when mom died. How could you have had anything to do with that?"
"It was over my crib. Her blood dripped on me. And now... it was the exact same thing, Dean. The exact. Either it has something to do with me or I've got the worst luck in the universe."
"So, maybe it has something to do with you -- but that doesn't make it your fault. It isn't because of you." Dean wanted to shake his little brother -- shake some sense into him. But he knew from experience that wouldn't work. "Look, it won't even matter anyway, because you aren't going to be living with this girl."
Dean heard the half-formed thought underneath his anger. Once Sam met her, things might change. He'd loved her once -- who was to say he wouldn't fall in love again?
"I know that," Sam said, and the certainty in his voice went a long way to quiet those not quite buried fears. "It's not her I'm worried about. If this thing is really... focused on me, then anyone close to me could be..."
It only took a second for Dean to see where Sam was going. "Then why hasn't it gone after dad or come after me?"
"Yet." Sam stared out of the window, refusing to look at him.
"So what has it been waiting for, for eighteen years? How long did you know this girl, before it...went after her?" He swallowed the word 'killed.' No need to throw Sam back into that horrible, shocked silence.
"I don't know. Long enough to be living with her. But Dean-"
"But what? You've been living with me and dad all your life and the demon hasn't come after either of us. And I'm pretty damn sure we're close."
Of course, it hadn't been that long since he and Sam had.... If that were what counted as 'close', then reasonably the demon could be coming after Dean soon.
"It hasn't come after either of you yet. At least that we know of. But what if..." Sam trailed off for a second, and when he continued, he seemed less panicked and more focused. "Dad knows how to protect against demons -- didn't matter where we were, most nights we were sleeping behind protective barriers of some kind. Maybe it hasn't come after you because it can't get to you?"
"Wouldn't you have done the same thing for this girl? You were living with her, Sam. You wouldn't leave yourself open to that kind of an attack."
Which only meant that the sorts of protections Sam knew -- would have known -- weren't enough. So whatever Dad did for them, either wasn't enough and the demon had just never paid them any attention, or... Dean's head hurt. But, thank god, Sam was talking with him, listening and arguing back instead of looking like he was about to pass out, or lose his mind.
"I... don't think..." Sam was frowning, his eyes growing distant again as he searched his mind for something. When he spoke again, there was an air of sadness, but thankfully not panic. "I don't think I did use protections," he said softly. "I was trying to be normal. Normal people don't pour salt over door and window thresholds or draw protective runes on the floor."
Dean looked at him for a long moment. So much his brother wanted, so much he was never going to get. Dean knew what being 'normal' meant to Sam. How often, growing up, Sam had begged, fought, and argued for normal things that dad couldn't give them.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, because -- he still couldn't have them. He probably never would.
That brought Sam's eyes back to him, looking startled. Then he smiled. It was small, but a real smile. "You can pretend, but you can't really be anything but what you are," he said. "It took me a while to figure that out, y'know," he gestured at his head, meaning in the visions, "before. But here and now, I get it."
"You don't want normal, anymore?" Dean wasn't sure he believed it, but -- what kind of person took his brother to bed, and still pretended to be like regular people?
"I want to find my normal. I'm pretty sure it's not going to be like anybody else's." He gave Dean a considering look. "Well, maybe yours."
"I don't have normal," Dean said, without thinking. He put his hand on Sam's cheek and let himself just look. Sam was calm, now, though he was still upset -- perfectly reasonably, Dean allowed. But the crisis seemed to have blown over for now. He brushed his thumb along Sam's cheek, and wanted nothing more than to just kiss him and forget about everything else.
So he did.
Sam made that soft sound he always made when being kissed was exactly what he needed and pressed closer. Dean smiled into the kiss, and held his brother.
When Sam pulled back, he closed his eyes and rested his head on Dean's shoulder. "I'm still scared," he confessed.
He wished, fiercely, that he could tell Sam not to be. That the monsters were just dreams and there was nothing to fear in the dark. "I'm sorry," he said again, because it simply wasn't fair that anyone, especially his brother, had to know that evil could strike so close.
Sam nodded without raising his head, the movement brushing his hair against Dean's neck. "I'm not so scared with you."
"Well then, it's a good thing you've got me," Dean said, lightly. Breezing through the words like his heart hadn't just clenched and threatened to stop beating. He sat back in the driver's seat and gave Sam a grin. "Hey! Del Taco!" He'd spotted the fast food place across the strip mall and suddenly lunch seemed like a great distraction.
