It doesn't have a real genesis. That's the problem actually, because Sam's pretty sure if he could remember how it started he could figure out what it is.
There had to have been a first time. He remembers how awkward it was when they were teenagers and they'd be sharing a bed. Morning wood and wet dreams managed to never make it into Dean's rotating joke file, because Dean suffered them too. Somewhere along the line though that lack of joking, that simple avoidance of the issue maybe, became something else. Somewhere along the line they lost all understanding of what was acceptable and right, and now every couple of weeks they find themselves in this same position. Naked, sweaty, covered in scratches and bites and bruises, and avoiding one another's gaze. They don't talk about it, because that would be stupid Dean's face practically screams, but they do it. Sam, honestly, doesn't want to talk about it.
They don't kiss, there are no words while it's happening, and Sam can't remember how they decide who's on top. It's not a battle, but there's some unspoken understanding between them that one feels like being the giver and one the taker. Neither one is more or less dominant than the other, and that's probably a good thing, because Sam would hate to have to fight about that too. Which is how they got here really, sweaty and naked again, and glaring at each other while panting harshly. Because halfway through Sam being balls-deep in Dean he had the audacity to say I hate Halloween.
He's not even sure why he said it really. They don't have the greatest history with the holiday, but the situation is ridiculously inappropriate for opining on the decay of tradition or the repetitive loss of life and dignity attached to a day that's supposed to be about candy and casual hook-ups. Are they the world's weirdest casual hook-up?
"I'm going to the bar." It's ground out as Dean pushes up from the bed and grabs his boxers and pants. Sam can't do much more than watch all that long muscular length as Dean pulls his clothes on. There are freckles, and he'd like to lick them and pull Dean back into the bed, but the look on his brother's face says that this session of whatever the fuck is long over and dead. Instead Sam simply sits silently on the bed feeling ridiculous as his erection deflates and his brother storms out of the room. Sam's at fault here, but he's not sure why or what exactly he's done. Was it the topic, or simply him finally breaking the silence that's hung between them for so long? Is Dean angry that Sam spoke, or is he angry that Sam appeared to be thinking about trick-or-treaters when they were in the middle of fucking?
So Sam does what seems most appropriate. He throws the lube back into the nightstand, steps into the shower, and washes off the lube and sweat before settling into the bed closest to the door with the bottle of tequila they've been saving and a nice episode of Casa Erotica, because maybe he's still a little keyed up. Maybe he needs this. Except the writhing bodies on the screen aren't doing much for him, and he finds that it's easier to get drunk when your blood is up and you've been denied the orgasm you so desperately needed. He did need it too. Sam doesn't know if Dean still picks chicks up in the bars he goes to without Sam, but he knows that he never crosses that line anymore. He's either too busy researching their next hunt, or too busy making sure that Dean doesn't get beat up by the locals. Dean's a great hustler, but he's a lousy winner and more prone to bragging with the amount of alcohol he's been consuming lately. Which brings up another point entirely, but Sam's so far from being in a place where he can lecture Dean about his drinking that it's not even funny.
When Dean finally crashes back through the door Sam takes the last swig of the tequila and then places the bottle ever so carefully three inches off the edge of the nightstand. Which is pretty funny when you think about it, and Dean should be laughing but his brother looks ridiculously sober right now. Odd. Sam tilts his head once and finds that at this angle Dean is kind of pretty instead of handsome. Dean's scowl suggests Sam has spoken aloud, and that's funny too even if his brother doesn't seem to think so.
"Sam, how fucking much was left in that bottle?" Dean's kind of glaring now, and Sam wants to wipe it off his face. He finds it's easy to slide to the floor because he's kind of boneless right now, and then he's undoing the buckle of Dean's belt and fumbling with the zipper. His brother gives him a not too gentle smack to the back of the head, but Sam ignores that and pulls Dean's flaccid dick out of his pants before sucking it down.
What's odd is, Sam knows for a fact Dean doesn't want to do this right now. Which is why Dean should be arguing, but he's not talking. Not doing anything but breathing heavy and hardening in Sam's mouth. He'd give that more thought, but honestly he's pretty fucking drunk and this is the best way to get Dean to calm the fuck down. Has been since they started whatever whenever, and now Dean's fingers are gripping his shoulders and his hips and moving in these tiny jerks that suggest he's getting into it. Sam pulls back, staggers upwards, and let's Dean hold him steady as he shucks off his sweats and falls onto the bed.
"That's my bed Sam." They're talking again? Does that mean they're doing this or not? Sam rolls his eyes once and the room rolls with them, and then Dean's grabbing onto Sam's legs and spreading them in a way that mixes care with force and anger. It's pretty fucking hot.
