Spn fic: Non Timebo Mala part 30
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roxyTitle: Non Timebo Mala
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Dean/Sam
Rating:NC-17
Word Count: 4162
Spoilers: might be considered spoilery for All Hell Breaks Loose
Summary: Sam Winchester is looking for the ultimate weapon, one that will destroy the demon who destroyed his family. Dean Kane was raised to be a maker of weapons. He was just the man Sam needed.
Notes/Warnings: This is my AU version of the Colt's making. Increeeedibly AU. It's completely a child of my wild imaginings; thus, expect anachronisms and flagrant display of personal fanon. Warnings for sex (het and M/M, incest, rape.)
Dean expected Sam to lay sleepless, as stiff as he was. It was like cuddling up to a bundle of sticks and glass, but the boy dropped off in seconds, soft snores filled the air and Dean was the one that sat up most of the night, petting him, just watching him sleep and knowing he'd lost every bit of his heart and most of his common sense over the prickly, snappish fellow drooling on his chest. "Why me?" he murmured and pressed a soft kiss to his temple.
Dean had tried to wake Sam with a kiss but Sam was having none of it. It became apparent to Dean that Sam was not about to soften, or tolerate any softness, just because Dean had forced him through a different kind of making love—and shared a kiss that had shaken Dean to his core, whipped through him like a tornado and blew any lingering cobwebs bearing Archie's name right out of his brain. Every time Dean thought of how Sam had reacted, he couldn't help but smile and a hot bolt of lust hit him hard and sudden like a spring storm. It was enough incentive for him to keep on trying to tame that grizzly.
Sam for his part, cursed up a blue storm packing up his gear, cursed loud and creative at the dog dancing underfoot, cursed and shied like a balky colt when Dean tried to touch him, cursed under his breath when Waller showed up and proceeded to sneer at him while making a huge fuss over the underfoot dog—and all the while, Dean prayed fervently that the old man and that boy wouldn't dead each other before they even got out of the yard.
Waller was silent though, as he watched them get ready, and when they were mostly packed, called Dean aside.
"Boy, make sure ya bring me my cut back, Durham if they got it, hear?" He twisted his face up into a wrinkled pout before gusting out a huge sigh. "Guess I ain't gotta worry 'boutcha none. That waddy might be a long tall drink of stupid, but I'm thinking anything tries to get at you will have to go through him. I can tell nothing gets past that eagle's eye of his, and I'm willing to bet he's a dead-shot to boot. Maybe ya kin teach him some manners while ya got him out there."
Dean laughed. Waller had pretty much given Sam his stamp of approval, such as it was. "Yes sir," he said. I'll give it my best, but don’t hold out much hope."
Waller laughed, and waved them off. Dean cast one quick look towards the oak-crowned hill before leading out the yard. He hadn't been from home longer than a day or two since Pa passed on…he shivered, and despite the heat, felt a chill, like a goose had stepped over his grave. He pulled Pa's old duster a little closer to him, and felt the worn canvas slip against him like a hug. He smiled a little and adjusted the brim of his hat so that it blocked the sun, cast a look behind him, caught sight of the dog on the porch stair, showing his dirty pink belly to the sun—sprawled out near Waller's boot toes like he planned to live there.
Sam of course, was being pure, distilled Sam. Grouchy, and glaring at Dean and in general acting like he'd been wronged in some awful way. Finally, he couldn't hold it in any longer and burst out with, "What'd that old man want? Warning you off me?" He scowled fit to break his jaw and yanked the bill of that terrible kepi even lower.
Den was surprised—he'd expected Sam to complain about his dog fawning over Waller, not some possible way Waller might have of driving a wedge between the two of them. "Naw, believe it or not, he had some good things to say about you."
"He did?" Sam looked stunned and Dean was almost certain Sam's lips had twitched in a lightning-quick smile.
"Yep," Dean drawled, "And the bad things he had to say 'bout you, well, he wasn't lying—"
"Fuck you," Sam growled and Dean laughed, kind of pleased with himself for getting one over on Sam.
"Come on, son, you better call that flathead dog of yours or he's gonna make himself a new home in Waller's lap."
Sam reared around to face the house and stood up in the stirrups, making the black horse shy, and snort in irritation. "Come on, you little ungrateful fucker," Sam shouted. "Get your ugly ass over here."
The dog flew off the porch and was on Sam in a hot second, all his teeth showing in a snarl and growling fit to beat the band. When Sam hung his arm down, instead of grabbing Sam's sleeve like usual, he jumped up high and clamped his teeth around Sam's forearm. Dean saw the teeth go right through the fabric, and he was certain, into the fleshy part of the man's arm, but Sam didn't even blink, didn't raise his voice, he just settled the dog in front of him and asked, in a low, warm voice that Dean kind of wished he'd use on him once in a while, "You done?" The dog snorted, making it plain he wasn't ready to talk to Sam at all. Dean saw the he was kind enough to let Sam scratch his ears, though.
Dean trotted up to ride next to Sam. "You know, if you didn’t treat him ugly, he might not bite so. Let me see."
