Chapter 5: If it Takes a Thousand Years
I was the first to wake up the following morning. Dean was lying on his stomach with his face turned toward me and one hand under his pillow, the sheets pushed down past his waist until they barely covered that incredible ass. I decided to let him rest, even though my downstairs brain emphatically had other ideas, since this was probably the only morning he got to sleep in all week. I carefully slid out of bed and padded as quietly as possible to the bathroom.
Once my full bladder, morning breath, and bed head were dealt with, I pulled on my boxers and t-shirt from yesterday and headed over to the kitchen. The first order of business was setting the coffee maker to brewing, and then I raided the well-stocked fridge for eggs, butter, ham, shredded cheese, mushrooms, and peppers and the pantry closet for onions, potatoes, and seasonings. I pulled out a cutting board and knife and applied myself to chopping or slicing the various ingredients as appropriate.
Dean emerged from the bathroom and wandered over while I was sautéing the filling components, yawning as he asked, "Whatcha doing, man?"
"I'm generally not much of a cook, but I do make a mean omelet and home fries. I figured I ought to treat you to breakfast this morning after you've fed me so well the past two days," I answered, eyeing his fleece Chewbacca bathrobe and unruly hedgehog hair in fond amusement.
"Guess I can't complain if someone else is doing the cooking 'round here for a change!" He yawned again and kissed me before filling a Batman mug with black coffee and plopping down on a dining chair.
Within about fifteen minutes, I filled two plates with omelets, home fries, and toast and placed them on the table, as well as a mug of coffee for myself—with cream, sugar, cinnamon, and nutmeg added like a civilized person. He grabbed butter, jam, salt, and pepper and brought them over too, and we both set to our food hungrily. Neither of us spoke much until our plates were empty.
"Alright, that definitely needs to happen again, Sammy!" he declared, then grinned at me lasciviously. "After we clean up in here, d'ya wanna see how well we both fit in the shower?"
He rinsed all of the dishes and loaded them into the dishwasher while I wiped down the stove and countertop, and then he grabbed my hand and tugged me into the bathroom. We quickly undressed each other and successfully determined that there was not only enough room for both of us to make out in the tub-shower combo but also for each of us to take turns kneeling and blowing the other, and surprisingly before the hot water ran out. We eventually tumbled out to dry off and get dressed, with plenty of additional kissing and groping in the process.
"By the way, we usually all head over to my folks' house in the evening on Sundays for one of Mom's home-cooked meals," Dean said as we left the apartment. "You're of course invited, but we can also beg off if you'd rather have a quieter night instead."
"No, going to your parents' house sounds great, dude. Family dinners weren't exactly a thing when I was growing up—the closest I got is when a classmate invited me over for Thanksgiving when I was twelve. I did get to have dinner with Jess' family a few times, but I won't turn down the chance to spend more time with yours," I replied.
"Okay, good! For right now, I was figuring on going to the Hilltop Mall in Kearney, since it's got a JC Penney, Old Navy, and a few other decent clothing stores, plus a coupla places to pick up shoes if you need 'em or a new phone. There's also a pretty nice locally-owned bookstore that you should dig and a movie theater if you're interested—I haven't seen the new Superman or Pirates of the Caribbean movie yet," he offered after we'd pulled out of the apartment complex.
"That works for me—you're the one who knows this area best," I replied.
Clothes shopping didn't take too long, since the department store had pretty much everything I needed—jeans, tees, button-downs, hoodies, a couple sets of slacks and dress shirts, boxers, socks, bathrobe, a pair of sneakers, and even a new wallet, as well as more towels and hangers and another laundry hamper. Dean got a couple of things for himself but mostly focused on helping me pick out stuff, which included vehemently nixing anything with "relaxed" on the label (or "saggy-ass" as he dubbed it) and steering me towards more fitted options. We also stopped by a kiosk so I could get a new Blackberry and spent quite a bit of time in the bookstore, with both of us leaving with a full bag of new acquisitions. For lunch, he took me to a nearby Indian/Nepali fusion place for momo, chicken tikka masala, shrimp vindaloo, garlic naan, and mango lassi, and then we returned to the mall to watch Dead Man's Chest in the theater.
