SpN: Impossible Things
10/15/10 11:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle: Impossible Things/ complete
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters:Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13 (naughty words, allusions to drug use)
Word Count:3525
Spoilers: very vague spoilery reference for the end of season 5, but it veers off into AUness pretty quick
Summary: What happens when you survive a thing you never expected to
PART 1
PART 2
PART 3
6
"Do you want to look at some of those houses you were talking about?" Dean asked, in a way Sam would describe as shyly, even kind of uncertainly, if it was anyone but his brother. But here he was, actually offering to look without even having a knee in his kidney--Sam couldn't stop the grin that begged to burst out. Dean offering this was like Christmas and his birthday wrapped into one, if either of them had been anything but grotesque when he was a kid.
This was Dean, trying to give him something again—but this time it was good for the both of them, not just something Dean had decided was good for Sam.
He sidled up to Dean, ducking his head a bit and telegraphing from a mile away, I'm going to kiss you,just in case Dean felt like throwing punches instead, but Dean not only stayed put and kept his hands down, he lifted his chin to meet Sam's mouth. His lashes fluttered down and his mouth softened in a way that…Sam shivered right down to his toes. It would be wrong to knock Dean down and crawl all over him. Very wrong. Dean would punch him in the throat if he did that….
He restrained himself. Instead of knocking and climbing, he just leaned into the kiss Dean offered, nice and slow, coaxing a little more from him, so that soft flowed sweetly into harder, deeper, into teeth and tongue and quiet little moans. Dean's hands came up, grabbed Sam's hair and took charge of the kiss. He seemed to enjoy guiding Sam one way and then the other as he licked and sucked his way right into turning it from a hot kiss, into an act of standing, clothed, sex that had Sam weak in the knees and a hair from coming….
"Un-unh, light-weight," Dean shoved him backwards, and smirked, "we're looking at houses, remember?"
Hard, hot, and wobbling on the edge, Sam gaped at him in horror—"Oh my god, you incredible cock-tease—are you this way with everyone?"
Dean grinned, nodded and said "I am incredible."
"You have selective hearing, don't you? But…you're not like this with everyone, right? There's no everyone, right? Because you. With me." Sam meant to make it sound forceful, but if he could hear the pathetic needy note that threaded through, well….
Head tilted, eyes full of curiosity and maybe confusion, Dean said, "I… want it. You know. However you want it." And then he slapped Sam on the back and walked off, whistling, like he hadn't almost dropped Sam to his knees.
Sam was less than pleased with, what felt like to him, a less than enthusiastic answer but for right now, he was willing to let it go. After all, he was willing to admit this was weird on top of a lifetime of weird. It was going to take a while for Dean to accept this the way Sam did stuff like…well, this.
Stuff that couldn't easily be crammed into one box or the other came a lot harder for Dean than it did for him. He never had let details stop him. Once he chose what he wanted, he generally went for it. Sure he could be kind of single minded in what he wanted, occasionally…Sam felt the familiar roll of unease and guilt in his gut but shut it out quickly. This was different. This really was going to benefit them both. This time, he was going after something he knew the both of them wanted. Needed.
* * * *
The ride through Sam's dream neighborhood ended up feeling a little more like they were casing the joint instead of checking out a likely place to settle down…Sam pointed out that there was a park on this end of town too, with a jogging trail and major lighting and what looked like a ball field. Dean concentrated on the fact that the streets were wide and well lit, that aside from the trees, vegetation was kept sheared back and there were few places a person or thing could hide. He watched the people in the street like he was waiting for them to drop everything and rush the Impala, fangs out and ready to rip their heads off….
"It's just a neighborhood, Dean. Just people doing their thing, all they care about is work and kicking back with a few on the weekend, maybe grilling in the back yard, yanking weeds…"
Dean still looked less than enthusiastic, but he managed a smile for Sam, and Sam appreciated it. "Look, Sam…you want this, and we will make it happen." He turned the car back towards their part of town. "Let me talk to Damien. He might have some connects down here. I, uh…I liked that one at the end of the block."
Sam rolled his eyes. "You mean the one that had the bars on the windows and the iron fence all around it? That one?"
"Yeah, Sam, that one. You gonna live in a house, we gotta make sure it's safe for you, right?"
Sam huffed, nodded once. Some things never changed and his brother being a pain in his ass was one of them..."Speaking of Damien, What's up with hiding him?"
"What?" Dean had his eye on the road and looked annoyed that Sam was talking. "The landlord, Damien?"
"Yes. Him. Why haven't I met him?"
"What the hell for? I work for the man. We're not friends."
"I don't know, he seems willing to do anything you want. And don’t hand me that crap about gratitude, you didn't do anything that spectacular. It was just a bust and dust, for crying out loud."
"Are you jealous…of Damien?" Dean cracked up, laughing so hard he went bright red, and was bent over the steering wheel. "First Oz, now Damien? Dude. You got a problem."
"Shut the fuck up," Sam muttered. Damien, probably a pinstriped suit wearing, big diamond ring sporting, greasy haired, fat little sweaty Damien who apparently doted on Dean like a long lost son. Or lobster…of course he wasn't jealous.
* * * *
Sam didn't have time to wallow in his non-jealous concern over Dean's boss. He threw himself into making himself invaluable at work, and keeping an eye on Dean, as much as possible. It came as a surprise when a week or two after their drive-by house hunting, Dean told him Damien had set up a walk through on a town house. Sam hadn't realized that much time had passed. But, Dean was offering—again--so off they went.