The prep is gentle and aggressive all at once. Dean's fingers slide in and out of him smoothly, one and then the next, and he takes care to twist slow and sure as he finds Sam's prostate. On the other hand Dean's mouth is biting bruises into Sam's thighs and that's so against what his hands are doing that Sam's swimming brain takes a dive and gets disoriented. He kind of wants to shout at Dean a bit, and he kind of wants to stay silent, because there's no telling what will make this another abortive effort at sex. He really wants the sex.
Dean's up to three fingers, and Sam uses his foot to nudge Dean's shoulder and tell him that's he's ready. If he said he was ready though would Dean still get on with it? If he told Dean he loves this part of the whole thing more than any other part what would that do? It's true though. Sam's favorite part of the act isn't the middle or the explosive ending, and it certainly isn't the weird lack of afterglow. It's the joy of the preparation. Dean taking his time to open Sam up, to make him ready, and the way that Dean makes sure to distract him from the pain of his blunt fingers. It's the aspect of his relationship with Dean that he's always liked the best. The push and pull, the violence coated affection, and fuck but it feels good when Dean scissors like that.
He's drunk, and he's starting to question, and Halloween is in one day. It's a bad fucking combination.
Sam watches Dean shuck off the rest of his clothes, watches him slick up, and then because he can't help himself he kicks Dean in the thigh when his brother reaches for him. There's a grunt of pain, and Sam's glad because now they're starting to make noise. They can ratchet it up from there. Everyone always brags about how Dean is the one that lies best, that Dean's the one who can charm people, but Sam knows full well that when it comes to them he's the one with the power to dissemble. He knows how to play Dean, knows the buttons and the strings, and there's a universe of ways to run this. Sam can do it.
The blunt pressure of Dean's cock breaches the first ring of muscle, and then Dean's sliding in slow and smooth. Sam always bites his lip when Dean does this. This time he moans, long and loud, and keeps Dean's eyes while he's doing it. Maybe it's the booze, or maybe it's just because Sam realizes that if he doesn't do it now he may never do it. Dean gives him an odd look and then he's fully seated and those eyes Sam kind of loves are rolling back as Dean bites off his own noise.
"I hate Halloween." Dean tenses mid-thrust, and then there's an awkward silence hanging over both of them as his brother narrows his eyes and licks his lips. "I hate it Dean."
Dean's frozen, half-in and half-out, and Sam isn't sure if he wants him to move forward or back. When he finally speaks his voice is gritty and broken. "What. The. Fuck. Sam."
Sam uses his heels to push Dean all the way in, and then moans in the best porno voice he has and rolls his head into the pillow. Dean can hit his prostate from this angle, and Sam loves that. "I hate Halloween but I love when you fuck me."
He can actively feel Dean trying to pull out now. "You're drunk."
"Yes, and full of cock. So, let's do this." Sam can't help the grin that spreads over his face at the look Dean has. Babies eating grapefruit. Dean watched that video five times while drunk one night, and Sam is just now getting why it was funny.
"Sam. Let go of me." Dean's not joking around, every tight line and grimace suggests that, but Sam doesn't want to let him go. This may be the last time they do this, and Sam will be damned if he doesn't get his orgasm.
"Come on man. Just-jesus-move or something." Sam nudges Dean with his heels again, and for half a second his brother looks surprised. Then there's an explosion of pain in his jaw and the world is nowhere to be found.
Sam wakes up with the sun in his eyes and a bag of ice hitting his face. "Rise and shine Sammy. We got a case to start investigating."
He wants to sit up, but the taste in his mouth informs him if he gets up the hangover will really begin, and that will probably be the end of him. Dean isn't even a little sympathetic, the asshole, and Sam's left to stagger into the bathroom and throw up whatever was left in his stomach as Dean casually brushes his teeth beside him. Sam shoots him a pointed look and Dean simply shakes his head and gargles loudly.
It takes an hour for the aspirin to dull even the barest edge of his headache, and by that time he's already flashed his fake badge and is standing in the morgue staring at the half-crushed form of one Larry Kowalski. It's a funny thing, how the smell of a morgue is almost comforting to him. He's spent a good portion of his life surrounded by this scent, and to be honest it's the first time since he woke up that nausea hasn't controlled him completely. Dean's peering at the medical examiner instead of the body.
"Let me get this straight. Mr. Kowalski here just wakes up one morning and decides to make his own bungee cord and jump?"
The M.E. takes a huge bite of his sandwich, ham and egg Sam's pretty sure and there's the nausea again, and then speaks around it. "Yup. I mean I've known Larry my whole life and I can't explain it any better than that."
Dean's eyes narrow. "Was he into extreme sports?"
"Nope. Larry was an accountant. Two kids, nice wife, church-goer. Most adventure he ever had was his honeymoon to Yosemite. Then a few days ago Larry just starts trying things. Weirdest thing I ever saw."
