SpN: Public Enemies (part 4 of 4)
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roxyTitle: Public Enemies Book One/ part 4 of 4
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Sam/Dean, John Winchester, original characters
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2378
Summary: a 1920s AU very loosely based on the film, Public Enemy.
Notes/Warnings: abuse, dub-con, harsh images, morally challenged Sam, troubled Dean. There are hints of abuse, physical and sexual, but nothing terribly graphic. The rating is for the overall fic—it varies according to update. The fic features the boys at a very young age.
The brick front of 445 Greenstone Street was clean and new, and nothing like the crumbling, smoke streaked building Dean and he lived in. There weren't potted trees on the steps of their building, or brass numbers nailed over the doorway. Sam stood on the sidewalk and gawked—it was like another world, and Dean came here almost every day. Sam peered about and decided, somehow, someway, he'd make himself part of this world too.
A few men in cheap suits were standing around the steps, leaning on the step's railing, leaning against the ironwork gate closing off the alleyway. Chatting idly, they gave every impression of lounging, but Sam could see that they were more than aware, every one of them--their eyes were never still, darting back and forth and up and down the street, tracking movement like cats at a mouse hole. They were restless; they were pretending to be still. They smiled and laughed and pretended not to be killers. A twitch, a turn, revealed bulges high on their sides, under those jackets. The idea of them all strapped and deadly sent a shiver down Sam's back, a tingling rush swept through him and he wanted to be closer, to touch those guns, and those clean, neat jackets.
One of the gunsels propped a foot on the stair, buffed a spotless spat clean of imaginary dust. Jerked his chin Sam's way. "Hey, boys, looks like the zoo lost a monkey, hunh?"
They laughed raucously and Sam just stared them down. He picked out a big guy leaning against the door. "I want to see Mr. Assasi," he said, and the group laughed even harder, leaning on each other as they did.
The front door flew open, startling everyone. "What the fuck? What're you doing out here? We gotta party goin' on here? Leave the little shit alone and get back on your business, damn it. Fuckin' ama-toors." The fat man standing in the door dismissed Sam and concentrated his ire on the bodyguards, who quieted and slid back to their places.
"Hey," Sam yelled. "I want to see Mr. Assasi!" Sam knew he was close to his goal but it frustrated him not to be taken seriously. He glared at the fat man and now the fat man did turn eyes to him. He glared right back, but there was something in the fat man's eyes, some interest—some amusement that wasn't necessarily cruel…Sam took a deep breath and went on. "I said I wanna see Mr. Assasi. He knows me."
The fat man blinked, and then laughed aloud—a nice laugh, Sam thought. Deep. Booming, his belly shook with the force of it. "Well, you got one hell of a nerve, that's for sure. G'wan, ya little shit—beat it. Mr. A don’t know you."
"Yes he does. I'm Sam Winchester and he knows my brother, Dean."
Chuckles trailed off as the fat man calmed. He wiped at his eyes, looking Sam up and down as he did. He frowned thoughtfully. "The lil' chauffer, that's your brother? Hunh. Tell ya what. I'mma ask Mr. A if he want's ta see a crabby little midget. Ya better hope he's in a good mood, Pudgy. Wait here."
Pudgy? Sam huffed and let it go. It was worth it if he could get Assasi to go along with his…okay, maybe it was a kinda crazy plan, but it was the only one he had, and if it worked…well, all of this would be worth it. Sam looked smugly at the crew of thugs frowning at him. He tried to look unconcerned; he nodded at them, rocked back on his boot heels, hands shoved in his pockets.
"Whata you looking' at, lard butt?" one of the men snarled. "Louie's gonna come back here with a tommy gun and blow your fat little head off," he snapped.
"Fuck you," Sam muttered, watched the door, and acted as if he hadn't a care in the world. He knew how to ignore that sort of thing, and he swallowed the sting down without much thought.
The fat man--Louie—was at the door again. "The boss says you should come in. I'm warnin' ya, Pudge, ya better be tellin' the truth. Mr. Assasi ain't gonna take kindly to you trying to spread shinola up here. He's a whole lotta things, but patient ain't onea them."
"I'm on the level—he'll know," Sam said, his voice full with every bit of the confidence he didn't feel and stepped into the house, smirking at the open-mouthed thugs.