"I'm fine, leave it," he snapped, shoving Dean's hand away from him. "And don’t try to teach me how to treat him. Dog knows what he is and what he's worth, same's I do." He narrowed his eyes at Dean. "An' I bite just the same."
Dean rolled his eyes and pulled ahead of Sam a bit, muttering, "God knows that's nothing but the honest truth. Ass."
******
Riding with Sam was a lot more pleasant than Dean expected it was going to be—not after the last time, and not after the way they'd rode out this time. It turned out, when Sam was motivated; he could be a pleasant companion on the trail. He knew a lot about a lot of things. Dean thought he'd known that but he was amazed all over again. The boy might have the look of a saddle tramp, with his too long hair and ill-fitting worn clothes, but he had a mind up under that squashed mockery of a hat, and made good use of it. Dean enjoyed the look on Sam's face, sort of school-marmish and maybe a little prissy, as he pointed out helpful plants, explained what they were good for. Some of what he said had the flavor of lessons often recited…Dean didn't mind. It was good to see Sam this way. It was a damn pleasure to talk about the merits of various herbs, or books that they'd read.
While Dean always enjoyed the time he could spend talking to his dearest friend, Dotty and he never really spoke about much more than the latest gossip, and their impossible dreams. With Sam, it was different—different than it was with Dotty, different than it'd been with Archie. Sam wasn't interested in impressing him, Dean could see that. He talked about what he enjoyed, and took pleasure in listening to Dean do the same. He talked about music that Dean had never heard of, and art that Dean had never seen…Sam knew plants and lore and language and by the time they set about making camp, Dean was telling himself that what he felt was lust and lust alone, and maybe a pinch of envy for Sam's freedom….
******
They rode on until the sun began to drop, and the hot ground released the scent of cooling sand and plants to drift in the air as the night chilled. They found a sheltered spot, and figured it was a good time to stop and make camp.
Dean settled the horses while Sam made a fire, and by the time Dean had the animals settled and the food out of his pack, Sam had the coffee on to boil. Dean unwrapped some corncakes from that morning's breakfast, rolled a few sweet potatoes into the coals at the edge of the fire, and broke up some dried beef. He tossed Sam an apple to eat while they waited for the potatoes to cook, and tossed the dog some twists of dried meat too. He was part of their crew, after all.
They were silent while they ate, comfortably so, and were quiet until Dean rolled a cigarette, and Sam split the coffee between them. "So," Dean said, "when we get into town, we'll order everything we need from the general, and I'll make arrangements for it to be sent to Bristol. While you're there, you can check the post office for mail from your uncle…maybe you should have him send mail to Bristol, you staying with me and all…if you want."
Sam looked up, his eyes glinting weirdly green in the firelight. "You know that if I stay at your place now, I'll be there for the winter? I can always stay on with my friend in town." Sam looked down at the fire and Dean cleared his throat.
"Sam…I'd count it a favor if you stayed." He waited for Sam's answer, Sam stared into the bottom of his cup, and just when Dean decided that he'd get no answer from him, he nodded. Dean was content with that as his answer.
******
The last rays of the sun were swallowed in thick swatches of pink and red, they bled into violet as the day faded out to night, and the stars came out, one by one, until they filled the sky. This part of camping, Dean had always liked: the quiet, the way the smell of coffee wove through the smell of the burning wood, the dry, clinging, almost salty scent of dust. Sagebrush and grass added their scent as the horses movement bruised the leaves…he could almost imagine Pa crouched on the other side of the fire, stirring up batter for hoecakes, humming a song, or about to launch into some tall tale, or lesson….
The daydream broke, the familiar smells suddenly made odd by the bundle of herbs Sam tossed on the fire. He'd made a wide circle of ash and salt around their bedrolls, closing them in. Sam had looked almost content when that was done, even smiled a little. The dog trotted around the outside edge of the grayish black ring, nose to the ground and a look of deep concentration on his face. Dean noted that he carefully avoided stepping on or disturbing the ring in any way. When the dog was done, he sat with a satisfied huff, his face wrinkled in a way that made Dean laugh—seemed the dog approved of Sam's efforts.
Sam stood to fuss with the fire, shook the coffee pot and smiled at the slosh within. His duster flapped about the back of his legs as he crouched to refill their cups, Dean saw that hat he hated so much, stuffed down in a pocket. Damn thing—it had an ugly life of its own. Dean swore when the man put it on, it was like iron doors slamming shut on his heart. Dean could practically see the life drain out of him…maybe he could see to Sam losing it on the trail somewhere. Dean broke out a flask from his pack, and splashed a little whiskey in with their coffee. They shared another cigarette and chatted comfortably, Sam carefully explained what each symbol painted on the horse's withers meant, and Dean taught him a short prayer in a language Sam said he'd never heard before. Dean told him it was from the land his pa had been stolen from, and that it was all Pa had had left of it, after his family had been sold away from him.
They crouched around the fire, gulping coffee gone twice strong and bitter as sin—just the way Dean liked it. Sam grimaced when Dedn loudly expressed his enjoyment of it. "I'm tellin' ya man, when we get to Missouri's I'm having a decent cup of coffee—white and sweet."
"Girl's coffee. A real man takes it black."
