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gilascaveTitle: Heart's Desire VII: The Way Home 3b/7
Authors: Wolfling (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wolfling) and James (zortified)
Sequel: to Heart's Desire VI: Seeing Through Different Eyes
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 41,800 (story total)
Disclaimer: not ours, no profit made
Spoilers: none
Warnings: angst, smut, hugging.
Summary: The Winchesters hunt a ghost, while Dean's ghosts hunt him.
Notes: As always, we'd like to thankwesleysgirl for the awesome beta job. We'd also like to thank Hansen's, Diet Rite, and Pepsi for their diet sodas that zortified can drink without getting dizzy. Caffeine makes the world go 'round, people!
The entire series can be found in Gila's Cave and Wolfling's Den.
Continued from Chapter 3a
What felt like a minute later someone was poking him. "Dean. Wake up."
"What?" Dean snapped, or tried to - it sounded like his mouth was taped shut. His back hurt like a bitch -- and he suddenly realised he'd been sleeping bent over on Sam.
Outside in the middle of bumfuck Washington. Literally.
Dean snickered.
"Yeah, laugh it up all you want, just get off me," Sam demanded. "My legs have fallen asleep."
"Sorry." Dean started to shove himself backwards, then pulled away more slowly as he realised he'd still been inside Sam. His back hurt, and he stretched, then pulled off his shirt and used it to wipe himself off. When he was finished, he tossed it on Sam, and zipped up his jeans. More or less clean. "I'm gonna borrow one of your shirts."
"Knock yourself out," Sam said, still sprawled on the car, though he was lazily cleaning himself up with Dean's shirt.
Dean walked around to the trunk, digging for his keys. He'd planned this pretty well, except for bringing a change of clothes. He popped the trunk and grabbed Sam's duffel. Once upon a time, Dean had kept a bag in the car all the time. Not his hunting kit, but just a bag with enough clothes and shit to keep him going for a week -- or forever, if he hit the laundromat.
He grabbed one of Sam's less offensive shirts and put it on. By the time he was closing the trunk up again, Sam had got down off the car and was putting his clothes back on.
Dean stopped and watched him for a moment. There was a moment of something, a feeling that came and went too fast to recognise. He was used to feeling a lot of things when it came to Sam - love and lust and anger and amusement and pride. This was something new.
"You ready to hit the road?" he asked, and he heard the distant tone of his voice and wondered if it had anything to do with the strange feeling.
Sam gave him a strange look. "Almost," he said, closing the distance between them and kissing Dean long and deep, his hands cupping Dean's face between them.
Dean slipped his arms around Sam's waist, not letting him go when the kiss ended. He looked at Sam again, poking at the weird feeling -- it was there again, or still, quiet and weird and he wasn't entirely sure he liked it.
Then he found himself saying, "You're gonna be here."
The strange look was still on Sam's face. "Yes?"
He shook his head, and tried to explain. "I think...I just realised. You're gonna be here." He swallowed, and decided that he might as well just say it. "Pretty much always."
Sam smiled at him and kissed him again. "Yeah, I am."
It was strange. Just him and Sam, parked at an abandoned gas station with the scent of old gasoline and fresh sex, and everything around them overgrown and empty. But it was the whole world.
"I guess..." Dean shook his head, not really sure what this feeling meant, since he wasn't really sure he understood it. He shook himself and asked, "You wanna check out the other four stops I found?"
Sam's laughter was all that was light and good. "You're insatiable," he accused fondly.
"No, I'm thinking that we won't get to have sex again until I get home sometime next week." He shrugged, as though it didn't matter -- and he realised it really didn't. "Wanna go chase down a poltergeist?" he asked, smiling, in the exact same tone.
"Yeah," Sam replied, grinning at him and reaching out to squeeze Dean's hand.
"Wanna blow up a house?" Dean asked -- and he took a second look at the building they were standing next to.
"Dean," Sam said in his best don't-be-crazy tone.
"Come on! What's the harm?" Dean gave his brother a wide grin.
"Dean, we are not blowing up a house just because you want to have fun."
