dragonspell: (Dean Profile)
dragonspell ([personal profile] dragonspell) wrote2010-08-28 07:42 pm

Fic: SPN (Sam/Dean) Not Long At All | NC-17 | 5430 words

Title: Not Long At All
Author: [livejournal.com profile] dragonspell
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Curtain!fic. Slight spoilers for the very end of season 5. Schmoop and porn.
Summary: It wasn’t long ago that Dean had punched his brother in the face for letting him think that Sam had been dead all those months. It was five years ago to the day that they’d hit Rock City and seven years since Sam had shown up on the doorstep. Compared to those ten months that he’d thought that Sam had been dead, it wasn’t very long at all.
Word Count: 5430



It wasn’t long ago that Dean Winchester tried out dreams that he thought he'd wanted—idle fantasies that he’d never dared to imagine in the light of day. He’d never realized what they’d all entailed but he didn’t think he could be blamed for that. It wasn’t as if he had a lot of experience—just wishful thinking. He’d found out about everything that he’d never let himself consider as a real possibility because of a promise, hard given. He’d learned that the fantasies were just that and not really possibilities after all.

It wasn’t long ago that he tried to be a family man, to be strong and a provider—to be everything to a woman and her child. To live Sam’s dream for him now that Sam couldn’t. Dean had found, though, that no matter how hard he tried, without Sam, he wasn’t as strong as he thought he was. Without knowing that Sam was at least out there in the world somewhere, still alive and possibly happy, Dean’s own life was just a hollow shell. But then, Dean had always known that, somewhere, deep down.

It wasn’t long ago that he couldn’t pretend anymore. It wasn’t long ago, either, that Lisa stopped trying.

It wasn’t long ago that Dean had sat in the Impala and stared blankly out her windshield into the darkness of the garage for hours knowing that he had no where to go. It wasn’t long ago that he realized that his eyes were suspiciously wet and it wasn’t long ago that he’d covered the Impala back up and had gone back inside to try and pretend one last time.

It wasn’t long ago that he had spent an entire night outside, staring at a blood red moon and idly imagining all the what-ifs until daybreak. Lisa had just let him stare. She’d already known, much sooner than Dean had. She’d always been a smart woman.

And it wasn’t long ago that Dean had punched his brother in the face for letting him think that Sam had been dead all those months.




“Hey, Sammy.” Sam was stretched out on the bed, books scattered all around him, undoubtedly opened, Dean knew, to exact, corresponding pages. They were probably all carefully noted in Sam’s precise handwriting, too, so he didn’t feel too bad about dislodging a few off onto the floor.

Sam leveled a look at him, pointedly clutching his notebook closer to his chest as he wrinkled his nose. “You reek,” Sam complained and Dean rolled his eyes.

“I was just putting out a fire, Sam, what do you want? Suppose next time I could throw an air freshener in there, see if it helps…” Old Mrs. Lilner had damn near burned down her house because she’d forgot about a roast in the oven and decided to go to the store. Luckily a neighbor had noticed the smoke and dialed 911 before the entire block had burned down. “Saved the house,” Dean added hopefully. Well. Most of it. The kitchen was completely a lost cause but hey, the bedroom was just fine and the bathroom was…functional.

“Heard on the radio,” Sam said, pointing to the scanner that they kept on the dresser. Sam didn’t really like it there but Dean insisted and if they were going to share a room, compromises had to be made. “Also heard that you ran into the house by yourself.” Dean winced at Sam’s hard tone. Damn. And here he’d hoped that he at least get a ‘welcome home’ or something. Yeah, sure, it’d been a damn stupid move to do but, hey, he’d saved the yappy poodle that’d been cornered in the kitchen, hadn’t he?

“Somebody had to,” Dean mumbled. Sammy was undoubtedly looking for an apology or a promise never to do it again. That just wasn’t something that Dean could do. He couldn’t promise Sam that the next fire that he got called to, that he wouldn’t do the same exact thing and Sam just had to understand. Dean did what he did but, damn it, he was good at it and he managed to save lives. Wasn’t that the most important thing?

Sam sighed, apparently deciding to let it drop and Dean dared to let a small smile cross his face. This meant that he’d won, right? Technically? He leaned in closer to Sam and Sam braced a hand on his shoulder, holding him at arms length no matter how much Dean pouted. “Go take a shower,” Sam said but, while Dean rolled his eyes, he had to admit that Sam had a point.

