Someday Never Comes 5

[roxy]

It wasn't hard to see that the 'something odd' that had always been there with those boys was exploding. Maybe it was them growing up, maybe it was the screwed up part of the legacy that fool Winchester left behind, practically stitching those boys together like they were Siamese twins and making sure they thought no one else in the world counted…damn it. No matter how he'd tried to encourage some space between them—no matter how they'd tried to put some space between each other—still they gravitated towards one another like moons and planets--no, like pool balls, bouncing and rebounding off each other, sometimes soft, sometimes hard, with all the hard feeling laid out in the open and those other feelings they thought they were hiding, deep down and festering away.

He dragged a loaded basket of wash out to the little room patched on the back of the kitchen, dropped it on top of the dryer and sighed. Bobby jammed a load of jeans and t-shirts into the washer, threw some powder in. What a screwed up mess. Had been from day one, like it was fucking—destined to be or some shit. He punched the buttons to start the wash a little harder than necessary. Stared at the softly chugging machine. At least this made sense. He grinned sourly.

So, here they were—Dean out of school, Sam in his second year of high school. They'd gone from boys to almost men in the blink of an eye. Time was rushing past him like a damn bullet train. Way past time to talk to Dean about Sam. Hell, he had no idea to go about that. He knew what was going to happen. Dean was gonna be spitting flaming nails for him keeping this shit about Sam to himself. Bobby hoped like hell that it wouldn't drive a wedge between the two of them—he had no idea what it would mean for Dean and Sam. Maybe…maybe this was the distance they needed between them. Because if Dean ever needed to…to....

"Fuck."If he couldn't think about it, how the hell was Dean supposed to? Kinda got why Winchester wanted to hold out on that info. No one liked to think their kid was in mortal danger just by breathing…"Fuck me.

He rubbed hands hard against his face, breathing in great gusts of air, blowing it out between his fingers. A huge part of him just wanted to keep on pretending everything was hunky-dory, and let them get the fuck on with their lives. Hell, his whole fucking household was faking that nothing was going on so damn well, maybe they'd fake it enough to make it take…

"God damn it…" He could hear Karen's voice in his head, asking him if he was crazy as well as a selfish ass. "I know, I know it's…I don't even know how to think about it, sweetheart, let alone talk about it. Soon, I promise, soon." Could a fragment of his mind snort in disbelief?

He sighed. Yeah. Shit, when them boys were sacked out tonight, he was digging out the cheech'n'chong and getting fucking royally toasted.



Dean was blowing through a set of symbols Bobby wanted them to memorize—sigils of protection, the current set mostly Persian origin. Dean never had trouble with the symbols; anything visual was a piece of cake for him, his brain was wired to take things like that in whole. Sam was great at Latin and was shaping up to be excellent concerning language in general but always had problems committing symbols to memory—he didn't see things the same way Dean did. It was a source of frustration for Sam and Bobby was understanding but he refused to give on that point because he knew how valuable knowing them might be to both the boys one day, so--"They might save your life—if I don’t get to you first," he snapped as Sam threw the book onto the table.

"Dean gets it, so why do I have to?"

It was kind of amazing, Bobby thought--there was a pitch that boy could hit that cut through his brain like a—like something sharp. And pointy. He folded his arms tight and tried not to shout. "Because Dean's gonna have a life of his own, boy—you think he's following you wherever you go?" Oh shit...here we go….

Sam's face screwed up in that way that meant he was fighting tears. "'Course not—I don’t wanna be looking over my shoulder and seeing Dean's fat, ugly face back there all the time."

A look of hurt flicked over Dean's face, a second later he was smirking at Sam and if Bobby hadn't been looking dead at him, he'd never have seen it. "Fuck you, Sammy."

"It's Sam—and fuck you back."

And that devolved into a long and graphic argument calling everything about each other into question including what species they were and then suddenly it was all Bobby's fault, he was making Sam do stupid stuff that had no meaning just because he wanted to throw his weight around and he'd never understand what real learning was all about and never get what Sam was all about and right about at that point, Bobby snapped. He slammed both fists down on the table and the whole thing jumped—leaped off the floor and came down with a bang. He took a deep, steadying breath and as calmly as he could said, "Boys, shut the fuck up both of you, 'cause I'm about a one short minute from burying the both of you in the yard. Dean, you make that kid memorize them damn sigils—don’t care how you do it, cut it into his skin if you have to. I'm going out for a walk. Try not to fucking kill each other 'til I get back."

