Chapter 4: Old Wounds
"Sam," came Pamela's husky voice over the phone. "We've got a problem."
What a surprise, Sam thought derisively.
"What's up, Pam?" he asked.
"You'd better get down here. It ain't pretty. Reverend Robinson and Dean got into a bit of a confrontation."
"Shit," Sam breathed. "I'll be right there. I just need to lock up my classroom."
Sam was grateful that this had at least happened after school, otherwise he wasn't entirely sure what he would have done.
After he'd locked everything up and hurriedly shoved everything into his car, and tried to drive responsibly despite feeling slight panic, he arrived at the bookshop.
He saw that Jody's police car was parked next to the pavement and a rookie cop in uniform was standing at the door to the shop. Sam jogged down the steps and pushed the door open after giving the young policeman a perfunctory nod of acknowledgement.
"Reverend please calm down," came Jody's voice.
When Pam saw him, she came up to Sam and began to frantically whisper, "The Reverend came into the store because he'd heard Dean was working here. Then he punched Dean while he was shelving books in the back."
Sam sighed as he ran his hand through his hair, "Thanks, Pam. Go take your lunch while I clear this up."
"Sure thing, boss," Pam winked and disappeared into the back room.
Jody nodded to Sam as he approached the small group she, the Reverend, Dean and another young cop were standing in the centre of the store.
"You know Reverend," Jody said. "If Dean wanted to, he could file a charge of assault against you."
"Let him just try! The murdering bastard! He shouldn't be allowed to come back to the town where he killed by precious Cassie!" Reverend shouted, pointing at Dean.
"Come on, Reverend," Jody replied flatly. "Let Officer Thompson drive you home."
"So you're just going to let that son of a bitch go?"
"Yes, Reverend," Jody replied in a tired voice. "He's broken no laws."
The Reverend fixed Dean with a withering glare before he stormed out of the shop, while swatting the police officer's hand off his shoulder.
"Well," Jody sighed. "I'd tell you stay out of trouble, Dean, but it seems that it's already found you. You'd better get that lip seen to. I have to go and make sure the Reverend doesn't put the fear of God into my officers. See you at home, Sam."
Sam gave her a kiss on the cheek before the door shut behind her, leaving Sam and Dean alone in the store. Sam looked at Dean properly for the first time and saw that he had a split lip and blood on his teeth. Blood also stained the collar of his faded Van Halen t-shirt.
"Come on," Sam said. "Let's go to the apartment and get you cleaned up."
Dean arched a brow and managed to still smirk despite his split lip, "Trying to get me alone, Teacher?"
Sam rolled his eyes as he went into the back and took the stairs that led to the door of the apartment. Once they were inside, Sam went into the kitchen and wrapped some ice in a cloth for Dean's injured lip. When he turned around, Dean had removed his shirt and held it in his hand. Whatever he had done in prison, clearly he had had time to work out. A lot. His skin was golden and smooth over his sharply defined pectorals and the hard ridges of his abdomen. Sam imagined himself dropping to his knees and tracing that beautiful stomach with his tongue. Dean's arms were corded with sinuous muscle and his hips were narrow, with the sharply defined lines of his pelvic muscle leading into his jeans. His chest was smooth save for a light sprinkling of hair in the centre of his chest, which matched the silky line that began at his navel and disappeared beneath his waistband.
He gazed at Sam with wicked intent in his bright green eyes. It was obvious that he meant to perturb Sam, but Sam was determined to not let him know that he had. He had to maintain the demeanour of the calm, collected teacher.
"What are you doing?" he asked in his customary teacher's voice.
"Changing my shirt," Dean re-joined silkily. "What did you think I was doing? Planning on ravishing you against the kitchen counter?"
Dean took a purposeful step forward until he was only a few inches away and Sam could feel his body heat and smell his rich, spicy scent. He met Dean's eyes and saw that they were narrowed, with his pupils dilated and the green more of an emerald now.
