Out and About
By Antarshakes
[notes at the end]
Sam is waiting in the car again. He can see Dean inside the diner, leaning over the counter, giving the waitress one of his 'dazzling' smiles.
Sam studies Dean's actions, frowns, shakes his head and laughs. The waitress looks like she's about to drag Dean out back any second now.
Moments later Dean's back in his seat. "Damn cute waitress," he mumbles while searching for the pie inside the plastic bag. "She looked like she was about to drag me out back."
He opens the box and takes a big whiff of the sweet smell rising from it. "Wooh! I love these outback diners, man. You get the craziest chicks."
The simplicity that is Dean Winchester, still amazes Sam. He does love his brother for it though, but damned if he'd ever let Dean know that.
"Just eat your pie, Dean," Sam replies dryly and rests back into his seat, sips his coffee, burns his tongue and watches Dean eat his pie with the kind of grace Dean would probably never possess. "You're disgusting, you know that?"
Dean replies by showing what's left in his mouth.
They're brothers.
They're back on the road, again, and Dean's been playing the same tape for the past six hours, right up until they cross the Utah border. Sam's also amazed by Dean's unwillingness to give up his tapes. He relaxes in his seat, Dean's off-key singing as his background noise, familiar, soothing.
Sam remembers the phone call from Bobby leading them to Nevada. Dean couldn't wait to get on the job. He still can't wait really, and boy, does Sam know it.
"Saaaammy, you know what else is in Nevada?" Dean throws his eyebrows up at Sam. "Do ya?" He laughs suggestively. "Yeaaaah you do."
Luckily, Dean lets him be, but it seems like he's singing even more off-key now. Hell, he's lost the key.
They get a room at some sleazy motel. Their room is actually quite nice this time and it smells good; coconut and something rubbery, interesting.
Dean won't stop teasing Sam about the 'Hot Chick' downstairs, so Sam hides Dean's toothbrush. The 'Hot Chick' downstairs is actually a heavy-browed, middle-aged lady handling the registrations, making Sam uncomfortable from the start. She had eyed him the entire time, even batted her lashes at him, licked her lips and subtly mentioned when her shift would end.
"Where's my toothbrush?"
"Don't know Dean, probably where you left it."
"Thanks."
With that, Dean gelling his hair for fifteen minutes, ribbing Sam about not doing the same, they leave for the bar a few blocks over.
They didn't expect the bar to be crowded, small towns never have largely crowded places. This one though is packed with what seems like college students. Sam doesn't really miss these kinds of places, but Dean's grinning like an idiot, saying he was going to "work my magic on the college chicks," and trailing off.
Sam tried some form of protest but then just threw his shoulders up and went straight for the bar. He felt like drinking and being alone. He actually felt like drinking with his brother alone, but that wasn't going to happen tonight.
Sam orders his beer and watches a group of girls gather near Dean immediately: like moths drawn to a light. Sam wonders if there will be a day that Dean Winchester won't have that effect on women, if so, when? An image of Old Dean in a retirement home crosses his mind and it irks him, but then he sees grandma's laughing at Dean's jokes and the nurse offering him an extra dessert. The day women will steer away from Dean Winchester will probably never come. Sam has too much time on his hands.
Sam downs his entire beer watching the girls watching Dean, at the pool table watching the game, making comments. The guys that don't feel threatened, laugh along and offer him beers. Dean could probably hustle their month's worth of pay while picking up chicks.
Sam feels a bit uncomfortable. He got over the hustling part a long time ago. It's just that, lately, when Dean leaves him alone like this, he feels like a complete socially inept person. He doesn't feel the need to strike up a conversation with people, the beer doesn't taste as good as it does when he's sharing it in company of a friend (or brother) and honestly, he just wishes he could read their Dad's journal or do some more research. Doing that here would probably confirm the ineptitude part.
He's already down two beers - when did he drink it that fast?- when he notices Dean isn't around the girls or the pool table anymore.
He takes a deep breath to calm down the jittery feeling and pushes off the stool to look for any danger signals. He spots Dean with a girl in the corner, engaged in what seems a pretty intimate conversation. He's not sure what it is, but intimate Dean is very much new to Sam.
"Is that your girl he's hitting on?"
Sam hadn't noticed the person standing next to him.
"Sorry, what?" He turns around and stares right into striking, large brown eyes.
"I mean, you look a little jealous."
"Uh, no, no, just watching my idiot brother, you know," Sam laughs nervously in reply. He feels caught somehow. He scrapes his throat and takes a long swig from his beer. She's still eyeing him, clearly amused.
"Are you here for the party?" Sam finally manages and gives her a smile he knows will throw her off of any idea she might have. "I'm Sam by the way."
Dean had gotten into a conversation with a girl about her brother being sent off to Iraq.
She had listened to Dean with compassionate attention when he'd shared his story about his geeky annoying kid brother and how much he always had to look out for him.
They sat down in a corner somewhere and Dean wasn't even thinking about the girls who were watching him like hawks. Didn't mean he didn't relish feeling their gaze on him.