Sam can't find traces of sulfur anywhere, but if Larry was possessed it could have been washed off when they rinsed the corpse. He rolls the body back into its drawer and then nods to the one next to it. "What about her?"
The M.E.'s eyes roll. "Local crazy cat lady. Maria Lawson." He opens the drawer one-handed and pulls out the body while munching on his sandwich. "Stole a Mustang and went for a joyride. Wrapped the damn thing around a tree doing a hundred and ten. We always knew she'd break, but I guess nobody was expecting grand theft auto you know?"
There was this spot of skin that Sam could just see at Dean's collar where he hadn't done up the last button. His brother apparently hadn't shaved this morning, and the stubble caught the light and made that spot of delicate flesh practically shine in the light. Sam had never touched Dean in public before. If they weren't playing the part of professionals they were somewhere that people knew their real relationship. Were they in a fake relationship though? Or an alternate one? What were they anyway, and what would that patch of skin taste like?
"Hey!" Sam jerked and realized Dean was talking to him.
"Uh, yeah man?"
The M.E. had both eyebrows raised and Dean was glaring at Sam like he was going to kick his ass the minute they left this guy's gaze. "I asked if you had any other questions Agent."
Sam almost winced at the inflection, but damn he wanted to taste Dean. Dean angry was as good as Dean lustful. Really it was a shame they were in public because how many more chances was Sam really going to get to lick Dean's skin in front of people? A hard grip took his forearm, and his hand spasmed as fingers pressed into the nerve cluster there. "Thank you for your time. If we have any more questions we'll come back."
They were upstairs and speeding towards the car when Dean finally spoke again. "What the fuck is wrong with you Sammy? You still drunk, or you breaking down on me right now? I need some kind of heads-up man, because I can't rely on you if you're gonnna keep walking around acting like a fucking idiot."
Usually this would be where Sam got angry, and he knew that logically, but Dean was tugging on his tie and that spot of skin was calling to him. "I wanted to lick your throat. I've never done that in public, and what if it was my last chance Dean? Your skin just looks-"
Dean looks horrified, and Sam cuts himself off by force and takes his place in the Impala only for Dean to put in a Motorhead tape and begin blasting music. They don't talk again all the way to the library. Sam loves to watch the way the sunlight filters through the window and accentuates the lines and angles of Dean's face. Wasn't it Emily Dickinson who said that thing about winter light? She should have mentioned autumn light and how it could highlight the things you loved, and then suddenly Sam is brushing his fingers against Dean's face, because how many more times will he be able to see this?
His brother jerks the wheel once, glares, and Sam settles back in and stays quiet.
The library is just as small as the courthouse complex that held the morgue. Sam studies the nine rows of bookshelves, and his eyes roam over the mousy looking blonde behind the counter before landing again on the ancient microfiche machines. There's only one computer in the whole building, and Dean's taken it away from him because he caught Sam surfing one of Chuck's fan sites. The hit Sam took to the back of the head was none too gentle, and Sam's not really interested in repeating it.
There's nothing here to see as far as Sam's concerned. No connection between the victims except their location. No strange weather patterns, no dark town history, and those shelves are kinda perfectly spaced. Really perfectly spaced. He gets up and wanders slowly, ignoring Dean's hissed warning. There's nobody in them, and Sam studies the shelves for a long time. Fiction, Non-Fiction, a collection of Encyclopedias so old they probably still claim that the sun revolves around the earth. His hand strokes the old nicked wood of one shelf, and he watches as Dean flips through archived newspapers and considers his options. He could do it. He could totally do it, and there's no security guard here. Just that one little librarian.
So he does. Sam leans once against the shelf, almost casually, and watches as it topples and takes the others with it. The triumphant cry is almost ripped from him, and Dean's already up and grabbing his elbow before Sam can even have time to really enjoy the dominoes he's created. Or found. He found them. How many times has he seen it happen in movies, and now it's happening for real!
Dean's cursing, low and steady, but Sam sees the way the librarian is giggling and understanding even as Dean pulls him out to the car. When they get there he's shoved against the cold metal, and then Dean is in his face breathing harshly.
"What the fuck is wrong you?" Dean looks angry. Really angry. If Sam wasn't feeling so damn good about how well the whole shelf domino thing worked out he'd probably be concerned about that. Instead all he can do it grin and stroke his fingers along Dean's cheek. His hand is slapped away and Dean's glaring at him harder than before. Hard enough that this little vein is throbbing in his temple, and Sam wonders what it would taste like.
"I just-uh-I wanted to see the shelves fall Dean. It was funny!"
"It was not goddamn funny Sam. You're lucky the librarian didn't call the cops! Something you wanna tell me man? You getting stoned or cracking up?"