* * * * * *
Louie led the way, and Sam grinned at how much space the man took up, wide as the front door he was, and for some reason, smelled of ginger. He looked behind him once or twice, marking Sam's progress but his expression was uninterested, blank. Sam stumbled a little, so intent was he on his surrounding. It was gangbusters—swankier than any place he and Dean had ever seen in the movies, and it smelled nice, even better than the library, or school. Sure not a bit like their tiny room, not a bit like rot and damp. It smelled like wood smoke and apples. They walked down a hallway paneled in a warm dark wood, the carpet underfoot was so thick, he desperately wanted to take his shoes off and run barefoot, squeeze his toes in it…it was bright and all swirly with pattern and color. Turkish. He knew what it was called; the old lady whose cat had gone…missing…had one in her parlor, but not nearly as fine as this one.
The big man opened a set of double doors and jerked his chin. "G'wan, he's waiting for ya."
Sam froze. The room was gigantic, just the thought of walking into it scared him. There was a long couch at one side of the room, behind it lots of windows covered with blue velvet drapes. Over each tall window was a smaller, half-moon shaped window made of colored glass, and book cases everywhere, and all of them stuffed with books. Sam gaped. He'd never seen so many books in one place before, not besides the library. He didn't know that people could have so many of their own books. His fingers itched to touch. At one corner of the room was a desk big enough to dance on and behind it sat a very handsome man. Tall, with dark blonde hair, and pale brown eyes, almost the color of whisky. He stood, and his clothes…Sam envied him those fine clothes. He imagined the man had them made to fit. They fit very nicely. The man pointed at a chair with a high back and fat cushions to one side of his desk, and Sam figured he wanted him to sit. Sam dropped down on it, startled for a second—it was like sitting on marshmallows. He covered as best he could, sat back, clasped his hands and fixed Assasi with a narrow glare. He got an assessing gaze in return.
"So…you're my boy's little brother, eh? The famous Sam I hear so much of…"
Sam felt a deep rush of pleasure, to think that Dean had spoken of him to this man. That was good. He hoped that this was the man who'd save his brother.
"Oh yeah, every time I see him, it's Sam this, and Sam that…Sam alla time, with him…" The man came around the desk and looked Sam over, slow, considering. The weight of his glance kept Sam pinned to the chair. Sam tilted his head back to keep him in sight. Mr. Assasi was…frightening, but also, fascinating.
Mr. Assasi leaned over the wingchair, trapping Sam between the chair and his body. Heat came off the man like a radiator, along the faint smell of sweat and bay rum…."So now you tell me what you're doing here and why I shouldn't put you out on the trash heap, eh?" He smiled, a wide toothy slash devoid of humor or warmth and Sam felt the weirdest urge, an urge to tell the man everything, about how he felt and what he wanted and how he longed for something he couldn't quite put a name on but he was sure this man could. Mr. Assasi…he wondered what the man thought of him, of Dean. Did he remember his father, did he remember his dead mother…?
"You're really Dean's friend?" Sam asked and his voice shook—he scowled. Didn't want the man to think he was afraid. He was. But the hell if he wanted that to show.
"His friend?" The man laughed. Brown-gold eyebrows rose high, a lot like Dean's did when he stumbled over the absurd. "His friend hunh?" This time there was a bit of warmth in the smile he gave Sam. "Sure. Sure I'm his friend. Me and Dean-o. We're good friends. Why you wanna know?"
"Because I know Dean would do anything you ask, so I'm asking you to do something for Dean."
"Oh yeah? You wanna favor, putto? Ha. You ain't got nothing I want. You know, grown men, that's how they do favors. They barter—you know what that means? Yeah? They trade one thing wanted for another. Tell me what you have I want."
Sam stared right into the whiskey colored eyes, stared so hard they were all he saw. "Us. You want us because we're Winchesters and people still speak of it. What my dad did, what you did. So…if you have us, you take everything that man ever had. For revenge."
Mr. Assasi stared at Sam for a long, silent moment and Sam wondered if he'd played it wrong and if he'd just bought Dean even more trouble than was coming his way. If Assasi didn't go for this, Dean's time on this earth was short, miserable and headed for Albert and Percy's useless, rotten, end…unless Sam gave up everything for him. If this deal didn't work, he would give everything--he would kill Boggy and not even care. The hell with caring, he'd like doing it.
