SpN fic post: Dark On The Ridge 4/4
1/17/09 03:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle: Dark On The Ridge (4parts/complete)
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Sam/Dean (implied). Dean/OMC
Rating:NC-17
Word Count: part1: 2907 part2: 3461 part3: 3715 part4: 2745
Summary: Sam yearns for Dean, Dean's somewhat oblivious, and there's a ghost story, too.
all chapters
28
"Sam, I'm thinking maybe what it is, is a kind of tulpa. Might explain why it's doing what it's doing. She might've called it into being to do that one thing, but now, it's taken on a life of its own. Don't sound like it's changing up like the last one you dealt with, lucky you. But…hard to get rid of. Can't exactly dynamite the damn road, now, can ya? Sam? Sam? Sam—ya can't' dynamite the road, damn it!"
"What—no, no! I was thinking of what Pete told me earlier about that pendant, remember? I think it's also tied to that thing—like her whole wish and desire is inside it, living past her death. Destroy the pendant, you kill the car. But."
"But the protection's gone and from what you told me, means this Pete is dead too, if you do it. Rare for a ghost to target just one person like that but it happens. Well…I'll keep looking—you too."
"Thanks, Bobby." Sam shuddered, crammed his hands under his arms. The gloves he wore were leather, but thin, so he could pull a trigger—they weren't helping much in the cold that ripped across him with each gust of wind. He pulled his sleeve back. Nearly twelve. Almost Christmas Eve, Dean hadn't answered his phone yet…maybe he went back to the ridge, maybe he was there now with Sneakers. Maybe he wasn't answering because he was busy--
The little burst of angry warmth in his chest almost made him forget the gnawing bite of the cold. Almost.
29
Sam drove as quickly as he could around the curving road—icy rain was making it dangerous, the road was a long black slick and he could feel the slight sideways creep when the tires hit ice. His hands were white-knuckle tight on the steering wheel; all he could think about was Dean out there somewhere, alone and in trouble—worse, maybe not alone. He gnawed at his lip, his eyes aching from staring out into the darkness. It was taking forever and he had to fight his instinct to speed up. He jumped a little when lights suddenly flashed in the rear view mirror. Someone else was out on the road too—what an idiot.
Oh. Shit.
The lights raced up behind him, blinked a time or two, and went red.
The black Charger was racing up behind him. He'd forgotten all about it. Dean would have smacked the back of his head hard enough to make his ears bleed—shit. He'd deserve it too. In the second before impact, he had one wild moment in which all he could think of was how much Dean would have loved that car--impact, and the Impala shuddered all over, and slewed too easily on the ice slicked road.
"Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck—" Sam fought to keep the car on the road; the roar of the engine behind him filled the inside of his car, his head.
The Charger made contact again and Sam jerked hard against the lap belt, the Impala started to slide towards the edge of the road…the other car pulled alongside of him and began shoving against him--tap, and tap, and tap, driving him always closer to the edge. Sam swallowed hard, breath moving in and out of his mouth in arid gusts…this was it. The end. He tried to think—what to do if—when--the car went over the side, could he survive…he glanced over and the interior of the Charger was black—pitch black, but Sam didn't need light to tell him the fucking thing was empty. He could feel his teeth bared, he could feel fear like brick of ice inside his gut--thought he should let go of the wheel, try to roll up, but his fingers were welded to the steering wheel. Dean—who's going to take care of Dean--
The Charger pulled away, dropped behind him and Sam gasped in a long breath. "Thank God…"
He pressed on the accelerator, ready to try and break for it, when an angry animal roar beat against his ears. He glanced up and the Charger was bearing down on him, the red lights flashing like wicked eyes winking and Sam had no doubt that thing was looking right at him—seeing him. He blinked, and it was on his tail, blinked again and it slammed into the rear bumper. Sam was cursing, yelling at the thing, yelling for his brother and the Impala jerked and slid, gravel ran rough under the tires. The Charger dropped back a bit, enough so Sam could straighten out; pull the car back onto the road. It headed for him again, filled the rear view mirror and then—nothing.
