Disclaimer: None you know are belong to us.

Thank You: To wild wolf free17 for being a quick betaer. Without her eyes, I'd be lost!
Ephiny63 continues to inspire the bunnies, jink made me blush with (her?) praise and rower4life eased my ever-present worry of failing with the boys.
Thank You, everyone. Feedback is definitely a dangerously addictive drug. And encouraged, not to mention highly appreciated, especially if I'll manage to learn something out of it.

Petting ahead.
Sam-specific Angst ahead.
Spoilerish for 1x05, Bloody Mary.

Schattenfreund:
Stertorous
by Sade Lyrate

Her hands slip down his sides, fingers finding their way further, her lips on his. She tastes sweet, apricots and peaches, as she presses deeper, catching his tongue with hers, her skin soft under his hands.
Her hair tickles his face, lively eyes catching his gaze, filled with love and lust. She smiles like a sylph above him, his touch recording every contour, relishing the feel of her, the heat between bodies pressed together.
Her kisses burn a blazing path, his fingers drifting up as she dips ever lower, her hands wandering over his stomach, reaching to brush his chest as she teases, languid and loose, soft lips nipping and nibbling.

She crawls back up, her body supple over his own, voice husky.

"You're like a drug," she whispers, her desires easy to read with all the senses, demanding a response, shiver suffusing in the shadows. "The more I have, the more I want."

Memory fails to offer competition to challenge how right she feels, words fleeing him so he just kisses the top of her head, sensing her smile against his skin.

She props herself up on her arms, looks down at him, lips curved in a promise. He leans into her touch as she cups the side of his face, turns to caress her palm with his lips.

"Why, Sam?"

And she's afire, flames her hair, the blaze running down her arms to catch at him. Horrified, frozen, he can only watch as everything coalesces into an inferno, screams strangled by the stench.

He startled awake, sheets tangled in his fingers, skin sweat-shot, whole, flame kissed only in memory. Every single muscle in his body was tense, aching with adrenaline, lungs failing to draw in enough air, solid presence uncomfortable between his bed and belly.

Green eyes glittered at him from the other bed, questions crisp even in the half-light.

Dream.

The pillow swallowed his sob as he turned away again, hugging it as close as possible.

Just another stupid, fucking dream.

Silence returned, twin breaths calmed, both beds quiet.

He tried to will his body to relax, loosen. There was no threat in the shadows, no flame above him. No lover against him.

Sleep refrained, the burn in his eyes as sharp as the flashback-smell of blazing flesh and hair.

He stared at the silhouette of the divider, not really seeing it, counting down memories before morning.

Shades reappeared, slow and languid, dispelling the monochrome of the never-ending night after an eternity.
With them, Sam forsook the pretense and rose, morning routines like a favourite glove. If he could have, he would have laughed at how easily he'd fallen back into the rules of the road. As if the four years had never happened. As if Jessica had never happened, and all they'd shared had been nothing but a dream.
As if their Dad was with them.

But he wasn't. Jess was dead; he'd thrown everything she'd stood for to the four winds, stepped into the Impala like he'd never left without a second thought. And the bond he'd shared with his brother was a path no one had treaded in over two years.

Omnia mutantur, nihil interit.-

The sharpness of that phrase cut ever deeper when he changed his clothes and Dean roused, stretching. Quiet gaze settled on him, and he couldn't meet it, the cords of his sneakers dancing in his fingers. Without a word, the elder man stood up, sauntered behind the thin door. Sam leaned back, let his eyes drift shut.

"When was the last time you got a good night's sleep?"

Dean'd been right back then, he was right now, too. The only difference was that his brother no longer voiced the question.

Sam knew genuine sleep, no matter how well pretended or avoided, was something nothing human could survive without. But at least he wasn't getting instant reminders of that night anymore every time he closed his eyes.

Dreaming of Jessica, the way she had been, alive and beautiful and soft and warm and alive was possibly worse, though.

Dean stalked out of the bathroom, rummaged around his bag.

Once the morning broke, everything seemed to become a little bit easier. During the day, he could deal, he could find something else to occupy his mind.

"You thought about what I said?" Voice soft, rest-rough around the edges. He didn't open his eyes, remained where he lay.

"About...?" There was a prayer woven in the breath that escaped with that one word: Please, not yet.

"About getting that ball of nasty things you insist on luggin' around untangled?"

Dean was looking at him again; he could imagine the gaze, like a hawk looking for a fish.

...I can't do this. Not yet. Please. I can't watch you put it all together...

"Breakfast first."

He was out the door before Dean could complain, the chill air refreshing.

By noon, they'd be well on their way to somewhere else. Hopefully closer to their father, the thing that took Jess from him.

After that was killed, burned, salted, banished, maybe...maybe then he could face what Dean would do. What Dad will do with his freak of a son...

He didn't dare to think how that very prey had eluded the mighty John Winchester for over two decades.

-"Everything changes, nothing perishes." (Ovid)

Author's Notes:
All the chapters of this story will be Sam POV. That'll probably be fun.
I thought there was something else, too, but I can't get Rodney Carrington's 'The Beer Song' out of my head. 0r Johnny Cash's 'God's Gonna Cut You Down'...;)