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dragonspell) wrote2010-08-11 12:09 am
dragonspell) wrote2010-08-11 12:09 am
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Camdon Inn - Part 3
That was definitely the sound of birds chirping. It was fairly distant and vague but still entirely way too cheerful for Dean’s current mood. He groaned and buried his head against his pillow, pulling the covers over himself. He had no idea what time it was, just that he was sure that it was way too damn early. He felt warm and comfortable and, God, sated. He blinked at the last one, eyes staring blearily at the blank cabin wall as he fuzzily wondered if he’d gotten laid last night. He certainly didn’t remember it if he had. Matter of fact, the last thing he really remembered was going shopping with Sam and Dean didn’t remember any girls particularly coming on to him in there. Quite the opposite, really.
But somehow he was back at the cabin, in bed hours later—lying on his side and buried under mounds of covers. Despite being annoyed that the birds had woken him up—fucking hick towns in the countryside anyway—Dean smiled smugly. Apparently he’d been the one who got the bed last night. He was willing to bet that the couch out in the common room wasn’t nearly as comfortable. He sighed, shoving in deeper under the covers to hide from the thin stream of sunlight peeking through the heavy curtains and reached downward to scratch his balls. Before he got there, though, he finally noticed the hand clutched possessively over his stomach.
Dean’s brain came online in a matter of seconds, all signs of sleep blinked away as he gently touched the hand posed on his body. He traced the lines of the hand and winced. Oh Christ on a pogo stick. The body part was definitely way too big to belong to a girl. What the Hell had he got up to last night anyway? And, more importantly, how much did Sammy know?
That last question ranked higher on the list because Dean was deciding that he wouldn’t be freaked out by the gay thing—it’d happened before, he’d admit it (once or twice)—but the thought of disappointing Sam, frankly, terrified him. If Dean was laying in bed with a strange guy then that meant that either Sam had not come back to the room or Dean had kicked him out and neither was a good option.
The bed shifted as a bulk behind Dean moved, snuffling sleepily. Dean froze, trying very hard not to panic. He wasn’t any good at the morning after routine. Kind of sucked at it, actually. Unless, of course, it was supposed to be a weekend gig, and then, well, that was alright because you knew that the only reason the other person stuck around was because they’d be out of there first thing Sunday morning. One night stands, on the other hand, weren’t exactly supposed to stay the night. They were supposed to leave and never be seen again which is why Dean usually always went to their place instead of the motel room. Not only did that make it easier on Sam not getting kicked out of the motel room for a bit but also it meant that Dean could just leave whenever he felt like it and never have to worry about a situation like this.
Dean swore under his breath, wondering if he could extricate himself from the guy’s clutches before he woke up. Dean definitely wanted to be wearing pants for when he kicked the guy out and groveled at Sam's feet and judging by the way the sheets were rubbing against his cock, he wasn’t even wearing underwear. Dean stretched quietly, trying to slither out from under the guy’s hand, and winced at the pull on the muscles in his ass. Fucking damn it. Apparently he hadn’t topped last night, either.
Dean inched towards the edge of the bed but the guy behind him grunted in protest and dragged him back against a solidly muscled chest. Okay, then. Apparently that was out. Dean sighed and resigned himself to waking up with his unwelcome bed partner instead of quietly slipping out of bed to disappear into the bathroom. …And maybe get the come out of his ass Dean thought with a wince as he squirmed. Ew.
The guy behind Dean, moved his hips closer, spooning Dean completely and, yeah, it kind of felt nice but that was definitely a cock poking Dean in the ass. And Sammy was probably in the other room, sulking. Great. Dean closed his eyes and counted to ten before plastering what he hoped was a convincing smile on his face and turning his head towards the guy. “Hey…” he started. “So you think you could…maybe…?”
“Dean?” a sleepy voice asked him and Dean’s blood ran cold because he knew that voice. “’somethin’ wrong?”