"Sa-am," Dean whined. "Just one gas station. No one's even gonna miss it!" He gestured at the abandoned building. There was probably gas soaked into the ground, so actually setting fire to the place would be a very bad, dangerous idea.
But the fireball it would make.
"No."
"Sam!" Dean protested.
"No," Sam repeated, in the same implacable tone.
Dean scowled and folded his arms across his chest, refusing to move towards the driver's side car door. Sam sighed and moved over to him, slipping a hand into Dean's pocket and coming up with his keys and moving to the driver's side door himself.
"You've got your own key!" Dean protested, not that he minded having Sam's hand in his pants.
"Get in the car, Dean," Sam told him.
Still scowling, Dean went around to the passenger side of the car -- stomping his feet once or twice for good effect. When he got in the car, he said, "You never let me do anything."
Sam glanced over at him as he started the engine. "I just let you fuck me over the hood of your car," he reminded.
"Let me?" Dean raised an eyebrow at him.
"Do you prefer 'granted you permission'?"
Dean scowled harder, with just a touch of sincerity. "So you're telling me you didn't like it."
"What? When did I say that?" Sam asked, taking his eyes off the road long enough to give Dean a disbelieving look.
Dean smiled, then quickly composed his face into a scowl again. "You're sitting there acting like you did me a favor, getting fucked on the hood of our car."
Sam raised an eyebrow. "Didn't you like it?"
"We're not talking about whether I liked it," Dean reminded him. "We're talking about the fact that you said you let me fuck you on the hood of the car in the middle of nowhere next to a gas station you won't let me blow up."
Dean wasn't entirely sure he followed his own logic there, but since the point wasn't to be logical, but to harass his brother, Dean didn't figure it mattered.
"I did let you," Sam pointed out. "Whether I enjoyed it or not doesn't change that fact, though it might explain it."
Suddenly, Dean felt his stomach clench. "Stop the car."
Sam gave him a puzzled look. "Dean, what--"
"Stop the fucking car!"
Sam did, pulling over to the side of the road.
Dean yanked open the door and pushed himself out -- for a second he thought maybe he could calm the hell down. 'Whether or not I enjoyed it' ran through his head again and he was on his knees, throwing up.
He felt his brother come up behind him, felt Sam's hands on his shoulders, rubbing soothingly. Dean tried to breathe, and had to spit out the taste in his mouth. "Don't--" he managed, breath shuttering as his stomach clenched again.
"Don't what?" Sam asked in that quiet voice he always used when trying to calm Dean down. One hand ran lightly through Dean's hair.
"Don't ever let me...." He coughed, then dry heaved. God, the thought that he could do that to Sam....
Sam made soothing sounds, obviously trying to calm Dean down without actually saying "Calm down." He was trying to, but his stomach kept clenching and he figured he'd be throwing up still if there was anything to bring up. Dean realised his fingers were digging into the dirt like he was trying to pull himself down.
He coughed again, a sick, half-dead sound. Then he was being pulled up and wrapped in his brother's arms.
He had a thought about getting up off the ground, but Sam was pretty much hanging onto him like he wasn't going to let go, ever. Dean leaned into him, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, and let his brother fairly engulf him. Sam held him tightly, his face pressed into Dean's hair, murmuring soft words that Dean couldn't make out but that were nice to hear anyway.
"I--" he began, and stopped as he didn't really know what he wanted to say.
He had a flash of memory -- Dorinda Lee, standing in her bedroom and gesturing at him with a crook of her finger.
"What?" Sam asked softly.
She'd been wearing thick make-up that made her look older, scarier. He could remember her bright green eyelids and the dark red lipstick he'd had to wash off his own skin, after.
"I wanted," he tried again. Inhaling deeply, Dean shivered. A run-down house, wooden floorboards and the smell of something sour from the living room, like nobody had cleaned in there, ever. Dorinda Lee's voice, tired and high-pitched and wheedling, like maybe he'd say no.
He'd wanted to say no.
He felt Sam drop a gentle kiss on his temple. "I promise you, Dean, you can say no whenever you want."