Sam almost ran himself off the road, staring behind him instead of in front. The damn thing was gone, gone like smoke; like it was never there…he glanced at his watch. Almost midnight. Was that it? Was it just--time for the thing to disappear? "Okay, okay, fine—"
He picked up speed and headed towards the ridge.
30
Dean felt like he was swimming through oatmeal. The thought made him giggle…oatmeal, sticky and warm, just like he was. Fuck…he was higher than he ever remembered being in his life—he must have done something earlier…drank too much, or…"Hey, were we smokin' or…or…somethin'…"
Cap laughed out loud—"What, you mean like pot? Like we're a couple of hippies? No—do you want to? Bet I can give you something better than pot could ever be." Cap opened the door and slid out. "Come on. Let's sit outside for a while, watch the stars come out."
Dean grinned; he could feel it, big, sloppy grin all over his face. He knew he must look fucked out, he felt like it, but Cap wanted outside, soooo…"Okee-dokee. Lemme get my shirt. Look like shit." He scrubbed at his belly, and made a sort of wavery effort to pull up his pants, button them again, but the button wouldn't cooperate. Cap put his hands over Dean's.
"Lover, no one's out here except me and you. Let me look at you."
Dean looked up at the guy talking to him and was confused. Where was the stupid floppy brown hair, weird ass cats-eyes that he loved looking into, not that he'd admit it out loud and especially not to—?
"Earth calling Dean, Earth calling Dean—you in there, cowboy?" Cap waved his hands in Dean's face and made him laugh.
"Okay, okay, I'm out." He slid to his feet in the gravel, stretched his arms, and arched with deep, deep satisfaction—he felt loose, warm, and full of *pleasant* twinges, for once. He tilted his head to the sky and heard Cap—Trevor, whatever—gasp.
"Man, you don't know what you do to me; you're like, so—so natural. So real. I promise you Dean, I swear by all that's holy, I'll protect you, make you happy." He slid behind Dean, planted himself against his car and pulled Dean back to him, hips cupping his ass. He looped one arm across Dean's bare chest, the other resting the length of his thigh, fingers dancing across the loose denim, teasing the fly wider. Dean nodded in and out, enjoying the heat of the night, the warmth that came off Cap.
Cap was kissing up and down Dean's neck, nuzzling under his chin—suddenly jerked back like he'd gotten a shock. "Ouch…ow, that was weird." He laughed, surprise and confusion coloring his voice. "It felt like touching a live wire—did you feel anything?"
Dean roused himself enough to make an inquiring sound, but Cap stroked his jaw and whispered in his ear, "Never mind lover, it was nothing. Just…old dreams, old memories... we'll make new ones, between the two of us. Let go, you know I'll catch you."
31
Sam roared up into the long sweeping curve that marked the top of the ridge. It was dark, dark enough that the deep shoulder cut back off the road was pitch black. He could barely make out the lone, rickety old picnic bench chained to the ground, and farther back, the stand of trees behind it. He creeped slowly toward the rest area, realized the sound he could barely hear over the howl of the wind was a car engine running. He could just see the exhaust billowing into the night air. There was a car parked near trees, a classic Mustang, and leaning up against it was his brother. Dean. With…with some guy.
Sam smashed his hand down onto the dash—fucking Sneakers! Any money it was the first victim, Trevor Dane, nailed down to this world through a mistake made by a jealous, stupid girl.
He swung the wheel about sharply, crunched to a stop on the icy gravel, peering out of the ice coated windscreen. A few feet away, Dean was motionless, slouched there in the guy's arms. The sight made Sam's throat close up, and he blinked hard. Dean was out there shirtless—practically fucking nude!
Sam barely remembered getting out of the car, panic and fear and anger making him pant like he'd run a race. "Dean!" His brother barely responded, barely turned his head towards the sound.
"Dean! Come on, come—" he tried to take a step towards his brother and the thing wrapping its arms around him, but before Sam could move, he was slammed back against the hood of the Impala. He pushed hard against the car, strained muscles to the point of pain, trying desperately to move. His hands struggled to reach for the sawed-off--to reach out to his brother. "Dean!" His voice was whipped out of his mouth, torn away by the icy wind.
"Shhh. Leave him, Sam. Let him go. He'll be happier with me. He'll never have to suffer if I take him, no one, nothing, will find him. He'll escape."