"You're something else—you're a smart little boy, ah? But wrong. You have no loyalty to your father? That's bad. That's not a good thing, to give up blood. La famiglia The family, this is everything."
Sam shook his head. "He's not my dad. He said so. He said a lot of times I'm not his." Sam said it with a depth of conviction that startled even himself, and ignored all the times the man had pulled him into his lap and cried snot and tears over him, begging forgiveness and swearing to the heavens and his dead wife how much he loved Sam, how Sam was his favorite and his reason for living….
Mr. Assasi walked back around the hulk of his desk, sat and waved his hand like he was bored but willing to give Sam a chance. "Go on. You offer me a deal--now tell me why you wanna deal."
"Boggy. He's messing with Dean, he's gonna end up doing Dean the way he did some guys lived with him, Percy and Albert. They've been in the paper, the "innocent angels" found dead in the river?"
Mr. Assasi stared at Sam, his fingers steepled under his chin. His face was calm but Sam saw his eyes were burning. "So. He thinks he can bother with Dean? I don’t think this is a good thing."
"Well, either does Dean," Sam snapped, "but he does it to help me. If you hired him he wouldn't have to."
"Eh." The bored look was back in force. Mr. Assasi leaned back in his chair. "What's he gonna do for me, putto? What am I gonna do with two little boys? You can't hold a gun, you gonna be a bodyguard? Bite my enemies inna ass?"
"He could take care of your cars, he could run errands, he could do a lot. I'm nothing but it don’t matter. I want Dean to be safe, that's all." Sam fought to keep the emotion off his face, but he felt his cheeks flush and his eyes pricked.
The man smiled, drew circles on the desk, and Sam found he couldn't stop staring at the hypnotic movements. He stared so hard and so long he felt a little dizzy. "Well…I'll think about it. But let me ask you somethin' now. You want me to kill that guy Boggs?"
Sam shook his head. "No. You need him. You can't kill him." Sam didn't say that one day, killing Boggs would be his treat, but Assasi seemed to know that Sam was feeling something like that. He looked almost…fond.
"You got business sense. You want revenge but not at the expense of business. Smart. You tell your brother come here tonight." He stood and Sam stood, headed towards the door.
"Hey." Assasi stopped him. "You go ahead and bring your stuff. You both can stay here with me. And I'll talk to Boggs; tell him to leave my friend Dean-o alone, okay? And remember, putto, business is like cars--parts get old, don't work so good anymore. You gotta take 'em out an' get new ones…capisce?"
Sam smiled, suddenly flooded with pleasure so intense it made him feel a little too hot, a little woozy. "Yeah, I get it. Yeah, thanks. We'll do anything for you, anything."
Assasi laughed out loud and it echoed strangely in the room. "Oh, I know you will. We're going to be close, you and me. We're going to be good friends, angel-boy, good friends."
Sam thought about that, and what it meant. He was sure there'd be a further price to pay but right now, he was satisfied. He nodded. Louie came in again, and led Sam out the big oak doors. Sam glanced over his shoulder for a last look at Assasi. The man was sitting at his desk, eyes still on Sam. In the weird light cast by the colored glass window, his eyes danced from whiskey gold, to ink, to red….
* * * * * *
"You did what?" Dean jumped out of the rickety kitchen chair, sent it skittering back against the wall. His eyes were wide and wild, like he couldn't believe that it was really Sam in front of him—like maybe Sam had turned into something out of his nightmares. "He what? Are you nuts? You coulda got us both…damn it Sammy!"
"Dean, no, he's gonna look out for us, and he's gonna kick the shit outa Boggy, the bastard, and he said we could live with him, really he did."
Dean looked like he wanted to pop him one, but he grabbed Sam's shoulders a little too tight and shook until his teeth clacked together—it was so unfair, just because he was older and taller—Sam ripped away from Dean, rubbing his shoulder resentfully. He let his eyes fill and Dean softened—of course. "Fuck, Sam, don’t you get it yet? No body does anything nice unless they expect to get paid back. Worse, guys like this don't tell you what the price is gonna be...an' don't talk like some hood, I raised you bettern' that didn't I? Come here." He pulled Sam to the bed, and pulled and shifted him until they were curled close to one another. Sam rolled the last few inches into Dean, melted against him and sighed happily.
"It's going to be good, Dean, just you wait. It's going to be everything we never had before, like…steak when we want, an' cake, an' candy, an' ice cream every Sunday. You'll see."