It was nice to talk about Sam with someone who wasn't Sam. And the funny thing was, he didn't even feel like hitting on her.
Speaking of Sam, he looks over to see if Sam's still sitting where he had been all night. It was a force of habit, he always has to know Sam's whereabouts.
Sam's still there, but not alone. Dean's eyebrows rise on their own accord and something that surges up in the form of pride, falls right into a frown. It's a novelty seeing Sam chatting up a girl again.
He feels this urge to get up and go see what he's saying to her, how he's handling things, thinking, maybe can even help things along. He realizes that in guy-code that's a total no-no. It's just curiosity, really, he tells himself.
Sam doesn't seem to notice him approaching.
"Sammy, hi," Dean says a bit too obnoxiously, and he knows this.
"Who's this then?" He continues. She's nice enough, he thinks, immediately followed by the thought that Sam's way out of her league. He notices how bitchy that sounds, especially for him and squashes the embarrassment he feels over that. The girl looks at him amused and yet, unimpressed. That's a first.
Sam's caught by surprise. It's shouldn't surprise him really, it's not like this is Dean's first time doing this. He introduces his brother and they sit down together. He's not sure if the fact that Dean's here bothers him, or the fact that there are one too many people at the table.
He had actually gotten into a nice upbeat conversation with the girl and she was asking him all sorts of questions about his brother. For once, he wanted to actually talk about his brother with a girl, without feeling they're angling for a way into Dean's pants. And, even though she makes him feel like he's playing catch-up the entire time he's been talking to her, Sam's been enjoying his own social time. Her eyes and her smile say she knows something he doesn't, and he doesn't like that. At all.
Now Dean's here and Sam doesn't have much say in the matter because within moments, Dean has managed to direct all the attention toward himself.
Sam feels his blood boiling and feels a sting of annoyance when he isn't sure what it is that's making him angry. He ascribes it to the fact that Dean has yet again forcefully wormed his way into Sam's carved space.
He stands up and does that the one thing that usually gives him immediate satisfaction: towering-over-Dean.
Dean looks up at him expectantly and in utmost sincerity. Okay, yeah, no, that won't fly. Sam still manages to keep his voice cool and give the girl some kind of smile.
"Hey, I'm sorry to break this up but we really need to get going, big day tomorrow and all."
He shoots Dean his best glare, managing an apologetic smile for the girl. Why he still doesn't know her name, doesn't bother him.
"Was nice meeting you!"
She just looks at the two of them with her knowing smile and he feels the need to defend himself, not sure what for. He quietly damns her.
She nods along and wishes them a good night, but her eyes have teasing lights in them.
"Yeah, Sam's right," Dean says, puzzled. "Was nice meeting ya, take care."
Brown-eyes waves after them, watching them leave, bickering like an old married couple.
"Brothers, my ass."
"Dude, what was that in there?"
Sam's doing one of the things that always piss Dean off: angrily striding away from Dean with those freakishly long legs, but he stops abruptly when he hears Dean speak. Dean knows the jig is up now.
"Must you always, Dean?!"
Sam's nostrils are flaring, and Dean can barely contain his snort.
"What 'must' I always, Sammy?" Emphasizing the Sammy and the 'must' part, because why is he talking like that?
He's not sure what Sam's getting at, but acting like a little bitch won't get him there.
"Hitting on every girl in your eyesight?" Sam continues
"Well sometimes I miss a few, you know, can't be everywhere." He grins, getting Sam more worked up over petty things he was already getting himself worked up over, was one of Dean's favorite hobbies.
"Dean!" Sam gapes and Dean finds that the funniest expression he has seen on Sam's face in ages.
"Dude, why are you even mad? What? I can't enjoy a girls company anymore?" Dean's laughing now but he's also clueless, to be honest.
"Whatever, never mind." Sam shakes his head as if realizing he's overreacting, or that Dean isn't worth this argument's effort. Either way, it kind of gnaws at Dean. It hits him soon after that.
"OH!"
"What?"
"Dude, that girl! I totally cock-blocked you!" That was so not what he had planned on doing, not intended to anyway. He definitely broke the bro-code.
"No, you didn't!" Sam says huffily, but Dean's on to him.
"It wasn't like that, Dean!" Then an embarrassed: "Whatever," as Sam's cheeks darken.
"Awh, sorry Sammy, I'll arrange something for you tomorrow, whaddaya say?"
Sam stops at his side of the car. "I don't want- I don't need you to get me girls, Dean. I'm fine. Stop being you for a minute and let's just go."
Dean manages to be quit for exactly 40 seconds before he has to look at Sam's face o' doom: his nostrils are still flaring, eyes set as if Dean had just taken a lick from his ice cream, which incidentally, used to be one of Dean's favorite things to do back in the day, but after some point that particular action just became weird.
"Sorry!" He snickers.
When Sam puts his bitch-face on, Dean just loses it.
They make it to Pequop, Nevada the next day, to see about a job involving the Seer, Bobby had mentioned.
"So what's this Seer thing about? She sees stuff? Can she see us?" Dean chuckles satisfied at his joke. It's a good joke.