Sam rocked back on his heels. His knees wanted to buckle, but whatever it was holding him back—was holding him up, too. "Free? No…hellhounds, no taking—"
"Just his body—I'll have his soul."
Dean's head rolled on Trevor's shoulder, sweat glazing his face, his chest. His eyes were slits, glassy and red…he was smiling, a drunken smear of a smile. Dean's hand was locked over Trevor's arm, holding on—"No! No." Sam shouted. "Give him back."
Trevor looked at Sam in surprise, the hand stoking Dean's thigh moved to rub his stomach. "*That* greedy? Could you really be that greedy, you’d rather he suffer than be with me?"
"Yes! I mean--no! No. What you're offering—it’s not a solution. It's wrong. He'd hate it, it's wrong."
The hand reached lower, scratching at the thick brown curls just visible through the gap in Dean's jeans. "I can give him what he's always wanted, all the love he needs, and oh, he needs so much. It's like a flare, roaring out of him, lighting everything for miles—so hot and bright and *wanting* so much it can't be ignored. You can't fill that need, but I can. I can…
Sam's whole body was a searing ache, every muscle strained towards his brother, his face was freezing—iced over with tears and snot. His heart was burning—this *thing* was trying to take Dean, trying to steal Dean away—
"No! Give him back!" He shouted, until it rose to a scream that ripped his throat, burned it like live coals. He pulled his arm free, and slammed his fist down on the hood of the Impala. "Give him back! He's mine. Mine!"
32
Dean's head snapped forward, and he looked around blearily. Sam? Sammy? He tried to pull away…and Cap tightened an arm around him, whispered hot and damp against his neck. "Don’t go, don't look. Don't let go of me."
Dean flexed the fingers wrapped around the arm that cradled him, and heard Sam's voice again—the arm that kept him trapped tightened.
33
"Trey."
Sam lurched against the invisible hold. There was someone behind him and he hadn't heard anything. There was a truck parked behind the impala. "Pete…Pete." Sam wanted to warn him, but his voice dried up....
Pete nodded at Sam, came to stand next to him. "I broke that thing in half, threw the bits in the fire. She was…" he laughed. "She was a piece of work." And that was all he had to say about Donna. He dropped a hand on Sam's shoulder and squeezed, and suddenly, Sam was free. He drew his arms up, and shuddered. Pete let go." Nice meeting you, Sam. Good luck on that book. Looks like you got plenty of story here." He winked at Sam, and stepped out from around him. "Hey, Trey."
Trevor's head shot up and he stared around himself, like Dean had done.
"All right then,Trey. I'm ready to go."
34
Dean gasped…Cap's fingers bit down hard on his shoulder—it sent icy shards of pain through him. He blinked hard—there was an old guy standing on the road, long salt and pepper hair whipping in the wind, blue eyes boring into him like search-lights. He felt Cap shudder, heard him speak, his voice tinged with wonder, and fear. "Pete?"
Dean winced—what the fuck…he was dizzy, and alternately burning hot, and freezing cold and--and Sammy was standing on the road, crying, and some cowboy was staring at him and where the fuck were his shirts? Where the fuck was his coat? He turned in Cap's embrace and Cap let go, and fucking hell, the cold hit him like a kick in the nuts.
"Dean. Dean. Oh, I'm sorry, I am, but I was so lonely and so were you, and it just…called me." Cap grabbed his face in both of those giant paws of his, and pulled him into a kiss. "You'll be okay. I think you'll be okay. You just…" Cap laughed, and sounded like he was crying." You have no idea how much you really deserve it, you do. Just—let it. It'll be all right."
Cap was glowing and Dean shook his head—his brain had finally caught up with his dick, and he knew he was in trouble. He ripped out of Cap's arms, and staggered toward Sam.
Cap was throwing off light like a star now; long streaks of white light flew skyward, and the old guy walked right into it. Dean couldn't look anymore; it was like staring at an arc welder. He tried to walk away, and everything shifted sideways. "Well fuck," he said. And felt the ground rush up to grab him.
35
"Hey. Hey, Dean. Come on, wake up for me, come on—"
Someone was touching him with a dead fish. Dean reached out and slapped it away, but it kept coming back, damp and cold and spiny, now it was trailing over his cheek and it was spitting water on him too….