They were in the house for about five minutes, and as much as Sam hated to admit it, it was just about perfect, just the kind of place he wished for when he was a hopelessly naïve little kid. A few large windows made the first floor bright. There was plenty of room for books; there was a small but adequate kitchen, just right for two barely proficient cooks. There were two bedrooms and a bath upstairs, and small barred windows that made it a little gloomy but they made Dean happy….a stairway in the kitchen led to an almost finished basement that they could turn into an office, or a place to watch movies with stuff that exploded in it at top volume, the way they should be viewed. There was a yard out back—just big enough to toss a grill and some chairs or give a dog some room to run…and a garage, a real garage to house Dean's real one-true-love.
"Dude. This is perfect. I really want this, Dean."
"Okay. Then we make it happen."
Sam just blinked at the strange man next to him. "No jokes, no mocking? Just instant agreement? Who the hell are you?"
"Hey, what more do you want," Dean snapped, irritated, which Sam didn't get because he was trying his best not to do anything irritating…which could be anything Sam did, in Dean's book, so fuck the asshole for raining on his parade. "I'll talk to Damien," Dean said, but wouldn't meet Sam's eye. What the fuck ever, Sam thought. Later, he'd treat him to grease burgers. Big, drippy burgers stuffed with mushrooms and cheese—always a sure fire way to dislodge the giant stick in his fat ass, Sam smirked. He could afford to be generous. Dean was getting him a house.
Sam looked around once more as Dean dropped the keys into a lockbox on the doorknob, measuring, calculating….it was going to be tight financially, but for people like them, raised to stretch a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter forever, to whom frugal wasn't a word but a lifestyle, yeah. They could do it. They had heart—and the best fake IDs that money and a grateful angel could provide.
Sam had his spread sheets fanned out over the kitchen table; his 'evil master plan,' Dean called it. With what they'd been able to put down, thanks to a previously unknown insurance of Dad's, or so Bobby claimed, and miraculously solvent bank accounts for both of them, and incredibly solid work records for them both, also miraculous--well, they were going to be the owners of an old, slightly musty smelling but beautiful house in two weeks. And of course Dean decided that this was just the time to take off for Camp Chittybangbang or whatever the place was called. He kind of hated it, sight unseen, since it dragged Dean away so much. This whole thing with the house, and making arrangements and stuff had all fallen onto him…well, it wasn't a hardship, just…he wanted Dean to be involved and Dean was doing his level best not to be. It was grating on Sam's nerves. This was a step they should be taking together, and here he was feeling like he was dragging Dean along like a stubborn puppy.
He took a few relaxing minutes picturing Dean at the end of a leash...a little naked…impossibly obedient…he wasn't sure which part of the fantasy made him happier.
He woke up disoriented, blinking vaguely into the dark. He'd dreamed Dean was singing to him, -burned the place to the ground--smoke on the water--. He blinked again, wondering why he was still hearing it, before he remembered he'd dropped the phone on the nightstand in case Dean called him. He picked up, expecting to see Dean's number but it was Bobby's, and his breath stumbled. No reason to be afraid, Dean was fine….
Dean wasn't fine; he was laid up at Bobby's and needed Sam to get out there, pick him and the car up and drive it back. Sam was more than ready to go out there but mostly to kick Dean's ass. He held that thought close to his heart and cherished it. It was the only thing that made the bus ride bearable.
* * * *
He was never, ever going to get used to the sight of Dean bandaged, of Dean in pain. He frowned as he elbowed Bobby aside and dropped his bag, lips pressed so tight he was hurting himself. Dean took one look at him and rolled his eyes and it took a breath or two before Sam was able to squash the urge to beat the shit out of him. It never failed to piss him off that he was expected to pass stuff like this off as an occupational hazard, where he barely got a hangnail without Dean losing his shit.
"I'm fine, I'm fine—"
"Shut the fuck up." He caught Bobby sidling out of the room from the corner of his eye. Didn't matter, the house wasn't that big—he'd find the man when he was done with his jerk of a brother.
It turned out, Dean had hurt himself, which surprised Sam by making him even angrier, but he kept that to himself. Demolishing a porch on one of the cabins led to Dean falling through the half-rotted boards and spearing himself pretty nicely with a jagged length. He was hurting and stitched and hobbling—he was lucky. And while Sam agreed with him that it'd be ironic to survive the nightmare shit they'd gone through for the last four years only to be killed by a porch there was nothing funny in it that he could see. Smacking Dean in the head was fully justified and his brother should have counted himself lucky he didn't get knocked unconscious.
And as if that wasn't enough, there was the room at the top of the stairs, the one that was theirs whenever they stayed at Bobby's. There was stuff in it, stuff Dean stashed there--clothes, extra boots and gear, a television that actually worked--what the fuck was up with that? But Bobby wouldn’t talk about it, and Dean was doing that I'm fine shit he did, so Sam just packed his clothes and tossed him in the car, drove him home where he belonged. Neither one of them talked about it, all the way home. Pretty much par for the course, Sam thought. Some traditions would never die.
Because Dean, for some reason Sam would never get, persisted in thinking he had a sparkling sense of humor, Dean Wesson and Sam Smith now owned their own home. Sam Smith…it never failed to set Sam's teeth on edge. "Just switching those last names around doesn't change a thing. It just…reminds me of the shit those winged dicks put us through."
"Dude, let that shit go. It's done, it's in the past. Besides," he smirked, "Smith's a good solid name—average, right, normal. It's not like we can be Winchesters anymore. I kinda thought you'd be glad to not be one."
Sam shook his head. Trust Dean to never let go of anything crappy, no matter what he claimed. Regardless of what Dean—and Dad—had thought, he'd never been ashamed of being a Winchester. Just because he didn't want what Dean and Dad lived for didn't mean he didn't claim them. Fucking Dean. That was his problem. With him, it was always all or nothing.