Of course, with his customary complete lack of self-preservation, Sam tried to argue with him anyway—an argument that died when Bobby shot him a look that promised consequences so severe, Sam actually slapped his own hand over his mouth. Bobby smothered a little grin at that before remembering how pissed off he was. He shoved away from the table and stomped out to the yard, twisting his beat-up old Napa cap practically over his eyes. God damn it, John, you musta been a damn saint to have lived with that kid without breaking a foot off in his ass….

He ended up perched on Wes Bannard's battered old '72 Eldorado, the one the old fool wouldn't let loose of. He was just staring up at the star-spattered sky, feeling like a shit lousy parent and a loser. Every time he and Sam had words it just got heated and ugly and he felt like he was losing that boy and god damn it he loved him so much it almost made him sick. He hated how it felt like he was tearin' the boy to pieces. He swallowed hard, again and again, and the stars swam in the sky. "Sorry, I'm making a mess of this, sweetheart. Wish you was here to help." He imagined how disappointed Karen'd be in him right now….

He'd eased himself off the Eldorado's bumper and turned towards the house when suddenly a bony weight hit him painfully hard from behind. He had a moment to think the kid had a head like a cinderblock before a watery voice was spilling out its heart.

"Uncle Bobby, I'm sorry. I don’t mean half the things I say—l love you. Please don’t ever hate me."

Bobby got them turned around, then wrapped his arms around Sam's rangy frame. "Ya idjit. I couldn't ever hate you, ever. Sure, you're a pain in my ass but I love you, Sam, don’t you doubt that."

"I don’t even know why I get so stupid," Sam muttered into Bobby's chest.

"Nature, boy. S'nature's way of making sure you get out of the nest--by making it so shitty stayin' at home you wanna get out there into the world 'n build a family you like."

"That's not true," Sam laughed, wet and thick into Bobby's flannel shirt. "You know you’re the best. You and Dean."

"Yeah, about that…can't you lighten up on your brother some? He's trying his best but…it's different for him, y'know? He only knows John's way how to be, and that's clam up and soldier on 'less a body part's hanging from a string. That, and 'a handshake's as good as a hug maybe better'." That got an amused snort from Sam and he smiled a little.

"I know, I know, it's--he just--frustrates me! He won't look at me. He acts like I don’t exist. An' then I get so stupid mad, I give it right back to him."

"Sam…" Bobby's heart clenched, his gut looped.

"I get it, I'm not really an idiot Bobby, I know acting like that's stupid and wrong but…" he took a few steps away, wiped under his eyes and mumbled "I love my brother—he just doesn't love me."

That loop in his gut tightened. A wave of uneasiness spilled outward from his center. He was sure Sam didn't mean it like it sounded, at least consciously…but there it was. If those boys hadn't figured it out between the two of them yet, it wouldn't take long before they did.



"Sam, I'm telling you, it's not that hard. You just gotta—look at it. Try drawing them a coupla times and then maybe it'll stick in your head. These things are important—they could save your life one day."

"Don’t be ridiculous, that's what guys like Caleb do with their lives, not me. I'm going to college, and then, I'm gonna be a teacher. Or something. I don’t wanna be Bobby and I don’t want to be Caleb, okay? I don’t think he's the shit like you do."

"Sam…" Dean scratched his head frantically, whipping his hair into wild spikes. "Look. Let's not fight."

"Whatever. Hey, I bet you don't know these things as well as you claim, hotshot."

Dean laughed, and jumping on the peace offering, said, "Really? You challenging me, son?"

"Yep, dorkface. And just to make it harder…tell you what. You sit here, and let me try something, okay?" He manhandled Dean off his bed, across the floor and over to Sam's desk, shoved him into the chair and bent him over so suddenly, Dean's head almost hit the surface. He propped his elbows on the desktop and waited, ignoring the hot little flare that zipped through him when Sam's hand had wrapped around the back of his neck and pushed down, hard.

