Chapter 7
We were sitting out on our beach a couple nights later. Dean's heat had ended, so we spent the day in Key West. We took the ferry early in the morning back to Little Torch Key, since my brother looked nauseous at the thought of using the sea plane. After reuniting with the Impala, we drove to Key West and visited various attractions, such as Ernest Hemingway's house and the Shipwreck Treasures Museum, ate at a couple of local restaurants, and did some shopping. We caught one of the last ferries back to the resort and were now sitting by the lit fire pit, drinking cold beer and watching the stars.
We'd both just opened our second beer when Dean sat up on his lounge chair and gave me a serious look. "Hey Sam, I got something important I wanna discuss with you."
I put my bottle down. "Sure. What's up, man?"
He looked down and fiddled with his bottle cap. "This is something I've been thinking 'bout for a while, since I first considered proposing to you. We only got a coupla days left here, and I know we talked 'bout taking our time heading back to Sioux Falls—see some sights, take on a coupla hunts, that sorta stuff. Well, when we do get to Bobby's place, I wanna . . . I want us to start looking for a house of our own."
He raised his head and met my eyes. "Now, I ain't talking 'bout quitting hunting. But the world ain't at risk of ending anytime soon for a fucking change, and neither of us have any shit hanging over our heads either. So . . . uh, I figure it can't hurt to slow down a little. Plus we've seen that the way we were brought up, the way we've been working since, is more the exception than the rule. Most hunters are like Bobby and work outta a home base instead of driving all over the damn country all the time. So I don't see why we can't do that too."
"That's right—Bobby has the salvage yard, Garth has his house boat, Rufus has his cabin, the Harvelles had the Roadhouse, and so on. Bobby and Garth have been talking about trying to get us more organized, in fact. They want to determine where all the hunters are located and figure out a way to send jobs to whoever's already in the area. The two of them and maybe a couple others would serve as dispatchers, collecting information on cases and sending them out to the appropriate hunters. That way, folks can mostly stay close to home, and they wouldn't need to travel much unless there's a job that needs a lot more manpower or specialized expertise," I said thoughtfully.
"That's exactly what I'm talking 'bout!" he exclaimed. "We've been crisscrossing the lower forty-eight for over twenty-five fucking years, and we deserve a break. I've been damn tired of all the wear and tear for a while, and Baby ain't getting any younger either."
"You know I agree with that sentiment—I've never been crazy about the lack of stability in our lives. And of course I'd love to get a house together. But how? To qualify for a decent rate, a mortgage company is going to need to see credit scores, financial histories, proof of stable income, et cetera. Plus there's a lot of money needed. Even loans for first-time homebuyers usually require some kind of down payment, and then there's closing costs, furniture, repairs, and more. We don't have any of that, dude," I replied unhappily.
"I actually got a lotta that figured out. Like I said, I've been considering this for a while now." My brother arranged himself in a cross-legged position. "First off, when I talked to Frank after we got engaged, I had him make us more than just a coupla fake IDs for the marriage license. It's still a work in progress, but Dean Smith and Sam Wesson are gonna have complete fucking identities when he's done. I'm talking 'bout Social Security numbers, credit scores, bank records, work histories, you name it. And Frank knows his shit—he swears that no one's gonna be able to prove they ain't legit or trace 'em back to the real us. So while the Winchesters would get their asses laughed outta a mortgage broker's office, the Smith-Wessons are gonna have everything they need to put down roots somewhere.
"Next, if we do this, we're gonna hafta get regular jobs too. Not just to get the loan, but also to cover the payments, utility bills, groceries, and all that shit. I've always been good with my hands, so it should be easy to get a job as a mechanic or carpenter or something. As for you, I had Frank mirror your transcripts from Stanford, including what you were registered for before you left, and fill in what was missing. So Sam Wesson has a bachelor's degree in anthropology from Stanford with the same crazy high GPA and everything. I'm sure you can get a good position with that, or we can get him to fake up a higher-level degree if you need it. Or . . . or you can work on getting a graduate degree for real. I know how much you always enjoyed school. So, whaddya think so far?" He looked adorably pleased with himself.
I was impressed. "Wow, you have put some thought into this! How would hunting fit into all this?"
"Well, that might be tricky, but we can work something out. Find jobs that are part-time or have flexible hours, or maybe one of those work-from-home gigs for you. If the case ain't urgent, there's always waiting until the weekend to do any traveling. I know there're plenty of options out there, so we just hafta figure out what'll work for us."