Book Two
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Sam/Dean, John Winchester, original characters
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2378
Summary: a 1920s AU very loosely based on the film, Public Enemy.
Notes/Warnings: abuse, dub-con, harsh images, morally challenged Sam, troubled Dean. There are hints of abuse, physical and sexual, but nothing terribly graphic. The rating is for the overall fic—it varies according to update. The fic features the boys at a very young age.
The brick front of 445 Greenstone Street was clean and new, and nothing like the crumbling, smoke streaked building Dean and he lived in. There weren't potted trees on the steps of their building, or brass numbers nailed over the doorway. Sam stood on the sidewalk and gawked—it was like another world, and Dean came here almost every day. Sam peered about and decided, somehow, someway, he'd make himself part of this world too.
A few men in cheap suits were standing around the steps, leaning on the step's railing, leaning against the ironwork gate closing off the alleyway. Chatting idly, they gave every impression of lounging, but Sam could see that they were more than aware, every one of them--their eyes were never still, darting back and forth and up and down the street, tracking movement like cats at a mouse hole. They were restless; they were pretending to be still. They smiled and laughed and pretended not to be killers. A twitch, a turn, revealed bulges high on their sides, under those jackets. The idea of them all strapped and deadly sent a shiver down Sam's back, a tingling rush swept through him and he wanted to be closer, to touch those guns, and those clean, neat jackets.
One of the gunsels propped a foot on the stair, buffed a spotless spat clean of imaginary dust. Jerked his chin Sam's way. "Hey, boys, looks like the zoo lost a monkey, hunh?"
They laughed raucously and Sam just stared them down. He picked out a big guy leaning against the door. "I want to see Mr. Assasi," he said, and the group laughed even harder, leaning on each other as they did.
The front door flew open, startling everyone. "What the fuck? What're you doing out here? We gotta party goin' on here? Leave the little shit alone and get back on your business, damn it. Fuckin' ama-toors." The fat man standing in the door dismissed Sam and concentrated his ire on the bodyguards, who quieted and slid back to their places.
"Hey," Sam yelled. "I want to see Mr. Assasi!" Sam knew he was close to his goal but it frustrated him not to be taken seriously. He glared at the fat man and now the fat man did turn eyes to him. He glared right back, but there was something in the fat man's eyes, some interest—some amusement that wasn't necessarily cruel…Sam took a deep breath and went on. "I said I wanna see Mr. Assasi. He knows me."
The fat man blinked, and then laughed aloud—a nice laugh, Sam thought. Deep. Booming, his belly shook with the force of it. "Well, you got one hell of a nerve, that's for sure. G'wan, ya little shit—beat it. Mr. A don’t know you."
"Yes he does. I'm Sam Winchester and he knows my brother, Dean."
Chuckles trailed off as the fat man calmed. He wiped at his eyes, looking Sam up and down as he did. He frowned thoughtfully. "The lil' chauffer, that's your brother? Hunh. Tell ya what. I'mma ask Mr. A if he want's ta see a crabby little midget. Ya better hope he's in a good mood, Pudgy. Wait here."
Pudgy? Sam huffed and let it go. It was worth it if he could get Assasi to go along with his…okay, maybe it was a kinda crazy plan, but it was the only one he had, and if it worked…well, all of this would be worth it. Sam looked smugly at the crew of thugs frowning at him. He tried to look unconcerned; he nodded at them, rocked back on his boot heels, hands shoved in his pockets.
"Whata you looking' at, lard butt?" one of the men snarled. "Louie's gonna come back here with a tommy gun and blow your fat little head off," he snapped.
"Fuck you," Sam muttered, watched the door, and acted as if he hadn't a care in the world. He knew how to ignore that sort of thing, and he swallowed the sting down without much thought.
The fat man--Louie—was at the door again. "The boss says you should come in. I'm warnin' ya, Pudge, ya better be tellin' the truth. Mr. Assasi ain't gonna take kindly to you trying to spread shinola up here. He's a whole lotta things, but patient ain't onea them."
"I'm on the level—he'll know," Sam said, his voice full with every bit of the confidence he didn't feel and stepped into the house, smirking at the open-mouthed thugs.