Sam just stared at him. "Now?"
Dean shrugged, realising belatedly that Sam might not be all that interested in food. But backing down would mean admitting that, which would mean talking about it more, which would risk making Sam get that look in his eyes while he remembered seeing his girlfriend die. "Fish tacos," he said, determinedly. "And you can get a burger."
Sam wrinkled his nose and said distinctly, "Eww."
Dean gave him a hurt look. "Sam, fish tacos. Fish, in a taco shell."
"What part of 'eww' is not getting through?"
With a pleading look, Dean repeated, "Sam, it's fish. In a taco shell. With salsa and lettuce and a lime and you can get fries!" He had a pretty good idea how much more he could say before his little brother turned green and threw up in the car. Close, but not there yet.
"If I throw up, I'm going to aim for you," Sam warned.
"No throwing up in my car," Dean declared. "Ever. For any reason. You open the door and jump out at 75, if you have to." He waited, then said, "Tartar sauce, I bet. The secret sauce on the taco."
He was ready for a lot of reactions from Sam, but his brother leaning over, grabbing him by the ears, and kissing him senseless wasn't one of them. It did shut him up, Dean admitted. It also made him think now was no time for fish tacos. Well, almost not -- talking about them had made him hungry. But being kissed like it was the only way to shut him up was a hell of a lot better than a taco.
When Sam let his mouth go, but not, Dean noticed, any of the rest of him, Dean asked, "Wanna head back to the motel?"
One side of Sam's mouth quirked up into a half smile. "Yeah."
He thought about their plans -- not the second apartment, fuck no, but the third, and the dozen more Sam had circled.... Dean looked at Sam, and thought it over. "Do you want to call Mrs. Froson and ask her for the apartment?"
Sam hesitated for a moment, then nodded and pulled out his cell phone.
~~~
on to part two
Sequel to: Heart's Desire III: I Wanna Drive It All Night Long
Authors: Wolfling
wolfling and James zortifiedPairing: Sam/Dean (Wincest)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 29,000 (story total)
Warnings: sex. angst. the usual.
Spoilers: Woman in White
Summary: Home is where the heart is.
Authors' Notes: Many thanks again to
wesleysgirl for awesome beta even if we did use 'towards.' And, bwahahaha! You had to put commas back in! This is the fourth story in the Heart's Desire series. This story will be posted in parts. This is the first part.
*No longer cut off in midword. ;-) This is the full scene.
Anywhere I roam
Where I lay my head is home
-Wherever I May Roam - Metallica
part one
Dean pulled out the Apartment Finder's booklet, the newspaper, and the sheaf of printouts from the library, and tried not to think ungrateful things about his brother's need to be over-prepared. It was one thing to know what you were getting into when dealing with something that might kill you or possess your car, but this was, in Dean's opinion, a little ridiculous.
"It's that one," Sam said helpfully, leaning over and pointing out a listing circled in red. "I called ahead, the landlady should be waiting to show it to us."
"Why couldn't we just live in the motel?" Dean groused, though he knew perfectly well what Sam's response to that would be. He pulled the keys out of the ignition, giving the car a short pat on the dashboard in sheer defiance of the way Sam always smirked at him when he "fondled" the car.
Just like he was smirking now, in fact. "An apartment's more secure than a motel room," Sam said patiently, giving one of a number of reasons he'd repeated over the last couple of days.
"No, really?" Dean didn't bother making it sound like he wasn't being sarcastic. "I bet it's cheaper, too." Not that he'd really argued, but Sam had gone on and on about all the reasons why they couldn't just live in the motel. For a few days it didn't matter if they used a fake credit card, but for long term it had to be real money, which meant real cash.
Sam's full ride would help, but Dean agreed that paying motel rates for months on end was just stupid.
It wasn't that he really minded living in an apartment. It was the getting that made him want to drive back to Iowa and help dad clear out a house of ghosts and not come back until Sam said he'd signed the papers.
Sam sighed. "I know you hate this, Dean. If you really want me to, I can do it myself..."
"I don't hate it," he said quickly. He'd been fielding Sam's questions and looks all summer. Dean, do you really mean it. Dean, you don't have to go with me. Dean, are you sure. He didn't want Sam to think he'd been lying all those times he'd insisted this was what he wanted to do.