Dean was out of the bed like a shot, Sam’s restraining arm be damned, tripping over the sheets as he dashed for the corner of the room. “Dean?!” Dean dared a glance back at Sam, to see him sitting up, worry and confusion on his face. Dean swallowed hard, taking in the sight of Sam sans covers, all solid chest and smooth skin and God he was going to Hell. It was about then that Sam noticed he was naked, staring down in horror at himself and Dean choked back a noise and ran out of the room and straight into the bathroom.
He was going to be sick. He was so completely going to be sick. Dean hit his knees in front of the toilet and fucking willed his guts to toss their damn cookies. He dry-heaved, his stomach roiling and his throat aching but nothing but a string of spit came out. “Fuck,” he gasped, clutching the rim. “Oh, fuck…”
What the hell had he been drinking? Dean desperately searched his mind but he couldn’t remember a damn thing about last night besides what he already knew. Oh, sure, there were some flashes here and there of some real mind-blowing pleasure but he honestly couldn’t remember any details. Shopping, check, and then fucking lights out. “Fuck,” he swore again, quieter this time.
God, he’d just fucked his brother, hadn’t he? Or his brother’d fucked him, whatever. And he’d liked it. Dean can’t be sure he’d liked it, doesn’t really remember a detail like that, but his body’s certainly not complaining, so that only really leaves one real option.
For a fuck-up in general, he’d really fucked up good. What the hell did you say about that? Sorry, man, I must have been real out of it last night? Who accidentally, drunkenly fucks their brother anyway? Who accidentally fucks their baby brother?
“Fuck!” He scrubbed his hands through his hair, pulling at it. How the hell was he going to get through this one? What the fuck was he supposed to do? And Sam. Fuck, Sammy…how was he going to be able to look him in the eye after this? And of course Sam was going to want to fucking talk—
Christ, he was filthy too. Dean rubbed at his arms, wishing that he could just scrape his skin off. Dried sweat coated his body as well as a few things Dean didn’t want to think about.
He couldn’t go back out into that room. He knew he’d have to eventually but, Jesus, please, he just needed a little time to think, to figure out what the hell he was going to do. Grimacing in distaste at his body, Dean turned towards the tub. Fuck, but a shower sounded good right now. It sounded unbelievably good right now. Not that it would help, he knew, but fuck!
Determinedly telling himself that he wasn’t going to freak and pass out, Dean stepped into the tub, hands reaching out to touch the slick surface of the tile on the wall surrounding it. He ran his fingers along the tiny white squares, following the patterns in the grout as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Again. Yeah. Yeah, a shower would be good. He blindly searched for the controls before he remembered something key.
They didn’t have a shower. “Christ…” Dean whispered. His skin was crawling, though, so he sank down into the tub and turned on the water before fumbling for the stopper. It slipped through his fingers, bouncing off the white porcelain and rolling to rest against his foot. He grabbed at it, shoving it into place and holding it down with one hand while he cranked the valve of the running water to as hot as he could stand.
He hadn’t taken a bath in damn near twenty years. At least not one that didn’t have somebody else in the tub with him. He splashed his hand in the pooling water and tried not to think about those times. Or any time spent in a bath. Or anything at all, really.
The water was just this side of bearable, nearly searing but Dean thought it was stupidly fitting. Fuck, wasn’t like he was going to feel hotter in Hell, anyway. Might as well get used to it, right?
What would Dad—
Dean kicked viciously at the side of the tub. Dad was fucking dead and it was a damn good thing because this would have probably killed him. Somehow, Dean didn’t think that this would be at all what Dad had in mind by “take care of your brother, Dean.” Matter of fact, it was the exact fucking opposite, wasn’t it?
Dean splattered some of the scorchingly hot water onto his skin, scraping at himself with his fingernails, dead skin scratching off in flakes. He dug in a little harder, using the pain to distance himself from a growing kernel inside of him that felt more than just a little like a bit of soul-wrenching guilt. ‘Cause it wasn’t like he didn’t have enough of that already.