They boxed up their possessions—both of them kind of freaked out by how much shit they'd accumulated. Definitely a far cry from the days when a move meant tossing all their earthly belongings in two duffle bags and a tote for the weapons.
* * * *
They were half way through a long, hot day of ferrying boxes and furniture from the old apartment to the new house, a task made even more…interesting by being watched by the crazy Sixth Floor Lady and her feline minions, when Sam called break. He plopped down on the couch, cracked open a bottle of water and emptied his lungs in a long sigh. He leaned his head back just as Dean passed. Dean took a few steps back, and looked down at Sam's upside down face.
"Hey." He brushed away the long, sweaty strands of hair that had plastered themselves to Sam's forehead. "You happy, Sammy?" he asked, and Sam nodded, smiled at him. Dean leaned over the back of the couch to press a dry little kiss to Sam's forehead. "Good. That's all I need to know." He smiled at Sam for a little longer than Sam expected, and walked another box out to the car.
Sam sat there smiling himself for a little bit, reveling in the fact that they had a place, something like stability, the promise of good things coming with the person he loved most in the world. That warm feeling slid around, dividing itself pretty much evenly between his heart and his dick, when it suddenly hit him--what the fucking hell, that stupid sonofa bitch was trying to dump him, fucking *again!*
He banged through the front door, pretty sure he'd snapped the hydraulic thingy on the screen door, and was out in the street, sweaty, shirtless and yelling at the top of his lungs. Fuck the neighbors—they might as well get used to it, starting now.
"I'm tired as shit of you trying to shuck me off like dead skin all the damn time. I've had it up to here. Why the fuck are you always leaving me?"
"Dude—gross—and how stupid do you think I am? You've been getting ready to go since we got here, and you selfish fucker; you don’t even want me to have a place to go. I thought with the…with…you got past hating me. Should have known better. Shit, it was in your dreams and in your heaven and the way you shoved me aside for that hell bitch and you told me, you flat out told me you wanted to get away from me. It's been a long year, Sam. I'm fuckin' tired. So, I'm going to take all my going away gifts and get gone. You go 'head and make of this what you want, move some girl in here, or, or fuck--some guy, whatever. Have a good life. Just please, please let me have mine, okay? Let me have something out of all this."
Dean's torrent of words swept over him like a rush of lava. "You came here expecting to get rid of me, didn't you? You know what—I do hate you." Sam slammed his fist into the roof of the car, splattering snot and spit and tears that had somehow pooled on the roof. Dean was…he was killing him. He was ripping pieces out of him and it hurt. How was it possible, to love someone and make them hurt like that?
Sam lifted his head and saw that Dean was staring at him like he'd shoved a taser into his chest. His eyes were wide, that wide, wet, green stare he got when shit climbed higher than his ability to deal with, when he just couldn't breathe anymore. And then the smile, the one that shrieked you just hollowed me out, appeared like a nightmare out of the past. "I'll call. When you settle in, you'll feel different. Better—"
Sam swarmed around the side of the car and grabbed Dean by his collar, slammed him into the door and pinned him there. He snarled, "Stop it. Stop it, stop it-stop! Stop shoving me away, stop tossing me crumbs—this is us, the way it always was going to be—should be. So grow the fuck up and deal with it!"
"Sam, let go of me, damn it. Let me go, or swear to God I'll fuck you up—"
A sudden wind stripped leaves off the trees around them, ripped a shutter off a window a few houses away—the trash in the gutters flamed, winked into ash and melted bits of metal that were whirled down the block by the wind. "You try and leave me and I'll hunt you down and kill you." There was a faint tinkle of raining slag and the whoop-whoop of car alarms--
Dean's mouth snapped shut with an audible snap. He licked his lips, his eyes skittering over the street, Sam, the car, the street…Sam saw just the littlest smidge of fear in his brother's eyes.I blew it, I broke him, I screwed up, I ruined everything…"…kinda over the top, hunh?" He risked making a joke and hoped, because what else could he do….
Dean gaped at him, eyes even greener against his paled skin, his mouth an open, pink O. He swallowed, blinked…and started to laugh.
"You're fucked up dude--seriously."
"I know! I'm trying to tell you, you keep me on track. Besides, you need me, too. Who gets you like I do?"
"Dude…" Dean deflated, everything about him slumping, looking small, and deceptively weak. "…this is it. I'm risking everything here."
"You stay, I promise you, it's the right thing to do." Sam stepped back, smoothed Dean's shirt down, patted the spot on his chest where his knuckles had pressed. He was pretty sure his brother would have bruises there. He kind of liked the idea. "We're fucked up but we fit, dude. Like puzzle pieces."
Dean nodded. "Yeah. Help me get my shit out of the car. Asshole." It made Sam smile wide. "I'm staying. And swear to God, you need to get Oz to help you get a grip on things, dude."
Sam nodded, heard Dean. Knew that meant 'I love all of you. Freak shit included'.
The last day in their apartment, Sam actually felt kind of…not exactly nostalgic, but something like it. He was tucking the last bits of flotsam into a bag, looking around for anything else they'd left. Yeah, he was definitely feeling kind of fond of the place…things had changed here. Their lives were a constant sate of changes, sure--but here, finally, Sam had hope—and a good feeling--that it was a change for the better.