"There's still all the upfront money we'd need though. It'll take quite a while to hustle a sufficient amount, unless you want to risk doing some high-stakes gambling at Vegas or something," I pointed out.
Dean's expression became a bit sheepish. "Actually . . . I got a buncha money saved up already, man. Y'see, around when you started high school, I realized that you were plenty smart enough to get into a good college. But you'd need a lotta money for that, and I didn't want you loaded down with student loans. So every time I earned money from pool or cards or darts, or if we stayed someplace long enough to get a job, I put aside as much of it as I could.
"Then whenever we were near Sioux Falls, I gave the money to Bobby. He knew a financial planner that he'd helped out with a succubus problem. Dude owed him, so as a favor to Bobby he opened an account for me and invested the money I'd saved up. I dunno the details, just that he made sure the investments were secure but still turned a decent profit.
"Anyways, I kept putting money aside and getting it invested even after you got the full ride at Stanford. It's how I could always send you money each month for your other expenses, even if I didn't do well hustling or didn't have time to work."
I remembered that money with a pang of guilt—how every month an envelope with five hundred dollars would show up in my campus mailbox without fail. At the time, I was too young, selfish, and wrapped up in my own issues to worry too much how the money had been earned. When the money continued to come in even after I instigated that big fight, I felt pleased at the sign that not only was my big brother still alive, but also still cared. Though it wasn't enough to force me to mend the rift I'd created.
He continued, not noticing my reaction, "I kept doing it after you left Palo Alto too. I figured the savings might come in handy in an emergency, like if we ever needed more medical care than our fake insurance could cover. And I thought that someday, after we took out the goddamn Yellow-Eyed Demon and got past the rest of the shit we were stuck with, you could use the money to start a new life.
"And . . . there's more in that account than the proceeds from what I earned. Dad at some point took out a life insurance policy, with Bobby as the executor and you and me as the beneficiaries. When Dad died, we both were too fucked up to deal with it, so Bobby just invested it with the rest of the money. So there's a good pile of dough saved up by now—not enough to buy a place outright, but more than enough for a good down payment, closing fees, and the rest of that shit."
"Good lord, Dean! And you never thought to tell me?" I asked, feeling a little upset that he'd hidden this from me.
"If you're talking 'bout Dad's insurance, I didn't know 'bout it either for the longest time—I was too screwed up after losing him and then too worried 'bout what was going down with you. I didn't tell you 'bout it later or 'bout the rest of the money 'cause you already had too much to deal with—Jess, Yellow-Eyes, my deal, Lilith, Ruby, Lucifer, and all that crap.
"After we got together though, it was different. I kept it a secret 'cause I wanted it to be a surprise, a good one. I started thinking, hoping that after we stopped the Apocalypse, we could use the money to settle down together. And this is it—I ain't got any other secrets from you. You—you ain't mad at me, are you, Sammy?" He looked at me worriedly.
I moved over to his chair and pulled my husband into a fierce hug. "God, Dee, I don't deserve you! As usual, you were doing it all for me. You've been saving all this up for what, a dozen years, and probably never spent any of it on yourself, did you?"
He ducked his head. "Eh, it wasn't supposed to be for me. I had to use some of it to pay Frank for his services though. And I did spend some on the wedding too, 'cause what we scraped up in the past coupla months wasn't quite enough. I didn't wanna use any of the fake cards in case we wanna go back for an anniversary or something."
"Huh! I had been wondering how we paid for all that. So how much is in this account now?"
"Close to seventy-five grand, last I checked. Should be plenty for twenty percent down and fees as long as the cost is reasonable, with some left over for renovations and furniture."
"Fuck! This just went from being a pretty pipe-dream to something real—our own house! You're amazing!" I kissed him ecstatically.
Dean blushed and cast his eyes down. "'S no big deal. And it wasn't just me. We wouldn't have nearly as much if Dad hadn't bought and maintained that insurance policy, or if Bobby hadn't hooked me up with that finance dude."
"You're still the one who thought of all this, and scrimped and saved over the years. Now come on—I need to show you my appreciation properly!" I grabbed his hand and led him inside.