Sam gave Dean a hot look. "A real man takes it any way he can get it."
Dean shivered. Licked ash dry lips. "Is that right?" He was coming to enjoy Sam's version of flirting—part threat, part promise.
Sam set his cup down. "It's been my experience."
"We need to get some sleep, get on the trail early…."
Sam shrugged his coat off, leaned closer to Dean and smirked. "Town ain't gonna disappear."
Dean cursed, and grabbed Sam by the back of the neck, jerked him close. He wanted to throw him down, and maul him, wipe that sneer off his smart mouth, make him scream and shake…but he pressed dry lips to his mouth instead, taking his time, coaxing Sam into a real kiss and ignoring his frustrated whine. It took some minutes for the tense line of Sam's shoulders to fold, for him to open to Dean the way Dean wanted him to.
"You…God, wish you'd stop," Sam groaned but he was trapped by Dean, caged up in his arms and weak against him. Sam slid around in Dean's lap, let Dean move him any way he wanted. Let his arms be looped around Dean's neck, let his head be pulled back, let Dean explore his neck, nip at the soft underside of his jaw, let Dean suck and gnaw his way through the open collar of his shirt.
"Take this off," he rasped and straight away, Sam yanked his shirt off and let it drop. Dean shivered, moaned a little. Sam, so much power, so much anger, controlled and leashed at Dean's whim. He was hard, and so hot, and every time Sam shifted on his lap, his prick jerked and leaked. It was more than heady, it was maddening. "Get your pants open," he demanded, voice cracking with the excitement rushing through him.
Sam worked at the buttons, all his attention centered downwards, concentrated on what his fingers did. Too concentrated….
Dean tucked fingers under Sam's chin and raised it to look in his eyes and his excitement dried right up. "Sam?" Sam's eyes were blank, nothing in them, no heat. Dean covered Sam's fumbling fingers, squeezed just a little…"All right, Sam. Stop."
"I can…what do you want me to do? Beg? That's okay, I can do tha—"
Dean let himself drop flat to the ground, so hard that dust puffed out from under his legs and he groaned, long and loud. The dog, startled awake, snarled at him from the shadows.
"You're straight out going to kill me, or make me go crazy. I'ma tell you this again and…I guess keep on telling you 'til you believe it, you great big grizzly idiot. I like you. I like all of you, all ten feet a' surly ass that you are."
Sam was still hanging over him, his eyes locked on Dean's. They narrowed, his mouth tightened and Dean waited for his usual cutting remarks. The boy had a tongue like a razor, and Dean's chest tightened waiting for the first slice. Instead, Sam huffed out a short, soft laugh. It grew, until Sam was laughing, a real, straight from the belly sort of laugh that Dean felt right down to his toes. It was…amazing.
"Dean Kane, who the hell are you? Where do you come from, and how do you do this to me?" Sam sat back on his heels and wiped at his eyes. "Swear to god, I ain't laughed like this since that time Caleb stepped on a cat and it beat the hell outa him." His eyes softened and he smiled at Dean and Dean…fell. Fell hard, fell complete and he knew from now on, there was no possible way on God's green earth he'd be able to draw breath without having that smile in his life forever. Now, all he had to do was get Sam to agree with that. Dean figured what he wanted amounted to trying to lasso a tornado…well, he'd just have to make sure he had rope enough.
The kiss this time was hotter, deeper, but all of Sam was in it, and Dean felt the difference. It was like a summer lightning storm, all energy and sizzle and sharp metal taste on the tongue. Sam's had worked between the two of them and managed Dean's buttons with one hand; the other held Dean's head still while he kissed him. Sam made short work of gathering their pricks together in one hand—Dean jerked and pearly slick dripped on to the bare skin of his hip. Sam's hands were so big, so hot. He groaned and pumped his hips as Sam began to work the two of them together.
"So smooth, God, like velvet, smell so good, so hot…" he took his hand away and Dean growled and tried to yank it back…he was forced to watch instead as Sam licked his palm, sucked on his fingers. He threw Dean a crooked little half smile, a wicked light flared in his eyes. "Just wanted a preview of how we're gonna taste together," he said, and Dean shuddered and groaned, his hips rolled in Sam's renewed grip.
"Come on Dean, I'm almost there, how bout you? Feel it? When we hit town, we're getting a room and you're gonna fuck me 'til I scream, 'til you fill me up inside, I'm gonna choke myself on your prick—"
"God—shut up—fuck!" Dean felt that summer storm explode inside him, white hot and pouring out of his prick, pumping come across both of them, and Sam hissed and added his own to the mix. Dean folded until his head flopped down on Sam's shoulder. He blew a long, shaky, satisfied breath against Sam's neck.
"Dean…" Sam's hand slid up his shaft as he pulled away, calluses dragging and catching under the head and dragging another roll and pump of the hips out of Dean. Sam snorted softly before raising his hand. His tongue ran up the center of his palm, worked to lick up creamy slick webbed between his fingers, dripping down his wrist, with that same concentration he used to clean his rifle or put an edge on his knife.
Dean watched open-mouthed, could just barely hear the contented little grunts Sam gave, sucking his fingers clean. His prick gave a half-hearted twitch, too spent to do more. Still the sight made an ache rise in his gut, and he groaned, "Good God almighty, you son ofa bitch, you're gonna be the death of me."