Upon returning to the apartment, Dean shuffled things around in his closet, dresser, bathroom cabinet, and bookshelves to make room for my stuff. I then put all my belongings away, both new and old, sorting out anything too damaged, grungy, ill-fitting, or fugly to be thrown away or donated. When I was done, he checked my wounds and decided to remove the stitches, reapplying the antibiotic cream afterward. We had time to relax for a little bit before changing into somewhat nicer outfits and leaving for dinner.
The Harvelle family house, a rancher with white siding, a small covered porch, and attached two-car garage, was less than ten minutes away from the apartment and not far from a small athletic field. As with the Roadhouse, it was surrounded by protective plantings of ash, yew, and holly, while a Brigid's cross was hung over the front door and a barn hex sign was painted on the garage door. We pulled into the driveway and parked next to a blue Civic coupe and a vintage Triumph Bonneville, which Dean mentioned belonged to Jo and Ash respectively.
Inside, we cut through a homey living room with Shaker furniture, handmade quilts, and several potted plants and into a fairly spacious eat-in kitchen with oak cabinets, butcher block countertops, white appliances, white tiled floor, and a table with seats for six. A hallway past the dining area led to what looked like three bedrooms and a full bathroom, while a sliding glass door off the dining area opened onto a covered patio. There was nothing to indicate that this house belonged to hunters besides the protective nature of the plants, but I suspected the house was as well-warded as the bar, just more subtly.
As we entered the kitchen, Ellen was pulling something out of the oven, Bill was tackling a pile of dirty dishes in the sink, and Jo was setting the table. Dean headed to the stove to tend to the pots bubbling there, while I was drafted to fetch both a bottle of chardonnay and Ash from the basement. I opened the indicated door and went down the stairs to a finished basement comprised of a family room, home office, fourth bedroom, and storage area. Ash was lounging in the family room watching an awful Sci Fi Channel monster movie but got up when he saw me and showed me where to find the wine.
Back upstairs, the table was now laden with roast pork tenderloin in a creamy mustard sauce, German potato salad, beer-braised cabbage, sautéed spinach, and glazed carrots. The others were already seated, and I hastily joined them after handing off the wine. While Bill opened the bottle and filled everyone's glasses and Dean sliced and served the pork, Ellen began passing around the side dishes.
"We're real glad you could join us tonight, Sam," she said once everyone's plates had been loaded up. "It's also a pleasure to see how much better you've been doing over the past coupla days."
"Of course, we've also had to put up with how disgustingly sweet the two of you are together," Jo teased, which earned her an elbow to the ribs from her brother. "Seriously though, you're already practically part of the family, so it's cool that you're here."
"Well, I'm very grateful to be here, both for everything you've all done to get me back on my feet and for accepting me into the fold as it were, as well as for the invitation to this lovely meal," I responded warmly. "I can see where Dean gets his cooking skills from, because this spread looks and smells fantastic!"
The conversation as we ate was comfortable and affectionate, ranging from sports and movies to Jo's classes and Dean's projects, and the closest it ever came to hunting was anecdotes about the bar customers. This was in sharp contrast to meals with my dad when I was growing up, which were generally either silent and awkward or focused on discussions of cases, training, or my perceived shortcomings—and often ended in yet another argument. After dinner, we pitched in to clean up, and then everyone gathered in the backyard around the fire pit to drink beer, exchange stories, and enjoy each other's company for a couple more hours.
It was close to midnight by the time we got back to the apartment and put away the containers of leftovers his parents insisted we take with us. Dean ducked into the bathroom, and I undressed and then simply looked around in wonder at my clothes filling one side of the closet and two drawers in the dresser, my phone, wallet, and keys resting on the closer nightstand, my own laundry hamper sitting next to his, and other signs that I was more than simply a guest here.