Once in the bedroom, I swiftly undressed him and gently pushed him onto the bed. I dropped my clothes to the floor and climbed up beside him. Starting at his hairline, I brushed first my fingertips and then my lips over his skin—forehead, brow, eyelids, cheekbones, nose, mouth, chin, jaw, ears, neck. When I reached his shoulders, I made my way across one shoulder and down one arm to the fingers and then up and over the other. I then moved down his clavicle, sternum, nipples, abdomen, navel. I skirted his groin and worked down one leg to the foot and toes and then up the other.
As I worshipped my way down his body, my lover hummed and sighed and occasionally gasped when I touched a sensitive area. After I finished his arms, he moved them up so that his fists rested near his head. Other than that, he managed to stay mostly still during my progress down, other than a small twitch once in a while. Though by the time I completed the circuit of his legs and headed for his groin, he was whining and trembling from the onslaught of caressing touches. He gave a loud shout when I finally put my hands on his shaft and testicles and took his glans in my mouth.
I sucked on the head for several moments before swallowing down half his member, and I fondled his balls with one hand and stroked my own cock with the other. He arched his back and made short thrusts into my mouth, while I curled and flicked my tongue around his length. It didn't take long before he was cumming down my throat with a hoarse yell, and I pulsed onto my fingers after a couple more jerks.
I then rubbed my semen onto my cock, pulled his legs up around my waist, and slid into his moist channel. I set up a quick pace right away, hitting his prostate on nearly every pass. Dean moaned and rocked his hips in synch with mine, his inner walls flexing around my shaft. As I drove into him, I made sure he could feel my joy and admiration and gratitude and, above all, my overwhelming love for this incredible man.
We surged against each other repeatedly, speeding up our movements until we were both crying out. I pounded into his sweet spot, determined to give him as much pleasure as possible, while savoring his hot, slick passage clenching around me. He eventually groaned and tightened hard around me, spurting onto his belly, and I plunged once more before orgasming deep inside him. I collapsed to one side, still tangled with him, and he sprawled on top of me blissfully.
Do you know how much I love you, Dee? I asked, kissing his temple.
As much as I love you, baby boy, he responded tenderly, tucking his head into my shoulder.
It's kind of weird to think that we technically haven't been so poor these past few years. I'm not complaining—I know your plans for the money were too important to waste it on the occasional dry spell between hustles. It's just an odd feeling to know that we have it now though, I said.
Dean snorted. If you think this is strange, wait 'til we have a fucking house full of stuff! But I think this is what Dad woulda wanted for us, to have as normal a life as we can. He never meant for us to be dragged into hunting for so long, but he kinda lost his way somewhere down the line. But now we're finally clear of all the crazy world-ending shit, so we can choose for ourselves.
Amen to that! Wait right here. I got up, went to the bathroom, and returned with a damp washcloth.
After wiping us both down, I curled up around my brother. "Since you've been planning this for a while, I assume you've already thought about what you want in a house, right?"
He settled back against me with a happy sigh. "Yeah, I've got some ideas so far. But this is gonna be a team effort, so lemme know if you disagree with anything. Location-wise, I wanna be close enough to Bobby to reach him in less than a day, but not so close that we're up his ass. Particularly if he manages to get us hunters organized into territories or something.
"Someplace that don't get a lotta snow would be nice, 'cause we've spent too much time freezing our asses off in crappy unheated dumps over the years. And the salt on the road ain't good for Baby. We ain't city boys, but it seems smart to be close enough to one to visit if we need something. And someplace with a decent college would be good for you, to find a job or take classes or both."
"Sounds good so far," I said. "I think we should also look for someplace where our marriage will mean something, legally speaking. We didn't go through work of having a proper wedding to end up somewhere where we can't be treated as family, since I assume we'll be presenting ourselves as spouses instead of brothers. Unfortunately, most of the places that have legalized gay marriage are pretty cold in the winter. But there are other states that treat it as a domestic partnership, which has most of the same rights."
"That's a good idea, Sam," he commented. "As far as the house itself, I'd prefer something older, something with character. I hate those developments where all the fucking houses look the same—gives 'em a creepy Stepford vibe. We probably wanna look into fixer-uppers so we can save some money through sweat equity. We both know quite a bit from what Bobby taught us and from having to fix up some of the shitholes we've stayed at, and I've worked construction jobs a few times too. It'd also be easier to build in the same kinda protections as Bobby's place if we're already doing work on the place.
"I figure we'll want at least one guest room for Bobby or Jody or our other friends to use, a decent-sized kitchen so we don't hafta live offa take-out, a study for you so you can start your own book collection, and a workshop for me to tinker in. And a garage for Baby, of course. There anything you think I missed?"