It was just so tedious. Why couldn't they just pick one in a good price range, and be done with it? It was pretty much what he and dad always did, other than sweep the area with the EMF meter. So why did Sam have to look at every single available apartment in town? With it being a college town, and them being here three weeks before the semester started, that added up to a lot of apartments.
"But you don't like it," Sam countered. He sighed. "Okay, I'll make you a deal -- we look at the three we were planning on going to today and unless they're all completely unworkable, we pick one of those. No more looking."
The offer completely surprised him. There were over a dozen Sam had circled, maybe even two dozen. Dean felt bad about being quite so obvious about his displeasure. "We can look at more than three," he said. "We've got plenty of time to find a place."
"If we decide on a place early, then we've got plenty of time for other things." Sam grinned.
"Shopping for furniture?" Dean said it with dread in his voice, even if he didn't actually mind that part. Testing out chairs and sofas they couldn't possibly afford, lounging in the leather chairs with the massage motors....
"Maybe. We could... test some mattresses."
"In the store?" Dean acted like he was shocked at the idea. Really, though, his cock was reminding him that for the last freaking month, dad had been with them. An entire month. Between Dad staying home with them or taking them both on hunts, Dean hadn't had Sam alone until two nights ago, when they'd finally reached the motel here in Palo Alto.
They hadn't got much sleep the last couple of nights.
"Well, maybe not in the store," Sam allowed. "Though... that might be a unique way of getting a discount."
Dean opened his mouth before he slapped his brain into gear. He knew ways to get discounts, and pretty damn good ones too, if he said so himself. Just not out loud, because he really didn't want to deal with Sam being all sad-puppy-eyed at him.
"Let's go look at this place before the landlady gives it to someone else," he said, getting out of the car. All the papers and whatnots slipped to the floorboards.
"Dean!" Sam scrambled over to try and catch the papers before they hit the floor and got all mixed up. After a moment of trying to reorder them, he gave up, shooting Dean a glare as he stuffed them in the new backpack Dad had bought him for school and got out of the car.
"What?" Dean shoved his hands into his pockets, glaring back, not really sure what bug had crawled up his brother's butt.
"We need those papers," Sam told him, exasperated, but not to the point of using his growly voice yet. "Unless you're planning on taking this place sight unseen."
"We don't need them in order to look at this place." Dean was pretty sure they didn't, at any rate. But he decided not to bother arguing with Sam about it, because otherwise they'd be standing out here for half an hour and not getting on with finding a place to live.
From the glare Sam gave him, he thought maybe a little damage control would do some good, so he walked over and grabbed his brother's jacket and tugged him in for a quick kiss. Sam stiffened for a second; neither of them were really used to being able to act like a couple in public yet. But it only took a second for him to relax into the kiss, even going so far as to slide a hand behind Dean's neck.
"We gonna go look at this place, sweetheart?" Dean asked, smirking a little at the look in Sam's eyes. They'd already agreed that it would be easier to let people assume they were lovers, not brothers, and Dean had his wallet filled with cards and ID that said his name was Dean Watkins. They hadn't had any chance to really test the idea that they could act this way in public, but Dean was looking forward to getting them both used to it.
As long as Dad didn't show up unannounced.
"Jerk," Sam said, but he said it with a smile. "Come on, we don't want to keep Mrs. Froson waiting."
"Bitch." Dean let go of Sam and headed towards the front doors to the apartment building. It was a converted house, a big one, that had been divided into several apartments. Dean had no idea which one was the empty one, but the building itself looked welcoming. The lawn out front wasn't huge, but it was big enough for grass and a flower bed, and the entire front walk was lined with some kind of scraggly flowering bush.
Unlike a lot of places Dean had lived, the paint wasn't peeling, and the windows looked in good repair. Most of the cars in the little parking area were cheap and old, but decent enough -- students lived here, he figured. Which made sense; that was what they were doing here, themselves.
Sam led the way inside and to the first apartment on the right and knocked. The door was immediately opened by a middle aged woman with salt and pepper hair pulled back into a pony tail and glasses perched on the end of her nose. Dean smiled automatically, cheerful and charming. She dimpled back at him, eyes glittering with amusement.
"I'm Dean, this is Sam," he said, though he was fairly sure the introduction wasn't necessary.