There was a soft knock at the door and Dean’s head snapped up to stare at it. “Dean?” Sam’s voice asked tentatively, floating over the sound of the tub’s rushing water. “Can…I come in?”
And have to make eye contact? Oh hell no. “No,” Dean said flatly, resuming his attempts to peel his skin off.
There was a moment of silence and then Sam asked, “…Are you okay?”
Dean’s face twisted into a snarl as he slammed his fists down against the bottom of the tub, displaced water splashing the sides. “What the fuck kind of question is that, Sam? Why the fuck would I be okay?” He’d had sex with his brother! While he was sure that wasn’t in the definition of ‘not okay,’ he knew it wouldn’t exactly be found under ‘just peachy,’ either!
“Dean, we have to talk.”
Yeah, he knew that that was exactly what Sam would want. “No we don’t,” Dean growled, twisting the water off and standing up. Wasn’t like he was fucking get anywhere here and frankly, he’d rather not be touching himself if Sam was going to insist on talking about this. Actually, he’d rather not be naked. He grabbed a threadbare towel off the little shelf to his right and stepped out of the tub to quickly dry himself.
Locking himself in the bathroom wasn’t going to do him any fucking good and he knew that.
“Dean—”
“No! Damn it, Sam!” Dean wrapped the towel around his waist and ripped open the door. “We’re not going to fucking talk about this!”
Sam widened his eyes, no doubt startled by Dean deciding to come out of the bathroom, and Dean pushed him out of the way, striding across the room to grab a pair of jeans out of the duffle sitting in the living room area. Dean knew he’d feel a lot better if he had some clothes on. Muttering to himself about how they needed to get to a laundry mat, Dean pulled out the relatively clear pair of pants and yanked them on.
No, they were going to just pretend that everything was normal even if it wasn’t and then pretty soon it would be, right? And if Dean didn’t drop his towel until after he had his jeans completely zipped when normally he would have tossed it onto Sam’s bed as soon as he walked out of the bathroom, well, they weren’t going to talk about that, either.
Dean pulled out a shirt as well and pulled it over his head, feeling more than a little bit like he was putting on armor. But, again, not talking about it! He squared his shoulders before finally turning to face Sam, as prepared as he’d ever be.
Sam’s face had taken on that particularly mulish cast that used to drive Dad nuts and his arms were crossed. “I really think we should, Dean,” he said.
Christ, he’d fucked that. Or that had fucked him—whatever! “Yeah, well I don’t,” Dean shot back, glaring. “It happened; I’m sorry; we still have a job to do!” Dean paused, taking a deep breath even as the echo of his words rattled around in his head. “Put some clothes on, Sam. We’ve got stuff to do today.” Dean could hear Sam grinding his teeth from ten feet away but after one last scowl, Sam turned, grabbing his bag and disappearing into the bathroom. When the door slammed behind him, Dean finally breathed a sigh of relief.
“Fuck,” he whispered, sinking down onto the couch. Fuck, fuck, fuck. There was still the question of what the fuck had gone on because Dean didn’t think he had ever been drunk enough that he’d forgotten exactly how he’d gotten drunk. And then, of course, there was always the ‘what the fuck was wrong with him? He’d slept with Sam! And not just in the brotherly kind of way, either.
Dean desperately scanned through his mind for even a hint of a why and came up with absolutely nothing, zip, nadda, zilch. There was that stupid kernel of guilt deep inside him and a faint, strange tingling along his nerves but Dean was willing to write that latter one up as a side-effect of last night’s events. Apparently, Sammy was pretty damn good in bed.
Dean smacked himself in the forehead for even daring to think that. Christ, what the hell?
Yeah, there still was the job because unless Dean had really been out of it last night, they hadn’t gotten a hell of a lot accomplished. Barb Littleton was off the list of things to do, but that still left Brian and the deputy and weren’t he and Sam supposed to do research last night? What the fuck had happened to that plan?