"Dean, please wake up, you're scaring me, come on—"
Dean's eyes flew open. "Sam?" He tried to leap to his feet. "What—what's—" His flailing hand smacked up against his jacket—not his jacket. Need gun, Sammy's in trouble.
His other searching hand hit the vinyl bench seat…he was in the back of the Impala. The fish was a hand and the water was tears…what the fucking fuck?
Sam had a hand on his cheek, and his eyes were red and swimming. Dean felt cold, so fucking cold and now that he was thinking of it, it hit him like a freight train—his teeth clattered like castanets against each other, he swore the car was rocking with his shivering—he was practically fucking *convulsing*. "What the fuck dude—did you strip me and throw me out in the storm?"
"Don’t you remember what happened? Sam asked, and his face was a twisted up mess of emotions: fear, amusement and anger…Dean watched Sam's face twist a little more, anger almost winning out, before he laughed ruefully. "You don’t remember a thing, do you?"
Dean lay back on the seat, the pillow cushioning his head against the door was his leather jacket, rolled in a loose ball. The coat he was wearing was Sam's, the sleeves embarrassingly long. His baby was doing her best to heat the car, the sound of her fans almost a roar…Sam was wet--wet-faced, wet haired, and that cold damp thing was on Dean's chest—naked chest—was Sam's hand. "Unh…I do. Yeah, I do. What happened after?"
Sam sat back, relief coloring his cheeks with red. His hand twitched, and before Dean could lay his own over it, was gone. "I'll tell you later. Let's just—get the heck out of here." He slid back over to the driver's side, and ordered Dean to stay where he was. Of course, Dean's first impulse was to tell him to go to hell, but…Dean had a pretty good idea how close he'd come to checking out early tonight, and he wasn't about to piss Sam off now.
Besides, it was Christmas, or close enough.
Sam put the car into drive, and pulled out of the rest stop. Dean watched the stop recede in the rear window…something incredible had happened there. He knew how close, how dangerous it had been but still….
A part of him hoped that Cap was happy now. He looked over the seat at Sam, and what he could see of him was not especially heartening. His expression was pinched: narrowed eyes, mouth tight in a severe line, turned down at the corners the way it was when he was trying to suppress deep emotion—like almost losing his brother. Dean pulled the beat-up old Carhartt coat tighter—an ancient hand me down from Dad, he was surprised Sam still had it. He glanced at Sam again.
"So…Sammy."
Sam threw him a quick glance. "*What*?" Terse, to the point…pure Sam.
Dean grinned. "Mine, hunh?"
Sam paled, then colored…and smiled a little. "That's right, jerk."
Dean lay back again, closed his eyes and grinned even wider. "Bitch."
1-17-2009
~fin~
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Sam/Dean (implied). Dean/OMC
Rating:NC-17
Word Count: part1: 2907 part2: 3461 part3: 3715 part4: 2745
Summary: Sam yearns for Dean, Dean's somewhat oblivious, and there's a ghost story, too.
all chapters
"Sam, I'm thinking maybe what it is, is a kind of tulpa. Might explain why it's doing what it's doing. She might've called it into being to do that one thing, but now, it's taken on a life of its own. Don't sound like it's changing up like the last one you dealt with, lucky you. But…hard to get rid of. Can't exactly dynamite the damn road, now, can ya? Sam? Sam? Sam—ya can't' dynamite the road, damn it!"
"What—no, no! I was thinking of what Pete told me earlier about that pendant, remember? I think it's also tied to that thing—like her whole wish and desire is inside it, living past her death. Destroy the pendant, you kill the car. But."
"But the protection's gone and from what you told me, means this Pete is dead too, if you do it. Rare for a ghost to target just one person like that but it happens. Well…I'll keep looking—you too."
"Thanks, Bobby." Sam shuddered, crammed his hands under his arms. The gloves he wore were leather, but thin, so he could pull a trigger—they weren't helping much in the cold that ripped across him with each gust of wind. He pulled his sleeve back. Nearly twelve. Almost Christmas Eve, Dean hadn't answered his phone yet…maybe he went back to the ridge, maybe he was there now with Sneakers. Maybe he wasn't answering because he was busy--
The little burst of angry warmth in his chest almost made him forget the gnawing bite of the cold. Almost.