"And you're here to look at the apartment," she replied, smiling at them. "You boys are punctual, I'll give you that."
"We're pretty quiet, too," Dean said, giving her a sincere grin. Not that Sam had been all that quiet last night, but she didn't need that many details.
"Let me just get the keys and I'll take you up," she said, disappearing back inside for a moment and leaving them alone in the hallway.
"Dude, you're not flirting with her, are you?" Sam asked, turning a suspicious eye on him.
Surprised, Dean just said, "Of course I'm flirting with her."
"Dean, you can't flirt with our potential landlady!" Sam told him, keeping his voice low but still dripping with exasperation.
"Of course I can! Dude, if we want the place it'll help if she likes us. Thinks we're friendly." He grinned, then thought maybe Sam was thinking something else. He lowered his voice and hissed, "I'm not going to sleep with her, if that's what you're thinking."
Sam rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to say something else, but at that point Mrs. Froson came back, holding up the key.
"Here we are," she said, stepping out into the hallway and closing her apartment door behind here. "Now you boys just follow me and I'll show you where it is."
Dean gave her a smile -- deliberately making it as flirtatious as he could without making any promises he wasn't going to keep. As she turned to lead them to the apartment, Dean whacked his brother on the arm.
She led them down the hall and up two sets of stairs, the first wide and airy, the second set narrow and steep. At the top of the second set was a door; she put the key into the lock and turned it.
When she glanced back at them as she stepped through the door, Dean gave her an innocent, friendly smile. When her back was turned, he gave Sam a scowl. Not because Sam was up to anything, but because he was doing his 'I'm the Good Son, See How Well I Behave' act.
As if anyone who knew Sam for more than...well.. a few years, would believe it.
Dean scowled at him harder.
As they went up the last few steps, Sam kicked him in the shin. Hard. "Sorry," he said with a completely unbelievable smile. "Narrow stairs."
At least he was acting normally again, Dean thought, even as the pain in his shin made him wince. But they followed Mrs. Froson into the apartment like nothing was wrong, and looked around. It was large, and Dean realised it was a studio: just one large, single room. The kitchen was stuck in a corner, and two doors on opposite sides of the room were probably bathroom and closet.
They couldn't even pretend they weren't sleeping together. Dean glanced over at Sam, wondering if Sam had bothered checking for this sort of thing when he'd made his list. Of course, this was Sam so he'd probably not only checked for that sort of thing but also the entire history of a property going back to when it was built.
"Appliances come with the place," Mrs. Froson was saying, leading them into the kitchen area. "Utilities and garbage are all included with the rent, you pay your own phone and cable. Oh, but we do have internet -- there's wifi all through the house. General rule is no pets, but I've been known to bend it from time to time."
Dean looked around, and, despite knowing the answer, couldn't help but ask, "The house ever been haunted?"
"What?" The look she gave him was reassuringly disbelieving.
Dean gave her his most charming and disarming smile. "I've just always been interested in stuff like that. Spent some time in New Orleans, and everyone says their homes have ghosts. You know." He shrugged, as though dismissing the silly things people would believe.
He didn't even have to look over at Sam to know what his brother was thinking. But that was all right; Dean owed him for the bruise on his shin.
Sam had moved away from Dean and the landlady, walking the length of the place like he was taking its measurements or something. Which left Dean to chat with the landlady, something he was more than happy to do. He had no idea what the rent was on this place, but he and dad had never once actually paid a security deposit since Dean was six years old and knew what dad meant when he said "look hungry."
He ambled towards Mrs. Froson, making it look like his attention was all on the kitchen and its amenities. He poked and prodded, opened doors and checked the fridge -- discovering it was actually clean and didn't smell of anything, which automatically gave the place bonus points.
All the while he kept up a steady stream of polite conversation, asking Mrs. Froson about the neighborhood, the other tenants, the apartment. Never completely venturing into personal questions, but making it perfectly clear he was interested in listening to anything she had to say.
He smiled, and looked at her eyes when she talked, and looked at the apartment when he asked questions about it. He laughed when she made a joke, and made a similar one himself, keeping it almost as clean as her own had been, but just a tiny bit racier.
She smiled, and rolled her eyes --- Dean figured she knew what guys were like, and she clearly didn't mind their antics. As long as they didn't bring the bloody axes and evil spirits home with them, he amended.