He wandered across the living room to the window and raised the blinds one last time…crossed his arms and leaned them against the glass. He remembered those first few days there, and watching Dean mow the lawn. Sam smiled to himself. Yeah…the feelings that had brought up. They'd definitely been a shock. He blinked when he realized that Dean had snuck up behind him. He pressed his lips to the back of Sam's neck, breathed. Sam sighed and pressed back against the steady warmth. Dean's hands came up to cup his hips, and he rubbed slightly against Sam, his dick thick, warm, against his ass. "Sam..."
Sam nodded. "Yeah." He slipped the button on his jeans, and let Dean coax them down around his thighs, dragging his boxers with. He spread his legs to give Dean room, enjoyed the feeling of Dean's finger inside him and his thumb rubbing around the rim. It made Sam shiver and push back on him. He rode the feeling, let it escalate and slide back and forth from stomach clenching good, to something that was almost pain, and back again—shocking his nerves over and over. Dean hissed, "shh, shh," in his ear, but drove him higher, wilder, plunging his fingers in and out and grinding against Sam's dick with the other hand. They fell into a rolling rhythm, hips moving together, breathing together. His head rolled back to fall against Dean's shoulder and Dean took full advantage. He sucked and bit Sam's neck, until Sam felt like he was riding a lightning bolt of aching want. "…fuck me, come on."
Dean groaned, "Yeah, okay, okay." He shuffled around behind Sam, managing to elbow him in the back a few times, before he pushed his own pants down with a pleased sigh. Sam felt a slick trail dragged across his ass, Dean's fingers again, wet with something thick and slippery. "Shea butter, it's real good for dry ski--"
"Ah--really? I give a damn? Just do it--fuck!" He felt the hot, wide head of Dean's dick try to push into him. He reached back and spread himself open. It felt good, better when Dean popped into him, sent a jagged burst of lust right through him, made him gasp and shiver. Dean pushed in steadily—relentless. Sam groaned, tried to open himself more, relished every hot, burning inch inside, until Dean's hips cupped his ass and he was seated as deep as he could go. Sam felt him flex and that jagged burst punched him again.
"Um, Dean—" He stroked himself and begged Dean to move and Dean moved—gripped Sam like he was trying to escape and fucked into him slow, deep and hard, told Sam what he was doing, how he looked like sex, with sweat beading his skin, flushed red, swollen around his dick--fucked up, fucked out. How fucking hot it was to watch his dick disappear inside of him…
Sam shuddered, his dick drooled thick and fast as his hand flew, and Dean was gasping, moaning, "This is it—you ready, I gotta, now," he grunted, froze and Sam felt him swell, felt heat as Dean came in him, filling him…Sam jerked and came against the window, slammed a fist against the frame hard enough to rattle the glass and bit his lip. Come dripped down the glass and he smeared it with his body when Dean crashed into him….
Dean clung to him, panting, twitching, his dick making moves like it wanted to come again and Sam groaned. He was fucked out, riding high, happy…brain cells were buzzing and blinking--totally giddy and not helping him in the slightest.
"Come on, you giant perv, get off the window," Dean muttered and pulled him back from the glass. His hands were gentle on him, his grip firm—he wasn't going to let Sam slip, Dean had him.
Life was good.
They'd barely pulled themselves together before there was a sharp singular knock on the door—someone used to instant attention, Sam thought. He answered the door and went blind—he had to have gone blind. There was no way that he was really seeing what he was seeing. The guy on the doorstep was tall as him, taller, had long, wild, black hair that should have looked romance-novel douchy but set off his whiskey colored eyes perfectly. He was the kind of golden brown that sunlight couldn't make…a caramel so sweet it was lickable. Sam hoped desperately that his brain would wake up before Dean came along because a sick twisting in his gut told him that this Greek god in a suit so expensive even he could tell it cost a bundle, and cliché open collared white shirt was--
"Hey, Damien."
Of course.
Sam found himself incapable of blinking. His mouth might have been open a little and his forehead just might be creased some and there was a distinct possibility of flaring nostril….
"Dean, my friend—sorry you're leaving the apartment. Joy in your new home. Sadly, your salary remains unchanged. But our arrangement continues. Your Sam?" he asked barely flicking a glance over Sam. "Very handsome," he said, in a tone of voice that made his complete disinterest plain.
He turned his attention back on Dean and Sam felt the heat like a thousand watt bulb and Dean…was as oblivious to it as he'd ever seen him be. It was kind of…scary, how oblivious he was. He turned his eyes to Sam and smiled, and said, "Yeah, he's my Sam." and Sam felt like a fool but couldn't help the goofy smile, or the blush that warmed his face.
Damien continued, "And if this does not work out, feel free to inquire about the apartments here. I assure you there will always be one for you," he glanced at Sam again, "if your…Sam… should find other things to occupy himself."
Dean turned red himself and practically shoved Damien out of the door, thanking him, assuring him that he'd work just as hard as if he still lived in the building...
He leaned against the closed door as if to hold it shut. "Yeah, that wasn't awkward. The guy's such a…a…well, I'm not sure what he is, exactly."
"Hmm. We'll talk about it later…a lot."
* * * *
They locked the door on the apartment, and headed out to the lot and the Impala, sitting under the sun.
"Can you believe it?" Dean said, running his hand over her hood, patting her roof. "We're all alive, all mostly in one piece and we're all together." He grinned at Sam over the roof, the bright sun picking out the wrinkles around his eyes, the sprinkle of gray in his hair. He was beautiful, Sam thought. He was beautiful and all his.
"Yeah," Sam said and shoved his bag into the back seat. "I love you too."
They pulled out of the parking lot, and passed Oz lugging a garden hose back to the shed. Dean punched the horn, and Oz turned to face them. He caught Sam's eye, gave a little satisfied nod of his head and Sam…Sam just leaned back against the warm vinyl, smiled and closed his eyes.