Sam drove as quickly as he could around the curving road—icy rain was making it dangerous, the road was a long black slick and he could feel the slight sideways creep when the tires hit ice. His hands were white-knuckle tight on the steering wheel; all he could think about was Dean out there somewhere, alone and in trouble—worse, maybe not alone. He gnawed at his lip, his eyes aching from staring out into the darkness. It was taking forever and he had to fight his instinct to speed up. He jumped a little when lights suddenly flashed in the rear view mirror. Someone else was out on the road too—what an idiot.
Oh. Shit.
The lights raced up behind him, blinked a time or two, and went red.
The black Charger was racing up behind him. He'd forgotten all about it. Dean would have smacked the back of his head hard enough to make his ears bleed—shit. He'd deserve it too. In the second before impact, he had one wild moment in which all he could think of was how much Dean would have loved that car--impact, and the Impala shuddered all over, and slewed too easily on the ice slicked road.
"Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck—" Sam fought to keep the car on the road; the roar of the engine behind him filled the inside of his car, his head.
The Charger made contact again and Sam jerked hard against the lap belt, the Impala started to slide towards the edge of the road…the other car pulled alongside of him and began shoving against him--tap, and tap, and tap, driving him always closer to the edge. Sam swallowed hard, breath moving in and out of his mouth in arid gusts…this was it. The end. He tried to think—what to do if—when--the car went over the side, could he survive…he glanced over and the interior of the Charger was black—pitch black, but Sam didn't need light to tell him the fucking thing was empty. He could feel his teeth bared, he could feel fear like brick of ice inside his gut--thought he should let go of the wheel, try to roll up, but his fingers were welded to the steering wheel. Dean—who's going to take care of Dean--
The Charger pulled away, dropped behind him and Sam gasped in a long breath. "Thank God…"
He pressed on the accelerator, ready to try and break for it, when an angry animal roar beat against his ears. He glanced up and the Charger was bearing down on him, the red lights flashing like wicked eyes winking and Sam had no doubt that thing was looking right at him—seeing him. He blinked, and it was on his tail, blinked again and it slammed into the rear bumper. Sam was cursing, yelling at the thing, yelling for his brother and the Impala jerked and slid, gravel ran rough under the tires. The Charger dropped back a bit, enough so Sam could straighten out; pull the car back onto the road. It headed for him again, filled the rear view mirror and then—nothing.
Sam almost ran himself off the road, staring behind him instead of in front. The damn thing was gone, gone like smoke; like it was never there…he glanced at his watch. Almost midnight. Was that it? Was it just--time for the thing to disappear? "Okay, okay, fine—"
He picked up speed and headed towards the ridge.
Dean felt like he was swimming through oatmeal. The thought made him giggle…oatmeal, sticky and warm, just like he was. Fuck…he was higher than he ever remembered being in his life—he must have done something earlier…drank too much, or…"Hey, were we smokin' or…or…somethin'…"
Cap laughed out loud—"What, you mean like pot? Like we're a couple of hippies? No—do you want to? Bet I can give you something better than pot could ever be." Cap opened the door and slid out. "Come on. Let's sit outside for a while, watch the stars come out."
Dean grinned; he could feel it, big, sloppy grin all over his face. He knew he must look fucked out, he felt like it, but Cap wanted outside, soooo…"Okee-dokee. Lemme get my shirt. Look like shit." He scrubbed at his belly, and made a sort of wavery effort to pull up his pants, button them again, but the button wouldn't cooperate. Cap put his hands over Dean's.
"Lover, no one's out here except me and you. Let me look at you."
Dean looked up at the guy talking to him and was confused. Where was the stupid floppy brown hair, weird ass cats-eyes that he loved looking into, not that he'd admit it out loud and especially not to—?
"Earth calling Dean, Earth calling Dean—you in there, cowboy?" Cap waved his hands in Dean's face and made him laugh.
"Okay, okay, I'm out." He slid to his feet in the gravel, stretched his arms, and arched with deep, deep satisfaction—he felt loose, warm, and full of *pleasant* twinges, for once. He tilted his head to the sky and heard Cap—Trevor, whatever—gasp.