Sam eventually ambled back over to them and worked his own brand of charm on Mrs. Froson, smiling so his dimple showed and being all yes m'am and no m'am and just generally giving off an air that seemed to make women want to take him in and feed him.
Which was perfectly all right with Dean -- if she popped by with plates of cookies and casseroles and whatever else, he would be perfectly happy to help Sam eat them. And even if Sam was a bitch and didn't share, it would still put a dent in their grocery budget.
Finally they'd seen everything they could possibly hope to see, and they told her they'd have to think it over. Had more places to see, and they'd call as soon as they could. Then they headed back downstairs, and Dean waved goodbye as she watched them walk back to their car.
"So what did you think?" Sam asked.
"I think she likes older guys, and would rather adopt us -- she'll feed you at least once a week if you even look like you might be starving. She won't offer to help with laundry -- but anything that needs fixing around the house we can offer to do, and probably get a cut in the rent."
Sam laughed. "I meant about the place, not the landlady," he said, bumping hips affectionately as they walked. "Though you're probably right on all of that."
Grinning at the sound of Sam's laugh, Dean asked, "Did it seem a little... lofty?"
Truthfully he had no opinion one way or another on the apartment itself. It was clean, had no sign of hauntings, and Sam had already said that the police reports for the neighborhood were fairly rare. Add to that the presence of a landlady who would almost definitely feed them, and he couldn't think of anything bad to say about the place.
"I like that, though," Sam was saying. "Makes it feel like it has more space. And with all those windows, it's really sunny in there. Cheerful, y'know?" He grinned at Dean. "Besides, it's not like we're not used to living in one room. This one just won't be in a motel."
"You don't think Mrs. Froson will provide us with little bottles of shampoo?" Dean asked, getting into the car and running his hand across the steering wheel to say hello.
"Does it matter?" Sam asked as he climbed into the passenger seat. "You always use that expensive stuff anyway." He reached over and teasingly ran his fingers through Dean's hair.
He jerked his head away from Sam's hand, not because he didn't love it when Sam touched him, but because if he didn't, his brother would assume he could just fondle Dean whenever the hell he wanted.
Which, okay, he could. But Dean was obligated not to make it easy for him. They might be having sex, but they were still brothers, and some things took precedence. "I don't use expensive shampoo," he protested, despite the fact there was no way in hell he could get away with the assertion.
Sam gave him a 'yeah, right' look. "Dean, you buy it at a salon. That pretty much defines 'expensive shampoo'."
"It's the only thing that works!" He glared at Sam, knowing that the next thing would be Sam teasing him about caring what worked for his hair, much less knowing to find it at a salon.
"Of course it is," Sam fake soothed, not quite hiding his smirk.
He took a moment to thump Sam on the arm, hard as he could -- almost. Then he pulled the Impala out of its parking spot and turned it towards the road, listening for a moment to the sound of its engine. She was running good, feeling fine. She wasn't the only one.
Sam rummaged in his backpack and pulled out the papers he'd picked up from the car floor earlier. "You know where to go?" he asked, as he began putting them back in order.
"Not a clue," Dean said, just to rile Sam up. He pulled onto the road going the right direction and waited to see if Sam would give him directions or a smartass remark.
"That's why you don't toss papers away when you might still need them," Sam said, speaking as if to a particularly slow child, then in his normal voice added, "Take a left up here."
"Left where? You sure?" Dean waited until it was almost too late, then slowed down and took the turn. Then he flipped Sam off and said, "Then I turn right at the second light, drive two miles and it's on the left? That's the next one?"
"Bite me."
"I'm driving," Dean complained. "No fair you telling me your kinks while I'm busy driving."
Sam gave him the finger.
Dean sounded out the meaning of the gesture, mouthing the words clearly, but as though he wasn't quite sure what they meant. Then suddenly he said, "You want to fuck me?" as though the concept was totally new.
Ignoring the fact he'd been wanting the same thing for months -- years -- and wanting to fuck Sam as well. But every time he thought he could do it, he chickened out. Sam only ever asked if he wanted to, but never pressed him when Dean said no.
There was silence from the other side of the car for a long moment. Then Sam finally muttered, "No fair doing that to me when I'm being righteously annoyed with you."
"Righteously? Righteously? Dude, you have to be right before you can be righteous. Didn't they teach you anything at that school of yours?"
"I'm right about you being a jerk."
"Am not." It was the lamest comeback Dean had ever used, but he used it every so often, just because.