"Were you hoping?" he whispered, his voice like silky sin.
For a moment Sam felt as if his heart would stop beating. There was no doubt that Dean Winchester was coming onto him with the intent of scaring him slightly. Although Sam was slightly taller, he could appreciate how strong Dean probably was. Dean was like a child who was repeatedly told that he was naughty, and like a child, he was determined to uphold that long held image of rebellion.
This realisation made Sam lift his chin slightly and scoff, "You flatter yourself. Now put this ice on your lip."
Dean stared at him for a moment, his eyes still burning bright in his exquisite face. Sam felt an overwhelming desire to throw the ice pack on the floor and let Dean take him against the counter, but he revolted against his thoughts and continued to hold the ice pack out to Dean.
"Still the same Mr Singer," Dean replied, taking the ice pack. "Still have an answer for everything."
"Not everything," Sam admitted, pushing his hands into his pockets.
"Almost."
Dean gave him a lazy once over before he left the kitchen with the ice pack pressed to his lip. Sam sagged against the counter in a wave of relief, and had to grip the edge in order to keep himself up after such a mentally taxing conversation. Sam couldn't help but watch him leave, which was not the most intelligent thing to do. The amount of sensuality Dean boasted was quite mind boggling. His back was all long, lean bronze skin, which tapered down to slim hips that Sam could imagine clinging to, and a mouth-watering backside which was accentuated by faded blue jeans that hugged long legs that ended in worker boots. The sight of him doing nothing more suggestive than walking away was enough to make Sam's cock throb.
Sam exhaled softly. It was perfectly natural to feel attracted to someone who was both seemingly forbidden, as well as in possession of a body which was unadulterated sin, and a face that was almost ethereal in its beauty.
Sam was not, however, one of Dean Winchester's groupies, as the press had called the numerous young women who'd frequented his trial and then written perfume drenched letters to him while he was in jail. Dean Winchester was not a man who Sam should ever get involved with.
When the old wooden boards of the apartment's floor creaked, Sam straightened up from the counter. Dean came into view once more, and Sam could see that he now wore a Jimi Hendrix t-shirt and had washed the blood off his lips and teeth.
"Are you hungry?" Sam found himself asking.
Dean scratched idly at his perfectly flat stomach, a movement which despite being seemingly innocent, dripped indolent sex appeal.
"Sure," he replied. "Are you going to take me out for dinner, Teacher?"
Sam rolled his eyes as Dean's suggestive smirk, "I suppose. I was thinking we could go to The Roadhouse."
Dean shrugged, "Lead the way."
The Roadhouse was a diner come bar in the restaurant district of Sommersville, and was run by Ellen Harvelle, a tough woman who had a brilliant mind for a business. Sam had always both admired her and felt intimidated by her.
She was all friendliness, though, as she showed them to a booth towards the back of restaurant.
"It's good to see you again, Dean," she smiled. "I'll send Jo over to take your order. She'd love to see you."
Sam quirked a brow at Dean as Ellen walked away, and Dean gave him a knowing smile in return.
"Dean Winchester!" Jo Harvelle said when she approached the table. "You are a sight for sore eyes! How are you?"
Dean grinned up at the petite blonde, "I'm fine, Jo, and you?"
Jo gave him a seductive little smile, "As good as I can be I guess. I've got a son now. His name's Sebastian."
Dean's smile widened even more, "That's great! Who's the lucky man who landed you?"
Jo shrugged and her face looked rather pained for a moment before the smile returned, "Mike Hammond, but he and I have been separated for a while now."
"I'm sorry to hear that, Jo," Dean replied, and Sam noted that he seemed to be sincere in his concern.
Jo shrugged lightly, "So what can I get you two to eat?"
"I'll have the chicken sandwich and a peach ice tea please," Sam smiled.
Jo quickly scribbled on her notepad, "And you, Dean?"
"I'll have the cheeseburger and fries and a large Coke please."
"Sure thing. Your order will up in a minute."