And They Lived Happily Ever After
10-14-2010
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters:Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13 (naughty words, allusions to drug use)
Word Count:3525
Spoilers: very vague spoilery reference for the end of season 5, but it veers off into AUness pretty quick
Summary: What happens when you survive a thing you never expected to
PART 1
PART 2
PART 3
"Do you want to look at some of those houses you were talking about?" Dean asked, in a way Sam would describe as shyly, even kind of uncertainly, if it was anyone but his brother. But here he was, actually offering to look without even having a knee in his kidney--Sam couldn't stop the grin that begged to burst out. Dean offering this was like Christmas and his birthday wrapped into one, if either of them had been anything but grotesque when he was a kid.
This was Dean, trying to give him something again—but this time it was good for the both of them, not just something Dean had decided was good for Sam.
He sidled up to Dean, ducking his head a bit and telegraphing from a mile away, I'm going to kiss you,just in case Dean felt like throwing punches instead, but Dean not only stayed put and kept his hands down, he lifted his chin to meet Sam's mouth. His lashes fluttered down and his mouth softened in a way that…Sam shivered right down to his toes. It would be wrong to knock Dean down and crawl all over him. Very wrong. Dean would punch him in the throat if he did that….
He restrained himself. Instead of knocking and climbing, he just leaned into the kiss Dean offered, nice and slow, coaxing a little more from him, so that soft flowed sweetly into harder, deeper, into teeth and tongue and quiet little moans. Dean's hands came up, grabbed Sam's hair and took charge of the kiss. He seemed to enjoy guiding Sam one way and then the other as he licked and sucked his way right into turning it from a hot kiss, into an act of standing, clothed, sex that had Sam weak in the knees and a hair from coming….
"Un-unh, light-weight," Dean shoved him backwards, and smirked, "we're looking at houses, remember?"
Hard, hot, and wobbling on the edge, Sam gaped at him in horror—"Oh my god, you incredible cock-tease—are you this way with everyone?"
Dean grinned, nodded and said "I am incredible."
"You have selective hearing, don't you? But…you're not like this with everyone, right? There's no everyone, right? Because you. With me." Sam meant to make it sound forceful, but if he could hear the pathetic needy note that threaded through, well….
Head tilted, eyes full of curiosity and maybe confusion, Dean said, "I… want it. You know. However you want it." And then he slapped Sam on the back and walked off, whistling, like he hadn't almost dropped Sam to his knees.
Sam was less than pleased with, what felt like to him, a less than enthusiastic answer but for right now, he was willing to let it go. After all, he was willing to admit this was weird on top of a lifetime of weird. It was going to take a while for Dean to accept this the way Sam did stuff like…well, this.
Stuff that couldn't easily be crammed into one box or the other came a lot harder for Dean than it did for him. He never had let details stop him. Once he chose what he wanted, he generally went for it. Sure he could be kind of single minded in what he wanted, occasionally…Sam felt the familiar roll of unease and guilt in his gut but shut it out quickly. This was different. This really was going to benefit them both. This time, he was going after something he knew the both of them wanted. Needed.
The ride through Sam's dream neighborhood ended up feeling a little more like they were casing the joint instead of checking out a likely place to settle down…Sam pointed out that there was a park on this end of town too, with a jogging trail and major lighting and what looked like a ball field. Dean concentrated on the fact that the streets were wide and well lit, that aside from the trees, vegetation was kept sheared back and there were few places a person or thing could hide. He watched the people in the street like he was waiting for them to drop everything and rush the Impala, fangs out and ready to rip their heads off….
"It's just a neighborhood, Dean. Just people doing their thing, all they care about is work and kicking back with a few on the weekend, maybe grilling in the back yard, yanking weeds…"
Dean still looked less than enthusiastic, but he managed a smile for Sam, and Sam appreciated it. "Look, Sam…you want this, and we will make it happen." He turned the car back towards their part of town. "Let me talk to Damien. He might have some connects down here. I, uh…I liked that one at the end of the block."
Sam rolled his eyes. "You mean the one that had the bars on the windows and the iron fence all around it? That one?"
"Yeah, Sam, that one. You gonna live in a house, we gotta make sure it's safe for you, right?"
Sam huffed, nodded once. Some things never changed and his brother being a pain in his ass was one of them..."Speaking of Damien, What's up with hiding him?"
"What?" Dean had his eye on the road and looked annoyed that Sam was talking. "The landlord, Damien?"
"Yes. Him. Why haven't I met him?"
"What the hell for? I work for the man. We're not friends."
"I don't know, he seems willing to do anything you want. And don’t hand me that crap about gratitude, you didn't do anything that spectacular. It was just a bust and dust, for crying out loud."
"Are you jealous…of Damien?" Dean cracked up, laughing so hard he went bright red, and was bent over the steering wheel. "First Oz, now Damien? Dude. You got a problem."
"Shut the fuck up," Sam muttered. Damien, probably a pinstriped suit wearing, big diamond ring sporting, greasy haired, fat little sweaty Damien who apparently doted on Dean like a long lost son. Or lobster…of course he wasn't jealous.
Sam didn't have time to wallow in his non-jealous concern over Dean's boss. He threw himself into making himself invaluable at work, and keeping an eye on Dean, as much as possible. It came as a surprise when a week or two after their drive-by house hunting, Dean told him Damien had set up a walk through on a town house. Sam hadn't realized that much time had passed. But, Dean was offering—again--so off they went.