"You're also five."
Dean scowled, hard. "Am not," he said, as sulkily as he could. If he'd had his brother's ability to pout, he would have done that, as well.
Sam chuckled. "Yeah, and that's really proving it."
Dean gave him a grin, then said in a normal tone of voice, "Then I want something to suck on."
"No fair telling me your kinks when you're busy driving," Sam parroted back at him almost primly.
Dean just laughed. He pulled the car through an intersection, then spotted what looked like the right apartment complex. He drove up, saw the sign, and pulled over to park beside the curb. "Hey, is this--"
On the other side of the car, Sam whimpered.
Dean looked over at the passenger seat to see Sam staring out the windshield at the building, though the glazed look in his eyes made Dean doubt he was actually seeing it. He was also white as a sheet and trembling, as if there was a current running through him.
Without really thinking about it, Dean scooted over and pulled his brother towards him, turning Sam's head so he wasn't looking at the building. He tucked his arms around his brother, and whispered -- anything. It didn't matter, just reaching out to someone who clearly wasn't really hearing him.
He knew what it had to be -- a vision, or memory, or whatever the fuck it was. Dean felt a cold punch to his gut, remembering the last time Sam had gone so pale. Someone had died, that time -- himself, he figured. The car crash Sammy refused to talk about.
Dean wondered who had died in this apartment building.
It seemed like forever before Sam's arms slid around him in return, holding tightly as he took a deep, shaky breath.
He kept whispering to Sam, reassurances that might or might not be true. He just kept talking to him, giving Sam something to hold onto that wasn't...whatever he was seeing inside his head.
Finally Sam nodded and pulled back a little, although to say he was still shaken up would have been a huge understatement. "Sorry," he said in a raspy voice.
"It's okay," Dean whispered, and he gave Sam a light kiss. He said it again, brushing his fingers through Sam's hair, pushing his bangs out of his eyes. He didn't -- couldn't -- stop touching Sam, running his fingers lightly, rubbing and caressing his face. He wanted to keep doing it until the pain in his brother's eyes went completely away, but he was afraid of just how long that would be.
Sam leaned into the touches, eyes fluttering closed, then springing back open immediately as if he didn't want to see what was behind his eyelids.
Dean stared at him, catching Sam's eyes. He kept Sam focused on him, looking at him until some of the panic seemed to dim. "You okay?" he asked, knowing that the answer couldn't really be 'yes.'
"I...uh..." Sam gave a little half laugh, though it was as far from amused as it could be. "I'm not sure."
"What do you need?"
Sam opened and closed his mouth a couple of times before saying, "Away from here."
"Okay." Dean nodded; it made sense, if whatever vision Sam had was triggered by the apartment building, or one of the ones nearby. Dean sat back in the seat and pulled away from the curb as quickly as he could. He had no idea where to go, but figured 'away' would be good enough.
It seemed to be because after a few minutes, Sam seemed to relax a little, leaning back against the seat wearily. "Guess I don't have to tell you I had another vision flash, huh?"
"I thought as much," Dean said, gently. "Seemed like a pretty bad one, too."
Sam gave another of those half laughs. "Yeah, you could say that." He paused. "I lived there. Or would have lived there."
It took Dean a moment to figure that one out -- he knew Sam had remembered his future, or possible future, or... well, that part of the whole thing didn't exactly make sense to Dean. But he realised what Sam was talking about before he said anything stupid.
He wasn't really sure what to say, though. He settled for reaching over and squeezing his brother's shoulder, trying for soothing.
"You remember that blonde I told you about? That I saw in the flashes about college?" Sam asked, staring out the windshield.
"Yeah." There hadn't been much about her -- Dean knew she'd been Sam's girlfriend, and that it had apparently been serious. In all the times they'd talked about plans for moving to Palo Alto, for Sam to attend Stanford, he'd never mentioned finding her. Dean had figured it was because, well, he and Sam were together. But apparently there was more.
"She died there." Sam's voice dropped down to barely a whisper as he added, "Like Mom."
Dean gripped the steering wheel, hard, and concentrated on not driving into oncoming traffic. "The fuck?" He almost continued shouting, demanding to know why he hadn't shared that piece of information before. But he knew his brother didn't always get everything from his visions the first time. Maybe he hadn't remembered until now.