Louie led the way, and Sam grinned at how much space the man took up, wide as the front door he was, and for some reason, smelled of ginger. He looked behind him once or twice, marking Sam's progress but his expression was uninterested, blank. Sam stumbled a little, so intent was he on his surrounding. It was gangbusters—swankier than any place he and Dean had ever seen in the movies, and it smelled nice, even better than the library, or school. Sure not a bit like their tiny room, not a bit like rot and damp. It smelled like wood smoke and apples. They walked down a hallway paneled in a warm dark wood, the carpet underfoot was so thick, he desperately wanted to take his shoes off and run barefoot, squeeze his toes in it…it was bright and all swirly with pattern and color. Turkish. He knew what it was called; the old lady whose cat had gone…missing…had one in her parlor, but not nearly as fine as this one.
The big man opened a set of double doors and jerked his chin. "G'wan, he's waiting for ya."
Sam froze. The room was gigantic, just the thought of walking into it scared him. There was a long couch at one side of the room, behind it lots of windows covered with blue velvet drapes. Over each tall window was a smaller, half-moon shaped window made of colored glass, and book cases everywhere, and all of them stuffed with books. Sam gaped. He'd never seen so many books in one place before, not besides the library. He didn't know that people could have so many of their own books. His fingers itched to touch. At one corner of the room was a desk big enough to dance on and behind it sat a very handsome man. Tall, with dark blonde hair, and pale brown eyes, almost the color of whisky. He stood, and his clothes…Sam envied him those fine clothes. He imagined the man had them made to fit. They fit very nicely. The man pointed at a chair with a high back and fat cushions to one side of his desk, and Sam figured he wanted him to sit. Sam dropped down on it, startled for a second—it was like sitting on marshmallows. He covered as best he could, sat back, clasped his hands and fixed Assasi with a narrow glare. He got an assessing gaze in return.
"So…you're my boy's little brother, eh? The famous Sam I hear so much of…"
Sam felt a deep rush of pleasure, to think that Dean had spoken of him to this man. That was good. He hoped that this was the man who'd save his brother.
"Oh yeah, every time I see him, it's Sam this, and Sam that…Sam alla time, with him…" The man came around the desk and looked Sam over, slow, considering. The weight of his glance kept Sam pinned to the chair. Sam tilted his head back to keep him in sight. Mr. Assasi was…frightening, but also, fascinating.
Mr. Assasi leaned over the wingchair, trapping Sam between the chair and his body. Heat came off the man like a radiator, along the faint smell of sweat and bay rum…."So now you tell me what you're doing here and why I shouldn't put you out on the trash heap, eh?" He smiled, a wide toothy slash devoid of humor or warmth and Sam felt the weirdest urge, an urge to tell the man everything, about how he felt and what he wanted and how he longed for something he couldn't quite put a name on but he was sure this man could. Mr. Assasi…he wondered what the man thought of him, of Dean. Did he remember his father, did he remember his dead mother…?
"You're really Dean's friend?" Sam asked and his voice shook—he scowled. Didn't want the man to think he was afraid. He was. But the hell if he wanted that to show.
"His friend?" The man laughed. Brown-gold eyebrows rose high, a lot like Dean's did when he stumbled over the absurd. "His friend hunh?" This time there was a bit of warmth in the smile he gave Sam. "Sure. Sure I'm his friend. Me and Dean-o. We're good friends. Why you wanna know?"
"Because I know Dean would do anything you ask, so I'm asking you to do something for Dean."
"Oh yeah? You wanna favor, putto? Ha. You ain't got nothing I want. You know, grown men, that's how they do favors. They barter—you know what that means? Yeah? They trade one thing wanted for another. Tell me what you have I want."
Sam stared right into the whiskey colored eyes, stared so hard they were all he saw. "Us. You want us because we're Winchesters and people still speak of it. What my dad did, what you did. So…if you have us, you take everything that man ever had. For revenge."
Mr. Assasi stared at Sam for a long, silent moment and Sam wondered if he'd played it wrong and if he'd just bought Dean even more trouble than was coming his way. If Assasi didn't go for this, Dean's time on this earth was short, miserable and headed for Albert and Percy's useless, rotten, end…unless Sam gave up everything for him. If this deal didn't work, he would give everything--he would kill Boggy and not even care. The hell with caring, he'd like doing it.
"You're something else—you're a smart little boy, ah? But wrong. You have no loyalty to your father? That's bad. That's not a good thing, to give up blood. La famiglia The family, this is everything."
