Title: That Which Was Lost... (8/?)
Author: alakewood
Warnings: Spoilers for Pilot and Nightmare. Wincest. AU.
Word Count: 2200+
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Sam's vision leads to Saginaw, Michigan, and what appears to be a dead end, isn't.
Disclaimer: As always, I own nothing.
A/N: If you've been following this series, you know that I've been working in things from canon, but I just wanted to warn you that they're not in the same order. I'm pretty much using the storylines to my convenience, trying to stay as true to canon as I can with the direction this story is heading in.

oxoxo

Sam scrawled the license plate number from his vision at the edge of the Wyoming state map that was stuffed between the dash and the windshield. As Dean called in the plate number to get an address, using one of his many aliases, Sam dug through the glove box to find a map of Michigan but, surprisingly, Dean didn't have one.

"All right. Thank you," Dean said, nodding and rolling his eyes before he hung up. "We're headed to Saginaw."

"Are you sure? What about your dad?"

Dean bit at his bottom lip and glanced away from Sam. The sooner they went after John, the sooner Sam would go home. He wasn't ready for that. "How often do you have these...visions?" he asked, toeing around Sam's own question.

Sam shrugged. "Not very." He hadn't had a new one since the recurring dream about Dean. "Every few months lately, I guess."

"And they're always right?"

Sam thought of Jess. "Yeah," he answered quietly.

"Then we better check this out before the guy bites it."

"Yeah. We'll have to stop and the library then, MapQuest the way – you don't have a Michigan map."

oxo

The drive to Saginaw took much longer than Sam had anticipated, even with Dean going well over the speed limit the whole way. A few blocks from the house, Sam could see the trees lining the street illuminated alternately by red and blue and he knew they were too late. Dean pulled up along the curb half a block away and they joined the growing crowd of neighbors.

"What happened?" Dean asked an older lady who was clutching her robe around herself.

Sam didn't hear the reply, too caught up wondering what the point of having the vision was if he couldn't save the guy.

Dean elbowed Sam gently, interrupting the younger man's thoughts. "Happened just like in your vision. Except they all seem to think it was a suicide."

Sam shook his head, recalled seeing the guy struggling to get out of the car. "I just don't see why I'd see it and then be too late to stop it." He watched as a police officer escorted a woman – the grieving widow, perhaps? – and a teenage kid back into the house. The woman was sobbing hysterically, but the kid's face was blank, and Sam somehow doubted he was in shock.

Uncertain of what to say, Dean just clasped a hand over Sam's shoulder and squeezed gently. "Let's find a hotel. We can dig around in the morning, see if anything weird is going on."

oxo

The only thing Dean found weird was the kid, Max, with whom Sam got to spend some quality time. Everything else checked out normal – but Dean's instincts told him that there was something going on, regardless.

When Sam had another vision – this time, it was the victim's brother – Dean wondered if they were, maybe, dealing with a poltergeist. Maybe the Miller brothers had recently killed somebody whose ghost was now hell-bent on revenge. It was the only thing that made sense. Well, except that the EMF didn't flare up when he'd been out in the garage. He couldn't think of any other possibilities.

But Sam did, and it all pointed to the kid.

Dean didn't quite believe in telekinesis until a gun, suspended by nothing in midair, was pointed at his face. Max was talking away but Dean was trying to figure out how to get the gun, so he didn't really hear much of what Max was saying until he heard "Yellow-Eyed man."

In the end, Sam save him and Max ended up dead, thanks to his step-mother.

"Are you okay?" Sam kept asking, between the Miller's house and the motel. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, Sam, I'm fine." He wiped at the blood on his face – blood that was not his. "Just need a shower."

Once in their room, Dean headed straight for the bathroom. Sam sat at the edge of the mattress and listened for the water to start. All he could think about was the vision that plagued him while he'd been trapped inside the closet. It was so vivid that it felt more like a memory than a vision; the emotions that had gone through him were all too real. Dean might've been okay, but, at that moment, Sam wasn't and all he wanted was to be near Dean.

Sam sliding into the shower behind him interrupted his thoughts about Max, the Yellow-Eyed man, house-fires, and Sam. The touch of Sam's hands skimming over his soap-slick skin felt so normal. He let Sam turn him around under the spray, as he had a few nights prior, then pressed Sam up against the tile, kissed him hard. "Are you okay, Sam?"

"Better now," Sam smiled, fingers lightly tracing over Dean's back. "Much better." Trailed lower and splayed across Dean's ass, pulling their hips closer together.

Dean kissed Sam again with a little more force, Sam's head thudding hollowly against the tile. "Sorry," Dean apologized, grinning. Then, "Are you still sore?"

Sam looked confused.

"From the last time I fucked you."

Sam stared down at Dean, eyes dark with lust, as his tongue swept over his bottom lip. "Nope. Feel great." He thrust into Dean's him. "What've you got in mind?"

"Turn around," Dean ordered.

Sam obeyed, standing with his legs slightly spread.

"Fuck, Sam," he groaned, sliding a finger down the cleft of Sam's ass, gently probing the puckered flesh. "Can't get enough of you."

Sam pressed back towards the finger. "Please, Dean," he begged.

When Dean was finally buried inside Sam again, he rested his forehead against Sam's shoulder and sighed. He was definitely okay now.