He notices how Sam hasn't been laughing the entire drive at any of his jokes and he decides to indulge him by asking him about stuff and act like he doesn't have a clue. He doesn't mind, hell, he even likes doing that for Sam.
"So, she a psychic?"
Sam eyes him suspiciously for a bit but clearly decides he'd rather be a geek and grabs some papers he's been keeping in his back pocket. His eyes light up as he searches out the stuff he's about to show him.
"Uhm no, something like it. See here, the paper wrote she claimed to have seen the murders and could describe exactly how they had happened. Thing is, she was seeing them as they were happening. No premonitions, nothing."
Dean studies his brother as he's clearly in his element. All there's missing is Sam wearing glasses and stereotypically pushing them up with his index finger every now and then.
"And the murders?"
"All by the same thing."
"Thing?" Dean smiles inwardly at how easy it is to play this part for Sam.
"She claims she never actually saw the killer."
"So, a thing."
"Yeah"
"So, what the hell's a Seer?"
Sam shakes his head and smiles inwardly. He always refrains from explaining more on purpose, so that Dean will ask him questions.
Sam loves that.
"Okay, so, according to Wikipedia;
A seer is one who sees with spiritual eyes. He perceives the meaning of that which seems obscure to others; therefore he is an interpreter and clarifier of eternal truth. He foresees the future from the past and the present. This he does by the power of the Lord operating through him directly, or indirectly with the aid of divine instruments such as the Urim and Thummim. In short, he is one who sees, who walk in the Lord's light with open eyes. (Book of Mormon)."
"So, God, huh."
"We don't know Dean, let's just go see her."
Dean snorts.
"See her."
They don't change clothes for this one or even bring their fake ID's.
They're paranormal investigators, out to... investigate and help, and stuff.
They knock on the door, waiting as a pretty, dark-haired young woman appears behind the screen door.
"Yeah? Can I help you?"
Dean nudges his brother and Sam knows that it's not a "Go ahead"-nudge.
He clears his throat, manages to shoot Dean an irritated look, before putting on his best trustworthy smile.
"Sorry for bothering you ma'am, I'm Sam and this is my brother Dean. We're, uhm, looking for Jane Toddsen? We would like to ask her a few questions if that's okay?"
The woman hesitates, clearly uncomfortable. "Jane's not in at the moment. I'm her sister, can I ask what this is about?"
Sam's surprised and he can't seem to hide it. "We know your, uhm, sister, has had some experiences lately, and we- I think we can help her."
"Help her?" She asks somewhat unsure, but her eyes are fierce, looking directly into Sam's.
"I think so, yeah. See, we, uhm, we've had some experiences of our own and we- we believe her and we'd like to help her." Sam gives her a comforting smile, sympathy dripping from his face. It always works.
She inspects them, contemplating something, and rests her eyes a little longer on Sam.
She lets out a deep sigh when her decision is made. "If you can help her, you better get inside. I'm Jane."
Sam notices Dean's surprised look and can't hide his smug smile.
"What? I had seen her picture somewhere." He shrugs
"So you just forgot to show me her." Dean pauses a moment and then adds in a whisper: "Yeah, I would definitely convert for her."
Jane's still pretty stable and chatty, seeing the circumstances. She seats them at her dinner table and disappears into the kitchen.
"Would you fellas like some coffee or something?" She called out.
Dean's checking her out with a subtlety that he also doesn't possess and Sam can see him doing so from the corner of his eye, letting it on for a few more moments before snapping and telling Dean he should probably go and check them into a motel.
"Go on. I'll call you later."
"You dog. I can stay too."
"Be gone, Dean."
Jane returns with two cups of coffee just in time to see Dean leave.
"Oh," She looks down at the coffee. "Your brother's not staying to help?"
Sam silences her with his smile, the one that seems to work on everyone, except on Dean somehow.
Dean, not having a smart remark, leaves; protesting and cursing the entire way to the nearest motel, his thoughts going a hundred miles per hour. He had noticed how she was Sam's type, with the dark, long hair and all and the eyes and the smartness and the -
-Why does Sam get to stay with her?-
-He's probably getting back at me for the other night. -
-Why her? She's not even that pretty-
-Okay, lie!-
-She was smoking... -
-Sam could be in her league..-
-Hell, I'm in her league!-
He turns on the TV, muttering shit out loud now. "Fucking dumbass, Sam."
He huffs and puffs, making general angry sound effects. "Sending me away. Fucktard."
He takes his boots off and throws them on the bed he knows Sam will pick, grinning like the naughty 14-year-old Dean again. He doesn't get the satisfaction he thought this would give him though.
It's been two hours already and Sam hasn't called or texted. It's not like Dean has been waiting for Sam to call. No. He's been watching TV, dozing off a bit, only checking his phone five or maybe nine times.
He wants to call them, somehow harass Sam. He feels left out. Yeah, that's it.
He's sure Sam's not getting any at the moment, but he had this itching feeling to know it for sure.
Dean checks himself there. Why the hell was he acting like some jealous boyfriend?
His phone mysteriously lands in his hand before he can figure out whose jealous boyfriend he's actually acting like, as his finger press the Sammy-speed dial button.