"Man, you don't know what you do to me; you're like, so—so natural. So real. I promise you Dean, I swear by all that's holy, I'll protect you, make you happy." He slid behind Dean, planted himself against his car and pulled Dean back to him, hips cupping his ass. He looped one arm across Dean's bare chest, the other resting the length of his thigh, fingers dancing across the loose denim, teasing the fly wider. Dean nodded in and out, enjoying the heat of the night, the warmth that came off Cap.
Cap was kissing up and down Dean's neck, nuzzling under his chin—suddenly jerked back like he'd gotten a shock. "Ouch…ow, that was weird." He laughed, surprise and confusion coloring his voice. "It felt like touching a live wire—did you feel anything?"
Dean roused himself enough to make an inquiring sound, but Cap stroked his jaw and whispered in his ear, "Never mind lover, it was nothing. Just…old dreams, old memories... we'll make new ones, between the two of us. Let go, you know I'll catch you."
Sam roared up into the long sweeping curve that marked the top of the ridge. It was dark, dark enough that the deep shoulder cut back off the road was pitch black. He could barely make out the lone, rickety old picnic bench chained to the ground, and farther back, the stand of trees behind it. He creeped slowly toward the rest area, realized the sound he could barely hear over the howl of the wind was a car engine running. He could just see the exhaust billowing into the night air. There was a car parked near trees, a classic Mustang, and leaning up against it was his brother. Dean. With…with some guy.
Sam smashed his hand down onto the dash—fucking Sneakers! Any money it was the first victim, Trevor Dane, nailed down to this world through a mistake made by a jealous, stupid girl.
He swung the wheel about sharply, crunched to a stop on the icy gravel, peering out of the ice coated windscreen. A few feet away, Dean was motionless, slouched there in the guy's arms. The sight made Sam's throat close up, and he blinked hard. Dean was out there shirtless—practically fucking nude!
Sam barely remembered getting out of the car, panic and fear and anger making him pant like he'd run a race. "Dean!" His brother barely responded, barely turned his head towards the sound.
"Dean! Come on, come—" he tried to take a step towards his brother and the thing wrapping its arms around him, but before Sam could move, he was slammed back against the hood of the Impala. He pushed hard against the car, strained muscles to the point of pain, trying desperately to move. His hands struggled to reach for the sawed-off--to reach out to his brother. "Dean!" His voice was whipped out of his mouth, torn away by the icy wind.
"Shhh. Leave him, Sam. Let him go. He'll be happier with me. He'll never have to suffer if I take him, no one, nothing, will find him. He'll escape."
Sam rocked back on his heels. His knees wanted to buckle, but whatever it was holding him back—was holding him up, too. "Free? No…hellhounds, no taking—"
"Just his body—I'll have his soul."
Dean's head rolled on Trevor's shoulder, sweat glazing his face, his chest. His eyes were slits, glassy and red…he was smiling, a drunken smear of a smile. Dean's hand was locked over Trevor's arm, holding on—"No! No." Sam shouted. "Give him back."
Trevor looked at Sam in surprise, the hand stoking Dean's thigh moved to rub his stomach. "*That* greedy? Could you really be that greedy, you’d rather he suffer than be with me?"
"Yes! I mean--no! No. What you're offering—it’s not a solution. It's wrong. He'd hate it, it's wrong."
The hand reached lower, scratching at the thick brown curls just visible through the gap in Dean's jeans. "I can give him what he's always wanted, all the love he needs, and oh, he needs so much. It's like a flare, roaring out of him, lighting everything for miles—so hot and bright and *wanting* so much it can't be ignored. You can't fill that need, but I can. I can…
Sam's whole body was a searing ache, every muscle strained towards his brother, his face was freezing—iced over with tears and snot. His heart was burning—this *thing* was trying to take Dean, trying to steal Dean away—
"No! Give him back!" He shouted, until it rose to a scream that ripped his throat, burned it like live coals. He pulled his arm free, and slammed his fist down on the hood of the Impala. "Give him back! He's mine. Mine!"
