The Scent of You Chapter 2, a supernatural fanfic

Disclaimer, Summary, Rating: See Chapter 1.

THE SCENT OF YOU

Chapter 2

And if he went right now, he wouldn't be able to hear that irritating keening and he would feel better. His chest felt so crushed and heavy and his head was throbbing, like when he'd had a really bad head cold. If he went right now his lungs would stop burning and his throat wouldn't hurt…though they were good hurts because the burning was because he could still smell Sammy, so strong, so everywhere, even though Sammy was…was…

It was a good smell though, not like a 'dude, you need to shower!' smell. Sammy had always smelled good. Though when he had been a baby it had been pale and mingled with baby powder…Dad had always started out complaining that Dean used way too much baby powder but when Dean had changed Sammy's diapers Dad had always been the first to shake out, like, half the tub. But Sammy had gurgled when Dean used to sprinkle his baby tummy with the talcum powder and giggled when Dean had drawn little designs in it with his finger…Sammy had always been ticklish; it was Dean's secret weapon…especially the soles of his feet and each side of his waist just below his ribs.

Sammy's smell hadn't been as faint when he got older, but then it was unsurprising it had become a bit more pungent. When Sammy was little – before first grade when he had started to realise that other people had a mommy instead of a Dean and lived in houses and went to school in the same place for years and years – he had liked the fact that they lived in the woods and mountains, camping out all the time.

Little boys loved dirt and trees and running around playing in the mud and not having to wash behind their ears and keep their fingernails clean – and bathing in ice-cold rivers or strip-washing from the copper boiled over their camp fire didn't impress him. Once a week Dad used to mention that they were getting ripe and Sammy would lead Dean a merry chase through the woods, scampering like a hare from his big brother; Dean would catch him and try to carrying the giggling, wriggling little eel to the river and half the time Sammy would twist and squirm so much that Dean would lose his balance and end up gasping and drenched in the middle of the Spring ice thaw along with Sammy.

As Sammy had got older his smell had become more defined and lingered on things like the ropes and even the cuffs Dad had used when he taught them the rudiments of escapology; although while Dean had never had any problems with handcuffs – give him a paperclip, antenna or something equally handy and there wasn't a lock he couldn't pick in under twenty seconds – he had fared less well with the ropes. But Dad had been exasperated when he'd tied up Sammy and come back growling and stomping and pretending to be the scary monster only to find Sammy had made no move to free himself, and Sammy had been unconcerned because he'd told Dad he just had to wait for Dean to come and free him.

And Dad had been irritated and demanded what he would do if Dean didn't come, and Sammy had looked at Dad with wide, astonished eyes at how weird Daddy could be sometimes and his little piping voice had been baffled as he told Dad just as Dean arrived in the clearing that Dean would always come for him.

ToolatetoolatepleaseSammytakeitbackandIllfindyouIswearIllbeintimepleasepleaseifyoutakeitbackIlldoanythingifyoutakeitbackpleasepleaseSammySammy

Sammy's smell had become richer when he was a little older; when Dean and Dad came back from hunts in the small hours, Dean would lie down wearily in the badly sprung hotel bed or crawl into the boys' tent to his sleeping bag. It was too dark to see anything but a few seconds later close by there would be a smell like a mixture of milky hot chocolate on a cold winter night with a tang of ginger-like spiciness and an increasingly present musk that combined to make a smell that was just Sammy. Then Sammy would wriggle into the bag or under the covers close to Dean and snuggle up under Dean's chin; a little hand would slide up to comb through Dean's hair and within another few seconds the small fingers would still as Sammy went to sleep…

Dean had never had any nightmares on those nights when he fell to sleep himself breathing in his brother's scent…it was a way to ward off nightmares that never failed.

When Dad and Sammy had had that last fight, when Dad had yelled that he would not pay a cent towards Sammy going to college and that Sammy was a deserter and a disgrace to his mother's memory, when Sammy had gone cold and hard and folded his arms and quietly retorted he knew damn well that their Dad would never dream of doing anything that would enable his sons to be happy instead of freaks and that was why he'd worked his ass off in his classes and achieved a full ride – all four years' of study on a full scholarship that paid for his accommodation, his courses, his equipment and even some living expenses – when Dad had recoiled as if slapped and told Sammy that if he went he should stay gone and Sammy had replied "'Works for me'" and came back down the stairs of their rented clapboard house in Wisconsin with his gear already packed and a pre-booked taxi cab waiting to take him to the airport, when he'd walked out the house without a backward glance at Dad or at Dean, when that had happened, Dean had found one of Sammy's T-shirts in the bottom of the wash basket. It hadn't been hard to hide it in his gear, and what was it to anyone that Dean had slept with the rolled up thing on his pillow every night for months and months until Sammy's smell was just wishful thinking.