There's something nagging at the back of Sam's mind, but it's hard to think of while Dean's so close, and he can smell his brother's blood pumping so fast, see it in the beat of the vein, and he wants so badly to just bury himself in Dean and feel every inch of flesh. Which is when he shrugs and tries his best to look apologetic. "I thought it would be funny, and I'd never done it before."
Dean's head is shaking and his fists are clenched so hard Sam can see how the blood is getting cut off. "Whatever Sam. Get in the damn car."
There's no music this time, and as they pull away and Sam looks at the bare trees they're hurtling past it occurs to him again. "The librarian thought it was funny."
Dean hisses in a breath, goes to say something, and then tilts his head at an odd angle and considers the road instead. "Shut up Sam. I don't wanna hear anything else from you for at least a damn hour."
They end up back at the diner they ate at the night before, and Sam orders the same salad he had and enjoys it just as much. There's a special seasonal dressing they're using, and it's damn good. Even the pumpkin pie they serve Dean doesn't take the edge off, and Sam watches as Dean chews mechanically, eyes dim and distant as he turns over possibilities in his head. Sam's seen that look a thousand times, but he's never noticed before how it makes Dean's jaw look so strong, or how badly he wants to kiss him. He's so distracted he honestly misses the waitress' approach, until she's plopped in Dean's lap with her arms around his neck.
It would be funny, the look of shock and confusion on Dean's face, if the bitch wasn't touching Dean's chest over the spot their tattoo rests and cooing in his ear. Sam's already moving before Dean can really react, hands reaching up and grabbing her slim shoulders before he pulls her off his brother's lap and out into the aisle between booths. He can hear the gravely undertone to his voice and the strange cadence of his words, bloodthirsty and vicious.
"Get the fuck off. Mine. Mine."
Dean's faster than him. Sam's always known it, but it gets proven in this moment as Dean drops a twenty on the table and pulls Sam away from her. They're out the door and on the way to the motel before Sam can even consider how tightly his hands are clenched or how hard his heart is beating. Wasn't Dean just this angry? That's the story of their lives it seems. They move in cycles around each other, and Sam's always been able to recognize that and move with it, but this is ridiculous. They're so damn careful about not touching each other in public, and this is the result. Random sluts thinking they can drape themselves over Dean like he's a public chair instead of Sam's.
As soon as they reach the motel room Dean pulls Sam in and then Sam pushes Dean into the wall. He grips Dean's biceps tight and takes his brother's mouth, slants over it and groans into the heat and wet as he licks his way past those pink lips and into the mouth he's buried himself in once or twice before. Dean's struggling against him, and Sam gets a fist driven into his ribs twice before he pulls back for air and space.
"What?" He sounds wrecked, and Dean is staring at him like he's grown a second head.
"Sam. Back off. Now." Dean doesn't sound aroused, but Sam can see the outline of him in his jeans, and the way Dean's breathing screams need and want. So even as he listens to Dean's protests he runs his fingers along the bulge he's so familiar with and watches Dean's head hit the wall. Soaks in the sound of Dean's particularly odd silence and wants to hear a moan or a grunt. Something more than that bitten back nothingness he's so used to now.
"Dean. Fucking make some noise. Make noise for me Dean." He hits his knees hard on the thin and ragged carpet, and then his fingers are flying over Dean's belt buckle, undoing the button and unzipping his pants as Sam burrows his way down to Dean's hard shaft. He wants to taste and touch, but most importantly he wants to hear. Dean's hands are scrabbling at his hair, as if he's not sure if he wants Sam to do this or to leave him alone. Sam can understand that. This should be scary. This isn't their usual approach, and Sam's not even certain what he's going for here, but if he could just get Dean to moan once that would be everything.
He finally has Dean's cock in his hand, and he nuzzles it once before licking from the base to the tip. Dean sucks in a breath and Sam blows against the wet stripe he's left and husks out a command. "Moan Dean. Fucking moan."
Then he's licking in earnest, treating Dean's dick the way Dean does his own fingers after he eats messy finger food. When he gets back to the flared head he circles it twice and then sucks it in. Dean's breathing hard, fingers gripping his hair, and if Dean didn't have this stupid fucking idea about silence then he'd probably be arguing or shouting at Sam. Instead he's breathing hard and shaking under Sam's fingertips. He works his way down from the head, hollowing out his cheeks and looking up through lowered lashes at Dean. When he catches his brother's mossy green eyes and strokes his tongue up mid-suction Dean moans.