Sam's finger moved a quick swoop of a movement that started out between his shoulder blades and stopped there. Dean didn't even have to think--"Are you kidding? A chimp could get that. It's a sun symbol. "

"Or fire, or unity. Okay, what about this one?" Sam's hand rested, wide and warm, against Dean's shoulder blade and this time he made the mark lower, his fingernail catching on the smooth cotton of Dean's t-shirt. It was a similar movement, capped by Sam poking his finger into the center.

"Air, and are they all gonna be that easy?"

Sam grabbed him up by the back of his t-shirt, and pulled him away from the desk--he was getting tall enough to push Dean around some, and Dean was surprised just how strong Sam was. He reached under Dean's arms, crossed his hands over Dean's chest and fought him away from the desk. Sam's hands all over him and especially under his armpits made him giggle helplessly, at the same time, he felt a little warm tug hook in his gut—lower--he did his best to ignore. Sam's hands shifted and it forced another uneasy giggle from him.

Sam liked him giggling, Dean could tell, even though Sam pushed him pretty hard, so that he fell flat onto the bed on his face and even bounced a bit. That was pretty funny and Dean laughed aloud. The odd feeling flew and it was just him and his annoying little brother again.

"All right, smart ass," Sam crowed. "Let's see you get this one—wait, I got a better idea!" He grabbed a pen off Dean's desk. Pulled Dean's shirt off over his protests.

"Hell no, Sam, no way I'm letting you draw all over me like I'm a notebook." He flailed his arms around and Sam avoided them like a pro, laughing all the while. Kneeled on the bed, and jammed an elbow between Dean's shoulders. Wrote 'Dean is a dick' over the joint--that Dean had no trouble deciphering.

"Don’t be a pussy, dude, it'll wash off." Without warning, he threw a leg over Dean's hips, ended up straddling him. He said quietly, thoughtfully "Let me do one I'm having trouble with—oh crap. Now I gave you a hint."

"Hardly," Dean snorted into his crossed arms. "That's like—all of them." He was tense, pretending to be cool about it but he couldn't ignore just what it felt like to have Sam's fingers on his bare skin, the warmth of his thighs cradling Dean's. He couldn't ignore the irregular puffs of warm air on his back, the heat and firmness of Sam's ass parked right on the swell of his own.

"Fuck you," Sam said but it was distracted, he was already into what he was doing. He smoothed his hand across Dean's back. "So, guess this one." Drew an intricate pattern from the book, and Dean thought…of Sam's fingers, the warmth on his back, Sam's breath skating over his bare skin. Dean froze under Sam, trying to keep still, keep what he was feeling inside, it was just…Sam was holding him down. Pinning him to the bed, And all he could do was try to breathe as the pen slid over him--lift, drop again, slide over his skin. Sam's hand followed, the solid heat of him sank into Dean's body. His eyes were closed and he was dropping into a space made up of Sam's hand, Sam's breath, his smell, his heat…Dean breathed and his dick throbbed, trapped between his skin and his boxers and everything, the whole world.

Sam inhaled sharply and shifted, Dean's heart hammered and his dick twitched. He barely noticed that Sam had pulled away until the cool air made Dean break out in gooseflesh. He was so tuned in to Sam that when he nudged Dean's waist, he lifted his hips without thinking. Suddenly he was bare to his knees, Sam's knuckles moving down the bare skin of Dean's thighs.

No. "Sam—"

"Shhhh." He stroked Dean's back, traced the curve of his spine with a finger, and with his other hand, drew another design. "What is it? Tell me what this design is."

"Seal…protection—no, claiming--ah—"

"That's right…" Sam traced the path of his finger with his tongue, stopped between Dean's shoulder blades and nipped, once, twice, before tracing the knobs of his spine back down to the swell of his ass, teasing in between and confusing Dean so much that when he wanted to pull his legs tighter together, they opened wider. He caught Sam's little sound of satisfaction, felt his finger rock deeper between his cheeks, until the pad caught on the hard furl of muscle. Dean jerked like he'd been tasered.

Sam chuckled breathily and applied a little pressure, rocking, rocking, until Dean felt how soft and open it suddenly went, felt himself open up to Sam's finger like his body wanted to swallow him whole.

Sam groaned, and pushed his face between Dean's shoulders, sweat mingling, running together.