Still. Dean took a deep breath and found a parking lot, some suburban strip mall thing, and he pulled into it and parked. Sam was staring out the windshield, sitting unnaturally still aside from a muscle twitching in his jaw. He looked terrified but was trying to hide it.
Dean turned to him, pulling one knee up on the benchseat and wanting...he didn't know what. To pull Sam towards him and tell him it wasn't real.
There was no way he could say that.
He swallowed, and asked, "When you say like mom, you mean... the demon?"
"She was on the ceiling." Sam wouldn't look at him, still hadn't moved at all. "I was lying on the bed and something dripped on me and I opened my eyes and she was on the ceiling."
Dean didn't remember much about the night mom died. He hadn't seen anything except flames and his dad putting Sam into his arms, then he'd run, gripped with the fear that he would trip on the stairs and drop his baby brother and break him -- then it was all outside and the fire trucks and dad saying things about mom that didn't make any sense.
But he knew what had happened. And what Sam was saying was exactly what dad had described. He reached out and grabbed Sam's collar and yanked him over, scooting forward to catch him. Sam clung to him like his sanity depended on it. This close Dean could feel how he was trembling with barely controlled fear.
The bitch of it was, there was nothing Dean could say to make it better. They'd been hunting the demon practically all their lives, and yet Dean had no clue how they were supposed to find and destroy it. Somehow, through the years of hunting, Dean had let himself think of the demon as something abstract -- a goal they'd never reach, but also something they'd never again be threatened by.
"We need to call dad," he said, making a decision.
He felt Sam stiffen. "No."
"What?" Dean pulled back, just enough to look at Sam without letting go of him. "Sam, he has to know about the demon--"
"No," Sam said again, shaking his head in denial.
"Sam," Dean said, firmly. He reached up and took hold of Sam's chin, turning his head to face Dean. It was on the tip of his tongue to say they had to -- and he was hit with the full impact of the fear in Sam's eyes. "Sammy, it'll be okay," he said instead.
"It's me. It wasn't just a random... Twice is a pattern. It's because of me."
"You don't know that," Dean said sharply. "You said yourself you don't get everything in these visions. How do you know it isn't happening other places, to other people?" He knew he was grasping at straws. But better anything than to listen to his brother blame himself for what the demon had done.
"You think it's just a coincidence?" The disdain dripping from Sam's voice was sharp enough to cut.
"I think we don't know enough about what the demon wants to be able to guess," Dean said, trying hard to stay calm. "You were six months old when mom died. How could you have had anything to do with that?"
"It was over my crib. Her blood dripped on me. And now... it was the exact same thing, Dean. The exact. Either it has something to do with me or I've got the worst luck in the universe."
"So, maybe it has something to do with you -- but that doesn't make it your fault. It isn't because of you." Dean wanted to shake his little brother -- shake some sense into him. But he knew from experience that wouldn't work. "Look, it won't even matter anyway, because you aren't going to be living with this girl."
Dean heard the half-formed thought underneath his anger. Once Sam met her, things might change. He'd loved her once -- who was to say he wouldn't fall in love again?
"I know that," Sam said, and the certainty in his voice went a long way to quiet those not quite buried fears. "It's not her I'm worried about. If this thing is really... focused on me, then anyone close to me could be..."
It only took a second for Dean to see where Sam was going. "Then why hasn't it gone after dad or come after me?"
"Yet." Sam stared out of the window, refusing to look at him.
"So what has it been waiting for, for eighteen years? How long did you know this girl, before it...went after her?" He swallowed the word 'killed.' No need to throw Sam back into that horrible, shocked silence.
"I don't know. Long enough to be living with her. But Dean-"
"But what? You've been living with me and dad all your life and the demon hasn't come after either of us. And I'm pretty damn sure we're close."
Of course, it hadn't been that long since he and Sam had.... If that were what counted as 'close', then reasonably the demon could be coming after Dean soon.
"It hasn't come after either of you yet. At least that we know of. But what if..." Sam trailed off for a second, and when he continued, he seemed less panicked and more focused. "Dad knows how to protect against demons -- didn't matter where we were, most nights we were sleeping behind protective barriers of some kind. Maybe it hasn't come after you because it can't get to you?"
"Wouldn't you have done the same thing for this girl? You were living with her, Sam. You wouldn't leave yourself open to that kind of an attack."