"Don't ever...." He stopped, and had to try again. "Don't ever let me do something you don't want to," he said, voice trailing off in a whisper.
"Dean." Sam pulled away enough to force Dean to meet his eyes. "I don't think there's anything you could do that I wouldn't want," he said, his emotions clear in his gaze. "But I promise if there ever is, I'll tell you."
Dean nodded, knowing Sam meant it. Hoping -- but he could imagine Sam letting Dean do something he wanted, enduring it just because Dean wanted it--
Or would he? How often had Sam ever stayed quiet, really quiet, about something he didn't like? Dean closed his eyes and let his head fall against Sam, and knew he just had to trust that Sam would keep his word.
"Sorry."
"For what?" Sam asked, seeming to be honestly perplexed.
Dean waved a hand, gesturing at the whole sitting-by-the-road-upchucking thing.
Sam shook his head. "Not your fault."
"Not exactly what I planned," Dean said, quietly. He felt tired -- his stomach was still queasy, but he didn't think he'd throw up again. He rested his head against Sam, again, and tried just not moving for a minute.
"Nobody plans throwing up on the side of the road, Dean," Sam teased gently, his fingers threading through Dean's hair again.
He laughed, once. "Could have gotten us out of some of those boring drives through west Texas," Dean said. "Throw up at the New Mexico border a few times...."
Sam chuckled, the sound comforting. "Dad probably would've just given you an airsick bag and kept going."
"Yeah." Dean closed his eyes as his stomach squeezed itself tight again.
"You want your daddy?" she'd said, whispered in his ear, mouth next to his cheek and he'd didn't dare move an inch for fear she'd think he was turning her down.
"Hey." Sam's voice, a little more urgent, one big hand cupping Dean's cheek. "Stay with me, okay?"
Whimpering once, Dean tried to stop remembering -- opening his eyes didn't help much, he could still hear her. Feel her hands--
He pressed his face into Sam's hand, huge and hard and calluses on his fingertips where hers had been smooth, with long fake nails.
Sam was looking at him worriedly, but also calculatingly. He leaned forward and kissed Dean, hard and possessive, seeming unphased by the fact that Dean had just been throwing up. "You're mine," he murmured to Dean in a low growl. "No one else touches you like this ever again. Just me."
"I don't want them to," Dean said, feeling lost and trying to hang onto Sam, trying to focus. He realised he was shaking and he tried to stop, but all he could manage was to press himself even closer to Sam. He wanted to feel that growl, feel it in his chest, let it vibrate through him until he could feel it on the inside.
"I know," Sam said and there was that growl again. "They won't. Not without having to go through me first."
"OK." Dean closed his eyes again, and he felt dizzy, and tired, and he just wanted to let Sam stand guard. Or sit, he corrected, and they should probably get off the ground and back to the motel. Sam made no move to get them up though, just pulled Dean closer and held onto him tightly.
"We...should get back," Dean finally said, knowing that they had a job to do and Dad was waiting for them. He didn't feel much like going hunting, but he told himself he'd messed around long enough, and sitting by the side of the road wasn't getting the job done.
He didn't try to let go of Sam just yet, though.
"We will," Sam told him, not sounding the least bit worried or rushed. And still not making any move to leave.
Deciding that he didn't feel up to arguing, Dean didn't say anything more. The wind was picking up, cool and nice -- it made him think of the snow that, up here, wouldn't be too many more weeks away. He shifted, once, thinking that they really needed to get off their asses and get back to Dad and the poltergeist -- he wanted to go home.
Finally Sam stirred, pulling back a little. "You ready to go?"
"Yeah." Dean was glad to notice he sounded less like he wanted to throw up again -- or stay where he was. He moved away from Sam just enough to see if his brother was going to let him go. Sam moved a little, but didn't relinquish his hold on Dean as he got them both to their feet. Dean felt himself sway for a second, then he got ahold of himself and stood up straight. He looked at Sam and found his brother watching him.
Sam smiled at him and patted his arm.