"Sam—Sam. Don't…shit, don't."

Sam pushed his finger in deeper, barely--just one tentative touch, stroking carefully around the softened muscle, not really pushing in deep, just kind of teasing Dean until Dean moaned so loud it embarrassed him.

"Symbols—study—god, stop—please—"

"Come on. Let me. No one's going to know, just you and me, just you and me," Sam muttered over and over, pulled his finger free and pushed himself between Dean's shaking thighs. Sam still had his clothes on, Dean thought wildly, that made it not so bad—it didn't matter he could feel how hot, how hard Sam was, how perfectly Sam's erection scrapped over his sensitized hole and if it wasn't for the layer of denim between them, they'd be actually, really, fucking. Dean swore it wasn't him begging for more, twisting to get more touch, not him….

Sam's mouth was wet and open over the back of Dean's neck, he was biting, almost gnawing into him, words leaked out and spilled over Dean's skin, "need you, want you, love you, mine, always—" burned into him like drops of molten lead. Dean gave it up, all thoughts of don’t and no, were flown, all he could think, could say, was Sam. More. Please.

Sam shuddered against his back and Dean felt sudden bloom of heat against him, heard Sam's breathy, shocked moans. When Dean came moments after, he knew there'd never been a choice but to follow Sam.



He was terrified, confused. He was horrified with himself; full of guilt and most horribly, full of wanting to do it again. He had to do something. Had to fix it or just push Sam away. Make him see how impossible—how wrong it was.



They practiced hand-to-hand for an hour, Sam and Dean alternating dropping each other onto the mats Caleb set up, until finally Sam called enough and headed into the house, to let Bobby know they were ready for dinner. Dean watched him walk away, blew his bangs out of his eyes with a nervous breath. Could feel Caleb watching him; feel his eyes like a weight on the back of his neck. "You ready, Winchester?"

Dean wanted to say no, no fucking way ever….

Caleb and Dean danced around the mat, looking for holds, sizing up potential weakness. There was something about Caleb's smile this day, something in his eyes that had always been there, Dean was beginning to realize, but today, it made Dean’s mouth dry. Made him reluctant to touch…Caleb rushed him and before Dean knew what hit him, he was on his back staring up at the sky—breathless. Caleb’s warm weight held him down, drove the air out of his lungs. Drove a spike of heat right into his dick and made him sweat. Caleb’s eyes looked like endless black pools. Dean couldn’t read him, wasn’t sure…Caleb shifted and Dean clamped down on his lip, struggling to keep a gasp in. He looked away from Caleb—and met Sam's shocked eyes over his shoulder…all he could do was close his own.

Caleb whispered, "Hey," and rolled off Dean. He jumped to his feet and held out his hand and Dean kept his eyes down as Caleb pulled him up. Didn't let his hand go right away. Dean froze, not sure what to do—knowing this was a possible solution, if he was reading this right, this might be a way….

Sam got it before Caleb did. Sam who was way too sharp for his own good. Who stared at Dean until Dean felt ants run under his skin, and he wished…he didn't know what he wished. Didn't matter, it was for both of them.

"Hey…there's an empty shed back behind the parts barn. If…you know. It's there." Dean watched the toe of his Converse dig divots in the dirt, flushed a dramatic shade of red before risking a look at Caleb. What he saw made his heart beat faster, thrilled as well as terrified…and determined to push it. He had to do it. He needed to do this for Sam….

Fire rose up in Caleb's eyes. He licked his lips, nodded. When Dean dared to look past Caleb, Sam was gone.



Bobby jerked out of a doze when the front door slammed shut, hard enough to make the prints on his bedroom wall jump. He heard feet pounding up the stairs, and Sam cursing like a Marine. He was torn between admiration and annoyance. The kid had a range, but he wasn't having that in his house—MFIC after all. The next minute he heard Sam scream like he'd been stabbed—jumped a foot, leapt off the bed and ran. "Damn it boy, what the fucking hell," he muttered and dashed up the boys' stairs, scared something was really was wrong with Sam, ready to take a strip outa his hide if he was just having a Sam attack.

He wanted to bust open the door but stopped with his hand hovering over the doorknob. The boy was crying—not just crying, he was crying like someone just died…"Sammy?"

"Go 'way! Leave me alone!"