Dean glanced up instinctively when the bathroom door opened again but slid his eyes away before Sam could notice that he was even looking. Out of the corner of his eye, however, he could still see Sam scowling. Dean cleared his throat. “So, should we research or go interview some people?” he asked.
“At the moment? Neither.”
Dean flicked his eyes back to Sam to glare. When the hell had Sam found time to get built like that anyway? “What do you mean ‘neither’?”
“I mean, Dean,” Sam growled, “that you weren’t exactly yourself last night and we should talk about that.”
Dean exploded, leaping off the couch and throwing his hands to the side. “Damn it, Sam, I said we weren’t talking about that!”
“And I say we are!” Sam, at 6’ 4” had just a few inches on Dean but by God did he know how to use them sometimes. Sam stepped up to Dean’s face, doing his best to loom but Dean liked to think that he didn’t let it get to him. Sam, though, didn’t allow him the illusion. He placed his hands on Dean’s chest and shoved him backward onto the couch.
Overbalanced, Dean bounced against the thin cushions and came up snarling. Like fuck he was going to be let Sam pull this shit on him. “What the fuck is—”
“You don’t think that maybe it’s just little bit weird that you walked into a grocery store completely and utterly fine and walked out barely able to stand?” Sam barked, shoving Dean back down.
“I—” Sam’s words finally caught up to Dean and he stopped cold, sprawling backward and letting Sam press him into the cushions. “What?”
“Yeah,” Sam shouting, nodding now that he had Dean’s attention. “You walked back into the store to use the restroom and when you came out five minutes later, you weren’t walking straight! You want to tell me what happened in there?”
Dean flicked his eyes away, trying desperately to recall something out of the vast void that the previous night was to him. “I…” He covered his mouth with a hand. “I don’t remember.” What the fuck? He tried to push past the block again but only got a slight headache for his troubles. “What the fuck… So…”
“So in the span of five minutes, you got brain scrambled.”
“We’re thinking it’s whatever we’re hunting?” Dean asked, cutting straight to the heart of the matter. They didn’t have time for bullshit here.
Sam nodded as he stared down at Dean. His knee was pressing into the couch directly next to Dean’s hip. “I can’t think of anything else that would cause that, Dean.”
“…Fuck.”
“Yeah. Fuck.” Sam finally stood up and looked away, turning his head to glare at the wall.
“So where does that leave us?” Besides in a fucked-up relationship and with an unknown monster that possibly knew who they were.
Sam spread his hands out in a classic ‘who knows?’ move. “Well we can’t back into town.
“The hell we can’t,” Dean snapped. “We’re going after this thing!”
“Dean, you were attacked in broad daylight and we don’t even know by what!”
As much as it rankled Dean to admit it, Sam did kind of have a point. “Son of a bitch…”
“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “But we stay put for awhile until we maybe figure out what we’re dealing with.” Sam lifted a hand and began to tick off his fingers. “So far we know that it’s been around at least 25 years, it looks like a big wolf and takes their hearts, except when it…”
He trailed off and Dean closed his eyes, sighing. “Except when it put one hell of a mindfuck mojo on me.”
Sam nodded. “We don’t even know what it was trying to accomplish.”
“Oh besides—” Dean cut himself off and winced at Sam’s hurt look.
“Yeah, besides that,” Sam replied softly.
Dean nodded and reached over to pull the laptop out of its bag. “You should call Bobby.” He opened the laptop, stared at the blank screen before quietly closing it and setting it to the side. “I’m, uh…” He licked his lips, not quite knowing how to go about this. Then, he just decided, fuck it and spit it out. “Sorry for doing that to you, Sam.” It was extremely lame but at least it was out there.
Sam, though, stared at him with an unreadable look before nodding. “I’ll call Bobby,” he said.
Sam had been trying to get a read on Dean all day. So far the entire day had just frankly sucked and he really didn’t know what he’d been thinking the night before. Dean had come to him when he was all messed up, probably because he’d trusted Sam to fix it and then Sam had just given in. Sam snarled at himself. He was sick for taking advantage of Dean like that. He just…he hadn’t been able to help himself.