"God, I need water," Dean muttered. His mouth tasted nasty. He only had holy water in the trunk, but there was an exit up ahead with fast food places and a couple gas stations. He glanced down at himself to check if he'd splattered vomit anywhere, but he looked clean.
"Hang on a sec," Sam said, moving away from Dean for the first time since they'd stopped. He went to the trunk and dug through his bag, coming back with a bottle of water. "Here."
"Thanks." He took the bottle, swigging a mouthful and swishing it around his mouth before spitting it out. He did the same thing again, then the third time he drank some. He made a slight gagging noise and shook his head. "I taste nasty." He gave his brother a look. "I can't believe you kissed me when I tasted like this."
Sam shrugged. "You needed me to."
Whatever he'd been about to say died before even reaching his lips, and Dean just looked at Sam. "Yeah." He coughed, then tried to not go there, and said, "Yet you won't kiss me after I have fish tacos."
"That should tell you something about my feelings regarding fish tacos," Sam pointed out.
Dean nodded, taking another swallow of water. He fought back the urge to grab another cuddle -- he'd planned for a few stops for sex along the way, but he hadn't really expected to waste too much time getting back to Clayton. "There's a Benny's Tacos in town," he said, hopefully.
"Dean, I love you, but I'm not buying you a fish taco."
"I think they have fish burritos." Dean capped the water bottle and stepped towards the car, door still hanging wide open as he'd left it.
"No," Sam said, moving around to the driver's side.
"I thought you loved me," Dean said, forcing himself to not think about what he'd just said. He got into the car and pulled the door closed, reaching forward to give his girl a pat before Sam got in and could catch him at it.
"I do. But that still doesn't mean I'm going to buy you fish tacos."
"Why not? Seriously, what have you got against a perfectly wonderful combination of two of the most perfect foods ever? Add a couple twinkies and those Funyun things...."
"You're trying to make me throw up on the side of the road, aren't you?" Sam asked plaintively as he started the engine.
"Sammy!" Dean chided. "If I were trying to make you throw up I'd remind you about the time Sue Ann tried to kiss you in first grade." He leaned back in the seat, sliding down a little to let his head fall low on the headrest.
"Just because I don't want to think of kissing anyone other than you doesn't mean that doing so will make me throw up," Sam said easily.
"Is that why you were so mad when she kissed you? Because she wasn't me?" Dean grinned smugly at him.
"I was six years old. I thought girls had cooties."
"You made me kiss you to disinfect where she kissed you." Sammy had been scowling like the proverbial thundercloud -- and he'd stayed angry the entire walk home from school. Dean had finally been at his wit's end to get Sam in a better mood; in desperation, he'd leaned down and kissed Sam on the cheek and told him that erased it.
He remembered how Sammy had looked up at him, those damnable puppy eyes wide as they could go, and he'd said that the girl had kissed him on the mouth.
Sam shrugged. "I figured I probably already had your cooties."
"You drooled on me, first."
"No fair bringing up things that happened before I had teeth."
"You teethed on Mr. Ber-ber," Dean told him, scowling. Mom had given him the teddy bear -- leave it to Sammy to decide that was the only proper teething ring he could use.
"You gave it to me," Sam defended. "And what did I say about bringing things up from when I was a baby?"
"I gave him to you because I had something better to sleep with." Dean closed his eyes. He really didn't care about the stuffed bear -- hadn't at the time, didn't now. But there was no way in hell he'd ever stop teasing Sam about it.
Sam's hand squeezed his thigh, there and gone. "You still do," he said.
"Still drool on me sometimes," Dean said. The motion of the car was starting to lull him into a post-fuck-freak out haze. He didn't feel like fighting it; they still had about twenty minutes to reach the motel.
"Dean?"
"Yeah?"
"You have to tell me where we're going."
Dean left his eyes closed and muttered, "First exit, Motel 6. Room 21. Look for a guy who answers to 'Dad'."
There was a pause and then Sam told him, "Jerk."