It's the best sound Sam has ever heard, and he's so hard he's pretty sure he's going to come just from the friction against his own boxers. Sam wants to hear that sound again, wants to hear his name spilling from Dean's lips, and he knows exactly how to get it. He unbuttons his own pants, and then drools over Dean's cock enough to slick up his own fingers. He keeps Dean's gaze and then thrusts two fingers into himself at the awkward angle even as he sucks harder and pushes down towards the wiry hair at Dean's groin. Dean catches the movement, looks over Sam's shoulder, and then Sam can see the thick groan ripped from Dean's throat. His brother is falling apart above him and Sam cannot wait for more. Wants to taste every second, record it visually, and most importantly hear it.
There's a hard burn as he scissors his fingers inside himself. Even with how big his hands are he can't reach his prostate from this angle, but he can drive Dean fucking insane with the sight of it, and that's his biggest plan. He twists his head sideways and twirls his tongue around the head, and Dean lets out more breathy sounds. He looks pained, and Sam kind of likes that, but more importantly he really wants to hear his name.
Dean's getting close, Sam can feel it from the tension in his thighs and the tightness in his balls. He waits until Dean's breath is hitching, hips stuttering tight and hard, and then he pulls his mouth off and looks up and intense. "My name."
There's confusion, Dean's pupils so wide there's almost no color left around them, and he watches the way Dean's adam's apple bounces when he swallow. "Wha?"
"My name. Say it or no happy ending." He'd laugh at his own word choice, but the look on Dean's face steals the laughter away. There's anger there in the haze of need and lust, and Sam gives Dean's flushed head one lick and watches how it bobs, the spurt of precome, and then Dean's breath is coming out all at once and he's nodding with a grim look.
"Sam." Sam leans forward and takes the heavy length back in, sucks his way down as his own fingers twist and curl inside himself, and his tongue is fluttering against the vein as he sucks and pulls. "Sam." He leans back and then forward, head bobbing faster and faster, and then he uses the only free hand he has to rub his fingers against the nerve cluster at the base of Dean's cock. "Fuck Sammy."
That's it. The sound of it, and the burst of taste on his tongue, and Sam's coming in his pants like a teenager even as he keeps swallowing past Dean's orgasm and afterwards. His brother lets out this half-pained laugh, and then he's pushing Sam away and tucking himself back into his pants.
"Ok. Ok Sam. I get it now." Dean's head is nodding even as his fingers rub at the bridge of his nose. "Just. Fuck. Just go sit down."
That's odd. Dean should either be mad or boneless, but suddenly he looks more tense than he did before. "Dean? It was good right? I mean we never-what if we don't-" But he can't phrase it because Dean's face is forbidding and strange. Instead Sam swallows his words down and turns from Dean. "Look I just-"
He can't breathe. Dean's arm is putting steady pressure over his carotid artery, and he can't get the right angle to get out of it. He hits ineffectually a few times, and then the world grays out and Sam falls asleep.
Nobody's ever called Dean the brains of the organization. Sam's lectured him more than once about being unnecessarily harsh on himself, but it's just plain honesty to say that when it comes to researching things, and figuring out puzzles Sam is the better hunter. There's really only two things Sam is better at than Dean, and that's one of them. Still, Dean can see what's right in front of him. Sam's fucked-up, and that means it's time for Dean to fix him. A simple enough equation that Dean has been solving his entire damn life. So here he is following the mousy librarian home. There has to be some common ground between the two bodies in the morgue, this woman, and Sam. Whatever it is Dean is going to find out and fix it, because fuck having to put up with Sam acting like a lust-crazed maniac. He can't have this shit on cases, and he can't put up with it in private.
Sure, ok, maybe what's going on with them finally needs to be hashed out. Maybe he needs to give in to Sam's constant bitchy need for a heart-to-heart moment, but not right now. Right now Halloween is hours away and they've got a body count. If it goes up anymore while they're here that's going to be a serious problem, and Dean's not willing to sacrifice civilians in the interest of hashing out what exactly causes him to sleep with his little brother.
Probably choking Sam out and then tying him up wasn't the best option, but it's obvious the guy can't be trusted to take care of himself right now. Dean's willing to bet Sam's gonna be pretty pissed off when he wakes up, but he remembers the look on his brother's face when the waitress plopped down and started touching him. He can't have that right now. If there's something going on in this town that lowers inhibitions then there's a chance Dean's going to get stroked again before this is over. Sam can't start beating up everybody that can't control themselves around Dean. Which may be a little vain, but hey, he's always known he's good at reeling in sexual partners. The librarian comes out of the house, and if Dean hadn't seen her go in he'd be sure this was her roommate.
The mousy lady is gone, and now she's wearing the tightest little dress he's seen in a while, and a half-mask. She clips along the pavement briskly in stilettos, and then slips into her little Honda and takes off. Dean follows her to a big house on the outskirts of the little Pennsylvania town, and then waits 'til she's gone in the door to slip in after her.