He’d already gone over this, though. Over and over in his head after the deed had been done and he’d been sitting there with a comatose Dean. He’d had the best of intentions when he’d first realized what happened to Dean. And then… Then it was like everything fell by the wayside. Sam’s willing to bet that some of that is because of whatever spell Dean was under at the time—it’d thrown Sam for a loop. Dean had felt positively electric last night and Sam couldn’t have resisted if he’d tried. He knew that.
He also knew that the previous night wasn’t all whatever was wrong with Dean, either. He knew that some of the blame laid right down on his doorstep and that was starting to eat away at him, piece by piece and Dean’s silence wasn’t helping.
It was enough to make Sam wonder if Dean had finally figured him out. Sam stared blankly down at the book that he’d been pretending to read ever since he’d called Bobby and found out that the older hunter didn’t have a clue what they were dealing with either, only that he knew that the whole dogman thing was a hoax. Sam had carefully sidestepped the whole conversation about him and Dean sleeping together, though. It might be an important clue, but Bobby didn’t need to know everything. Sam wasn’t very far into the book and he certainly couldn’t tell you what he had supposedly just read but fuck. He’d just had his most private fantasy come to life last night when he was pretty sure it was going to be not only the last time but considered a mistake as well. He couldn’t be blamed for wanting to remember it just a little more.
The odd thing, really, in Sam’s mind was not that he was deciding to waste time on replaying the previous night over and over in an endless loop—that was just to be expected from a messed kid who’s older brother had represented nearly every fucking ideal growing up. No, it was the fact that certain parts were just a little hazy. Sam would have thought that everything would have been recorded in crystal clear clarity but apparently he’d been just a little too excited to do that. Whenever he tried, he just got snatches of dilated green eyes and Dean’s x-rated mouth.
Fuck.
Brian, the creepy innkeeper, had stopped by earlier as well. ‘Just to see how they were doing’ and to give them a spare key to the cabin. Apparently, he’d forgotten to give it to them yesterday and it really would have been the perfect time to ask Brian about the murders but unfortunately Dean had refused to look Brian in the eye and Sam had been too busy thinking with his dick. Because that had always served him so incredibly well in the past.
Instead of grilling Brian like he should have, he’d just shoved the man out the door. Brian had protested a little and had tried to crane his head around to stare at Dean with big eyes, stuttering about “e-e-everyone’s all right?” but Sam really hadn’t been in the mood to deal with whatever little crush the man had on Dean. It wasn’t a nice thought, but Brian could just wait in line.
Across the room, a book slammed into the wall and Sam nearly fell out of his chair. “Fuck this shit,” Dean growled.
Dean was sprawled out over the couch—apparently his safe zone since he’d moved it to face directly away from the bedroom—and was staring resolutely ahead. And, of course, he was dressed in one of Dad’s old shirts—a clear sign to leave him the fuck alone if Sam ever saw one. “We’re not getting anywhere with this.”
“Dean,” Sam tried.
“No, fuck this, Sam! I can’t sit around and do nothing!”
And that was so like Dean to want to just go charging in because he didn’t have the patience for research. “We don’t know what we’re up against and for all we know—”
“We’re not going to find it here, that’s obvious—”
Sam slammed his own book shut, throwing it onto the tiny dining room table. “For all we know it could KILL you, Dean! Did you ever think about that?” Sam stood, suddenly full of Dean’s restless energy, too. “We don’t have a clue what this thing is or what it did to you and we certainly don’t know what it would do if we found it again—which, coincidentally, we wouldn’t even know what it WAS if we did find it!”
Dean jerked his head away to glare at the wall. “Fuck that, Sam! I can’t just sit here waiting for it to come finish me off and you know that!”
“Maybe it already thinks that it DID finish you off!” And not for the first time, Sam wished that Dean could remember anything about last night. Anything at all. It was the only clue they had to go on and they couldn’t even use it.