The room was still full of Sammy…his scent was everywhere, even though Sammy was…not here now…The chocolate-ginger musk surged up into Dean's nostrils and down into his lungs and filled them up but that was okay because he'd never needed to breath air as much as he had had to breathe in Sammy…

The Glock would take him to Sammy…and he closed his eyes and breathed in as much of the Sammy-smell as he could…

Flash behind his eyelids/

And Sammy was holding him tightly and his smell was all around Dean and he was warm and warm and alive and holding Dean and not brain-splattered on the walls and alive and holding Dean and Sammy please thank-you

And there was a flash behind his eyelids as he opened his eyes and Sammy stared at the wall with the back of his head blown apart and he still wouldn't look at Dean or get up and hold him, and Dean needed him to so much.

The Glock would take him to Sammy…

But the only thing he would hit with it dangling from his hand was that ugly 1970s froufrou lamp…which okay, someone should put out of its misery...He lifted the gun slowly and aimed the right end towards his head…but he so wanted to hold on to that wonderful Sammy smell…just once more before…he'd just close his eyes for one second, just to breathe it in just once…

Flash behind his eyelids/

And there was a flash behind his eyelids as he opened his eyes and Sammy stared at the wall with the back of his head blown apart...

It looked like Dean had better pull the trigger…he must have gone mad…Dean realised that he had probably been insane from when he'd pushed open the bathroom door and Sammy was…

GonebloodbrainssplatteredgonenoSammySammyno…

Butsmellssorealsowarmjustclosemyeyesnotdeadthankyounotdead

He curled his finger round the trigger, but the last thing he wanted to know in this world was Sammy's smell, so he closed his eyes one last time-

Flash behind his eyelids/

And Sammy was holding him tightly and his smell was all around Dean and he was-

Oh…this was going to be a problem. Okay it probably wasn't that big a deal to shoot Sammy again since he was…but…huh.

Sammy was hugging him tightly, his arms wrapped around Dean's back, which was fine – better than fine. Sammy's breathing was rhythmic but kind of hitched like he had just been crying a lot but that was okay too because Dean's face was pressed against Sammy's throat at his shoulder because of those damn three extra inches and that throat was warm and moving. But Sammy was resting his cheek against Dean's own head where it was tucked in Sammy's shoulder; he was rubbing his hair slightly against Dean's own…

But Sammy's head was in the way. If Dean fired the Glock, the bullet would go through Sammy's head before it went through Dean's, and he couldn't swap hands because although his left arm was free his right arm was pinned down by his side from Sammy's embrace and Sammy had his arms round him too tight to let go.

Flash behind his eyelids/

He opened his eyes and Sammy stared at the wall with the back of his head blown away.

Dean looked at Sammy. His eyes were half-closed but without any lustre. They were flat and dull like painted paper mâché in a mannequin's head. There was no living pink to Sammy's skin and…there was no smell of Sammy.

Flash behind his eyelids/

But this time Dean only half-closed his eyes, and even so, Sammy was still holding him. Eternity passed as he listened to Sammy's heart beating through the ear that rested under Sammy's chin, and he considered Sammy sat on the bathroom floor staring at the wall.

Finally he looked in the bathroom mirror and saw Sammy-holding-him's back and his head with that stupid floppy hair and not shattered apart. And reflected in the top-left hand bit of the glass was that nondescript gardener guy from the UNT Amarillo campus, the short, podgy dude who looked like Mr Potato Head, as if something had simply grabbed generic bits of human anatomy like ears, eyes, eyebrows, nose and mouth and stuck them on a blank clay model to make a one-size-fits-all Everyman human face.

Gardener guy was smiling at them, and Dean wondered how he made his eyes glow that bright ruby red…

Sammy was still holding him like he was his long-gone favourite teddy bear Mr Fuzzy, and Sammy was still sat on the bathroom floor with his head blasted away, and the gardener guy's reflection still showed him in the corner, grinning…

But none of that mattered. Sammy was dead…but Sammy was also alive…and now there was a goon standing in the corner of the room grinning like a loon…

Irrelevant…all that mattered was that Sammy needed him…but he didn't know how to choose – dead Sammy or alive Sammy – and what if the creep in the corner was after Sammy…?

Sammy needed him…

And the bang of a gunshot echoed in the room…

Continued in Chapter 3…

Warning: I do not usually repeat story warnings; I consider such to be unwarranted hubris on my part, and I'm quite sure you, the reader, are capable of thinking for yourself. However, please be aware that subsequent chapters contain issues involving depression, emotional trauma, suicide, plus sexual scenes, references to paedophilia/child pornography, and religiously controversial discussion. Please consider these factors in your decision to continue reading. This is not a story of hugs and puppies, people.