"What's with the mushy expression there, dude?" he asked as he came out of the bathroom.
"I'm still trying to adjust to how much everything's changed, I guess. Most of my childhood was spent moving around and squatting in shitty motels or worse, with brief stays at Pastor Jim's or Bobby's places being the closest I ever got to a home. I tried to build the beginnings of a real life with Jess, only to have the demon destroy that too, and for the past year I didn't know if I'd ever get something like that back. And now suddenly I have all of this, and . . . it's a bit overwhelming," I explained.
"I get that. Shit has moved super-fast between us in just a coupla days, and it ain't like I've ever invited anyone else to move in with me before. I dunno . . . this just feels right though—being with you, having you here, and all that. I don't think the 'normal rules' apply to what we've got, ya know?" He reached up to give me a slow kiss.
"I agree, and trust me, I don't have any regrets. I'll get used to the changes soon enough." I ran a hand down his side.
He slid his hands around to grasp my ass and smiled up at me. "Well, tomorrow's my day off at the bar, though I do have a shift in the morning at the EMT gig. But the rest of the day is free, so I can show you around town if you want . . . or we could stay in and see how much of the apartment we can 'christen.' Whaddya say?"
"I think we can manage to do a little of both. For right now, give me a few minutes and then we can continue this." I kissed him and nudged him toward the bed, then hurried to the bathroom.
I stretched out beside him when I returned, and we resumed kissing and caressing each other. It wasn't long before I had three fingers buried in his slick channel, enjoying his wanton moans as I rubbed against his prostate. When I sat up and tried to move between his bowed legs however, he grabbed my arm with a concerned look on his face.
"Dean, I'm fine, okay?" I said before he could open his mouth. "Thanks to that cream, my injuries are already closed up, which is the whole point of why you took out the stitches earlier, right? My chest barely even hurts any more, and I promise I'll stop if it starts to bother me again—but I want to do more this time than just lie there!"
The omega frowned and studied me for a long moment before letting go. "Okay . . . but you speak up the second you start to feel any pain, capisce?"
I nodded and leaned down to kiss him in reassurance, then finished maneuvering into place. He grabbed the backs of his thighs and pulled them up, baring the pink furl of his entrance for my view. I didn't waste any time in sinking my cock into his waiting passage, pushing forward until I was buried to the hilt. I paused briefly to watch as his long lashes dropped to veil his green eyes and his freckled cheeks flushed with color, before starting to thrust vigorously, angling to hit his sweet spot each time. He groaned appreciatively and began rocking his hips in time with mine, the walls of his snug channel rippling around my shaft.
It wasn't long before I had him bent nearly in two, his calves resting on my shoulders and my fingers digging into his hips as I pounded into him. He braced his hands against the headboard and cried out with each stroke. Soon enough his back arched while his cock spurted between our bodies, his passage clamping down around my member. I managed to drive into him a couple more times before climaxing as well.
I barely had time to tumble to onto the mattress before Dean was bent over my chest to peer at my wounds. I let him examine them for a few minutes before gently pushing him back with a laugh. "Ash was right—you really are a mother hen!"
"Shuddup, bitch! Just be glad that you're still okay—you don't wanna know the kinda fucking blue balls you'd be suffering if you'd torn something!" he grumbled as he settled against my shoulder.
I laughed again and kissed him. "I love you too, jerk!"
The next few weeks were easily the happiest that I could remember, even compared to my years with Jess. My injuries had healed well with only a small amount of barely discernable scarring, and I was soon back up to full strength, running in the mornings and sparring occasionally with Dean. The head-splitting visions hadn't returned since the demon's death, and nightmares about that night cropped up only a few times. I still mourned Dad's death, but now I had reasons to look forward to what lay ahead.