Dean kept staring at the wall, his hand beating out a rhythm against the couch and his feet twitching on the cushions. Sam hadn’t even managed to convince Dean to keep his boots off. Dean worked his jaw and closed his eyes. “I can’t do this…” he whispered and in an instant, Sam was across the room and kneeling on the floor beside him.
“Dean?” Sam asked, dropping his hand to Dean’s shoulder. “Are you—”
“Don’t touch me!” Dean shouted, his eyes snapping open as he knocked Sam’s hand away. “Don’t fucking touch me!” He stared at Sam, panting, then shoved him backwards, sending him sprawling onto the floor. “Fuck, give me some room, will you? How the fuck do you expect me to breathe?”
Sam blinked up at Dean, bewildered and just a little bit scared. “Dean?”
“Fuck!” Dean jumped to his feet and darted for the door, smoothly evading Sam’s attempt to grab his pant leg and rushing outside.
“Dean!” Sam pushed himself to his feet and dashed after him. Something was happening to Dean and Sam needed to catch him before he made it too far. It had to be something to do with whatever happened to Dean last night. It had to be. Sam hit the front door and stumbled out onto the deck. “Dean!”
Birds startled up in the woods, the sound of their wild flapping echoing in the cabin’s clearing and Sam glanced around, trying to pinpoint the location. He jumped off the porch and tore off into the tall grass, heading for the colored woods. “Dean!” He hit the tree line and shoved his way past the branches that caught on his shirt, moving them out of his way as he tried to keep up the pace.
How fucking far was Dean going? Sam leapt over a fallen tree, stumbling a little on the uneven ground, and pressed on. Possibilities were swimming through Sam’s head and each one was more horrible than the last. What if whatever had attacked Dean last night was out here waiting for them? What if Dean was heading straight towards it? What if Sam was heading straight towards it? Panting hard, Sam slowed and came to a stop, bending over and bracing his hands on his thighs as he tried to catch his breath. He sucked in a gulp of air and straightened. “DEAN!”
“Christ!” Sam’s head whipped around at the sound of Dean’s pained voice and winded or not, he was off running again, bringing his arms up to protect his face as he crashed through another thicket of tree branches.
He emerged on the other side and skidded to a stop, glancing around wildly until he spotted Dean lying curled on his side beside a thick stump. Dean groaned in pain and Sam dropped beside him, his knees sliding in the dead leaves and crunching pine needles. “Dean? Dean!” He grabbed at Dean’s shoulder but recoiled when Dean hissed. “Tell me what’s wrong! Dean!”
“Sammy,” Dean gasped. He was shaking and it was all Sam could do not to touch him again. What was he supposed to do? Touching Dean obviously caused him pain and Dean wasn’t or maybe couldn’t tell him what was wrong. FUCK. Sam felt so incredibly helpless.
“Dean. Dean, I’m here.”
“Sammy…” Dean said again and that was all the warning Sam got before Dean shoved himself off the ground and tackled Sam to the ground. Sam landed hard in the dirt, the air rushing out of him and he stared, stunned, as Dean straddled him. “…so sorry…” Dean was whispering. “I’m so fucking sorry…” But his hands were shoving up Sam’s shirt and deftly undoing his belt and Sam couldn’t focus.
He grabbed Dean’s shoulders, trying to push him away, but at the touch, Dean purred and scooted upwards, rolling his hips right there and Sam was hard. Oh fuck, he was hard. “Dean—” he gasped. “God—Dean, stop—”
Dean slid a hand up Sam’s chest, over his neck and used it to cover his mouth. Sam moaned, closing his eyes. This was really happening, wasn’t it? Dean was on top of him in the middle of the woods and this was really happening, another wet dream come true. Sam felt his shirt pushed up and he jerked as Dean’s hot mouth closed around his nipple, sucking and licking and driving Sam insane. Dean’s teeth nipped at him—a tiny bit of pain to go with the rushing pleasure.
Sam slipped his hands from Dean’s shoulders to bury in his hair and jerked his head away from Dean’s grip even as he pulled Dean closer. “Fuck…” he swore softly before plunging his tongue past Dean’s lips.