Sam picks up the phone laughing and that does not sit well with Dean.
"Sam!? Wrap it up. Let's go eat."
Sam's voice lowers. "I'm still on the case, Dean. You can eat by yourself, go on, I'll call you m'kay?" And he hangs up, just like that.
Dean looks incredulously at his phone for a few moments, putting his boots back on and fighting the urge to jump on Sam's bed.
Dean's acting like a whiny chick and he hates it. Maybe he's just hangry. That must be it.
He looks down at his belly to seek physical support for that notion. It refuses to answer him.
He starts talking out loud to himself again.
"What's so funny Sammy? Talking murders is funny to you guys? Well, it's not. It's very serious." He grumbles and mumbles, muttering as he searches for his keys, trying to figure out where he's going.
His stomach whines when he sits down in his car.
"Fucking knew it."
He pulls up in front of the gate and sits there eating his third burger, peeved, trying to see what's going on inside. He wants proof that Sam wasn't working on the case but was indeed enjoying himself and that would be wrong and then Dean can have all the more reason to bitch about it. Yeah. He purses his lips for good measure.
He takes another angry bite and checks the time on the car display, checks the time on his watch, opens the glove department and checks the time on their dad's cell phone. He then checks the time on his own phone again and is just about to send Sam a text message when a bang on the roof makes him jump out of his seat.
Sam's overgrown head appears at the passenger door, amused look on his face.
"What are you doing here Dean?"
"Ah," he replies, feeling caught. "What? What am I doing? What are you doing?!" He emphasizes his brilliant reply with a nod.
"Whatever. I'm done here. Let's go eat something."
At the diner, Dean keeps looking at him, and he's quiet. Sam doesn't know what makes him more uncomfortable: Dean's weird stare or him being quiet for once.
"Dude, what? Something on my face?" He wipes at his mouth, Dean continues staring.
"Dude, what?!"
"What did you guys talk about?" Dean finally asks.
"The case, what else?" Sam raises an eyebrow. Dean was weirding him the fuck out.
"Okay." He won't look Sam in the eye.
"Don't you wanna know what I have so far?" Sam tries another approach, one you would use with a six-year-old.
"It's probably hilarious," Dean mumbles, shrugging and staring at the waitress' apron, not even her rack.
"What?" Incomprehensible Dean is fucking weird and Sam's this close to throwing something in his face.
"Whatever dude. Get over whatever it is and listen. Jane saw something kill people. People she knew right here in Pequop. And get this, they were all in the same church group."
"Oh, and another thing! She said she had seen the killer holding a knife with some kind of symbols on it, they were glowing like they were heated up!"
Sam shoves a piece of paper over, knowing they're close to something.
"Looks familiar right?"
Dean barely glances at the paper. "Was that all?" He asks stoically.
Sam stares at Dean and dryly replies: "Well she said something about being allergic to underwear." That definitely gets Dean's attention and Sam tries not to laugh as he takes a sip from his soda and calmly continues: "Oh, and that this Seer thing had never happened to her before."
Sam takes in Dean's reaction and feels like giggling like a school girl. Dean's acting like a fucking girl too, anyways. He decides he likes leaving Dean in whatever mood he's in right now and took another sip from his soda.
They're both pretty beat when they finally make it to their room.
Sam heads for the shower the minute they enter and Dean spreads out on his bed.
He has decided he won't say another word to Sam, because everything he does say, sounds like him being a bitch about nothing.
After a while, he notices how aware he is of all the sounds coming from the bathroom. Sam's done showering and opens the door a little to let the steam out, drawing Dean's attention to it involuntarily, thus catching a glimpse of Sam's naked - He bolts right up, feeling more than just a bit uneasy.
Sam reappears from the bathroom with just a tiny towel wrapped around his waist, hair combed back and still dripping wet, sauntering like some fucking Greek God. Dean has to bite his lip not to comment on it, because, well, that would be just weird.
Dean, in his own reverie, follows the trail of a drop until realizing what he's actually staring at. His eyes slowly move back up to Sam's wet nape and the moon shaped curls that had formed there. His body stirs, eliciting thoughts like: when had his baby brother turned into this man?
Sam can feel Dean's eyes on him. He can tell what Dean's doing most of the time without actually having to see it. He had developed this special skill before leaving for Stanford and has perfected it these last years.
Sam had opened the bathroom door to - well, initially to let the steam out a bit, but then he had just stood in front of the mirror watching Dean, watching him. It had given him some kind of rush and maybe, just maybe, made him feel a bit tingly in all the right places. He strolls out, planning on making Dean as uncomfortable, winning some sort of battle he didn't know they were having.
He deliberately takes his time gathering his clothes and getting ready for bed, all the while feeling Dean's eyes following him and not looking away. He's enjoying this a bit too much, then realizes what he's actually doing, who is doing it with and what it entails. If he's blushing, it's because of the hot shower from before.
He turns in search of his socks, meeting his brother's eyes. Dean's still staring at him, a weird spark in his eyes before blinking it away.
"Are you done dressing up, princess?"