The greater part of most days was still spent at the Roadhouse. I insisted on helping out as much as I could to repay the Harvelles for what they'd done for me, and as I recovered my duties expanded to include unloading deliveries, restocking the kegs and cases of liquor, and taking shifts as bartender, busboy, or dishwasher, as well as assisting Dean and Ash with their various projects or Bill and Ellen with research for the cases they found and farmed out. As a result, I got to know Dean's family even better, especially Ash and Jo—which at one point led to a prank war with Dean and Ash on one side and Jo and I on the other, until Ellen threatened to tan all of our hides. Bill arranged for me to sell Dad's truck and most of its arsenal, with the exception of my pearl-handled Taurus, sawed-off Ithaca 37, and a couple of knives that I kept for myself, an engraved Colt M1911 with ivory grips that I gave to Dean, and obviously the Colt (which I planned to pass onto Bobby for safekeeping), to an intense hunter named Gordon, and Dean in turn got me a good deal on a gently-used Jeep soft-top, which let me make trips to nearby libraries, museums, and other attractions whenever I wanted. And joining them each week for Sunday dinner became a welcome part of my schedule.
What made this period so special was of course Dean. Most of our time was spent together, either at the bar or being domestic in what had rapidly become our home. On his days off, we went to movies and local sporting events, visited nearby parks to go hiking or boating, or simply took long drives through the countryside, sometimes stopping in an open field to stargaze together. And it went without saying that a good chunk of our alone time was devoted to making love, which continued to be more amazing than I could've imagined. As we got to know each other better and became even closer, I found myself opening up to him more than I ever had with anyone else, as he was the first person I felt I could truly be myself and not have to hide anything around.
It was a little before the bar was due to open almost a month after I'd first arrived when Bobby gave me a call. I'd called him several times since getting a new phone to keep him abreast of my progress and see how he was doing at Blue Earth. Processing Pastor Jim's estate had been going slower than Bobby had expected, mostly due to having to deal with the lawyer sent by the church's hierarchy to oversee the late pastor's affairs as they affected the church. This unsurprisingly had created some serious complications, as Bobby did his best to clear out anything supernatural or otherwise compromising from Jim's possessions without arousing the lawyer's suspicions, and his commentary on the man during our calls was hilariously pungent.
"Hey, what's up, Bobby? What's Mr. Barton done this time to ruin your day?" I asked after picking up.
Bobby's snort of disgust was clearly audible. "Nothing for a change, though not for want of trying, the damn fool! Actually, I was calling to let you know that I'm finally done! I've got a few more things to pack in the car this evening, and then I oughta be hitting the road tomorrow morning. I should be at the Roadhouse by late afternoon tomorrow, barring any more complications."
"That's great, man! I'm honestly surprised you managed to refrain from murdering him," I teased.
"Believe me, I was certainly tempted at times! If I was younger and less mature, I'd be hard-pressed not to do something real petty before I leave, like letting the air outta all his tires," he admitted with a chuckle. "This was difficult enough, going through a good friend's stuff like this, without having to deal with a frigging shark in an overpriced suit on top of all that. Right now though, I'm just glad to be getting outta here soon.
"Let Bill and Ellen know that I've got some lore books for 'em to look through—these are volumes that I've already got, but they might wanna add 'em to the Roadhouse's library. There are also a few things that Pastor Jim left for you, like that quilt you were crazy about as a kid and a few books you liked," he added.
"Really? That's . . . that's really nice. I—I wasn't expecting anything like that," I said, my voice a bit thick.
"Well, that was Jim for you—always thinking 'bout others. Him being gone is a big loss to everyone who knew him." He cleared his throat. "Anyway, I found a sealed envelope addressed to you in John's handwriting among Jim's papers—and by sealed I mean it's been spelled so that no one else can open it. I'm guessing that John left it with the good pastor to give to you if something got him, obviously not expecting that the goddamn demon would take Jim out before him."
I sat down abruptly on a stool. "Something . . . from Dad? Wha—what could it be?"