“Only if you stay put,” Dean shot back and Sam quirked an eyebrow at the mess that surrounded him. Sam didn’t look like he’d be able to leave the stacks of books and papers without possibly some heavy machinery or a few moving vans so Dean gave him that point, too. He snorted and headed to the bathroom. A shower really did sound good.

Dean wiped at the soot that he knew was staining his face, his hand coming away with splotches of black but it wasn’t until he stepped into the bathroom that he really took stock of himself. Well, damn. No wonder Sam had pushed him away. It was a wonder that he hadn’t died laughing, too. Black soot streaked across Dean’s face, down one entire cheek and he grinned. He looked like he’d just lost a fight with a chimney.

He stripped down easily, chucking his smoke-scented clothes in the hamper for Sam to bitch about later because that made Sam happy, and slipped under the hot spray of the shower, groaning at the first touch of solid water pressure against muscles that he hadn’t even realized were stiff. He braced himself against the shower wall and felt himself begin to relax, little by little, each knot in his back slowly starting to unravel.

It made Dean glad that, of all the places that he and Sam had looked at, Sam had picked out the one with good water pressure. Of course, Sam had chosen it for the location and the looks and the spare bedroom. Dean didn’t know what they needed the extra bedroom for, unless Sam was planning on turning it into a study or some such girly thing but they had one. Sam probably was, now that Dean thought about it. Sam was probably just waiting until they saved up a little bit more money or until after Sam graduated and then the ‘spare bedroom’ that was currently operating more like a really big closet would suddenly gain a lot of big thick books that Dean would never have any interest in reading, all boring monologues about “Party A” and “Party B” and proper procedures and behavior. None of which involved beer and so had to be the most boring parties ever.

He’d tried reading one of Sam’s law textbooks, once, when Sam had been at school for another class. About two pages in, Dean had wondered how Sam managed to stand the stuff without pulling out his hair and had firmly shut it, fishing out of Sam’s backpack the little bit of porn that Sam swore up and down was high class British Literature, reading that instead. Dean was trying to be ‘involved’ in Sam’s schooling, after all—had been for the past two years—but there were limits to what he was willing to do.

About five years ago, two years after Sam had shown up on Lisa’s doorstep and one year after dealing with the fallout that had brought the bastard slinking back, he and Dean had blown into the small town of Rock City, Iowa, battered and tired and stopping only to stay the night while they searched for their next hunt. It was just part of the routine—maybe they would have headed up to Bobby’s and seen if he had heard anything or maybe they would have just kept going, head down and shoulders set because that was the life that they lived and as long as Sam was part of it, Dean could deal with that. He was through quietly wishing for more and while it kind of scared him that he didn’t even want to, Dean wasn’t about to question the twist of fate that somehow kept him and Sam together despite everything else. That they had both accepted about themselves that as fucked up as it was, neither did well without the other and that was just how it was going to be.

When they’d hit Rock City, it had been one and a half years ago that Sam had just pushed Dean down on a bed, desperate and needy and Dean had said yes. There hadn’t been any other answer he could have given. It wasn’t right according to the world but, then again, according to the world, Sam and Dean had never been right. Winchesters had different standards and, according to Sam and Dean, they were doing just fine.

They’d only meant to stay that one night, but, the routine had been starting to wear thin, fraying around the edges and, before Dean had known quite what he was doing, he’d paid for the rest of the week. A few weeks later, some of the townsfolk started greeting them by name and, somehow, Sam and Dean had just never gotten around to leaving. Dean wasn’t quite sure how it happened, really, and he’d more than just freaked out on poor Sam after they’d signed on the dotted line for the house just down from the local store because now not only were they not leaving but they had a mortgage of all things and just how mundane was that? Now that was wrong by Winchester standards.

And Dean had kind of liked it. That had been what probably freaked Dean out the most.

Dean didn’t want to think about how old that possibly made him that he was looking to ‘settle down’ somewhere nice. It was bad enough that his body reminded him often enough, the old battle scars flaring up now and then when he least expected it. And Sam was always quite happy to remind Dean of his age. Dean smiled to himself as he scrubbed at his chest. Sam was all too happy to remind Dean about a lot of things. Not that Dean minded.