They were in the house for about five minutes, and as much as Sam hated to admit it, it was just about perfect, just the kind of place he wished for when he was a hopelessly naïve little kid. A few large windows made the first floor bright. There was plenty of room for books; there was a small but adequate kitchen, just right for two barely proficient cooks. There were two bedrooms and a bath upstairs, and small barred windows that made it a little gloomy but they made Dean happy….a stairway in the kitchen led to an almost finished basement that they could turn into an office, or a place to watch movies with stuff that exploded in it at top volume, the way they should be viewed. There was a yard out back—just big enough to toss a grill and some chairs or give a dog some room to run…and a garage, a real garage to house Dean's real one-true-love.
"Dude. This is perfect. I really want this, Dean."
"Okay. Then we make it happen."
Sam just blinked at the strange man next to him. "No jokes, no mocking? Just instant agreement? Who the hell are you?"
"Hey, what more do you want," Dean snapped, irritated, which Sam didn't get because he was trying his best not to do anything irritating…which could be anything Sam did, in Dean's book, so fuck the asshole for raining on his parade. "I'll talk to Damien," Dean said, but wouldn't meet Sam's eye. What the fuck ever, Sam thought. Later, he'd treat him to grease burgers. Big, drippy burgers stuffed with mushrooms and cheese—always a sure fire way to dislodge the giant stick in his fat ass, Sam smirked. He could afford to be generous. Dean was getting him a house.
Sam looked around once more as Dean dropped the keys into a lockbox on the doorknob, measuring, calculating….it was going to be tight financially, but for people like them, raised to stretch a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter forever, to whom frugal wasn't a word but a lifestyle, yeah. They could do it. They had heart—and the best fake IDs that money and a grateful angel could provide.
Sam had his spread sheets fanned out over the kitchen table; his 'evil master plan,' Dean called it. With what they'd been able to put down, thanks to a previously unknown insurance of Dad's, or so Bobby claimed, and miraculously solvent bank accounts for both of them, and incredibly solid work records for them both, also miraculous--well, they were going to be the owners of an old, slightly musty smelling but beautiful house in two weeks. And of course Dean decided that this was just the time to take off for Camp Chittybangbang or whatever the place was called. He kind of hated it, sight unseen, since it dragged Dean away so much. This whole thing with the house, and making arrangements and stuff had all fallen onto him…well, it wasn't a hardship, just…he wanted Dean to be involved and Dean was doing his level best not to be. It was grating on Sam's nerves. This was a step they should be taking together, and here he was feeling like he was dragging Dean along like a stubborn puppy.
He took a few relaxing minutes picturing Dean at the end of a leash...a little naked…impossibly obedient…he wasn't sure which part of the fantasy made him happier.
He woke up disoriented, blinking vaguely into the dark. He'd dreamed Dean was singing to him, -burned the place to the ground--smoke on the water--. He blinked again, wondering why he was still hearing it, before he remembered he'd dropped the phone on the nightstand in case Dean called him. He picked up, expecting to see Dean's number but it was Bobby's, and his breath stumbled. No reason to be afraid, Dean was fine….
Dean wasn't fine; he was laid up at Bobby's and needed Sam to get out there, pick him and the car up and drive it back. Sam was more than ready to go out there but mostly to kick Dean's ass. He held that thought close to his heart and cherished it. It was the only thing that made the bus ride bearable.
He was never, ever going to get used to the sight of Dean bandaged, of Dean in pain. He frowned as he elbowed Bobby aside and dropped his bag, lips pressed so tight he was hurting himself. Dean took one look at him and rolled his eyes and it took a breath or two before Sam was able to squash the urge to beat the shit out of him. It never failed to piss him off that he was expected to pass stuff like this off as an occupational hazard, where he barely got a hangnail without Dean losing his shit.
"I'm fine, I'm fine—"
"Shut the fuck up." He caught Bobby sidling out of the room from the corner of his eye. Didn't matter, the house wasn't that big—he'd find the man when he was done with his jerk of a brother.
It turned out, Dean had hurt himself, which surprised Sam by making him even angrier, but he kept that to himself. Demolishing a porch on one of the cabins led to Dean falling through the half-rotted boards and spearing himself pretty nicely with a jagged length. He was hurting and stitched and hobbling—he was lucky. And while Sam agreed with him that it'd be ironic to survive the nightmare shit they'd gone through for the last four years only to be killed by a porch there was nothing funny in it that he could see. Smacking Dean in the head was fully justified and his brother should have counted himself lucky he didn't get knocked unconscious.
And as if that wasn't enough, there was the room at the top of the stairs, the one that was theirs whenever they stayed at Bobby's. There was stuff in it, stuff Dean stashed there--clothes, extra boots and gear, a television that actually worked--what the fuck was up with that? But Bobby wouldn’t talk about it, and Dean was doing that I'm fine shit he did, so Sam just packed his clothes and tossed him in the car, drove him home where he belonged. Neither one of them talked about it, all the way home. Pretty much par for the course, Sam thought. Some traditions would never die.
Because Dean, for some reason Sam would never get, persisted in thinking he had a sparkling sense of humor, Dean Wesson and Sam Smith now owned their own home. Sam Smith…it never failed to set Sam's teeth on edge. "Just switching those last names around doesn't change a thing. It just…reminds me of the shit those winged dicks put us through."
"Dude, let that shit go. It's done, it's in the past. Besides," he smirked, "Smith's a good solid name—average, right, normal. It's not like we can be Winchesters anymore. I kinda thought you'd be glad to not be one."
Sam shook his head. Trust Dean to never let go of anything crappy, no matter what he claimed. Regardless of what Dean—and Dad—had thought, he'd never been ashamed of being a Winchester. Just because he didn't want what Dean and Dad lived for didn't mean he didn't claim them. Fucking Dean. That was his problem. With him, it was always all or nothing.