Dean sounds hoarse.
The old trick of listening to Dean's even breathing to be able to sleep doesn't work that night.
They're attending mass, on a Sunday morning, since forever. They sit in the back, uncomfortably, scanning the families and young couples.
Not much has been said this morning. It isn't necessarily awkward, except for the fact that probably both of them can feel the air between them growing heavier. So, they sit there, quietly, even Dean, until everybody else trails out.
Sam unfolds his hands he had used for prayer, lets out a deep sigh and stands up first.
The Bishop is a serious-looking guy in his mid-forties, his beard is jet black while his hair is streaked with silver.
He engages in some light conversation with them, even attempts to smile a few times. He doesn't have any trouble answering whatever it was they're asking and tells them about the victims, about how he had noticed that some hadn't attended church for a while and how they had shown up dead, just days apart.
When they step outside again, the air has cleared, leaving just the warming sun. It's still quite early and the air feels fresh and clean.
Dean takes a deep breath and enjoys the smell for a second before turning over and seeing Sam eyeing him seriously.
"Dean, I got this strange feeling back there when I was talking to the Bishop. Did you notice anything?"
Dean's just happy the atmosphere has changed between them and gladly returns to their usual banter.
"You're having strange feelings for the Bishop, Sammy?"
Sam's clearly glad to be having their normalcy back and reciprocates with the bitch-face he seems to always have reserved for Dean only.
"Seriously. Something just didn't seem right. It was- I don't know. It was weird, man."
"You're serious? You think he may be involved?" They've learned long ago to trust their instincts, and this wouldn't be the first time a priest of some sort had gone ape shit. At least they wouldn't be dealing with altar boy-issues this time.
"Okay, we'll stake out tonight. Church or house?" A quick flutter passes through him and he can't pinpoint what the hell that happened for.
Sam takes a deep breath, rubs at his eyes.
"I don't know, let's just see where he goes from here okay?"
"Sam?"
"What?" Sam looks up, still frowning.
"You're going to get me some pie."
And he can't help but grin. He longs for the normalcy they had what seems ages ago.
They're stuck in the car, again, trying to be inconspicuous, while Dean stuffs his face.
The Bishop hasn't been out of the church all day and Dean's getting more and more weary. He didn't sleep much last night, and he had to get up for church early, sit still for hours and hours and his head feels kind of heavy.
Sam's presence seems to be affecting him in more ways than he had imagined so far.
The pie is awesome though.
Dean rests his head against the window, chewing, trying to cool his cheeks and not stare at Sam's ear since his hair has curled itself around the shell. His fingers itch to touch and twirl it around in his fingers. Fucking girl.
He can feel Sam's eyes on him and the window doesn't help any longer. He's officially uncomfortable with this tension between them, or maybe just Dean's own projection of the tension. He just doesn't understand it, or whether he likes it or not. He might kind of like it.
"Is it me, or is it really hot in here?" Dean says, rolling the window down, clearing the air, literally, not helping.
"Just kidding, it's always me." He chuckles, and Sam doesn't even roll his eyes.
Sam ducks his head and starts rummaging through the tapes with an unknown vigor, picking up bad ones as he goes.
"No! Not that one." Dean's initial annoyance with Sam's bad taste kicks in again.
"No, put that away."
"No! This one you dipshit!" They both reach for the same tape, fingers connecting. A moment passes and Dean yanks it out of Sam's hand, clearing his throat. He sounds hoarse when he says: "Yeah, this one."
Dean puts on Blue Oyster Cult to help him out, get a grip on things familiar to him.
He's just getting to number three when Sam turns down the volume. Before Dean can sputter his indignation, he's pushed back into his seat by Sam's giant arm.
"Dude, seriously!" Dean says muffled by Sam's sleeve.
Sam shushes him and points towards the church. Dean casts a quick look but is mostly aware of Sam's face close to his own. From here, he can smell the usually, faint smell, stronger than ever and it's messing him up.
"Dean! He's leaving." Sam whispers. "You follow him, I'll go check the church okay?"
"You sure? I mean-" Dean doesn't know where this clingy part is coming from, but he doesn't want to be separated from Sam right now.
"Dean I got this, go! Now!" Sam raises his voice as if he's speaking to a child and quietly closes the door.
Sam holds his breath until he hears the Impala drive away, only then is he able to let out the deep sigh from within, calming himself down.
He could've sworn there had been some actual sexual tension in the car. Sexual tension, Sam's sure. He knows his own body, knows its buttons and right now, Dean's definitely pushing a few of those. Sam's confused, trying to feel disgusted but only feels curiosity. He wonders when this had begun and if it had always been there.
When Sam's nears the church, the sound of chanting breaks his stream of thought, reminding him what it is they're here for.
The closer he gets, the more it sounds familiar to him: incantations. He can hear the Latin clearly as he approaches the window. Inside, there's an altar, symbols drawn all over the walls in red. He tries to make out the words, listening intently and nearly has a heart attack when a hand grabs his shoulder. Sam's about to swing in his natural reflex but stops just in time when he recognized Dean's contours.