"Sam—"

"Please!"

Bobby dropped his hand. This was something…bad. Sam sounded so desperate, so heart breakingly desperate that Bobby felt his chest clench, his eyes water in sympathy. His boy was hurting bad. He reached again for the knob, turned it but Sam called out, "Please Uncle Bobby, I need…just let me be, please?"

Bobby sighed, a long frustrated exhalation that left him light headed and sad. "Sam…come down later. I got hot chocolate." No one had to tell him what a broken heart sounded like. Hell, he didn't even want to know who broke Sam's heart like that. He walked back down the hallway and glanced out the window at the end of the hallway. His heart sank. Dean was standing by Caleb's old Mustang; head down. Caleb leaned close, spoke into Dean's ear and Dean shook his head. Caleb cupped the back of his neck for a second or two before his hand dropped. The whole scene looked…intimate. And revealing. Broken hearts all around, he thought, watching Caleb, all bowed back and head down, shove his stocky frame into that car of his.

It...was what it was. He shook his head. Sent a brief prayer to whoever would listen for Sam and Dean and the tangled, screwed up mess Winchester senior gifted his boys with. Prayed it wasn't all going to end up in screaming and bloodshed. "An' I wish I was kidding, sweetheart," he told his wife.



Dean watched Caleb drive away. Great, now he'd managed to fuck up two peoples lives—three. He listened to the sound of the Mustang tearing out of the yard. Squared his shoulders and headed towards the house like a man to the gallows. He'd done the right thing—he was sure of it. It might have cost him a friend, and cost him a brother—but it was for Sam he'd done it.



Sam was out with his friends—again. The boy hadn't really been home since that one day—always running with a big fake smile plastered across his mug, a "Don't worry, I'm fine," falling out of his mouth. Bobby would worry more if he didn't know the boy's friends, pretty good kids, all of them--still, Sam wasn't the only one acting like a pod person. The more Sam spent away from home, the more Dean smiled. He smiled so hard and empty it set Bobby's teeth on edge. This new thing, where Dean pretended like he wasn't moping all over the house and suffered Sam's dates like a martyr sucked ass. Bobby considered he'd been a damn fool thinking something like Sam getting a life of his own would fix this fucked up situation. His tentative offers of "some kind of…help" were shot down hard and cold each time he tried to open the subject with Dean. Mind, it wasn't like he tried real hard. After all, wasn't like he had a clue how the fuck to open that conversation....

Bobby sighed, cursed himself under his breath. First things first, he thought, and dug out John's journal. He grabbed that and a couple of beers and ended up on the couch next to Dean. Pushed a Bud towards him. "Hey." He placed John's journal on the table in front of him. "It's long past time we talk. It's time you take this thing and see what kind of man your dad really was. What kind of things he fought. And what happened to your family."

Dean reached out for the stained and age-yellowed journal, fingering the brittle edges of papers spilling from it. Stared at him, those big green eyes going impossibly wider, lashes sweeping down and up in confusion. "What's that mean, Bobby? I know what happened. I was there. I know."

"Yeah, well…"Bobby sighed. "There was lots you were too young to know back then. Now, it's important. And way past time you knew. What with, you know, Sam. You and. Unh…circumstances. And situations…ah." Bobby flushed and dropped his eyes , not wanting the boy to see that he knew more than he was letting on about the brothers…wishing he had some way to tell him that it wasn't going to change how everyone felt about each other. Much. First though, they had to deal with John's journal. After that…Bobby upended the can and took a long, breath-stealing, swallow.

Dean stared at him, flushed red, than paled. He swept the journal off the table and stood. "If you don't mind, I'm just gonna go—y'know--private."

Bobby nodded, and watched Dean practically run off to the back yard, probably that damn shed.

It was deep in the break of dawn before Dean came back to him, the book clutched in his hands. His eyes were blank—dark. Sorrow and fear had stolen the light out of them. "Explain to me what Dad meant about Sammy. What the fuck did he mean about Sammy—?"
Part six

Comments

[yahel26.livejournal.com]

Man that made me cry for Sam, really I could feel my heart breaking for him.

[roxymissrose.livejournal.com]

Oh! Sorry to make you sad--though I admit, I'm thrilled that you felt so much for Sam.