Sam smiled at him, his eyes glazed, soft, his whole face soft and smoothed out and if Dean didn't know the man, he'd say he looked happy. Sam ran his tongue over his fingers one final time and said, "You taste good—we taste good together."
"Jesus." Dean worked his handkerchief out of his back pocket. Grabbed Sam's wet hand, and cleaned him, the both of them, as best he could. Tomorrow, they'd take some of their water and do a better job. Right now…he just needed to sleep.
Sam shuffled off to his bedroll before Dean could hold him to his. He slumped down, already mostly asleep. Dean watched him for a bit before slipping off himself.
He opened his eyes, and caught Sam staring at him through the flames. The fire seemed to have grown instead of banked, and Sam was smiling, that same cruel half-hook of a smile that sometimes made Dean hold his breath looking at him. Here though…here the smile wasn't directed at himself. Here it was meant for *Dean*. The boy's eyes shifted like a prairie fire, from green to yellow and back….
'Hello Dean. You look…well rested.' Sam's tongue darted out and wet the bow of his lip. 'Now what is it that brings you out here with dear little Sammy? Bring him to me, and I'll tell you what your father did. Take off that bag, and I'll come to you, and tell you who you fucked.'
Dean looked down on the medicine bag and twisted the thong in his hand. Shook his head. Said, 'Don’t know who you are, but you leave Sam alone. He ain't never hurt nobody.'
'Are you kidding? Sam's a natural born killer, bred in the blood. He likes it. Loves it. Wants to bathe in it, drink it like—' the thing in Sam snapped his fingers. 'Getting ahead of myself.' The Sam Thing leaned forward, and looked at Dean with an expression of compete sincerity. 'His blood is bad. It's sick. It will make you sick,' it said, slowly, as if Dean was the touched thing everyone thought he was. 'The only way to help him is to kill him. If you kill him now, it will only save you the trouble later—'
"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus—" Dean had no idea where the words came from but his lips formed them without conscious thought, his breath forced them out into the air….
The Sam Thing reared back, hissed, and it was ugly on Sam's face. Sam's mouth gaped, he arched and shook on the ground as a black cloud vomited out of him and raced skyward.
Dean blinked, and woke to his blankets rolled up too tight around him, the fabric taut across his throat and his lungs aching. His stomach cramped and he shuddered as he worked himself free. Those eyes…they were the eyes that had haunted his dreams for years…those sickly, yolk yellow eyes….
In the morning, Sam brushed the salt and ash into the dirt, and stoked the coals of their fire until flames reached high again. Sam noticed Dean was up and jerked his head to the flat rocks barely outside the fire ring. "Making coffee—did some biscuits. Bacon too," and Dean woke up all the way—the smell of bacon made his stomach growl. Sam laughed when the dog jerked and glared at Dean. "I'd say it was past time for your breakfast."
Dean ate, dragging pretty good biscuits Sam had made through the bacon grease and watched Sam prepare coffee. When he was done, he shoved his fist into the duster's deep pocket, and pulled out that hat. That fucking ugly crap hat.
"Don’t put it on," he said. "Sam, don’t put that hat on."
Sam stopped in the middle of sweeping his hair back to settle the hat on his head. "What? 'Sjust a damn hat--"
"So it's just a hat. Look, maybe I'm being foolish—okay, I am being foolish but I hate that hat. You put that double-damned thing on and--and you shrink, or something. It's like. It puts you in the shade."
Sam snorted. "No doubt about you being a fool, Dean. You putting an awful lot on a scruffy old hat."
"Then give it to me, please. Just…I'll hold it for you," he said and Sam's eyes went wide, his mouth twisted like he tasted something bad.
"No! Don't—don't touch it. I won't wear it, okay?" He stared at Dean and Dean felt…not like he'd won something or that he'd made Sam bow to his will. He felt like he'd warned a friend off of stepping on a rattler, or putting his foot down on a wolf trap. Sam nodded, and stood. Shook out the hat. Turned it this way and that in his hands, nearly bit a hole though his lip. And just like that, flung it into the fire.
"There. Fuck you. Fuck you, I'm better than that," he muttered, so low Dean almost didn't catch it. He certainly made no comment. His pa didn't raise a fool.
Sam turned his face to Dean and he looked purely terrified, his green-brown eyes almost black with it.
"Don’t you worry none, Sam. I'll get you a new hat in town. Swear I will. In fact—here. You take mine until we get you a new one."
Sam stared at Dean like he'd offered him a hand, or some vital organ…he turned his face way and snorted like he thought Dean was a fool but what Dean could see of the boy was a bright red and the dog was staring at him, and wagging it's tail like Sam had done something clever. He fiddled with the narrow brimmed hat until it set comfortably on his head. His eyes glowed like it was Christmas morn…like Dean had handed him a treasure instead of a cast off bowler of Pa's gone soft with age.