Dean's panting in front of him, arms waving.
"Sam, it was the wrong-" He doesn't get to finish his sentence as he crumples to the floor.
Sam can barely make out the Bishop before things go woozy.
A dull throbbing ache at the side of his head is the first thing he feels when he comes to again. He tries to reach for it but his hands are bound behind him, straining his shoulders.
Sounds from the other side of the room draw his attention, and he follows it. Dean's sitting in a chair at the other end of the table, shirtless, eyes fixed on Sam.
"Sammy, you okay?" Dean asked him worriedly.
Sam's looks down his own body, motions still drowsy. His own shirt is off too and they're both tied up. When realization finally hits, his eyes dart around the room, recognizing the basement.
"Yeah, you?".
"Yeah."
Dean notices the Bishop first, standing by the stairs, examining them, his face devoid of emotions.
Somehow, that angers Dean even more.
"Let us go you son of a bitch!" He yells, the knowledge of not being able to reach for Sam fueling his anger beyond everything else.
"What's this huh? You always strip guys down and tie them up in your basement? You're getting some kinda kinky kicks out of this?" Angry demons are easier to handle than the creepy quiet monsters they face.
The Bishop walks, glides, towards Dean. He seems to move in slow motion but he reaches Dean before he has even realized it. Dean doesn't notice the knife until it's resting right against his bare chest.
"Dean?" Sam calls out.
"Winchester," the Bishop breathes out, cutting a line into Dean's chest. Dean hisses and grits his teeth, Sam's voice a dull sound in the background.
"Who the fuck are you?!" Dean growls.
"It was revealed," he answers looking what seems heavenwards. "Dean," he says, barely audible, cutting what appears to be a symbol into his chest. Dean's entire body tenses up, refusing to let any sound out.
"Get the fuck off him!" Sam yells from across the room. Dean hears some shuffling and cursing.
The Bishop straightens up and slowly turns to face Sam.
"Sam, the demon prodigy."
There was no real inflection, no questions in his phrasing, just statements.
"Fuck you, you sick fuck," Dean spits out, trying to attract attention away from Sam.
The Bishop glides over to Sam, eerily calm, and rests the bloody knife against Sam's chest.
Dean goes still, blood rushing through his veins, making his head feel strangely empty. He closes his eyes and hears Sam grunt in pain. When he opens his eyes again, Sam's his only vision.
Nobody touches his little brother, not when Dean's on the other side of the room, and especially not this sick bastard.
He strains against the plastic chair, rocking back and forth, until, with one pull and some kind of strength he didn't know he possessed, the ropes come off. He only sees flashes then; him standing abruptly behind the Bishop, releasing all the anger he had through his fists, sending the Bishop face down with a heavy thud.
He doesn't notice his wrists are bleeding until he smears his blood over Sam's chest while he's trying to untie him.
They both pull the Bishop up, settling him in the very same chair. Dean ties him up as Sam quickly draws a Devil's Trap with some coal and blesses himself some holy water at the sink.
He walks over towards Dean with some wet rags and water. With a gentleness they never show each other, he takes Dean's hands into his own, making Dean's breath hitch. When Sam's done cleaning off Dean's wrists, he wraps them in a few rags. Dean notices the symbol on Sam's chest at the same moment Sam notices the blood on Dean's own chest. He doesn't expect Sam to actually wipe his chest off for him.
Sam dabs at the wound, blowing at it when he notices it stings Dean. Maybe it's conditioned, or not, but at that moment it's the most natural thing for Dean to tangle his hand in Sam's hair.
"Sam." Dean's voice comes out hoarse, making Sam look up with a confused expression.
"You, uh, you're still bleeding," he finishes lamely, dropping his hand.
Sam quickly withdraws his own hand and wipes at his chest.
The awkwardness is forgotten in favor of the Bishop, regaining consciousness, moaning in pain. They wait for him to spot them before Dean throws a glass of holy water in the Bishop's face. They wait for the usual hissing and steam, but nothing rises. Dean flicks the few drops left in the glass at him: still nothing.
The Bishop remains calm, face like stone, the image ruined by the bleeding wound on his forehead.
They both look at each other, at the water, and back at each other.
"What the… ?"
"Did you bless it right?!"
"I did it just fine, Dean!"
"Well do it again!"
"It still won't work!"
"Just do it again!"
Sam sighs and looks worried. "I think… I think he really just is the Bishop, Dean…"
Dean's worried now too. They can't handle humans.
"Well, what the fuck do we do now?"
Dean dumps the bucket of holy water on the Bishop just "to wake him up".
They stand before him, trying to be just as calm as the Bishop is.
"What are you?" Sam asks coolly, earning a blank stare from the Bishop.
"He said: what the fuck are you?!" Dean emphasizes.
The Bishop hangs his head and slowly raises it again to look at them. "I am a Prophet."
"Oh, you mean, you're a deranged fanatic. You fucking kill people." Dean spits angrily. "What kind of prophet are you, you sick fuck!?"
Dean hates it when people, human beings, were their supernatural business.
"Dean, wait." Sam touches his wrist, eyes focused intently on the Bishop.