Dean gave her another blinding smile before she retreated to place their order.
"She seems happy to see you," Sam observed rather blandly.
Dean's customary smirk appeared once more, "Why, Teacher? Are you jealous?"
Sam blinked once before he replied, "Your opinion of yourself astounds me."
Dean slowly licked his lips before Jo appeared with their order, "Here we go. I hope you enjoy it."
Sam took a sip of his ice tea as he watched Dean begin to eat with unbridled enthusiasm. It was like a new Hell to watch Dean close his eyes in bliss as he chewed his burger and chips. He made little moans of contentment, which made Sam's stomach knot and churn with arousal. He resolutely stared at his plate or out the window at the parking lot as he ate, determined not to make a complete idiot out of himself in public.
"Something the matter?" Dean asked.
Sam shook his head, "Nothing. I'm just tired is all."
Dean nodded, "I'm going to get some pie. Do you want some?"
Sam groaned inwardly at the prospect of more satisfied moans, "No thanks, I'm good."
Dean ordered Pecan pie and Sam tried not to go insane from the amount of sounds he made, which conjured images inside Sam's mind that he wanted to blush at.
He all but sagged with relief when Jo came back to the table, "Is that all for you?"
"Yes," Sam replied.
"Are you paying with credit or cash?"
"Credit."
"Cash," they replied at the same time.
"Dean," Sam said. "I'll pay with my credit card. It's fine."
"No," Dean shook his head, his expression brooked no argument. "I'll pay."
Sam sighed and crossed his arms in irritation as Dean fished in his pocket and set a bunch of crumpled bills on the table.
Jo smiled as she quickly counted them out and then gave him his change, "How about you come and see me sometime, Dean? Sebastian and I are living above the restaurant again."
"Sure thing," Dean returned her smile.
Sam stood up next to Jo and towered over her as he said, "Thanks, Jo."
She nodded and blushed slightly, "It was nice seeing you again, Mr Singer."
Sam could hear the whispers and see the rather obvious stares that everyone gave them as he and Dean exited the restaurant. Sam could see in the tightness of his jaw and the straightening of his shoulders that Dean wasn't happy about walking the gauntlet. He was grateful that he was slightly taller so that he could keep up with Dean's rather fast stride.
When they climbed into the car, Sam couldn't contain himself anymore, "That was totally unnecessary. There's no reason for you to prove yourself to me or anyone else by paying for that meal. I was more than happy to do it."
Dean's gaze was like green ice as he looked at Sam, "Listen, Teacher, quit acting like all like a pompous pratt. I ain't expecting you to treat me like some charity case."
Sam viciously bit his tongue as he reversed the car and screeched out onto the road.
"Jesus," Dean snapped. "Do you mind not driving like someone possessed?"
"You know what," Sam said. "Screw you."
He almost drove into the pavement when Dean let out a long, loud laugh and said, "If only, Teacher."
"You-you should be grateful!"
"For what exactly?" Dean ground out, his eyes still icy. "For letting me be seen with you? The Prince of Sommersville! What do you want me to kiss first? Your ass or your feet?"
Sam stopped the car in front of bookshop, causing he and Dean to both be thrown forward and then backwards into their seats. Sam switched the car off and undid his seatbelt before he leant over and rummaged in his cubbyhole.
He pulled out his checkbook and attached pen as he turned to Dean, "I'm going to pay you your first week of wages in advance."
Sam let out a gasp as Dean gripped his wrist tightly and forced him to stop writing. Sam looked up and saw that instead of ice, he was met with green fire that both frightened and aroused him in its intensity.
"Don't do me any fucking big favours, Teacher," he growled. "I'm not your fucking pet project or charity case."
He released his bruising grip on Sam's wrist, and got out of the car, slamming the door behind him. Leaning into the open passenger side window he stared at Sam for a long moment, and it looked as if he was on the verge of saying something else, but then he raked his gaze angrily over Sam's body and strode away.