When they’d first hit town, the gas station attendant had made a few assumptions and Dean had never bothered to correct her. Wasn’t really worth it since, hell, she had it half right. She just didn’t know the whole story. By the time that they’d hit the motel, too, Dean had already made up his mind and it definitely wasn’t for two queens. He was through pretending. Maybe that was why they’d stayed. The motel clerk hadn’t even batted an eyelash.

Somewhere between now and then, Sam had bought curtains. Where he’d gotten them, Dean didn’t want to know, but they were matching and they were hung up all over the house. Hell, even the bathroom (mostly) matched, having come as a set. That one, though, Dean had helped pick out, which was why they had the colored fish on the blue background instead of the trendy gray stripes that Sam had been leaning towards. Compromises, after all, had to be made.

Iowa made as much sense as any other place. It was close enough to Bobby without actually being close to Bobby because while Dean had made peace with it and Sam had never seemed to have an actual problem at all, they were both well aware that Bobby would rather just pretend that nothing was going on. That was fine with them. The entire town had made assumptions and seemed to be fine with it but Bobby knew the whole story. Then again, maybe that was why he just let them be.

After everything that they’d been through, Dean figured that maybe they deserved a little extra. That maybe God and holy destinies could just fuck off and let them be. They’d served their purpose after all; they’d been fucked over royally like good little pawns. Anyone that judged them for seizing what little happiness was left to them could burn with them for all Dean cared.

Because he’d tried the other way. He had. And damn Sam for leaving him to it. Dean’s scrubbing slowed to a halt as he stared at the light blue tile of the shower. He’d forgiven Sam for it but it didn’t necessarily mean that it still didn’t hurt when he let himself think about it. For ten long months, Sam had honestly thought that Dean had been better off thinking that Sam was dead. For ten long months, Dean had been a pitiful shell of a human being, sucking up whatever secondhand joy he could find and trying to subsist on that, telling himself that it was good enough. That it was more than he deserved anyway.

And then Sam had shown up on his doorstep, looking not at all damned but just a little frustrated and Dean doesn’t think that even Gandhi would blame him for the instinctual wind-up and deliver he’d given Sam. Punk had deserved it. Sam had, of course, hit right back because, if anything, they definitely deserved each other. And just like that, Dean had felt that missing piece of his soul slide back into place.

The hardest, he knew, had not been returning to the life that he’d left behind or even accepting that he’d wasted months thinking that Sam was dead, not knowing. It had been saying goodbye to Lisa and Ben. Lisa had already known it was coming—she’d been the one to say goodbye first, all but pushing Dean out the door. She’d been more matter-of-fact about it than Dean could have ever hoped to be but Ben… Ben killed him dead.

Speaking of the kid, his birthday was coming up soon. Dean would have to make sure that they got him a present. Good news was, though, that the kid was really starting to get into classic rock. Lisa was, apparently, raising him right. Her and her new husband. Luckily, Rob didn’t seem to care where Ben had picked up ‘uncles’ when Lisa was an only child.

After Sam had came back, it had been as if he’d never left. He’d slotted in so well with Dean, clicking into place like before except that, somehow, it’d been better. They’d still fought and they’d had more issues to work out than a New York newsstand but somehow they’d managed to last. They’d spent a year out on the road, side-by-side again, just like before, until they’d finally hit Rock City.

It’d taken Sam a bit longer to acclimate to the town than Dean. After Dean had finally realized that, no, he really didn’t seem to have any plans whatsoever of moving on, he’d walked himself down to the local mechanic’s and wheedled himself into a job. Groceries, after all, didn’t pay for themselves and pool halls were a little hard to come by in the small town that they found themselves in. It’d taken Sam a couple of months after Dean to start showing signs that maybe, just maybe, he could do the same. Within six months, though, he had a steady job down at Jim’s, working the bar, and, somewhere along the way, he’d acquired a few college applications. “Strictly online,” Sam had blurted, as if it would make a difference to Dean either way.

It didn’t matter because wherever Sam went, that’s where Dean would go, too. Even the town drunks knew that—Dean spent so much of his free time sitting at Sam’s bar, after all, just waiting for Sam to get off from work and they hadn’t had so much time to talk since they were kids. Dean had learned a lot of things about Sam in the last few years that he never would have ever thought. Like how the lack of curtains thing had really bothered Sam. Sam thought of curtains the way that Dean thought of detailing the Impala. It was just how you made a house a home.