"Those people were sinners. I cleansed this city of them. They came to me for forgiveness. I gave it to them, by the power that was given to me." Some kind of dark glow flickers quickly in the Bishop's eyes.
"Oh, you gave them something alright." Dean's pissed as hell.
Sam's all ears, though.
"You mean the knife?"
"This knife was brought to me by a higher power. The Revelator brought it upon me. Helped me see everything."
Sam motions towards the stairs and Dean follows, keeping their voices low.
"He's human, Dean. How do we..." He looks beat, rubbing at his eyes again.
"Well, something did something to him. We gotta see about this Revelator. He may be in human form, I don't know. I think it was that guy I just followed." Dean tries to be levelheaded one, the one to keep things in perspective, but these grey areas take more from them than they want to admit.
"Dean, before we got smacked down I heard him doing incantations. I gotta look into that and I've gotta see what that knife is about. We should keep him locked up downstairs while we search for this thing. And- and I've gotta go back to see Jane."
Dean can't help the way the muscles in his face twitch a bit at that last sentence. "Yeah okay, we'll figure this thing with him out right now, alright?"
As they turn around to go downstairs, the Bishop's no longer in his chair. Dean points towards the door and back at his eyes. Sam nods in reply.
Dean steps in slowly and feels something solid hitting his back hard, making him fall to the ground immediately.
He blacks out for a few seconds, regaining his senses again in time to see the Bishop charging towards a very cornered Sam. Without thinking, he reaches out and yanks with all his might at the Bishop's ankle, making him fall to the ground with a loud smack, his ankle still held at a weird angle.
He watches Sam rush over towards him, grabbing his hand and helping him up on his feet.
Dean manages a smile as he gets up. "Damnit, Sammy. I've gotta stop saving your ass."
Sam picks up the knife up and studies it, looking at Dean before finally smiling back.
Dean takes a moment to fully regain his breath and to take in the image his baby brother is presenting: bloodied, sweaty, dirty, skin flushed with the thrill of adrenaline, mesmerizing.
Dean cups the back of Sam's hand, a natural gesture.
"But hey, it's my job, right?"
He watches as Sam's eyes widen, Sam's hands coming forcefully up to his chest, shoving him to the floor. He feels a fierce form of rejection before realizing what happened.
The next thing he sees is the Bishop hitting the ground next to him with a gargling sound.
Dean stares at the ground and back up at Sam, astonished.
"Sam?! What the fuck just happened?"
Sam stands there quiet and motionless, his face ashen.
"Sammy? You okay?!" He crawls back up, grabbing Sam's shoulders at both sides. "Sammy?"
He looks around, looks at the mess, rationality kicking in.
"Sammy, we gotta clean this up okay?" He bows down to pull the knife from the Bishop's neck. It makes a nasty sound and Sam's head just falls.
"Hey, here, take the knife and go wait in the car okay? I'll handle this."
Dean sits back down in his seat, feeling heavy after having spent an hour cleaning up the mess inside. It's quiet, as if everything down there hadn't happened. He sees the knife Sam's still holding and lets out a sigh.
"Sammy, it wasn't- This wasn't your fault. Okay?"
Dean stares at the steering wheel for a long time before looking up at Sam's face again.
"You had to, Sammy," he says in a whisper.
Sam's staring at the knife, shoulders hunched, head hanging low in defeat. He won't look Dean in the eye.
Dean reaches for Sam's neck and he still doesn't move.
"Sammy, look at me," he says softly, just above a whisper, his words only meant for Sam.
"You saved my life back there…"
"Hey." Dean turns Sam's head so they can face each other again.
The look on Sam's face breaks his heart.
"Sammy, you, you did what-" He draws Sam closer and looks him deep in the eyes, before leaning down slightly, brushing his lips against Sam's briefly. "-you had to."
It feels like the right thing to do, the only way to get through to Sam. Dean presses his lips onto Sam's again, softly, awaiting Sam's response, resistance, anything.
The barest movement from Sam ignites Dean further.
"It's okay, Sammy. It's me," he murmurs against Sam's lips, his arm closing around Sam entirely.
"Dean, The Revel-" Dean puts a bit more pressure behind the kiss, making Sam part his lips, shutting him up.
"Not important now."
Sam pushes Dean back a little and just looks at him. The adrenaline of battle makes Dean more captivating than ever. This Dean though... the green of his eyes have lights in them, his lips full and inviting. This Dean is ethereal.
There are questions in his eyes and Sam knows he has the answers. The tension they had both felt the last days, what they've been aware of, that is, finally coming to the surface.
He leans into Dean's embrace, his arm coming to hold Dean. For a moment they both hold on to each other, neither of them wanting to let go.
The skin between them warms up instantly, both of them realizing simultaneously that they are still shirtless.
Dean's breath against Sam's neck makes his entire body react, completely tuned to Dean's every being.
He lets his hands rest on Dean's neck and looks at him. His thumbs trace Dean's features, sliding over Dean's eyebrows, his eyelids, his nose, the bow of his upper lip; fascinated, always been.