"Dickface," Dean replied. "Na to--"
As he drifted off, he heard Sam say softly, "Yeah, love you too."
end chapter three
continue to chapter four
Authors: Wolfling (
wolfling) and James (zortified)Sequel: to Heart's Desire VI: Seeing Through Different Eyes
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 41,800 (story total)
Disclaimer: not ours, no profit made
Spoilers: none
Warnings: angst, smut, hugging.
Summary: The Winchesters hunt a ghost, while Dean's ghosts hunt him.
Notes: As always, we'd like to thank
wesleysgirl for the awesome beta job. We'd also like to thank Hansen's, Diet Rite, and Pepsi for their diet sodas that zortified can drink without getting dizzy. Caffeine makes the world go 'round, people!The entire series can be found in Gila's Cave and Wolfling's Den.
Continued from Chapter 3a
What felt like a minute later someone was poking him. "Dean. Wake up."
"What?" Dean snapped, or tried to - it sounded like his mouth was taped shut. His back hurt like a bitch -- and he suddenly realised he'd been sleeping bent over on Sam.
Outside in the middle of bumfuck Washington. Literally.
Dean snickered.
"Yeah, laugh it up all you want, just get off me," Sam demanded. "My legs have fallen asleep."
"Sorry." Dean started to shove himself backwards, then pulled away more slowly as he realised he'd still been inside Sam. His back hurt, and he stretched, then pulled off his shirt and used it to wipe himself off. When he was finished, he tossed it on Sam, and zipped up his jeans. More or less clean. "I'm gonna borrow one of your shirts."
"Knock yourself out," Sam said, still sprawled on the car, though he was lazily cleaning himself up with Dean's shirt.
Dean walked around to the trunk, digging for his keys. He'd planned this pretty well, except for bringing a change of clothes. He popped the trunk and grabbed Sam's duffel. Once upon a time, Dean had kept a bag in the car all the time. Not his hunting kit, but just a bag with enough clothes and shit to keep him going for a week -- or forever, if he hit the laundromat.
He grabbed one of Sam's less offensive shirts and put it on. By the time he was closing the trunk up again, Sam had got down off the car and was putting his clothes back on.
Dean stopped and watched him for a moment. There was a moment of something, a feeling that came and went too fast to recognise. He was used to feeling a lot of things when it came to Sam - love and lust and anger and amusement and pride. This was something new.
"You ready to hit the road?" he asked, and he heard the distant tone of his voice and wondered if it had anything to do with the strange feeling.
Sam gave him a strange look. "Almost," he said, closing the distance between them and kissing Dean long and deep, his hands cupping Dean's face between them.
Dean slipped his arms around Sam's waist, not letting him go when the kiss ended. He looked at Sam again, poking at the weird feeling -- it was there again, or still, quiet and weird and he wasn't entirely sure he liked it.
Then he found himself saying, "You're gonna be here."
The strange look was still on Sam's face. "Yes?"
He shook his head, and tried to explain. "I think...I just realised. You're gonna be here." He swallowed, and decided that he might as well just say it. "Pretty much always."
Sam smiled at him and kissed him again. "Yeah, I am."
It was strange. Just him and Sam, parked at an abandoned gas station with the scent of old gasoline and fresh sex, and everything around them overgrown and empty. But it was the whole world.
"I guess..." Dean shook his head, not really sure what this feeling meant, since he wasn't really sure he understood it. He shook himself and asked, "You wanna check out the other four stops I found?"
Sam's laughter was all that was light and good. "You're insatiable," he accused fondly.
"No, I'm thinking that we won't get to have sex again until I get home sometime next week." He shrugged, as though it didn't matter -- and he realised it really didn't. "Wanna go chase down a poltergeist?" he asked, smiling, in the exact same tone.
"Yeah," Sam replied, grinning at him and reaching out to squeeze Dean's hand.
"Wanna blow up a house?" Dean asked -- and he took a second look at the building they were standing next to.
"Dean," Sam said in his best don't-be-crazy tone.
"Come on! What's the harm?" Dean gave his brother a wide grin.
"Dean, we are not blowing up a house just because you want to have fun."