A year after that, Dean had joined up with the volunteer fire department and Sam was back in college and working part time for a law office. Life was funny that way. They still hunted from time to time but, if Sam had his way, that would stop soon enough. Of course, if Sam had his way, Dean would possible be wrapped in gauze and cotton and be stored safely tucked away in bed. Then again, Dean thought the same about Sam, so Dean really didn’t have any moral high ground to take on that one.

Dean smiled to himself as he turned off the water, standing there in the shower, just dripping for a moment. Growing up, he hadn’t known any better—he’d had vague memories of being four and living like a normal kid but they’d been drowned out by the very visceral present of being raised into a hunter’s world. It wasn’t until Sam left that Dean even managed to catch a clue that maybe there were other things out there. And it wasn’t until Sam left again that Dean had tried them out—if only because he couldn’t follow.

It had taken Sam coming back, though, for Dean to finally realize that those things could actually work. It just took…a little different road than what he’d been expecting. A little different road from what anyone would have expected.

And that was just fine.

Dean stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel and drying himself off. He whisked it real quick through his hair before dabbing at his body and then throwing it over top of the shower curtain bar because he was pretty sure that he wasn’t going to need it. Sam, after all, could use a break from studying. The guy was liable to turn into a book himself if he spent any more company with them. Dean would have to take him down to the library and shelve his ass and then where would Dean be?

Sam was still on the bed, right where Dean had left him, but, with a grin, Dean noted that all of the books and papers and Sam’s clothes had been neatly set aside. So much for Sam’s ice princess act. Smirking, Dean prowled towards the bed and Sam just let him come because there wasn’t any use in pretending. Dean hit the bed and kneeled on it as he crawled up over Sam’s body.

Sam’s body was a damn work of art. Somewhere along the line, Sam had gotten big and toned and he’d never really let that lapse. Dean wasn’t a slouch himself, but he didn’t think that he’d ever have Sam’s dedication—Sam owed a lifetime membership to the local gym for crying out loud, whereas Dean tended to think that if you couldn’t get it from your everyday running around, then maybe you just didn’t need to have it.

Sam spread his legs as Dean came closer, putting himself on display and making room for Dean. “Yeah, Sammy…” Dean whispered and nuzzled at Sam’s thigh. He gently kissed the skin, making Sam arch up, demanding more because no matter how much patience and restraint Sam had in everyday life, in bed Sam was all hard and fast.

It’d taken them years to work out a good rhythm and even then they sometimes had some trouble. Because Sam would have you good and fucked within fifteen minutes if you let him but Dean—Dean liked to take his time. “Easy,” Dean murmured and slid his hands up over the tops of Sam’s thighs, past his hips and onto those ridiculously rock solid abs that Sam worked so hard to keep. “Just let me.” Sam was twitching beneath him, just barely restrained and Dean smirked as he worked his way upward, teasing Sam with little soft kisses up his belly and towards his chest.

Sam sighed, flopping himself down against the bed, letting Dean take the lead despite how he fisted his hands in the sheets. Dean stopped at a nipple, letting his tongue lick around it before sucking it into his mouth and making Sam shudder beneath him and Sam let him get away with it for all of three seconds. Sam’s big hands reached out, sinking into Dean’s hair, cupping his head and Dean laughed as Sam forced him upward to Sam’s mouth. No patience at all.

Just like always, Sam kissed like he was starving for it—like he was afraid that he wouldn’t get enough, that it would be taken away from him unless he devoured everything he could. He nipped at Dean’s lips and all but forced them open, pushing his tongue in between them. Dean let him, relaxing into Sam’s hold with a pleased shiver and slowly licking back, all soft technique to gentle Sam’s rough passion. It worked for them.

Sam grabbed at Dean’s hips and Dean broke away from the kiss because he had different plans for today and it was best to just head Sam off at the pass before he really got going and Dean lost the ability to say no. All day long at the shop, he’d been thinking about this and he wasn’t going to let Sam derail it. Every car that he’d slid himself under, every oil change that he’d done, brake valve that he’d checked, he’d had a little background movie going on to accompany it.

Dean pushed at Sam’s shoulders, forcing him back down to the bed and Sam went reluctantly, stealing one last kiss before he did. Dean grinned down at him and bent his head to lick just under Sam’s jaw. “You’ll like this, Sammy…” Dean whispered and Sam’s entire body shuddered.