Dean kisses his thumb, flicking his tongue out against it. He closes his eyes, giving Sam permission to do whatever he pleases.
Sam's hands moved lower, moving over the cut the Bishop had made and he bends over to kiss it. His tongue traces the lines, letting a mixture of sweat, blood and Dean enter his mouth like a natural aphrodisiac.
Dean fists Sam's hair and pulls him up to his mouth, kissing him hard. Their mouths collide, and Dean pushes in with frantic licks and bites, the pace oftheir exploration heating up.
It's as if they both need it and don't care how they'll get it.
Dean nibbles on Sam's soft lips, noticing the way it draws a soft moan from him. Dean mouths along Sam's jaw, kissing up to his earlobe, finding out it's Sam's favorite spot.
Sam writhes in his embrace in response, his hands sliding down to Dean's abdomen, one finger playing with the soft trail leading to the only covered part of his body.
Dean tastes Sam's skin and tastes the kind of salt only a workout the job could give. He wants to drink Sam in, remember this taste forever.
He kisses Sam's scars, some caused by Dean himself when they were kids and some from the past years caused by whatever they'd hunted. Sam moans and purrs prettily in Dean's ear, and Dean loves it. Sam's finally forgetting, letting go.
That's all Dean wants: the kind of power he had always wanted over his brother.
They look at each other for some kind of consent, to actually cross a line they haven't yet already in their fucked up lives.
Sam wants this. He realizes that this is what he's wanted from Dean: this is the protection and loving he needs, all coming from Dean.
Sam quickly unbuckles Dean's belt, not caring for actual verbal consent as Dean continues nibbling on his lower lip. Dean's other hand palms Sam's cock through his jeans, hardening him further and further.
Dean's movement on top of him, moaning shamelessly is all the consent he needs anyway.
His hand slides along Dean's soft skin, feeling the contradiction of softness and hardness: touching and stroking with the need to experience all of this newfound pleasure.
He watches how his hand forms perfectly around Dean's cock and he strokes up to the tip, squeezing, remembering how Dean likes it. Dean's head falls against Sam's chest, helpless.
Sam realizes he can have the same power over Dean and looks up at him at him, grinning.
Dean's expression is almost wolfish. Sam licks his lips and tightens his grip on Dean.
Dean stops to look at Sam's face and pushes his long hair back. Sammy. His baby brother.
They both don't move for a while and just stare at each other, Sam's hand still on his cock. He drinks in his brother's face for a minute: Sammy's beautiful face.
His fingers stroke along Sam's eyebrows and end up back in his hair. He loves that stupid hair of his, wants his hands to be forever tangled up in it. Call him fucking sappy, whatever you will.
He breathes in Sam's smell, trying to imprint every sensory input from Sam he's receiving.
He grabbed a fistful of Sam's hair again and pulls his head back, exposing his neck. He grazes his teeth along the bared flesh, licking across the clean-shaven skin, his chin, jaw, cheek. Sam's his for now.
Sam can't stop moaning as he strokes Dean faster and rougher. Dean starts working on Sam's jeans, licking and nipping along Sam's nipples, making him breathless.
Dean fists Sam's cock free, letting the feeling of amazement and pride wash over him. This little brother of his, innocent Sam, is moaning like a porn star.
His fully flushed cock feels heavy and right in his hands and he wonders if this could ever tire him, apart from the physical part where he could get carpal tunnel.
Sam's like wax in Dean's hands, clutching at him, breathing heavily. Dean strokes up and down Sam's length, his tongue quickly following, body held at an awkward angle in the car as he leads a trail from the hilt up to the slit, tonguing at it. Sam is warm and sweet and he tastes like home.
Dean dips his head and takes in as much of Sam as he can in one go.
He will give this to Sam and everything more if that's what he needs. What Sam really needs, is to escape, find some release. They both need to.
Sam's moaning Dean's name, hips moving, rocking into him. Dean knows now what Sammy needs. He knows how to take care.
And his Sammy loves it.
Jane wakes up in her bed, flushed hot and wet between her thighs.
She wonders if she just dreamed, or if she actually saw.
She closes her eyes in time, fingers reaching deep inside herself, to watch the way Sam thrusts up into Dean's mouth, Dean's head bobbing eagerly up and down, beautiful, plush lips wrapped around Sam's impressive cock.
She moans around her fingers, speeding up, rubbing at her clit furiously and comes just in time with Sam, pulsing hot streaks into Dean's mouth.
She lies back down, boneless, keeping her eyes closed, wanting to enjoy the show as Sam returns the favor.
End
[notes:
So this little bitch was started as one of my very first completed fic, way back in 2008.
I know it may not seem completed, because some shit doesn't get solved. But the fic really was only about the brothers, finally fucking, or at least get some come in them one way or another.
The reason why I'm posting it again now is: when I first started writing this I was very enthusiastic, not writing correct sentences, ignoring grammar and shit in favor of gayness. I've tried to rigorously revise it (by myself again) and have a decent fic up to my own standards. Updated AGAIN in 2019.
So \o/ thank you for reading.
And you know I'm a comment whore.]