Dean's head snapped forward, and he looked around blearily. Sam? Sammy? He tried to pull away…and Cap tightened an arm around him, whispered hot and damp against his neck. "Don’t go, don't look. Don't let go of me."
Dean flexed the fingers wrapped around the arm that cradled him, and heard Sam's voice again—the arm that kept him trapped tightened.
"Trey."
Sam lurched against the invisible hold. There was someone behind him and he hadn't heard anything. There was a truck parked behind the impala. "Pete…Pete." Sam wanted to warn him, but his voice dried up....
Pete nodded at Sam, came to stand next to him. "I broke that thing in half, threw the bits in the fire. She was…" he laughed. "She was a piece of work." And that was all he had to say about Donna. He dropped a hand on Sam's shoulder and squeezed, and suddenly, Sam was free. He drew his arms up, and shuddered. Pete let go." Nice meeting you, Sam. Good luck on that book. Looks like you got plenty of story here." He winked at Sam, and stepped out from around him. "Hey, Trey."
Trevor's head shot up and he stared around himself, like Dean had done.
"All right then,Trey. I'm ready to go."
Dean gasped…Cap's fingers bit down hard on his shoulder—it sent icy shards of pain through him. He blinked hard—there was an old guy standing on the road, long salt and pepper hair whipping in the wind, blue eyes boring into him like search-lights. He felt Cap shudder, heard him speak, his voice tinged with wonder, and fear. "Pete?"
Dean winced—what the fuck…he was dizzy, and alternately burning hot, and freezing cold and--and Sammy was standing on the road, crying, and some cowboy was staring at him and where the fuck were his shirts? Where the fuck was his coat? He turned in Cap's embrace and Cap let go, and fucking hell, the cold hit him like a kick in the nuts.
"Dean. Dean. Oh, I'm sorry, I am, but I was so lonely and so were you, and it just…called me." Cap grabbed his face in both of those giant paws of his, and pulled him into a kiss. "You'll be okay. I think you'll be okay. You just…" Cap laughed, and sounded like he was crying." You have no idea how much you really deserve it, you do. Just—let it. It'll be all right."
Cap was glowing and Dean shook his head—his brain had finally caught up with his dick, and he knew he was in trouble. He ripped out of Cap's arms, and staggered toward Sam.
Cap was throwing off light like a star now; long streaks of white light flew skyward, and the old guy walked right into it. Dean couldn't look anymore; it was like staring at an arc welder. He tried to walk away, and everything shifted sideways. "Well fuck," he said. And felt the ground rush up to grab him.
"Hey. Hey, Dean. Come on, wake up for me, come on—"
Someone was touching him with a dead fish. Dean reached out and slapped it away, but it kept coming back, damp and cold and spiny, now it was trailing over his cheek and it was spitting water on him too….
"Dean, please wake up, you're scaring me, come on—"
Dean's eyes flew open. "Sam?" He tried to leap to his feet. "What—what's—" His flailing hand smacked up against his jacket—not his jacket. Need gun, Sammy's in trouble.
His other searching hand hit the vinyl bench seat…he was in the back of the Impala. The fish was a hand and the water was tears…what the fucking fuck?
Sam had a hand on his cheek, and his eyes were red and swimming. Dean felt cold, so fucking cold and now that he was thinking of it, it hit him like a freight train—his teeth clattered like castanets against each other, he swore the car was rocking with his shivering—he was practically fucking *convulsing*. "What the fuck dude—did you strip me and throw me out in the storm?"
"Don’t you remember what happened? Sam asked, and his face was a twisted up mess of emotions: fear, amusement and anger…Dean watched Sam's face twist a little more, anger almost winning out, before he laughed ruefully. "You don’t remember a thing, do you?"
Dean lay back on the seat, the pillow cushioning his head against the door was his leather jacket, rolled in a loose ball. The coat he was wearing was Sam's, the sleeves embarrassingly long. His baby was doing her best to heat the car, the sound of her fans almost a roar…Sam was wet--wet-faced, wet haired, and that cold damp thing was on Dean's chest—naked chest—was Sam's hand. "Unh…I do. Yeah, I do. What happened after?"