The water temperature was spotty, lukewarm most of the time but it would suddenly become scalding hot or icy cold. It only served to heighten Dean's sense of touch, made him more aware of Sam's body as he kept a torturously slow, but nonetheless rough, pace and he jerked Sam to the same agonizing speed. He just wanted to take his time and to feel.

Sam leaned against the cool tile of the shower for support, elbow to wrist of his left arm, palm of his right hand – and every time Dena went just that much deeper, his fingers flexed, tips turning white as he tried to hold on. He let his head fall against his forearm as Dean slowly fucked him, wanting go faster or harder, but wanting Dean to just do whatever he wanted, too.

The water went cold and stayed cold, which prompted Sam to say, "I'd like to come before I end up with hypothermia." It wasn't out of boredom, but out of need. He heard Dean laugh, but it was his hard, deep thrust that was more of a response.

As Dean quickened his pace, his hand stopped moving on Sam's cock. When Sam made to jerk himself off, Dean grabbed his wrist and, with one hand, held both of them above Sam's head. "Don't move." One of Dean's hands continued to grip Sam's hip while the other – the one that had been holding Sam's wrists – went to Sam's dick. Dean's middle finger and thumb formed a tight ring at the base. "You don't come until I say so."

Every thrust, Dean hit Sam's prostate, and Sam felt the heat and tension pooling in his groin. "God, Dean."

"Sam," Dean panted, "Sam, Sam," driving home again and again, then finally he stilled, coming hard inside of Sam. He managed to keep a firm grip on Sam's dick and, when he was able to form coherent speech again, he told Sam, "When you turn around, I'm gonna suck your dick. Then you can come."

Sam groaned and turned slowly, watching as Dean sank to his knees. Dean swallowed him and sucked almost painfully hard, but Sam couldn't come – felt it burning in his belly, the ache for release. His fingers slid through Dean's wet hair, holding him there. Their eyes met and Dean's thumb gently pressed the taut skin behind Sam's balls and Sam came forcefully, his knees nearly buckling beneath him. Dean held him steady, sucked him dry, then let him slide down the bottom of the shower.

They stayed there for endless moments, tangled together on the shower floor, Dean blocking most of the chilly spray. "You're gonna get hypothermia," Sam mused. "We should dry off." But he made no move to get up.

Dean reached behind him to turn off the water, but it took him a couple more minutes to haul himself up and climb out of the shower. He scrubbed at his hair with a towel, then wrapped it around his hips. He held another clean one out towards Sam. "Here."

Sam grunted with effort as he got up and took the offered towel. "Thanks." He followed Dean out of the bathroom, drying off as he walked, and watched as Dean dropped his towel at the foot of the bed before climbing in. Sam followed suit, situating himself under the sheet and bedspread, close to, but not touching, Dean. "What's up?" he asked, noting the distant expression on Dean's face.

Dean just shook his head. "Just thinking."

"How can you be thinking after that?"

He chuckled and pulled Sam close, kissing him hungrily. "You kind of interrupted my thoughts earlier."

Sam nodded. "What are you thinking about, then?"

"Stuff. Something that Max said – it's kind of bringing up stuff from when I was a kid."

"Oh." Sam stared at him intently. "Like what?"

"I lost my mom when I was four – we had a house fire and I could almost swear that my dad put my brother in my arms and told me to get out of the house. But I don't remember anything about my brother except for that. If I even had a brother." He paused. "Max said something about a Yellow-Eyed man – the thing that killed my mother was a Yellow-Eyed Demon. Max's mother died in a house fire-"

"You don't think Max Miller was your brother?"

"No," Dean answered quickly. "No, but I think whatever happened to him is what happened to my brother. Maybe he's still out there somewhere. He'd be about Max's age. About your age. Maybe the same thing happened to you – with your visions, you know?"

Sam shook his head vehemently. "My mother is still alive."

But Dean noticed that he hadn't denied anything about the Yellow-Eyed man. "You've seen him, then? Yellow-Eyes?"

Shit, Sam thought. He didn't want to get into this with Dean, especially not when he'd been so content just five minutes ago. "A couple of dreams."

"He tell you the same things he told Max? About preparing you? About a war?"

Sam shook his head slowly. "Just that I was special."

Dean was silent for a long moment. "We'll head to Jericho tomorrow. My dad should be able to help us with the Yellow-Eyed Demon. Maybe find out what's happening to you, with the visions." Then, as an afterthought, "Maybe you're adopted."

"No. No, there's no way. My mom wouldn't hide something like that from me."

"It's the kind of thing parents would keep secret as long as they could until their kids started questioning it," Dean argued.

"She wouldn't."

"Are you sure?"

There were a lot of things that Ellen Harvelle refused to discuss, but Sam couldn't believe that she wasn't his mother, that Jo wasn't his sister. But now, he was starting to question it. She'd always been so over-protective and when he'd gone away to school, she had freaked out – not in a normal single-mother-of-a-kid-going-away-to-college kind of way, but a very not normal way – and Sam didn't know what it was about. Now, he thought, there was a chance that she was just afraid that he'd discover that he wasn't her son. He shook his head. There was no way that could be true. He couldn't believe it. So he finally answered Dean, "Yes, I'm sure."

Dean had seen the doubt on Sam's face. Watched the emotions slip from conflicted to confusion to denial. "Well, once we find my dad, we'll have lot more answers."

Sam hoped Dean was right and hoped Dean was wrong, and just hoped he could keep Dean safe.