"Sa-am," Dean whined. "Just one gas station. No one's even gonna miss it!" He gestured at the abandoned building. There was probably gas soaked into the ground, so actually setting fire to the place would be a very bad, dangerous idea.
But the fireball it would make.
"No."
"Sam!" Dean protested.
"No," Sam repeated, in the same implacable tone.
Dean scowled and folded his arms across his chest, refusing to move towards the driver's side car door. Sam sighed and moved over to him, slipping a hand into Dean's pocket and coming up with his keys and moving to the driver's side door himself.
"You've got your own key!" Dean protested, not that he minded having Sam's hand in his pants.
"Get in the car, Dean," Sam told him.
Still scowling, Dean went around to the passenger side of the car -- stomping his feet once or twice for good effect. When he got in the car, he said, "You never let me do anything."
Sam glanced over at him as he started the engine. "I just let you fuck me over the hood of your car," he reminded.
"Let me?" Dean raised an eyebrow at him.
"Do you prefer 'granted you permission'?"
Dean scowled harder, with just a touch of sincerity. "So you're telling me you didn't like it."
"What? When did I say that?" Sam asked, taking his eyes off the road long enough to give Dean a disbelieving look.
Dean smiled, then quickly composed his face into a scowl again. "You're sitting there acting like you did me a favor, getting fucked on the hood of our car."
Sam raised an eyebrow. "Didn't you like it?"
"We're not talking about whether I liked it," Dean reminded him. "We're talking about the fact that you said you let me fuck you on the hood of the car in the middle of nowhere next to a gas station you won't let me blow up."
Dean wasn't entirely sure he followed his own logic there, but since the point wasn't to be logical, but to harass his brother, Dean didn't figure it mattered.
"I did let you," Sam pointed out. "Whether I enjoyed it or not doesn't change that fact, though it might explain it."
Suddenly, Dean felt his stomach clench. "Stop the car."
Sam gave him a puzzled look. "Dean, what--"
"Stop the fucking car!"
Sam did, pulling over to the side of the road.
Dean yanked open the door and pushed himself out -- for a second he thought maybe he could calm the hell down. 'Whether or not I enjoyed it' ran through his head again and he was on his knees, throwing up.
He felt his brother come up behind him, felt Sam's hands on his shoulders, rubbing soothingly. Dean tried to breathe, and had to spit out the taste in his mouth. "Don't--" he managed, breath shuttering as his stomach clenched again.
"Don't what?" Sam asked in that quiet voice he always used when trying to calm Dean down. One hand ran lightly through Dean's hair.
"Don't ever let me...." He coughed, then dry heaved. God, the thought that he could do that to Sam....
Sam made soothing sounds, obviously trying to calm Dean down without actually saying "Calm down." He was trying to, but his stomach kept clenching and he figured he'd be throwing up still if there was anything to bring up. Dean realised his fingers were digging into the dirt like he was trying to pull himself down.
He coughed again, a sick, half-dead sound. Then he was being pulled up and wrapped in his brother's arms.
He had a thought about getting up off the ground, but Sam was pretty much hanging onto him like he wasn't going to let go, ever. Dean leaned into him, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, and let his brother fairly engulf him. Sam held him tightly, his face pressed into Dean's hair, murmuring soft words that Dean couldn't make out but that were nice to hear anyway.
"I--" he began, and stopped as he didn't really know what he wanted to say.
He had a flash of memory -- Dorinda Lee, standing in her bedroom and gesturing at him with a crook of her finger.
"What?" Sam asked softly.
She'd been wearing thick make-up that made her look older, scarier. He could remember her bright green eyelids and the dark red lipstick he'd had to wash off his own skin, after.
"I wanted," he tried again. Inhaling deeply, Dean shivered. A run-down house, wooden floorboards and the smell of something sour from the living room, like nobody had cleaned in there, ever. Dorinda Lee's voice, tired and high-pitched and wheedling, like maybe he'd say no.
He'd wanted to say no.
He felt Sam drop a gentle kiss on his temple. "I promise you, Dean, you can say no whenever you want."
