Dean lay still, reveling in the peace and quiet, and in the fact that Sam was sleeping peacefully, no sign of any bad dreams during the previous night.
That peace and quiet lasted for just under an hour, at which time Dean's never very quiet dick woke up and started demanding "me time".
Dean had a few quiet but firm words with said dick, but it wasn't very receptive, as Sam's scent and warm hard body were snuggled up close. It really wanted to wake his baby brother up and turn "me time" into "us time".
Cursing his pushy dick, Dean managed to unwrap himself from his brother's arms and exit the bed without waking him up. Almost immediately, Sam whuffled unhappily and burrowed deeper under the blanket, clutching the pillow as a poor substitute for his older brother's body heat.
Smiling, Dean found another blanket and tucked it snugly around Sam, ghosted a soft kiss across his cheek, then went in search of hot water.
The panic room's bathroom was a little snug, but it was complete, with a toilet, a small shower and a lot of hot water. After a quick shower and a shave, he felt better than he had in days. Apparently he'd needed some sleep, too.
Coffee would be good, more than good, but he'd wait until Sam was awake. He didn't want his brother waking up by himself in a strange place.
Curious, he then started to explore the warding of the panic room.
He'd seen some of the sigils before, in Dad's notebook. The predominant design, though, was one he hadn't seen before. It was drawn in varying sizes on all four walls, on the door, the floor and the ceiling.
Pam had told him during their conversation the night before that it was supposed to guard against demon possession. Though she hadn't seen it work herself, a hunter she'd known for years told her that he'd seen it work in South and Central America. "Time will tell," she'd commented wryly.
After she'd gone upstairs, Dean had a thought about the design. Would the sigil keep a demon out of humans?
Out of Sam?
If they were to make charms with this sigil, maybe paint it on the Impala in invisible paint, sew it to Sam's clothes, would it keep the demon out of not only his body, but his dreams as well?
Definitely worth talking about, not just to Pam, but to Bobby as well. If it was something that hadn't been done before, they'd test it out. He was willing to try anything to keep that son of a bitch out of his baby's head.
Dean went to his duffel and dug out a pen and piece of paper and spent the next half hour or so making a very detailed copy of the design.
Tucking the drawing away in his duffel, an uneasy sensation crawled up his spine. He looked toward the door and stiffened when he saw a pair of unfriendly eyes staring back at him.
The douchebag.
Jesse.
Not wanting to wake Sam from the first good sleep he'd had in days, Dean squashed down the angry words he wanted to shout and walked quietly to the door. "What do you want?"
Jesse stared past him at Sam. "I didn't believe it at first when he told me," he said, distaste twisting his mouth. "That's some sick freaking shit."
"What are you talking about?" Dean shifted, putting himself between Jesse and Sam, not wanting the creep's eyes on his brother.
"Fucking your brother, dude. That's all kinds of messed up." Jesse's grin was nasty. "What's the matter? Couldn't find a woman low enough to take you on?"
"Shut up!" Dean hissed. He glanced back at Sam, who was stirring restlessly. "Get the hell out of here."
Enjoying Dean's reaction, Jesse ran his tongue out and over his lips. "Still, he is kinda pretty. And he's not my brother. You want to share?"
Dean snarled and reached for the doorknob, ready to rip this guy a completely new orifice.
The door was locked.
Jesse laughed. "Problem?"
"Open the damned door!" Dean spat.
"No, I'm thinking I like this door between us." Jesse eyes slid past Dean. "Hey, morning, sunshine!"
"Dean?" Blinking sleepily, Sam raised himself on one elbow, then jerked clumsily to his feet when he saw the leering stranger at the window.
"Dean? What - ?" Sam's voice was rough with panic and confusion. "Where the hell are we? Who's that?"
"I'm the man who's getting $10,000 for one damned phone call, that's who I am." Jesse's eyes gleamed in triumph.
"Couldn't believe my luck when you pulled up. Black Chevy Impala, license plate KAZ 2Y5, two young guys driving. Dean and Sam Winchester. Damn."
Jesse shook his head at the vagaries of life, then laughed when Dean threw himself at the door, trying to get to him. "Never would've thought hanging out at that loser hunter bar would get me rich, but there you go! Never know what life is gonna hand you."
"Who'd you call, you bastard?" Dean bellowed. "Who?"
"Who do you think?" Jesse's voice was mocking, insolent. "That psycho dad of yours. He put a freaking bounty out on your dumb asses. I figured if he's crazy enough to pay five, he'd be crazy enough to pay ten. And I was right."