They boxed up their possessions—both of them kind of freaked out by how much shit they'd accumulated. Definitely a far cry from the days when a move meant tossing all their earthly belongings in two duffle bags and a tote for the weapons.
They were half way through a long, hot day of ferrying boxes and furniture from the old apartment to the new house, a task made even more…interesting by being watched by the crazy Sixth Floor Lady and her feline minions, when Sam called break. He plopped down on the couch, cracked open a bottle of water and emptied his lungs in a long sigh. He leaned his head back just as Dean passed. Dean took a few steps back, and looked down at Sam's upside down face.
"Hey." He brushed away the long, sweaty strands of hair that had plastered themselves to Sam's forehead. "You happy, Sammy?" he asked, and Sam nodded, smiled at him. Dean leaned over the back of the couch to press a dry little kiss to Sam's forehead. "Good. That's all I need to know." He smiled at Sam for a little longer than Sam expected, and walked another box out to the car.
Sam sat there smiling himself for a little bit, reveling in the fact that they had a place, something like stability, the promise of good things coming with the person he loved most in the world. That warm feeling slid around, dividing itself pretty much evenly between his heart and his dick, when it suddenly hit him--what the fucking hell, that stupid sonofa bitch was trying to dump him, fucking *again!*
He banged through the front door, pretty sure he'd snapped the hydraulic thingy on the screen door, and was out in the street, sweaty, shirtless and yelling at the top of his lungs. Fuck the neighbors—they might as well get used to it, starting now.
"I'm tired as shit of you trying to shuck me off like dead skin all the damn time. I've had it up to here. Why the fuck are you always leaving me?"
"Dude—gross—and how stupid do you think I am? You've been getting ready to go since we got here, and you selfish fucker; you don’t even want me to have a place to go. I thought with the…with…you got past hating me. Should have known better. Shit, it was in your dreams and in your heaven and the way you shoved me aside for that hell bitch and you told me, you flat out told me you wanted to get away from me. It's been a long year, Sam. I'm fuckin' tired. So, I'm going to take all my going away gifts and get gone. You go 'head and make of this what you want, move some girl in here, or, or fuck--some guy, whatever. Have a good life. Just please, please let me have mine, okay? Let me have something out of all this."
Dean's torrent of words swept over him like a rush of lava. "You came here expecting to get rid of me, didn't you? You know what—I do hate you." Sam slammed his fist into the roof of the car, splattering snot and spit and tears that had somehow pooled on the roof. Dean was…he was killing him. He was ripping pieces out of him and it hurt. How was it possible, to love someone and make them hurt like that?
Sam lifted his head and saw that Dean was staring at him like he'd shoved a taser into his chest. His eyes were wide, that wide, wet, green stare he got when shit climbed higher than his ability to deal with, when he just couldn't breathe anymore. And then the smile, the one that shrieked you just hollowed me out, appeared like a nightmare out of the past. "I'll call. When you settle in, you'll feel different. Better—"
Sam swarmed around the side of the car and grabbed Dean by his collar, slammed him into the door and pinned him there. He snarled, "Stop it. Stop it, stop it-stop! Stop shoving me away, stop tossing me crumbs—this is us, the way it always was going to be—should be. So grow the fuck up and deal with it!"
"Sam, let go of me, damn it. Let me go, or swear to God I'll fuck you up—"
A sudden wind stripped leaves off the trees around them, ripped a shutter off a window a few houses away—the trash in the gutters flamed, winked into ash and melted bits of metal that were whirled down the block by the wind. "You try and leave me and I'll hunt you down and kill you." There was a faint tinkle of raining slag and the whoop-whoop of car alarms--
Dean's mouth snapped shut with an audible snap. He licked his lips, his eyes skittering over the street, Sam, the car, the street…Sam saw just the littlest smidge of fear in his brother's eyes.I blew it, I broke him, I screwed up, I ruined everything…"…kinda over the top, hunh?" He risked making a joke and hoped, because what else could he do….
Dean gaped at him, eyes even greener against his paled skin, his mouth an open, pink O. He swallowed, blinked…and started to laugh.
"You're fucked up dude--seriously."
"I know! I'm trying to tell you, you keep me on track. Besides, you need me, too. Who gets you like I do?"
"Dude…" Dean deflated, everything about him slumping, looking small, and deceptively weak. "…this is it. I'm risking everything here."
"You stay, I promise you, it's the right thing to do." Sam stepped back, smoothed Dean's shirt down, patted the spot on his chest where his knuckles had pressed. He was pretty sure his brother would have bruises there. He kind of liked the idea. "We're fucked up but we fit, dude. Like puzzle pieces."
Dean nodded. "Yeah. Help me get my shit out of the car. Asshole." It made Sam smile wide. "I'm staying. And swear to God, you need to get Oz to help you get a grip on things, dude."
Sam nodded, heard Dean. Knew that meant 'I love all of you. Freak shit included'.
The last day in their apartment, Sam actually felt kind of…not exactly nostalgic, but something like it. He was tucking the last bits of flotsam into a bag, looking around for anything else they'd left. Yeah, he was definitely feeling kind of fond of the place…things had changed here. Their lives were a constant sate of changes, sure--but here, finally, Sam had hope—and a good feeling--that it was a change for the better.
He wandered across the living room to the window and raised the blinds one last time…crossed his arms and leaned them against the glass. He remembered those first few days there, and watching Dean mow the lawn. Sam smiled to himself. Yeah…the feelings that had brought up. They'd definitely been a shock. He blinked when he realized that Dean had snuck up behind him. He pressed his lips to the back of Sam's neck, breathed. Sam sighed and pressed back against the steady warmth. Dean's hands came up to cup his hips, and he rubbed slightly against Sam, his dick thick, warm, against his ass. "Sam..."