Dean moved back downward, sliding his body down Sam’s chest, Sam’s breathing getting punchier and punchier the farther down Dean went. By the time that Dean was working his way down the lower part of Sam’s belly, kissing just beside where Sam really wanted him, Sam was back to trying to arch underneath Dean. Dean kept him down, pinning his hips to the bed and finally moved over those few crucial inches to suck Sam’s dick into his mouth. Sam choked back a whine, twisting on the bed, and Dean licked at the slit before going to town.

There was no denying that Sam was a big guy—Dean couldn’t hope to fit him all his mouth. There was also no denying that Dean loved to try. Blowjobs drove Sam crazy and Dean loved to watch him come apart. He even let up on the pressure that he had on Sam’s hips, letting Sam thrust, just a little, because Sam loved the movement and Dean loved the feeling of Sam sliding in and out of his mouth. Sam’s hips gave a little roll and Sam gasped. He twisted and panted but he didn’t have anywhere to go. Dean hummed happily, moving one of his hands to cup Sam’s balls, rolling them because he knew how much Sam liked it.

Dean kept them there, just like that, until Sam’s little moans turned a little desperate and then longer still until Dean had finally gotten his fill. He loved the feel of Sam’s dick in his mouth. Loved the feeling of being filled. Loved the feeling of doing something for Sam.

When he pulled off, Sam hissed, his hips pulsing, trying to find friction and Dean grinned. One of these days, maybe, he’d teach Sam patience. Today just probably wasn’t that day. Neither was tomorrow. Dean blew gently on Sam’s wet dick and firmly held Sam’s hips down as Sam’s eyes flew open wide and he did his best to try and buck Dean off. “Like that?” Dean asked and did it again.

Fuck,” Sam said. His hands sunk back into Dean’s hair, trying to force him back down to finish the job. “Stop fucking teasing, Dean…”

“Sure,” Dean agreed readily and he moved back down but it wasn’t to where Sam wanted him. Instead, he slipped lower and gently lifted Sam’s balls to place a slow lick across Sam’s pucker. Sam moaned, low and loud and his legs spread without hesitation, giving Dean whatever room he could. The first time Sam had asked for this, Dean had balked. At least until Sam had held him down and let him know just how good it felt. Now, Dean had no such reservations. He licked at Sam again, making Sam gasp and squirm and kept at it until Sam’s hand fisted in his hair again and dragged him away.

“Just do it,” Sam hissed—as near to begging as he got—and Dean shivered. Sam’s legs were still spread wide beneath Dean, his hole looking slick with Dean’s spit and Dean was sorely tempted to just give in and do what Sam told him to. Sam was ready and desperate and that was a hard thing to ignore.

But Dean had definite plans. “Got another idea,” Dean said, leaning up to kiss Sam hard and fast. Sam pulled at his hair and tried to devour Dean’s mouth again and Dean moved up to let him do it. He straddled Sam’s lap and ground himself down against Sam’s hard cock, forcing Sam to pull away to pant. “Think I want something else, Sammy,” Dean said. “What do you think?” He’d only been dreaming of this little scenario since Sam had left for work this morning, setting it down only when he’d been trying to put out the flames surrounding Mrs. Lilner’s house. He definitely had plans.

Sam seemed to be on board one hundred percent as well, even if he wasn’t too clear on the concept. His breath rushed out like he’d been punched and he stared at Dean for a split second before his hands wrapped around Dean’s hips and he tried to roll Dean onto his back, no doubt to fuck him hard and quick until Dean became part of the mattress. As fun as that was, Dean wanted something different. “Not quite,” Dean said, making sure that he stayed on top and Sam’s nostrils flared as he finally understood what Dean was saying. Dean rocked himself against Sam’s dick again, his hands bracing against Sam’s chest and Sam nodded jerkily.

“Yeah,” he said, laying back down.

“Yeah?” Dean repeated and Sam arched up against him, grinding himself against Dean’s body.

Fuck yeah,” Sam breathed and Dean loved how Sam’s vocabulary just seemed to go out the damn window when he was turned on. Any other time, it was big, twenty letter, hundred dollar words but get Sam up and ready and then it was just a bunch of four letter words, all “fuck” and “suck” and “Dean.” Dean’s personal favorite was that last one but he’d be the first to admit that he was probably biased.