I thought for a couple of minutes. "I think that covers most of what we'd want, though I'm sure we'll come up with more after some research. We'll have to be careful with the fixer-upper idea—we don't have the resources to take on a major gut job. Oh, and we should try to build in a safe place to store our weapons and anything else we don't want civilians to come into contact with."
"Right! Being able to put in a panic room like Bobby's would be awesome, but even if that's not doable, we'll still need a vault of some kind. So someplace with a basement that we can retrofit would be best."
"Remind me to start putting together a list tomorrow of everything we want," I said with a yawn. "We're also going to have to come up with a back-story of who we are, how we met, and all that stuff."
"I think we should use what you've told Edith and expand on that. It's close to the truth, and for a cover that we're gonna hafta maintain for a while, the less we hafta lie the better. Less chance of fucking up the details or having problems if someone finds an old picture or shit like that," Dean stated.
"We can say that Dad was in the military or a salesman of some kind to explain all the traveling, and that he was a close family friend who took me in when my own folks died. Clear out all the supernatural details, and that should cover most of the stuff until you finished school without having to make too much shit up. Then we just need to figure out what we were doing for the past few years. Sounds good?" He glanced up at me.
"It seems like it could work. It certainly would be easier than having to pretend we didn't grow up together. We'll have to talk to Frank about forging the necessary documentation to flesh it out." I paused as something occurred to me. "Hey, I know it was a throwaway comment, but do we want to go by Smith-Wesson or keep the names separate? I think I'd prefer the first, even with how pretentious the whole hyphenation thing usually looks. I . . . I don't like the idea of not sharing a name, even if it's fake."
My brother patted the hand I had over the center of his chest. "Don't worry, kiddo. I was thinking the same thing, so I . . . uh, told Frank to use that name for anything he made for after the wedding. Though we're gonna hafta get used to even more crappy gun jokes. Douchebag angel probably thought he was so fucking funny!"
"Hey, you decided to use those names, man," I pointed out.
"The lousy jokes are better than the epic bitch-face you'd be giving me if I used any of our rock star aliases instead, and you know it! So it was either those or pulling two random last names outta a phonebook," he huffed.
"Assuming you could even find a phonebook anymore. Chill out—if I really minded Smith or Wesson, I would've said so when you first got the fake IDs." I kissed his shoulder soothingly. "We'll have to wait until Frank dummies everything up for these new backgrounds before we can do any official house-hunting. But we can start looking stuff up on our own."
"But only after we leave here! We still got two full days left at this resort, and we're gonna relax," he told me sternly. "I know the wheels in your big brain are already turning, but you can wait until we're on the road again before going into full research-geek mode. Got it?"
"Okay, Mom."
He poked me in the ribs at that, which prompted me to stick my tongue in his ear. War having been declared, we tussled across the bed for several minutes. I eventually cried uncle after Dean managed to get me in a headlock, used his legs to pin my arms to my torso, and proceeded to noogie the crap out of me. We fell back against the pillows, and I tried to ignore his smug grin.
I pushed my hair back. "Jerk!"
"Bitch." His grin grew wider.
I sighed and put my arms back around him. "Right, so . . . uh, where were we? Oh yeah . . . I have to say, I'm still kind of surprised that you were the one to bring up the idea of getting a house and semi-settling down. I guess I assumed you'd want to keep hunting full steam ahead until we weren't able to for some reason."
His face grew more serious, and he shrugged. "Don't get me wrong, Sammy—I still like hunting. It's usually fun, as long as we're not dragged into the middle of some divine political bullshit. And I'm always gonna wanna help people. Even if we retire for good someday, I'll wanna be a firefighter or EMT or something.
"But I also have the first Dean's memories of having a real home and a normal family life. I ain't ever had that myself, but I think I've always wanted it, just like you. Until recently, I didn't think it was possible for me to have anything like that, so I figured I was gonna keep going on until something killed me. And I thought that day might not be too far away, 'cause I was so damn tired. I mean, we've been involved in hunting in one way or another for way longer than almost anyone else in this life.
"Being with you changed everything though, darling. Suddenly there was light at the end of the tunnel, and I realized I could have that dream. And I needed to do this for you too, 'cause no matter how much you might wanna get out, you'd never leave this life without me. So I started working on how to give both of us the happy ending we deserve. And now here we are!"