Dean wanted, with all his might, for that to be true. He was going to get Sam a fine new hat, and he was going to make that gun for him and he hoped to God that they'd put that demon to rest—all of Sam's demon's to rest--once and for all.
part 31
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Dean/Sam
Rating:NC-17
Word Count: 4162
Spoilers: might be considered spoilery for All Hell Breaks Loose
Summary: Sam Winchester is looking for the ultimate weapon, one that will destroy the demon who destroyed his family. Dean Kane was raised to be a maker of weapons. He was just the man Sam needed.
Notes/Warnings: This is my AU version of the Colt's making. Increeeedibly AU. It's completely a child of my wild imaginings; thus, expect anachronisms and flagrant display of personal fanon. Warnings for sex (het and M/M, incest, rape.)
Dean expected Sam to lay sleepless, as stiff as he was. It was like cuddling up to a bundle of sticks and glass, but the boy dropped off in seconds, soft snores filled the air and Dean was the one that sat up most of the night, petting him, just watching him sleep and knowing he'd lost every bit of his heart and most of his common sense over the prickly, snappish fellow drooling on his chest. "Why me?" he murmured and pressed a soft kiss to his temple.
Dean had tried to wake Sam with a kiss but Sam was having none of it. It became apparent to Dean that Sam was not about to soften, or tolerate any softness, just because Dean had forced him through a different kind of making love—and shared a kiss that had shaken Dean to his core, whipped through him like a tornado and blew any lingering cobwebs bearing Archie's name right out of his brain. Every time Dean thought of how Sam had reacted, he couldn't help but smile and a hot bolt of lust hit him hard and sudden like a spring storm. It was enough incentive for him to keep on trying to tame that grizzly.
Sam for his part, cursed up a blue storm packing up his gear, cursed loud and creative at the dog dancing underfoot, cursed and shied like a balky colt when Dean tried to touch him, cursed under his breath when Waller showed up and proceeded to sneer at him while making a huge fuss over the underfoot dog—and all the while, Dean prayed fervently that the old man and that boy wouldn't dead each other before they even got out of the yard.
Waller was silent though, as he watched them get ready, and when they were mostly packed, called Dean aside.
"Boy, make sure ya bring me my cut back, Durham if they got it, hear?" He twisted his face up into a wrinkled pout before gusting out a huge sigh. "Guess I ain't gotta worry 'boutcha none. That waddy might be a long tall drink of stupid, but I'm thinking anything tries to get at you will have to go through him. I can tell nothing gets past that eagle's eye of his, and I'm willing to bet he's a dead-shot to boot. Maybe ya kin teach him some manners while ya got him out there."
Dean laughed. Waller had pretty much given Sam his stamp of approval, such as it was. "Yes sir," he said. I'll give it my best, but don’t hold out much hope."
Waller laughed, and waved them off. Dean cast one quick look towards the oak-crowned hill before leading out the yard. He hadn't been from home longer than a day or two since Pa passed on…he shivered, and despite the heat, felt a chill, like a goose had stepped over his grave. He pulled Pa's old duster a little closer to him, and felt the worn canvas slip against him like a hug. He smiled a little and adjusted the brim of his hat so that it blocked the sun, cast a look behind him, caught sight of the dog on the porch stair, showing his dirty pink belly to the sun—sprawled out near Waller's boot toes like he planned to live there.
Sam of course, was being pure, distilled Sam. Grouchy, and glaring at Dean and in general acting like he'd been wronged in some awful way. Finally, he couldn't hold it in any longer and burst out with, "What'd that old man want? Warning you off me?" He scowled fit to break his jaw and yanked the bill of that terrible kepi even lower.
Den was surprised—he'd expected Sam to complain about his dog fawning over Waller, not some possible way Waller might have of driving a wedge between the two of them. "Naw, believe it or not, he had some good things to say about you."
"He did?" Sam looked stunned and Dean was almost certain Sam's lips had twitched in a lightning-quick smile.
"Yep," Dean drawled, "And the bad things he had to say 'bout you, well, he wasn't lying—"
"Fuck you," Sam growled and Dean laughed, kind of pleased with himself for getting one over on Sam.
"Come on, son, you better call that flathead dog of yours or he's gonna make himself a new home in Waller's lap."
Sam reared around to face the house and stood up in the stirrups, making the black horse shy, and snort in irritation. "Come on, you little ungrateful fucker," Sam shouted. "Get your ugly ass over here."
The dog flew off the porch and was on Sam in a hot second, all his teeth showing in a snarl and growling fit to beat the band. When Sam hung his arm down, instead of grabbing Sam's sleeve like usual, he jumped up high and clamped his teeth around Sam's forearm. Dean saw the teeth go right through the fabric, and he was certain, into the fleshy part of the man's arm, but Sam didn't even blink, didn't raise his voice, he just settled the dog in front of him and asked, in a low, warm voice that Dean kind of wished he'd use on him once in a while, "You done?" The dog snorted, making it plain he wasn't ready to talk to Sam at all. Dean saw the he was kind enough to let Sam scratch his ears, though.
Dean trotted up to ride next to Sam. "You know, if you didn’t treat him ugly, he might not bite so. Let me see."
"I'm fine, leave it," he snapped, shoving Dean's hand away from him. "And don’t try to teach me how to treat him. Dog knows what he is and what he's worth, same's I do." He narrowed his eyes at Dean. "An' I bite just the same."