Sam was right. She was laughing when they left, and that means she's either infected with the same madness, or she's the cause of it. No librarian laughs when some random guy trashes their whole damn workplace the way Sam did. Shit she didn't even shout when they took off. Dean was so fucking distracted with Sam's madness he didn't even notice her until Sam mentioned it. He'd filed it away subconsciously like always and just kept on moving. Which just goes to show how badly thrown he was when Sam started acting like that.
The place is booming, and Dean tries to ignore the cheesy Halloween music as he slips throughout the crowd. There are a lot of slutty nurses, slutty cartoon characters, and men drooling over them. He's not in a costume, but there are still a lot of people eyeing him as he cuts through the press of bodies looking for the librarian's long blonde hair.
He can't find her though, and he downs a shot out of habit as he scans the room. There's a thought at the back of his head that he has to push out. Has to fight against because if it comes back he'll be too distracted, and what the fuck are those guys doing back there? He makes his way towards the group hanging out at a doorway he knows isn't the bathroom. When he glances over the one guy's shoulder he sees the blonde hair, pressed face first into the wall, and he pushes his way in and gets a better look. She's got a dude holding her legs open as another reaches under that tight dress, and from the tense shaking in her shoulders and the way her head is moving Dean knows without asking what's happening here.
It takes all of three seconds to cross the room, and then Dean has a handful of hair and is pulling the emo vampire holding her legs back and throwing him across the floor before he gets a grip on the guy fingering her. He can't see the son of a bitch's face because he's wearing a wolf mask, but he gets a good hit or two on it before he lets the guy slither bonelessly to the floor. Then he's grabbing the librarian up in one arm and pushing his way out the door. When one of the rapist's friends step forward Dean punches him out without slowing down, and then they're out in the bracing air and the woman is sobbing into shoulder as he lets her slip down to her feet.
"You alright?" It's a stupid question. Sam would know what to say, but all Dean can see is red, and all he can hear are those harsh little pants she was letting out. He's not holding her up anymore, and she slides to the cold and soggy ground without really seeming to notice.
"I hate Halloween." She sounds husky and thick with tears, but the words send a shudder through Dean that have him pulling back from her before he gets control over himself.
"What the fuck did you just say?" She jerks but he can't stop, and he's kneeling near her and looking into her face. The mask is off and he can see the tear tracks through her thick eye makeup.
"I hate Halloween. It's just an excuse for kids to be rude and people to dress like sluts. But I always kind of wanted to try it, and I got to thinking that if I didn't do it now-" There's a harsh breath and then she shakes her head hopelessly.
But Dean gets it now. Gets the gist of it anyway, and if he doesn't know the explanation for it that's ok. Which means Sam's sudden obsession with sound and blowjobs has a pretty dark fucking explanation, and since everyone else that's shown the signs of this madness died Sam is in trouble. It's not good, certainly shakes him, but it's almost comforting because it means things are back to where they always are. Sam's in trouble, Dean will save him, and then things will go back to normal. Except can they? He's not…Dean knows he's not healthy when it comes to expressing emotions. He understands all too well that Sam needs more than what he can offer, but maybe it's time to push his boundaries a little more.
Dean doesn't know why Sam puts up with it really. His brother has walked away so many times the only surprise left for Dean is that he ever comes back. Sam deserves better, deserves someone who won't treat him like an outlet for stress, but he's picked Dean. He's a lot of things, but he's not stupid, and if Sam's picked him he won't pass that opportunity up. He'll hold on to Sam for as long as he can, and then when it all falls apart at least he'll have the memories. He's never told Sam that since they started this thing he can't bring himself to touch anyone else. That this has become the highlight of his life, and that he has to force himself to space the encounters out so that Sam won't see the depths of his need.
All of this needs to take a backseat though, because Sam's infected with something and it could be deadly. Still, if this woman put herself in this much danger to follow a long buried impulse then all of this weird shit Sam's been doing has a deeper purpose. They'll have to handle that when it's over. In the meantime he needs a connection and something to kill.
"Ok sweetheart. Let's start from the beginning. You familiar with Larry Kowalski or Maria Lawson?" He's maneuvering her up and into the Impala as he asks, and she lets herself be placed in the front seat without complaint or comment.
"Uh. Larry did my taxes, and Maria used to check out movies a lot." She looks half-asleep, and Dean briefly wonders if her unearthed desire for a casual hookup is going to have him fending off her advances anytime soon. It doesn't look like it though. But this is progress. This is really something, because she knew both of them.
He ponders it as he drives her home. If there's a baseline connection between them then they may have all crossed paths with the thing that's causing it. It can't be a demon because Sam is affected and his tattoo is still in place. They're halfway to her house when it occurs to him. "Did Larry and Maria hate Halloween?"