Which only meant that the sorts of protections Sam knew -- would have known -- weren't enough. So whatever Dad did for them, either wasn't enough and the demon had just never paid them any attention, or... Dean's head hurt. But, thank god, Sam was talking with him, listening and arguing back instead of looking like he was about to pass out, or lose his mind.
"I... don't think..." Sam was frowning, his eyes growing distant again as he searched his mind for something. When he spoke again, there was an air of sadness, but thankfully not panic. "I don't think I did use protections," he said softly. "I was trying to be normal. Normal people don't pour salt over door and window thresholds or draw protective runes on the floor."
Dean looked at him for a long moment. So much his brother wanted, so much he was never going to get. Dean knew what being 'normal' meant to Sam. How often, growing up, Sam had begged, fought, and argued for normal things that dad couldn't give them.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, because -- he still couldn't have them. He probably never would.
That brought Sam's eyes back to him, looking startled. Then he smiled. It was small, but a real smile. "You can pretend, but you can't really be anything but what you are," he said. "It took me a while to figure that out, y'know," he gestured at his head, meaning in the visions, "before. But here and now, I get it."
"You don't want normal, anymore?" Dean wasn't sure he believed it, but -- what kind of person took his brother to bed, and still pretended to be like regular people?
"I want to find my normal. I'm pretty sure it's not going to be like anybody else's." He gave Dean a considering look. "Well, maybe yours."
"I don't have normal," Dean said, without thinking. He put his hand on Sam's cheek and let himself just look. Sam was calm, now, though he was still upset -- perfectly reasonably, Dean allowed. But the crisis seemed to have blown over for now. He brushed his thumb along Sam's cheek, and wanted nothing more than to just kiss him and forget about everything else.
So he did.
Sam made that soft sound he always made when being kissed was exactly what he needed and pressed closer. Dean smiled into the kiss, and held his brother.
When Sam pulled back, he closed his eyes and rested his head on Dean's shoulder. "I'm still scared," he confessed.
He wished, fiercely, that he could tell Sam not to be. That the monsters were just dreams and there was nothing to fear in the dark. "I'm sorry," he said again, because it simply wasn't fair that anyone, especially his brother, had to know that evil could strike so close.
Sam nodded without raising his head, the movement brushing his hair against Dean's neck. "I'm not so scared with you."
"Well then, it's a good thing you've got me," Dean said, lightly. Breezing through the words like his heart hadn't just clenched and threatened to stop beating. He sat back in the driver's seat and gave Sam a grin. "Hey! Del Taco!" He'd spotted the fast food place across the strip mall and suddenly lunch seemed like a great distraction.
Sam just stared at him. "Now?"
Dean shrugged, realising belatedly that Sam might not be all that interested in food. But backing down would mean admitting that, which would mean talking about it more, which would risk making Sam get that look in his eyes while he remembered seeing his girlfriend die. "Fish tacos," he said, determinedly. "And you can get a burger."
Sam wrinkled his nose and said distinctly, "Eww."
Dean gave him a hurt look. "Sam, fish tacos. Fish, in a taco shell."
"What part of 'eww' is not getting through?"
With a pleading look, Dean repeated, "Sam, it's fish. In a taco shell. With salsa and lettuce and a lime and you can get fries!" He had a pretty good idea how much more he could say before his little brother turned green and threw up in the car. Close, but not there yet.
"If I throw up, I'm going to aim for you," Sam warned.
"No throwing up in my car," Dean declared. "Ever. For any reason. You open the door and jump out at 75, if you have to." He waited, then said, "Tartar sauce, I bet. The secret sauce on the taco."
He was ready for a lot of reactions from Sam, but his brother leaning over, grabbing him by the ears, and kissing him senseless wasn't one of them. It did shut him up, Dean admitted. It also made him think now was no time for fish tacos. Well, almost not -- talking about them had made him hungry. But being kissed like it was the only way to shut him up was a hell of a lot better than a taco.
When Sam let his mouth go, but not, Dean noticed, any of the rest of him, Dean asked, "Wanna head back to the motel?"
One side of Sam's mouth quirked up into a half smile. "Yeah."
He thought about their plans -- not the second apartment, fuck no, but the third, and the dozen more Sam had circled.... Dean looked at Sam, and thought it over. "Do you want to call Mrs. Froson and ask her for the apartment?"
Sam hesitated for a moment, then nodded and pulled out his cell phone.
~~~
on to part two