Dean rolled his eyes and pulled ahead of Sam a bit, muttering, "God knows that's nothing but the honest truth. Ass."
Riding with Sam was a lot more pleasant than Dean expected it was going to be—not after the last time, and not after the way they'd rode out this time. It turned out, when Sam was motivated; he could be a pleasant companion on the trail. He knew a lot about a lot of things. Dean thought he'd known that but he was amazed all over again. The boy might have the look of a saddle tramp, with his too long hair and ill-fitting worn clothes, but he had a mind up under that squashed mockery of a hat, and made good use of it. Dean enjoyed the look on Sam's face, sort of school-marmish and maybe a little prissy, as he pointed out helpful plants, explained what they were good for. Some of what he said had the flavor of lessons often recited…Dean didn't mind. It was good to see Sam this way. It was a damn pleasure to talk about the merits of various herbs, or books that they'd read.
While Dean always enjoyed the time he could spend talking to his dearest friend, Dotty and he never really spoke about much more than the latest gossip, and their impossible dreams. With Sam, it was different—different than it was with Dotty, different than it'd been with Archie. Sam wasn't interested in impressing him, Dean could see that. He talked about what he enjoyed, and took pleasure in listening to Dean do the same. He talked about music that Dean had never heard of, and art that Dean had never seen…Sam knew plants and lore and language and by the time they set about making camp, Dean was telling himself that what he felt was lust and lust alone, and maybe a pinch of envy for Sam's freedom….
They rode on until the sun began to drop, and the hot ground released the scent of cooling sand and plants to drift in the air as the night chilled. They found a sheltered spot, and figured it was a good time to stop and make camp.
Dean settled the horses while Sam made a fire, and by the time Dean had the animals settled and the food out of his pack, Sam had the coffee on to boil. Dean unwrapped some corncakes from that morning's breakfast, rolled a few sweet potatoes into the coals at the edge of the fire, and broke up some dried beef. He tossed Sam an apple to eat while they waited for the potatoes to cook, and tossed the dog some twists of dried meat too. He was part of their crew, after all.
They were silent while they ate, comfortably so, and were quiet until Dean rolled a cigarette, and Sam split the coffee between them. "So," Dean said, "when we get into town, we'll order everything we need from the general, and I'll make arrangements for it to be sent to Bristol. While you're there, you can check the post office for mail from your uncle…maybe you should have him send mail to Bristol, you staying with me and all…if you want."
Sam looked up, his eyes glinting weirdly green in the firelight. "You know that if I stay at your place now, I'll be there for the winter? I can always stay on with my friend in town." Sam looked down at the fire and Dean cleared his throat.
"Sam…I'd count it a favor if you stayed." He waited for Sam's answer, Sam stared into the bottom of his cup, and just when Dean decided that he'd get no answer from him, he nodded. Dean was content with that as his answer.
The last rays of the sun were swallowed in thick swatches of pink and red, they bled into violet as the day faded out to night, and the stars came out, one by one, until they filled the sky. This part of camping, Dean had always liked: the quiet, the way the smell of coffee wove through the smell of the burning wood, the dry, clinging, almost salty scent of dust. Sagebrush and grass added their scent as the horses movement bruised the leaves…he could almost imagine Pa crouched on the other side of the fire, stirring up batter for hoecakes, humming a song, or about to launch into some tall tale, or lesson….
The daydream broke, the familiar smells suddenly made odd by the bundle of herbs Sam tossed on the fire. He'd made a wide circle of ash and salt around their bedrolls, closing them in. Sam had looked almost content when that was done, even smiled a little. The dog trotted around the outside edge of the grayish black ring, nose to the ground and a look of deep concentration on his face. Dean noted that he carefully avoided stepping on or disturbing the ring in any way. When the dog was done, he sat with a satisfied huff, his face wrinkled in a way that made Dean laugh—seemed the dog approved of Sam's efforts.
Sam stood to fuss with the fire, shook the coffee pot and smiled at the slosh within. His duster flapped about the back of his legs as he crouched to refill their cups, Dean saw that hat he hated so much, stuffed down in a pocket. Damn thing—it had an ugly life of its own. Dean swore when the man put it on, it was like iron doors slamming shut on his heart. Dean could practically see the life drain out of him…maybe he could see to Sam losing it on the trail somewhere. Dean broke out a flask from his pack, and splashed a little whiskey in with their coffee. They shared another cigarette and chatted comfortably, Sam carefully explained what each symbol painted on the horse's withers meant, and Dean taught him a short prayer in a language Sam said he'd never heard before. Dean told him it was from the land his pa had been stolen from, and that it was all Pa had had left of it, after his family had been sold away from him.
They crouched around the fire, gulping coffee gone twice strong and bitter as sin—just the way Dean liked it. Sam grimaced when Dedn loudly expressed his enjoyment of it. "I'm tellin' ya man, when we get to Missouri's I'm having a decent cup of coffee—white and sweet."
"Girl's coffee. A real man takes it black."
Sam gave Dean a hot look. "A real man takes it any way he can get it."