She gives him a weird look and then leans her head back against the window and shrugs. "Yeah? I'd guess so. Maria had a problem with punks pranking her on Halloween, and Larry was super-religious. Like, speaking in tongues religious. They never said anything about it. Why? What's-this is so messed up."
Dean shoots her a questioning eyebrow and she gestures around the car. "I don't even know your name, and you sort of saved me from gang-rape. Now you're asking me about two people I see a couple times a year. This is weird."
"Dean. My name's Dean."
There's a half-shy smile at that, and he accepts her hand and shakes it once before going back to driving. "Sarah. Thanks by the way. I never do stuff like this. I don't know what came over me."
"Well let's figure that out. You might have been drugged. You drink anything weird?" He glances her way and watches as her nose scrunches up in thought.
"No. Not that I remember. I got there, and went with the first guy that showed an interest. Bad choice on my part huh?" Sarah gives a bitter laugh and Dean nods seriously.
"Coulda happened to anyone sweetheart. Don't beat yourself up too much." They're at her house, and he walks her in and then checks the place out. She watches him with a weird half-smile.
"I don't think they beat us here."
"Not what I'm looking for." He checks all the usual spots, but there's no hex bags hidden anywhere. If it's a witch this isn't the usual M.O. "You got any enemies? Somebody that would want to embarrass you or anything?"
Now Sarah's looking at him incredulously. "Seriously? I work five days a week at the library. I come home and surf the internet until I pass out. I don't even talk to anybody. When would I have time to make an enemy?"
Her kitchen is practically unused, and Dean takes a seat at the table and watches as she pulls juice from the fridge and offers it. He shakes his head once and she drinks from the carton before putting it back.
"Ok. This is going to sound really weird, but did anybody odd touch you recently?" She winces and Dean immediately curses his stupid tongue. "I mean-not like-shit. Someone you didn't know earlier in the day maybe? Not sexual, just contact."
Sarah crinkles her nose again and then takes a seat across from him. "Uh, no. Not that I can think of." She digs through a huge bag, and Dean hears paper crinkling in it before she pulls out a pack of gum and pops two pieces in her mouth. "No. I'm sure of it. Nobody new in the library except you and your partner earlier."
There's something about the crinkle that strikes him, but it's filed away when his cell phone starts ringing. He holds up one finger and flips it open when he sees Sam's name on the display.
"Yeah Sam?"
There's heavy breathing on the other end, and then Sam's voice comes thick and unsure. "Dean? Where are you?"
He watches Sarah dig in the bag again, and there's that crinkling and it's bugging the shit out of him because there's a smell attached to it and that smell is familiar. That's what's bugging him, but he can't place it.
"I'm questioning a witness Sam. How'd you get loose?" Sarah raises a blond eyebrow at that even as she straightens up.
"Dean. I want to tell you something, and I need to say it 'cause there's this chance I'd never-" He cuts off and the silence is so deep Dean pulls the phone back enough to see if the call is even still connected. When he confirms it is he puts the phone back to his ear and waits. He can't even hear his brother breathing, and there's a cold spill up his spine that has every hair standing upright and his heart pulsing along too fast to be healthy.
"Sammy?" Whatever she hears in his voice, Sarah jerks and now she looks panicked.
"I love you. Like, really love you. You're like-you're my fucking world dude. All of it, and I just-I can't-ah fuck Dean. I don't know. I don't know where I am anymore."
He takes two deep breaths and rubs at the bridge of his nose. "Ok Sam. Do you mean physically? Can you look around and give me details so I can come get you?"
Dean hears something then, the sound of wind maybe, and water introduced so suddenly Dean has to assume Sam's left an enclosed space and entered open air. "Dean you know what I always envied about Cas and the rest of them?"
There's no hesitation. He's off his feet and pulling his keys out before he can even take a breath. "Sam. Sam stay right there. Stay Sam. I'm coming for you."
"I always wanted-she says I can now, but there's no time to wait because there'll never be this chance again. It's Halloween, and this is my last chance Dean. I love you."
"Sammy. Sam!" But the line is really dead now. They've talked. Talked their whole lives and Dean remembers vividly what Sam always said was his favorite part of angels. What he always regretted not being able to do. Remembers because the thought of it always made his stomach do slow flips. He looks over to Sarah and then he sees what's in her purse. A takeout bag form the diner. She's a slim lady, well-toned and obviously health conscious. Drinks juice. Obviously she'd order a goddamn salad at a greasy spoon.
"Sarah. I need you to tell me where the highest bridge is around here, and then I need you to throw out that salad. You got me?"
She's nodding and moving even as he orders it, and thank fuck because finally a civilian listens for once. "There's the Leebold Bridge about eleven miles out. You take a right from my driveway and then hang a left on Oak Street."
He doesn't have time for goodbye or consolation. He just leaves the warmth of her kitchen and plunges into the cold darkness of the night. Sam's right. It's 12:02 AM, and Halloween has officially started.