"Don't ever...." He stopped, and had to try again. "Don't ever let me do something you don't want to," he said, voice trailing off in a whisper.
"Dean." Sam pulled away enough to force Dean to meet his eyes. "I don't think there's anything you could do that I wouldn't want," he said, his emotions clear in his gaze. "But I promise if there ever is, I'll tell you."
Dean nodded, knowing Sam meant it. Hoping -- but he could imagine Sam letting Dean do something he wanted, enduring it just because Dean wanted it--
Or would he? How often had Sam ever stayed quiet, really quiet, about something he didn't like? Dean closed his eyes and let his head fall against Sam, and knew he just had to trust that Sam would keep his word.
"Sorry."
"For what?" Sam asked, seeming to be honestly perplexed.
Dean waved a hand, gesturing at the whole sitting-by-the-road-upchucking thing.
Sam shook his head. "Not your fault."
"Not exactly what I planned," Dean said, quietly. He felt tired -- his stomach was still queasy, but he didn't think he'd throw up again. He rested his head against Sam, again, and tried just not moving for a minute.
"Nobody plans throwing up on the side of the road, Dean," Sam teased gently, his fingers threading through Dean's hair again.
He laughed, once. "Could have gotten us out of some of those boring drives through west Texas," Dean said. "Throw up at the New Mexico border a few times...."
Sam chuckled, the sound comforting. "Dad probably would've just given you an airsick bag and kept going."
"Yeah." Dean closed his eyes as his stomach squeezed itself tight again.
"You want your daddy?" she'd said, whispered in his ear, mouth next to his cheek and he'd didn't dare move an inch for fear she'd think he was turning her down.
"Hey." Sam's voice, a little more urgent, one big hand cupping Dean's cheek. "Stay with me, okay?"
Whimpering once, Dean tried to stop remembering -- opening his eyes didn't help much, he could still hear her. Feel her hands--
He pressed his face into Sam's hand, huge and hard and calluses on his fingertips where hers had been smooth, with long fake nails.
Sam was looking at him worriedly, but also calculatingly. He leaned forward and kissed Dean, hard and possessive, seeming unphased by the fact that Dean had just been throwing up. "You're mine," he murmured to Dean in a low growl. "No one else touches you like this ever again. Just me."
"I don't want them to," Dean said, feeling lost and trying to hang onto Sam, trying to focus. He realised he was shaking and he tried to stop, but all he could manage was to press himself even closer to Sam. He wanted to feel that growl, feel it in his chest, let it vibrate through him until he could feel it on the inside.
"I know," Sam said and there was that growl again. "They won't. Not without having to go through me first."
"OK." Dean closed his eyes again, and he felt dizzy, and tired, and he just wanted to let Sam stand guard. Or sit, he corrected, and they should probably get off the ground and back to the motel. Sam made no move to get them up though, just pulled Dean closer and held onto him tightly.
"We...should get back," Dean finally said, knowing that they had a job to do and Dad was waiting for them. He didn't feel much like going hunting, but he told himself he'd messed around long enough, and sitting by the side of the road wasn't getting the job done.
He didn't try to let go of Sam just yet, though.
"We will," Sam told him, not sounding the least bit worried or rushed. And still not making any move to leave.
Deciding that he didn't feel up to arguing, Dean didn't say anything more. The wind was picking up, cool and nice -- it made him think of the snow that, up here, wouldn't be too many more weeks away. He shifted, once, thinking that they really needed to get off their asses and get back to Dad and the poltergeist -- he wanted to go home.
Finally Sam stirred, pulling back a little. "You ready to go?"
"Yeah." Dean was glad to notice he sounded less like he wanted to throw up again -- or stay where he was. He moved away from Sam just enough to see if his brother was going to let him go. Sam moved a little, but didn't relinquish his hold on Dean as he got them both to their feet. Dean felt himself sway for a second, then he got ahold of himself and stood up straight. He looked at Sam and found his brother watching him.
Sam smiled at him and patted his arm.