Sam turned dead white. "Oh, God," he whispered.
"You jackass! Our father doesn't have ten thousand dollars." Dean was livid. "And if he did, he wouldn't give it to you. He's gonna kill me and my brother. Then he'll kill you, cause he won't want any witnesses."
"Oh, come on, he's not gonna kill you," Jesse scoffed. "He's gonna beat your asses, sure. Can't say you don't deserve that. If you were my kids, I'd beat you bloody."
"He doesn't kill you, I will," Dean promised, giving up his attempt on the doorknob. Now all he wanted was for this asshole to go away so he could work on picking the lock.
Jesse smirked. "Whatever. This time tomorrow I'm gonna be in Vegas and you two – well, who gives a fuck where you'll be."
He started to slam the little window shut and then the loud report of a pistol shot echoed in the basement and Jesse blinked, surprised. Without another word, he slid down out of sight and his body hit the floor with a hard thud.
Dean leapt across the room and jerked a gun out of his duffel. Afraid he knew just who was out there, he grabbed Sam by the arm and dragged him to the side of the door.
Several long minutes passed. The, with a thud and a harsh gasp, Pamela appeared in the open window. Her face was streaked with blood and a massive bruise covered the left side of her face. "Hey, boys."
"Hell, Pam." Dean was horrified. "Are you okay?"
"Not so much." She laughed weakly. "Gimme a sec. I'll get you out of there." She fumbled with the lock. For a minute it looked like she wasn't going to be able to manage it, but the bolt finally slid free.
Dean waited until she moved stiffly away from the door, then he pushed it open, shoving Jesse's body along the floor with it. Putting an arm around the injured woman, he carefully supported her over to the bench against the far basement wall.
Pam put her gun down on the bench beside her and raised an exploratory hand to her head.
"Damn it," she winced, when her fingers came back bloody.
"Let me take a look." Dean sat next to her and examined the wound. "It's not too bad. Doesn't even need stitches." He smiled at her sympathetically. "Bet it hurts like a bitch though, huh?"
Eyes at half-mast, Pam gave a slight nod. "I'd kill for an aspirin," she said with a twist of her lips.
"I think we can manage that." Dean helped her up and started guiding her toward the stairs.
"Dean?"
Pausing, Dean looked back to see his brother standing just outside the door of the panic room, staring at the two of them with a wary look on his face.
"Where the hell are we? Who's she?"
A startled Dean didn't answer for a moment, then he shook his head. "Sorry, man. I guess you were kind of out of it when we got here. This is Pam, Bobby's friend."
"The psychic," Sam said slowly.
"Pyschic with a hell of a headache," Pam said wearily.
Sam nudged Jesse's corpse with his foot. "Who's this?"
"That's the man I made the mistake of trusting," Pam answered, not looking at the dead man. "Sorry about that."
Sam took another step into the main room of the basement.
"Sam, wait, stay there," Dean said. "Pam, shouldn't Sam stay in the panic room?"
Sam stiffened, alarmed. "What?"
Dean explained quickly. "The room is protected. Yellow Eyes can't find you as long as you're in there."
Sam took a quick glance back into the panic room. "I don't want to stay in there," he said flatly.
Dean started to argue, then gave it up. "Hell, it doesn't matter anyway, we can't stay. Dad's on his way here right now. We gotta split, soon as we take care of Pam and the douchebag."
"You can't stay that long," Pam said, squinting against the light. "I've got friends coming to help with the body. I called them before I came downstairs. You two need to get out of here right now."
"But Pam –" Dean sighed at the stubborn look on her face. "I don't know what Dad's gonna do when he gets here and we're gone."
"Like I said, I've got friends coming. Big friends." She reached painfully into her jeans pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, handing it to Dean. He smoothed it out and saw a phone number.
"What's this for?"
"My number. Call me when you're somewhere safe. I've got some ideas on your demon problem. When my head's not trying to fall off, I'll work on it. If I come up with something before I hear from you, I'll call Bobby." She flapped her hand at them weakly. "Go on. Get your gear and haul ass."
Dean scooped her up into his arms. "Won't take us any more time to get you upstairs. Your friends can take it from there."
"Stubborn," she said. Her smile was faint, but there.
Heading for the stairs, Dean looked over at Sam. "Get our stuff and come on, Sam. We gotta move."
Without a word, Sam went back into the panic room. Dean went swiftly up the stairs, trying to jostle Pam as little as possible. He carried her through the kitchen, which showed signs of a struggle, and into the living room. After he'd laid her down carefully down on the couch, he went into the bathroom and got some pain meds and water.