Sam shook his head. "He's not my dad. He said so. He said a lot of times I'm not his." Sam said it with a depth of conviction that startled even himself, and ignored all the times the man had pulled him into his lap and cried snot and tears over him, begging forgiveness and swearing to the heavens and his dead wife how much he loved Sam, how Sam was his favorite and his reason for living….
Mr. Assasi walked back around the hulk of his desk, sat and waved his hand like he was bored but willing to give Sam a chance. "Go on. You offer me a deal--now tell me why you wanna deal."
"Boggy. He's messing with Dean, he's gonna end up doing Dean the way he did some guys lived with him, Percy and Albert. They've been in the paper, the "innocent angels" found dead in the river?"
Mr. Assasi stared at Sam, his fingers steepled under his chin. His face was calm but Sam saw his eyes were burning. "So. He thinks he can bother with Dean? I don’t think this is a good thing."
"Well, either does Dean," Sam snapped, "but he does it to help me. If you hired him he wouldn't have to."
"Eh." The bored look was back in force. Mr. Assasi leaned back in his chair. "What's he gonna do for me, putto? What am I gonna do with two little boys? You can't hold a gun, you gonna be a bodyguard? Bite my enemies inna ass?"
"He could take care of your cars, he could run errands, he could do a lot. I'm nothing but it don’t matter. I want Dean to be safe, that's all." Sam fought to keep the emotion off his face, but he felt his cheeks flush and his eyes pricked.
The man smiled, drew circles on the desk, and Sam found he couldn't stop staring at the hypnotic movements. He stared so hard and so long he felt a little dizzy. "Well…I'll think about it. But let me ask you somethin' now. You want me to kill that guy Boggs?"
Sam shook his head. "No. You need him. You can't kill him." Sam didn't say that one day, killing Boggs would be his treat, but Assasi seemed to know that Sam was feeling something like that. He looked almost…fond.
"You got business sense. You want revenge but not at the expense of business. Smart. You tell your brother come here tonight." He stood and Sam stood, headed towards the door.
"Hey." Assasi stopped him. "You go ahead and bring your stuff. You both can stay here with me. And I'll talk to Boggs; tell him to leave my friend Dean-o alone, okay? And remember, putto, business is like cars--parts get old, don't work so good anymore. You gotta take 'em out an' get new ones…capisce?"
Sam smiled, suddenly flooded with pleasure so intense it made him feel a little too hot, a little woozy. "Yeah, I get it. Yeah, thanks. We'll do anything for you, anything."
Assasi laughed out loud and it echoed strangely in the room. "Oh, I know you will. We're going to be close, you and me. We're going to be good friends, angel-boy, good friends."
Sam thought about that, and what it meant. He was sure there'd be a further price to pay but right now, he was satisfied. He nodded. Louie came in again, and led Sam out the big oak doors. Sam glanced over his shoulder for a last look at Assasi. The man was sitting at his desk, eyes still on Sam. In the weird light cast by the colored glass window, his eyes danced from whiskey gold, to ink, to red….
"You did what?" Dean jumped out of the rickety kitchen chair, sent it skittering back against the wall. His eyes were wide and wild, like he couldn't believe that it was really Sam in front of him—like maybe Sam had turned into something out of his nightmares. "He what? Are you nuts? You coulda got us both…damn it Sammy!"
"Dean, no, he's gonna look out for us, and he's gonna kick the shit outa Boggy, the bastard, and he said we could live with him, really he did."
Dean looked like he wanted to pop him one, but he grabbed Sam's shoulders a little too tight and shook until his teeth clacked together—it was so unfair, just because he was older and taller—Sam ripped away from Dean, rubbing his shoulder resentfully. He let his eyes fill and Dean softened—of course. "Fuck, Sam, don’t you get it yet? No body does anything nice unless they expect to get paid back. Worse, guys like this don't tell you what the price is gonna be...an' don't talk like some hood, I raised you bettern' that didn't I? Come here." He pulled Sam to the bed, and pulled and shifted him until they were curled close to one another. Sam rolled the last few inches into Dean, melted against him and sighed happily.
"It's going to be good, Dean, just you wait. It's going to be everything we never had before, like…steak when we want, an' cake, an' candy, an' ice cream every Sunday. You'll see."
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