Dean shivered. Licked ash dry lips. "Is that right?" He was coming to enjoy Sam's version of flirting—part threat, part promise.
Sam set his cup down. "It's been my experience."
"We need to get some sleep, get on the trail early…."
Sam shrugged his coat off, leaned closer to Dean and smirked. "Town ain't gonna disappear."
Dean cursed, and grabbed Sam by the back of the neck, jerked him close. He wanted to throw him down, and maul him, wipe that sneer off his smart mouth, make him scream and shake…but he pressed dry lips to his mouth instead, taking his time, coaxing Sam into a real kiss and ignoring his frustrated whine. It took some minutes for the tense line of Sam's shoulders to fold, for him to open to Dean the way Dean wanted him to.
"You…God, wish you'd stop," Sam groaned but he was trapped by Dean, caged up in his arms and weak against him. Sam slid around in Dean's lap, let Dean move him any way he wanted. Let his arms be looped around Dean's neck, let his head be pulled back, let Dean explore his neck, nip at the soft underside of his jaw, let Dean suck and gnaw his way through the open collar of his shirt.
"Take this off," he rasped and straight away, Sam yanked his shirt off and let it drop. Dean shivered, moaned a little. Sam, so much power, so much anger, controlled and leashed at Dean's whim. He was hard, and so hot, and every time Sam shifted on his lap, his prick jerked and leaked. It was more than heady, it was maddening. "Get your pants open," he demanded, voice cracking with the excitement rushing through him.
Sam worked at the buttons, all his attention centered downwards, concentrated on what his fingers did. Too concentrated….
Dean tucked fingers under Sam's chin and raised it to look in his eyes and his excitement dried right up. "Sam?" Sam's eyes were blank, nothing in them, no heat. Dean covered Sam's fumbling fingers, squeezed just a little…"All right, Sam. Stop."
"I can…what do you want me to do? Beg? That's okay, I can do tha—"
Dean let himself drop flat to the ground, so hard that dust puffed out from under his legs and he groaned, long and loud. The dog, startled awake, snarled at him from the shadows.
"You're straight out going to kill me, or make me go crazy. I'ma tell you this again and…I guess keep on telling you 'til you believe it, you great big grizzly idiot. I like you. I like all of you, all ten feet a' surly ass that you are."
Sam was still hanging over him, his eyes locked on Dean's. They narrowed, his mouth tightened and Dean waited for his usual cutting remarks. The boy had a tongue like a razor, and Dean's chest tightened waiting for the first slice. Instead, Sam huffed out a short, soft laugh. It grew, until Sam was laughing, a real, straight from the belly sort of laugh that Dean felt right down to his toes. It was…amazing.
"Dean Kane, who the hell are you? Where do you come from, and how do you do this to me?" Sam sat back on his heels and wiped at his eyes. "Swear to god, I ain't laughed like this since that time Caleb stepped on a cat and it beat the hell outa him." His eyes softened and he smiled at Dean and Dean…fell. Fell hard, fell complete and he knew from now on, there was no possible way on God's green earth he'd be able to draw breath without having that smile in his life forever. Now, all he had to do was get Sam to agree with that. Dean figured what he wanted amounted to trying to lasso a tornado…well, he'd just have to make sure he had rope enough.
The kiss this time was hotter, deeper, but all of Sam was in it, and Dean felt the difference. It was like a summer lightning storm, all energy and sizzle and sharp metal taste on the tongue. Sam's had worked between the two of them and managed Dean's buttons with one hand; the other held Dean's head still while he kissed him. Sam made short work of gathering their pricks together in one hand—Dean jerked and pearly slick dripped on to the bare skin of his hip. Sam's hands were so big, so hot. He groaned and pumped his hips as Sam began to work the two of them together.
"So smooth, God, like velvet, smell so good, so hot…" he took his hand away and Dean growled and tried to yank it back…he was forced to watch instead as Sam licked his palm, sucked on his fingers. He threw Dean a crooked little half smile, a wicked light flared in his eyes. "Just wanted a preview of how we're gonna taste together," he said, and Dean shuddered and groaned, his hips rolled in Sam's renewed grip.
"Come on Dean, I'm almost there, how bout you? Feel it? When we hit town, we're getting a room and you're gonna fuck me 'til I scream, 'til you fill me up inside, I'm gonna choke myself on your prick—"
"God—shut up—fuck!" Dean felt that summer storm explode inside him, white hot and pouring out of his prick, pumping come across both of them, and Sam hissed and added his own to the mix. Dean folded until his head flopped down on Sam's shoulder. He blew a long, shaky, satisfied breath against Sam's neck.
"Dean…" Sam's hand slid up his shaft as he pulled away, calluses dragging and catching under the head and dragging another roll and pump of the hips out of Dean. Sam snorted softly before raising his hand. His tongue ran up the center of his palm, worked to lick up creamy slick webbed between his fingers, dripping down his wrist, with that same concentration he used to clean his rifle or put an edge on his knife.
Dean watched open-mouthed, could just barely hear the contented little grunts Sam gave, sucking his fingers clean. His prick gave a half-hearted twitch, too spent to do more. Still the sight made an ache rise in his gut, and he groaned, "Good God almighty, you son ofa bitch, you're gonna be the death of me."