"Given the warding on it, it could be sensitive intel on the demon, in case John died before ganking the bastard. Or maybe it's photos and stuff 'bout your mom that he couldn't bring himself to show you, since the writing and spellwork seem to be at least a few years old. We'll find out soon enough when I get there, boy," he pointed out. "And we can discuss what you want to do next, since you shoulda had enough time to think that over. See you tomorrow!"
Dean found me a few minutes later, still sitting there are staring pensively into space. "What's the matter, Sammy? Did something happen?"
"Bobby just called and said he's finally done over at Blue Earth and should be here tomorrow afternoon sometime. He mentioned he has some things for me, including a magically sealed envelope from my dad," I replied. "I'm both wondering and dreading what's inside."
His eyebrows rose in surprise. "Huh! Well, I wouldn't worry 'bout it too much, dude. If it's shit 'bout the demon, it don't matter now since the sonofabitch is dead. It could be stuff from before your mom died that he'd been saving, or maybe a life insurance policy or something. Did Bobby say anything else?"
I shrugged. "Not really, other than wanting to talk about what I plan to do with myself now."
"Oh. Uh . . . I guess that is something important that you need to figure out, right? I . . . I gotta go get some shit from the basement storage, so I'll talk to you later." He hurried off rather abruptly.
I watched him leave, puzzled by his reaction. I continued to observe him over the course of the evening, and it was clear that something was off, at least to me. He either tried a little too hard to be cheerful or was too quiet when he thought no one was paying attention to him—and of course, his scent couldn't lie.
I waited until Dean shut down the kitchen for the night before grabbing him and dragging him outside. I'd already asked Ash to cover me at the bar for a while and borrowed a lantern from one of the storerooms. I turned the lantern once we left the building and remained silent, ignoring his confused questions, until we reached the clearing in the woods behind the property.
I planted both the lantern and the omega on the flat rock in the center and stared at him. "Okay, spill it, Dean! I know something's been bugging you since I told you about Bobby's call—and don't try to bullshit me that everything's fine!"
He started to protest and then slumped down. "It's stupid, okay? I shouldn't be worrying—you've settled in here and at our apartment real well, and you seem to be pretty happy with how things are going. You're right though that my head's been messed up all evening. It's just that . . . you haven't said anything yet about what you do want long-term, since someone like you ain't gonna be happy spending the rest of his life working at a hunter's bar in the middle of Bumblefuck, Nebraska. I—I didn't wanna bug you before since I knew you needed time, but now that it's come up . . ."
I sat down next to him and put an arm around his shoulders. "I'm sorry, man—I should've talked about this with you sooner. I do love it here with you and your family, but you're also right that I want to do more than being a bartender or whatever. I'm thinking about going back to school, but not at Stanford—too many memories, and it's too far away. I'm considering University of Chicago or Northwestern University instead, since both are top-rated for their undergrad and law schools, and they're both a lot closer for us to visit your family on long weekends and breaks."
Dean had stiffened when I first mentioned college but then relaxed and smiled. "Us, huh? What do you think I'll be doing in Chi-town then? And you still wanna be a lawyer after everything?"
"You can do whatever you want there—there are loads of possibilities! You can find another bar to work at, or be an EMT or firefighter full-time, or go get your degree in engineering, or whatever else you want, and I'll have your back," I replied. "And yeah, I'm still thinking about law, because I do want to make a difference. This would also be my way to give back to the community, since hunters are constantly landing in legal hot water. Plus I can still help with research, you can still build gadgets, and maybe we can even take on a local hunt or two if no one else is available."
He leaned his head against my shoulder. "Sounds good, Sammy! How soon d'ya expect this to kick off?"
It was my turn to relax, relieved that he agreed with my plans. "It's too late to get in for the fall semester, so I'll apply to transfer for the spring term. In the meantime, I've put out some feelers with the local law firms to get a job as a legal assistant or clerk, since that'll look better on my application—though I'll still help out at the bar when I can.
"My highest priority is that whatever happens, we deal with it together—which right now is finishing school. And when it comes time to decide what to do next? We'll do that together too."