Dean leaned over to grab the lube out of the nightstand, Sam watching him with just barely concealed impatience and Dean would just take it as a win that Sam was allowing him this at all. Sam licked his lips and jerked anxiously underneath Dean as Dean drizzled some of the lube onto his fingers. Dean knew that he probably didn’t have much time.

His eyes fluttered, the world going dark, as he pushed into himself because, fuck, Dean didn’t think that he’d ever get enough of that feeling. He wanted to play, wanted to enjoy himself some more but, as pleasurable as it was on his own fingers, he knew that Sam would feel even better, so he only did a cursory stretching and then reached down to grab Sam’s dick, eyes opening to watch Sam’s face screwing up as he fought to keep still. Then Dean lined Sam up and slowly slid down.

Sam hissed as Dean pressed him inside and Dean bit his lip to try and focus. This always made him lose his mind, just a little. He loved the feeling of having Sam inside of him, loved what it meant, loved having Sam be a part of him. If he let himself, he knew that he’d give in to Sam’s hard and fast pace and then they wouldn’t have any time to enjoy themselves. Today was meant to be slow and easy and about making it last forever.

When they finally bottomed out, Dean sitting on Sam’s hips and Sam completely inside of him, Sam finally opened his eyes and his hips gave a little pulse, rocking inside of Dean. “Fuck yeah, Sammy…” Dean whispered, bringing his hands up to stroke over Sam’s chest, cupping the ridiculously mounded pecs and flicking his thumbs over the nipples because it never failed to make Sam groan and shudder. Sam didn’t disappoint, shivering underneath Dean and he gripped Dean’s hip with one big hand, holding Dean still as he started to thrust into him, slow and deep just how Dean liked. Glad that Sam was finally with the program, Dean started to work with him, rolling his hips in time with Sam’s thrusts, his dick dragging against Sam’s stomach. He arched his back, pushing himself backwards just a little because damned if that wasn’t the perfect angle for Sam to make him see stars.

Either Sam had more patience than usual or he was fighting hard to let Dean have his way because he didn’t even complain at the slow pace, letting Dean do as he pleased and Dean blissed out at the feeling of Sam moving slowly inside of him over and over and over again. Sam was muttering under his breath but Dean couldn’t make out the words besides occasionally his own name though he could swear that there was some Latin in there, too. Figured that Sam knew how to talk dirty in Latin.

Sam’s free hand swiped up Dean’s stomach, cupping the slight bulge that he seemed to have such an obsession with and Dean let him because Sam felt so damn nice inside of him. What did he care, really? But he liked it better when that hand moved up his chest and neck to hover over his lips which Dean parted obediently. Sam pushed his fingers inside, moving them in time with his hips and Dean moaned happily. Fuck, yeah, he thought. He could do this for hours and the reality was always so much better than the fantasy when it came to Sam. Always had been. Dean’s own hand gripped his dick, fingers feathering over the head to push him to the brink and keep him there.

Dean’s orgasm creeped up on him, a long slow slide to the top and, by that time, he’d already been on edge for so long that the climax itself almost seemed like an afterthought. He sucked hard on Sam’s fingers as his hips gave a few rough jerks and he came, making a mess of Sam’s chest as Sam whined pitifully beneath him. After it was done, he kept rocking lazily, content to keep it up because he still liked the feel of Sam inside of him.

Sam, though, had apparently had enough but Dean didn’t complain when Sam rolled him over on to his back—he’d already gotten what he’d wanted. Sam pulled his fingers out of Dean’s mouth to replace them with his tongue, kissing Dean with desperation as his hips began to pound into Dean. Dean spread wider, giving Sam room because Sam always got a little violent when he was close, needing that extra space to shove in extra hard. Sam turned his head to bury his face in Dean’s neck, muffling a shout as he came, emptying into Dean, his hips stuttering.

Sam collapsed on top of Dean, breathing hard and Dean just let him stay there, wrapping his arms around Sam’s shoulders, not even giving in to his usual complaining about how much Sam weighed because, secretly, he liked it and he didn’t want Sam to move. Not right now.

It was five years ago to the day that they’d hit Rock City—seven years spent with Sam and finally coming to terms with the fact that they didn’t work any other way. Seven years of realizing that they really didn’t want it to work any other way. Compared to those ten months that he’d thought that Sam had been dead, it wasn’t very long at all.


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