Sam sat back, relief coloring his cheeks with red. His hand twitched, and before Dean could lay his own over it, was gone. "I'll tell you later. Let's just—get the heck out of here." He slid back over to the driver's side, and ordered Dean to stay where he was. Of course, Dean's first impulse was to tell him to go to hell, but…Dean had a pretty good idea how close he'd come to checking out early tonight, and he wasn't about to piss Sam off now.
Besides, it was Christmas, or close enough.
Sam put the car into drive, and pulled out of the rest stop. Dean watched the stop recede in the rear window…something incredible had happened there. He knew how close, how dangerous it had been but still….
A part of him hoped that Cap was happy now. He looked over the seat at Sam, and what he could see of him was not especially heartening. His expression was pinched: narrowed eyes, mouth tight in a severe line, turned down at the corners the way it was when he was trying to suppress deep emotion—like almost losing his brother. Dean pulled the beat-up old Carhartt coat tighter—an ancient hand me down from Dad, he was surprised Sam still had it. He glanced at Sam again.
"So…Sammy."
Sam threw him a quick glance. "*What*?" Terse, to the point…pure Sam.
Dean grinned. "Mine, hunh?"
Sam paled, then colored…and smiled a little. "That's right, jerk."
Dean lay back again, closed his eyes and grinned even wider. "Bitch."
1-17-2009
~fin~
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(no subject)
1/17/09 09:22 pm (UTC)Yay, Sam! You won! He's yours now!
Wheeeeee!
*twirls them*
:)
*smooches you*
Awesome.
(no subject)
1/18/09 02:12 pm (UTC)(no subject)
1/18/09 05:56 am (UTC)Seriously, this is great stuff. I'm going to angst over my ghost story now. *pouts* LOL You did a great job of mixing case fic with the tension between the boys.
Can't wait to see more of your SpN stuff.
(no subject)
1/18/09 02:22 pm (UTC)I'm going to send you my stuff today!
(no subject)
1/18/09 08:53 pm (UTC)Do you mind if I lead a friend of mine over here? I told her I was reading Wincest case fic and she got excited. LOL
I finally gave in and got an Wincest/J2 manip icon. (got a copy of the whole manip too. :D )It's Impala porn. How could I resist?!?
(no subject)
1/18/09 09:03 pm (UTC)not at all, this is an open zone, everyone's welcome! *G*
(no subject)
1/18/09 09:05 pm (UTC)(no subject)
1/18/09 09:16 pm (UTC)(no subject)
1/18/09 04:42 pm (UTC)(no subject)
1/18/09 05:44 pm (UTC)*happyroxy*
(no subject)
1/18/09 11:46 pm (UTC)(no subject)
1/20/09 06:03 am (UTC)(no subject)
1/20/09 02:43 am (UTC)But oh! that mental picture of Dean being cradled (deliciously half-naked *licks chops*) by ghostly Trevor, while Sam looks on. That was, simply put, a kick-ass story, babe. Super serial. And there's hope at the end, too, I think. Granted, if things progress like they did in the show. . . Sam's gonna be bangin' a demon, while Dean's gettin' his sadism-groove on, but, hey! Them's the breaks. . .
*scratches head* What was I talking about? I got distracted by that mental picture again. . . *smirkity smirk smirk* XD
(no subject)
1/20/09 06:06 am (UTC)I'm thrilled you liked the story, I really had fun writing it--I kind of liked the part you pointed out myself. ;)
(no subject)
1/20/09 04:54 am (UTC)I also really, really liked the way you pulled the plot into their story. Funny, innit, how none of those ghost stories have involved anyone gay. I'm glad you addressed that.
Yay, Roxy!! (((Hugs!)))
(no subject)
1/20/09 05:11 am (UTC)(no subject)
1/20/09 06:10 am (UTC)(no subject)
1/20/09 06:09 am (UTC)(no subject)
1/20/09 02:01 pm (UTC)BTW, I was linked by
(no subject)
1/20/09 02:28 pm (UTC)(no subject)
1/20/09 02:38 pm (UTC)Icon made by
(no subject)
1/22/09 09:28 pm (UTC)(no subject)
5/8/10 03:16 am (UTC)(no subject)
5/8/10 02:45 pm (UTC)(no subject)
8/27/10 06:47 pm (UTC):)
(no subject)
8/27/10 07:05 pm (UTC)