Dean finds his brother standing next to an abandoned car, alone, with the wind ruffling his soft shaggy hair. Sam's feet are bare despite the cold, and Dean winces in sympathy at how bad they'll feel when he disconnects them from the cold metal rail Sam is precariously balanced on. His brother's arms are held out, and Dean's not sure if it's for balance or authenticity. His brother's smile is beatific as he turns his head in Dean's direction.
"Dean. Dean I'm going to do it."
He holds his breath just long enough to not shout. Sarah snapped out of her trance like need for random sex pretty quickly, but she didn't finish the damn salad. Sam's eaten it two days in a row. Dean can see it now, the description of the special seasonal dressing. The bitch certainly has a sense of humor. People who hate Halloween living it up to its full potential, and all because they took part in tasting the season. He'll be sure to tell her he appreciated the joke when he's carving her up.
"Sam. I need you to lean back towards the road. I'm coming over to get you."
There's a flicker in his brother's eyes, brought out by the street light that casts half of his face in shadow. Dean can see the sharp cheekbones he's known his whole life, the moles he's touched but never licked, and why the fuck did he never even kiss Sam? He could have at least kissed the guy.
"Dean. I just wanted to do this before I ran out of time. Why couldn't we do this? It could have been yours."
He has to fix this right fucking now. "Sammy, there ain't no time limit on us. No time limit at all except the one you set. Halloween is gonna come and go and I'll still be here. The only one who's gonna end this is you, so you can get the fuck down and I'll show you that, or you can jump and find out you can't fly any better than Kowalski could. What's it gonna be Sammy? Because I'm fucking cold and I'd rather be in bed with you right now." It's as bare as he's ever been, and he swallows hard in fear that it's too little too late. Sam tilts his head once, hair brushing into his eyes, and then his arms come down.
There's a moment where Dean thinks Sam is going to jump anyway, and he lunges forward. It's fortunate, because even though Sam goes to step back and off the railing his feet fail him and he's falling. Dean catches his waist at the last second and twists so hard he feels something in his back give before they go crashing into the freezing cold pavement. He has to lie there for a minute, breathing heavily and trying to remember that the pulse he can feel is Sam, and that Sam is alive. Alive.
It takes him a long time to get up, and Sam stumbles with him on numb and half-frozen feet. His brother stares hazily ahead as Dean packs him in the car and drives him back to the motel. The railing ripped skin, and Sam lies quiet and obedient as Dean cleans the wounds and rubs ointment into them before bandaging them. The dressing has worn off, and he strokes Sam's hair once before putting his lips to his brother's ear. "Go the fuck to sleep Sam. I'll be back in a bit."
Sam doesn't argue, and isn't that grand?
Sarah answers her door, half-awake and wrapped in a thick robe. The make-up is gone, and Dean's too tired to edit himself properly. "You look better without all that shit. Where does the cook for the diner live?"
Her directions are excellent, and Dean's not surprised that there are more Halloween decorations in this yard than any other in town. He winds through plastic witches and fake bodies, dips underneath cobweb covered bushes, and finds himself at a back door with a fairly simple lock. Picking it is quick, scanning the kitchen to see the exposed grimoire even simpler, and then he's in her bedroom. She's pretty, and he takes that in as he slips the knife out of his boot and crosses to her bed. He doesn't let her wake up. Keeps it simple and far too painless as he slits her throat and watches her go. He has over six feet of brother to check on, and the only enjoyment he gets is watching her choke on her own blood with wide bright eyes until she's gone and he can head back to the car and drive back to Sam.
He strips quickly and then slides into the bed beside his naked brother. Sam's skin is still cold, and that's no good. Dean takes his time opening Sam from behind, rubbing against him until the blood is flowing properly and Sam is hot against him and moaning as he writhes on Dean's fingers. It takes a while to realize he's talking. A steady stream of instruction even as he lubes his cock and slides into Sam. "That's right. Moan for me baby boy. Make noise. Always gonna make noise from now. Promise. Just let me hear you."
Dean should never have denied them this. Sam sounds better than he feels, and when he gasps out Dean's name and spurts over his hand Dean bites hard into Sam's shoulder and tastes sweat and desperation. It's perfect, hot and sweet, and he spills into Sam and then buries his face in Sam's shoulder.
"Love you Dean." It sounds fuzzy and half-formed, and Dean groans once and pulls out slowly. He needs to shower. He can see in the dim light of the hotel room the witch's blood still on his hands and his cock is sticky and almost raw. The bedside clock announces he's been buried inside Sam for over an hour, and fuck his stamina is good when he's so panicked he can barely see.
"I hate Halloween." He rolls off the bed and ignores the choked noise Sam makes in response.