Sam came to the door of the room, arms full of their gear, and hovered there uneasily as Dean steadied Pam while she swallowed the pills.
Hating to leave Pam with this shitload of trouble, trouble that they'd brought on her, Dean leaned over and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "Sorry, Pam."
The psychic opened her eyes and glared at him. "Don't make me say it again. Go."
Dean nodded and left the room, Sam falling silently in behind him.
As they pulled out onto the main road, they passed a quintet of bikers just pulling into Pam's drive, all of them big, massively-muscled and looking mean as hell.
Each of the men gave the boys a hard-eyed once-over as they gunned by the Impala. Then they were gone and Dean was pressing the accelerator to the floor.
SUPNSUPNSUPNSUPN
Sam wasn't talking. He wasn't sulking, wasn't angry. He was nervous, afraid. He kept giving Dean these little sideways looks as if he were waiting for something to happen. A not-good something.
He'd glance at Dean then look away again, like he was afraid Dean would notice, spend a few minutes looking out the side window, drumming his fingers on his handle. Then, sure as hell, he'd be peeking over at Dean again and the whole thing would start up all over again.
Didn't do any good for Dean to try to draw him out in conversation. Sam answered in monosyllables or not at all, refusing food, water, anything at all, though Dean knew the kid hadn't had anything since the pie the night before.
The sixth time Sam's eyes slid apprehensively over to him, Dean cursed and pulled the car over to the side of the road. "Okay, what the hell is going on?"
Sam, fists clenched in his lap, said tightly, "Nothing!"
"You've hardly opened your mouth since we left Pam's house, you won't look at me straight and you're twitchy as hell," Dean snapped. "I've known you since you were in diapers, Sam. Don't try to tell me nothing's wrong."
"Nothing's wrong." Sam dropped his eyes. "I'm just tired, that's all."
"Oh, fuck no, Sam," Dean said. "When has that ever worked with us? The last time you hid something from me Dad almost killed you! We talk. That's how we survive. None of this hiding crap. I'm not – "
"Dean – "
" – Dad, and I don't care how screwed things are, you have to tell me – "
"Okay!" Sam shouted back. "I was trying to figure out if it was really you! Okay? Okay? I was trying to figure out if it was you or if it was that damned demon messing with me again!"
"What?" That took the wind out of Dean's sails. He blinked at Sam in confusion, then, "You couldn't just ask me?"
Sam gave him a disbelieving look and Dean rolled his eyes. "Okay. Shit. Stupid question. I get it." He chewed his lip meditatively. "So, uh, do you think I'm me, now?"
Sam shrugged helplessly. "I don't know, I guess so."
When Dean gave him a hurt look, Sam flushed, guilty. "I'm sorry. It's just, that last time I woke up you were there and then it wasn't you, it was Dad and –" he stammered to a halt.
Dean stayed quiet, waiting.
Sam looked miserable. He stared into his lap, his fingers picking nervously at a hole in his jeans. "When I woke up today, I didn't know where I was. Some asshole had us locked in a basement and he said he sold us to Dad. Then he gets shot dead and some psychic chick is bleeding out and you want to leave me in the freaking basement and - and Dad is coming for us again." Sam drew in a ragged breath. "I can't tell what's real anymore," he whispered.
Dean reached out and took Sam's hand, ignoring it when his brother flinched.
"Look, I get that things are messed up right now, but I'm me. This is me. It sucks but you're just gonna hafta take it on faith. If it turns out later I'm that yellow-eyed dick, you can kill me, okay?"
Sam let out a startled almost laugh and Dean grinned. "See? Did he ever make you laugh?"
Sam shook his head, eyes shadowed; he looked at Dean, wanting very badly to believe, but afraid to hope. Afraid of what would happen if he was wrong again.
"Dean." It was not quite a question.
"In the flesh."
Sam tentatively hitched himself a little closer. Dean stayed where he was, eyes squarely meeting Sam's. "It's me, Sammy."
In one swift movement, Sam crossed the remaining few inches and threw himself into his brother's arms. Clutching the soft black leather of Dean's coat, he pressed his face into his big brother's neck.
"Dean." Sam's voice was muffled but palpably content. Certain.
With a silent, fervent, sigh of relief, Dean pressed a kiss to the top of Sam's head. "Yeah."
When he pulled back after a couple of minutes, Sam's smile was small, but real. "Do we know where we're gonna go?"
"Far and fast. That's all I'm sure about," Dean answered, rubbing a gentle thumb over Sam's cheekbone, mouth quirking as Sam leaned trustingly into it. "That's all I'm sure about. I figure Dad's not too far away, but he'll be taking the main roads, moving fast. We'll stick to the back roads."