Sam nodded. "Yeah." He slipped the button on his jeans, and let Dean coax them down around his thighs, dragging his boxers with. He spread his legs to give Dean room, enjoyed the feeling of Dean's finger inside him and his thumb rubbing around the rim. It made Sam shiver and push back on him. He rode the feeling, let it escalate and slide back and forth from stomach clenching good, to something that was almost pain, and back again—shocking his nerves over and over. Dean hissed, "shh, shh," in his ear, but drove him higher, wilder, plunging his fingers in and out and grinding against Sam's dick with the other hand. They fell into a rolling rhythm, hips moving together, breathing together. His head rolled back to fall against Dean's shoulder and Dean took full advantage. He sucked and bit Sam's neck, until Sam felt like he was riding a lightning bolt of aching want. "…fuck me, come on."
Dean groaned, "Yeah, okay, okay." He shuffled around behind Sam, managing to elbow him in the back a few times, before he pushed his own pants down with a pleased sigh. Sam felt a slick trail dragged across his ass, Dean's fingers again, wet with something thick and slippery. "Shea butter, it's real good for dry ski--"
"Ah--really? I give a damn? Just do it--fuck!" He felt the hot, wide head of Dean's dick try to push into him. He reached back and spread himself open. It felt good, better when Dean popped into him, sent a jagged burst of lust right through him, made him gasp and shiver. Dean pushed in steadily—relentless. Sam groaned, tried to open himself more, relished every hot, burning inch inside, until Dean's hips cupped his ass and he was seated as deep as he could go. Sam felt him flex and that jagged burst punched him again.
"Um, Dean—" He stroked himself and begged Dean to move and Dean moved—gripped Sam like he was trying to escape and fucked into him slow, deep and hard, told Sam what he was doing, how he looked like sex, with sweat beading his skin, flushed red, swollen around his dick--fucked up, fucked out. How fucking hot it was to watch his dick disappear inside of him…
Sam shuddered, his dick drooled thick and fast as his hand flew, and Dean was gasping, moaning, "This is it—you ready, I gotta, now," he grunted, froze and Sam felt him swell, felt heat as Dean came in him, filling him…Sam jerked and came against the window, slammed a fist against the frame hard enough to rattle the glass and bit his lip. Come dripped down the glass and he smeared it with his body when Dean crashed into him….
Dean clung to him, panting, twitching, his dick making moves like it wanted to come again and Sam groaned. He was fucked out, riding high, happy…brain cells were buzzing and blinking--totally giddy and not helping him in the slightest.
"Come on, you giant perv, get off the window," Dean muttered and pulled him back from the glass. His hands were gentle on him, his grip firm—he wasn't going to let Sam slip, Dean had him.
Life was good.
They'd barely pulled themselves together before there was a sharp singular knock on the door—someone used to instant attention, Sam thought. He answered the door and went blind—he had to have gone blind. There was no way that he was really seeing what he was seeing. The guy on the doorstep was tall as him, taller, had long, wild, black hair that should have looked romance-novel douchy but set off his whiskey colored eyes perfectly. He was the kind of golden brown that sunlight couldn't make…a caramel so sweet it was lickable. Sam hoped desperately that his brain would wake up before Dean came along because a sick twisting in his gut told him that this Greek god in a suit so expensive even he could tell it cost a bundle, and cliché open collared white shirt was--
"Hey, Damien."
Of course.
Sam found himself incapable of blinking. His mouth might have been open a little and his forehead just might be creased some and there was a distinct possibility of flaring nostril….
"Dean, my friend—sorry you're leaving the apartment. Joy in your new home. Sadly, your salary remains unchanged. But our arrangement continues. Your Sam?" he asked barely flicking a glance over Sam. "Very handsome," he said, in a tone of voice that made his complete disinterest plain.
He turned his attention back on Dean and Sam felt the heat like a thousand watt bulb and Dean…was as oblivious to it as he'd ever seen him be. It was kind of…scary, how oblivious he was. He turned his eyes to Sam and smiled, and said, "Yeah, he's my Sam." and Sam felt like a fool but couldn't help the goofy smile, or the blush that warmed his face.
Damien continued, "And if this does not work out, feel free to inquire about the apartments here. I assure you there will always be one for you," he glanced at Sam again, "if your…Sam… should find other things to occupy himself."
Dean turned red himself and practically shoved Damien out of the door, thanking him, assuring him that he'd work just as hard as if he still lived in the building...
He leaned against the closed door as if to hold it shut. "Yeah, that wasn't awkward. The guy's such a…a…well, I'm not sure what he is, exactly."
"Hmm. We'll talk about it later…a lot."
They locked the door on the apartment, and headed out to the lot and the Impala, sitting under the sun.
"Can you believe it?" Dean said, running his hand over her hood, patting her roof. "We're all alive, all mostly in one piece and we're all together." He grinned at Sam over the roof, the bright sun picking out the wrinkles around his eyes, the sprinkle of gray in his hair. He was beautiful, Sam thought. He was beautiful and all his.
"Yeah," Sam said and shoved his bag into the back seat. "I love you too."
They pulled out of the parking lot, and passed Oz lugging a garden hose back to the shed. Dean punched the horn, and Oz turned to face them. He caught Sam's eye, gave a little satisfied nod of his head and Sam…Sam just leaned back against the warm vinyl, smiled and closed his eyes.
10-14-2010
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