Sam smiled at him, his eyes glazed, soft, his whole face soft and smoothed out and if Dean didn't know the man, he'd say he looked happy. Sam ran his tongue over his fingers one final time and said, "You taste good—we taste good together."
"Jesus." Dean worked his handkerchief out of his back pocket. Grabbed Sam's wet hand, and cleaned him, the both of them, as best he could. Tomorrow, they'd take some of their water and do a better job. Right now…he just needed to sleep.
Sam shuffled off to his bedroll before Dean could hold him to his. He slumped down, already mostly asleep. Dean watched him for a bit before slipping off himself.
He opened his eyes, and caught Sam staring at him through the flames. The fire seemed to have grown instead of banked, and Sam was smiling, that same cruel half-hook of a smile that sometimes made Dean hold his breath looking at him. Here though…here the smile wasn't directed at himself. Here it was meant for *Dean*. The boy's eyes shifted like a prairie fire, from green to yellow and back….
'Hello Dean. You look…well rested.' Sam's tongue darted out and wet the bow of his lip. 'Now what is it that brings you out here with dear little Sammy? Bring him to me, and I'll tell you what your father did. Take off that bag, and I'll come to you, and tell you who you fucked.'
Dean looked down on the medicine bag and twisted the thong in his hand. Shook his head. Said, 'Don’t know who you are, but you leave Sam alone. He ain't never hurt nobody.'
'Are you kidding? Sam's a natural born killer, bred in the blood. He likes it. Loves it. Wants to bathe in it, drink it like—' the thing in Sam snapped his fingers. 'Getting ahead of myself.' The Sam Thing leaned forward, and looked at Dean with an expression of compete sincerity. 'His blood is bad. It's sick. It will make you sick,' it said, slowly, as if Dean was the touched thing everyone thought he was. 'The only way to help him is to kill him. If you kill him now, it will only save you the trouble later—'
"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus—" Dean had no idea where the words came from but his lips formed them without conscious thought, his breath forced them out into the air….
The Sam Thing reared back, hissed, and it was ugly on Sam's face. Sam's mouth gaped, he arched and shook on the ground as a black cloud vomited out of him and raced skyward.
Dean blinked, and woke to his blankets rolled up too tight around him, the fabric taut across his throat and his lungs aching. His stomach cramped and he shuddered as he worked himself free. Those eyes…they were the eyes that had haunted his dreams for years…those sickly, yolk yellow eyes….
In the morning, Sam brushed the salt and ash into the dirt, and stoked the coals of their fire until flames reached high again. Sam noticed Dean was up and jerked his head to the flat rocks barely outside the fire ring. "Making coffee—did some biscuits. Bacon too," and Dean woke up all the way—the smell of bacon made his stomach growl. Sam laughed when the dog jerked and glared at Dean. "I'd say it was past time for your breakfast."
Dean ate, dragging pretty good biscuits Sam had made through the bacon grease and watched Sam prepare coffee. When he was done, he shoved his fist into the duster's deep pocket, and pulled out that hat. That fucking ugly crap hat.
"Don’t put it on," he said. "Sam, don’t put that hat on."
Sam stopped in the middle of sweeping his hair back to settle the hat on his head. "What? 'Sjust a damn hat--"
"So it's just a hat. Look, maybe I'm being foolish—okay, I am being foolish but I hate that hat. You put that double-damned thing on and--and you shrink, or something. It's like. It puts you in the shade."
Sam snorted. "No doubt about you being a fool, Dean. You putting an awful lot on a scruffy old hat."
"Then give it to me, please. Just…I'll hold it for you," he said and Sam's eyes went wide, his mouth twisted like he tasted something bad.
"No! Don't—don't touch it. I won't wear it, okay?" He stared at Dean and Dean felt…not like he'd won something or that he'd made Sam bow to his will. He felt like he'd warned a friend off of stepping on a rattler, or putting his foot down on a wolf trap. Sam nodded, and stood. Shook out the hat. Turned it this way and that in his hands, nearly bit a hole though his lip. And just like that, flung it into the fire.
"There. Fuck you. Fuck you, I'm better than that," he muttered, so low Dean almost didn't catch it. He certainly made no comment. His pa didn't raise a fool.
Sam turned his face to Dean and he looked purely terrified, his green-brown eyes almost black with it.
"Don’t you worry none, Sam. I'll get you a new hat in town. Swear I will. In fact—here. You take mine until we get you a new one."
Sam stared at Dean like he'd offered him a hand, or some vital organ…he turned his face way and snorted like he thought Dean was a fool but what Dean could see of the boy was a bright red and the dog was staring at him, and wagging it's tail like Sam had done something clever. He fiddled with the narrow brimmed hat until it set comfortably on his head. His eyes glowed like it was Christmas morn…like Dean had handed him a treasure instead of a cast off bowler of Pa's gone soft with age.
Dean wanted, with all his might, for that to be true. He was going to get Sam a fine new hat, and he was going to make that gun for him and he hoped to God that they'd put that demon to rest—all of Sam's demon's to rest--once and for all.
part 31
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