"God, I need water," Dean muttered. His mouth tasted nasty. He only had holy water in the trunk, but there was an exit up ahead with fast food places and a couple gas stations. He glanced down at himself to check if he'd splattered vomit anywhere, but he looked clean.
"Hang on a sec," Sam said, moving away from Dean for the first time since they'd stopped. He went to the trunk and dug through his bag, coming back with a bottle of water. "Here."
"Thanks." He took the bottle, swigging a mouthful and swishing it around his mouth before spitting it out. He did the same thing again, then the third time he drank some. He made a slight gagging noise and shook his head. "I taste nasty." He gave his brother a look. "I can't believe you kissed me when I tasted like this."
Sam shrugged. "You needed me to."
Whatever he'd been about to say died before even reaching his lips, and Dean just looked at Sam. "Yeah." He coughed, then tried to not go there, and said, "Yet you won't kiss me after I have fish tacos."
"That should tell you something about my feelings regarding fish tacos," Sam pointed out.
Dean nodded, taking another swallow of water. He fought back the urge to grab another cuddle -- he'd planned for a few stops for sex along the way, but he hadn't really expected to waste too much time getting back to Clayton. "There's a Benny's Tacos in town," he said, hopefully.
"Dean, I love you, but I'm not buying you a fish taco."
"I think they have fish burritos." Dean capped the water bottle and stepped towards the car, door still hanging wide open as he'd left it.
"No," Sam said, moving around to the driver's side.
"I thought you loved me," Dean said, forcing himself to not think about what he'd just said. He got into the car and pulled the door closed, reaching forward to give his girl a pat before Sam got in and could catch him at it.
"I do. But that still doesn't mean I'm going to buy you fish tacos."
"Why not? Seriously, what have you got against a perfectly wonderful combination of two of the most perfect foods ever? Add a couple twinkies and those Funyun things...."
"You're trying to make me throw up on the side of the road, aren't you?" Sam asked plaintively as he started the engine.
"Sammy!" Dean chided. "If I were trying to make you throw up I'd remind you about the time Sue Ann tried to kiss you in first grade." He leaned back in the seat, sliding down a little to let his head fall low on the headrest.
"Just because I don't want to think of kissing anyone other than you doesn't mean that doing so will make me throw up," Sam said easily.
"Is that why you were so mad when she kissed you? Because she wasn't me?" Dean grinned smugly at him.
"I was six years old. I thought girls had cooties."
"You made me kiss you to disinfect where she kissed you." Sammy had been scowling like the proverbial thundercloud -- and he'd stayed angry the entire walk home from school. Dean had finally been at his wit's end to get Sam in a better mood; in desperation, he'd leaned down and kissed Sam on the cheek and told him that erased it.
He remembered how Sammy had looked up at him, those damnable puppy eyes wide as they could go, and he'd said that the girl had kissed him on the mouth.
Sam shrugged. "I figured I probably already had your cooties."
"You drooled on me, first."
"No fair bringing up things that happened before I had teeth."
"You teethed on Mr. Ber-ber," Dean told him, scowling. Mom had given him the teddy bear -- leave it to Sammy to decide that was the only proper teething ring he could use.
"You gave it to me," Sam defended. "And what did I say about bringing things up from when I was a baby?"
"I gave him to you because I had something better to sleep with." Dean closed his eyes. He really didn't care about the stuffed bear -- hadn't at the time, didn't now. But there was no way in hell he'd ever stop teasing Sam about it.
Sam's hand squeezed his thigh, there and gone. "You still do," he said.
"Still drool on me sometimes," Dean said. The motion of the car was starting to lull him into a post-fuck-freak out haze. He didn't feel like fighting it; they still had about twenty minutes to reach the motel.
"Dean?"
"Yeah?"
"You have to tell me where we're going."
Dean left his eyes closed and muttered, "First exit, Motel 6. Room 21. Look for a guy who answers to 'Dad'."
There was a pause and then Sam told him, "Jerk."
"Dickface," Dean replied. "Na to--"
As he drifted off, he heard Sam say softly, "Yeah, love you too."
end chapter three
continue to chapter four