"Are we gonna call Bobby?"
"Later." Dean started the car and eased her back onto the road. "I want to get new phones." He dug his cell out of his pocket and handed it to Sam. "Take out the battery and the chip then toss it out the window. Yours, too."
No cell phones. No way for anyone to reach them. No easy way to reach anyone else. Sam liked it. Kind of freeing.
He tossed the phones, etc., out the window, watching as they exploded on the asphalt. Something about the cell phones, though, the chips, nibbled at the edges of his brain. Something . . .
"What's wrong?" Dean asked, casting a concerned glance at him.
"Nothing." Sam chewed on it for a while, cuddled back in against Dean. "Listen, maybe we should forget about cells for a while," he said finally. "We don't know how Dad keeps tracking our numbers. Let's just – we can just use landlines when we have to."
Dean shrugged. "Works for me." He shoved a lock of hair back from his brother's face. "Feeling better?"
Sam nodded. "Sleep helped." A slight shadow fell over his face. "What are we gonna do? We can't go back to Pam's place. And even if we could, I can't stay in her basement forever."
"Why not? I'm pretty sure I could keep you entertained." Dean waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
Sam snickered. "Perv."
Dean went on reassuringly. "I got a couple ideas, babe. Get that notebook out of my duffel, will you? I want to show you something. And see if there's anything to eat in there besides your rabbit food. I'm freaking starving!"
SUPNSUPNSUPNSUPN
They drove on through the rest of the day, putting as much road behind them as they could, mostly quiet, exchanging the occasional word or kiss.
Dean was enjoying the quiet of the back road and the music on the radio. Even knowing what, and who, still hunted them, his brother was safe beside him. That was all he needed.
Sam, after a short, still much-needed nap, stared out the window, watching the bucolic countryside fly by, thinking about the possibilities of the protection sigil and trying to figure out what the earlier conversation about cell phones and chips had shaken loose from his inner moorings.
Cell phones.. Chips. Trackers. Tracing. Following.
After a time of relatively calming free association, Sam was on the verge of sliding back into sleep when he stiffened and jerked to attention.
"Dean, pull over.
Dean didn't question Sam's imperative tone, just pulled the Impala over to the side of the dirt road they were traversing. "What is it?"
"Dean, what if it's not just cell phones? What if –" Sam looked wildly around the Impala. Then he was grabbing at the door handle and jumping out of the car.
"Dean, come on!"
A few feet away from the car, Sam grabbed Dean's arms excitedly. "What if he's got some kind of tracker on the 'Pala?"
"Come on –"
"What if that's how he keeps finding us?"
"Dad?"
"The demon!" At Dean's surprised look, Sam said urgently, "Just because he's a demon doesn't mean he can't use tech." He pointed at the car. "We gotta check her over. Maybe she's the reason he keeps catching up with us. Maybe him knowing where I am physically is what's letting him into my head when I'm asleep!"
Dean stared at him, mouth agape, then looked over at his beloved car. "That son of a bitch!"
"Let's just do it, okay?" Sam started toward the car determinedly. "We'll check under her, inside her, inside the tires – hell, we'll empty the damned trunk!"
"Sam –"
Sam stopped and wheeled to face his brother. His face was flushed, his eyes hectic. "Don't you get it? If I'm right, this is how we keep him out of my head! We can disappear. He won't be able to find us!"
Dean liked the enthusiastic determination on his brother's face; it was so much better than the morose depression that had graced him so much of late. He reached out, jerked Sam to him and gave him a quick, hard kiss, followed by a grin.
"We'd better get started then, little brother."
SUPNSUPNSUPNSUPN
I've had some trouble with this fic. Part of it is that my last laptop committed suicide and took my nearly completed chapter with it. Part of it is I distract very easily and there's just too much good fan fic out there to read. Part of it is I'm just bone lazy. But the real part of it is I lost it. The reason for the story. I let the fact that it's Wincest buffalo me into thinking that's the most important part of the story, the sex, I mean. Which isn't true. What's most important is the boys and their relationship to each other. Bro schmoop and all that. And the story. Telling a story. Which I love more than anything. So My Boys is back. Already have a damned good idea where it's going next so it won't be anywhere near as long until the next chapter.
For those of you who are following me or this story, remember that after Thursday, I'll have a new name. So if you get an alert from Supernaturally Egocentric, Hey (waves!), it's me!
If you see any mistakes, let me know, okay? I'm whacked.