Dean surged forward, meeting him with an eager little moan, twining his tongue with Sam’s. He rolled his hips again and Sam bucked up against him. Oh fuck yes. Fucking please…
Dean broke off the kiss and shimmied downward, his hands skating over Sam’s chest and Sam stared up at the leaf covered sky. In a moment of clarity, he knew this wasn’t right. He knew that Dean didn’t want this, all evidence to the contrary. This had to be whatever curse Dean was under. But there was that frighteningly familiar electric sensation tingling through his nerves and Sam also knew he didn’t have a chance in Hell of stopping this. Then Dean’s hand plunged below Sam’s waistband and all Sam’s noble thoughts scattered. “Dean…” Sam groaned, curling up on himself as Dean found his dick beneath his underwear and began to stroke.
Dean whimpered, wiggling on top of Sam and his free hand captured Sam’s wrist, dragging it up to rest on Dean’s crotch. Getting the message loud and clear, Sam snapped open the top button of Dean’s jeans and pulled the zipper down to make enough room to wedge himself inside. Dean writhed, forcing his hips more fully into Sam’s hand and when Sam finally managed to touch him, Dean reeled, his head lolling back.
He was so perfect in Sam’s hand—velvety soft and thick. Sam matched the rhythm Dean was already setting with his own hand, swiping his thumb over the head before each downstroke as Dean eagerly humped him, hips bucking wildly. He tried to steady himself by bracing against Sam’s shoulder but that sent them both sprawling to the ground, Sam’s back flattening against the cold dirt and dead leaves again.
Dean squirmed on top of Sam, his entire body moving in time to Sam’s strokes, and he leaned up to mouth at Sam’s jaw, pressing desperate little kisses against the skin. Sam knotted his free hand in Dean’s hair, using the grip to pull Dean close enough to kiss him again. Dean came easily—so damn easily—surrendering to Sam’s maneuvering and muffling his moans against Sam’s mouth.
Sam’s entire body felt charged, electrified—he felt like he could fly. So perfect, so gorgeous… Terms of endearment and various random words flew through Sam’s head, so fast he hardly had time to comprehend their meaning. Beautifulamazingso fuckinghotloversafeloveyoumineperfect—
Dean started seizing on top of Sam, his entire body jerking as he spilled over Sam’s hand. Sam keened as his stomach clenched in response. Sammy… The thought flew through Sam’s mind and was gone but Sam’s eyes popped open. What? Then he was coming, his world shattering into pieces as he writhed his way through the orgasm flooding his nerves. “Ah, fuck!” he choked out, body tensing up, trying to hold itself together.
“Yeah,” Dean whispered in his ear. “So fucking gorgeous…”
Sam panted as he tried to come back down from the charge overloading his body, Dean’s grip still moving and drawing aftershocks out of him. He reached down and stilled Dean’s hand, biting his lip as the last twinge of pleasure shot through him. “Oh fuck…” he whispered.
Dean tensed on top of him. “Oh fuck…” Dean echoed, but instead of having Sam’s pleasure-filled tone, the words were coated in horror. “Oh fuck!” Dean yanked his hand out of Sam’s jeans, accidentally brushing Sam along the way and sending Sam’s world reeling one last time as Dean tried to scramble to his feet. “Oh fuck, fuck, fuck!”
Sam pushed himself into motion as well. No fucking way was he going to let Dean run off to God knows where again. “Dean!” He said, surging upwards. “Dean, calm down!” Dean attempted to skitter away—not up to walking or standing yet but backpedaling furiously. Taking the opening, Sam flopped himself on top of Dean, pinning him against the forest floor. “Dean!”
Dean fought him, shoving and kicking, but Sam refused to move. “Get off me!”
“No fucking way! No way, Dean!”
“Christ, Sam!” Dean pushed against Sam’s face but Sam caught his arms and pinned them down as well, folding them overtop of Dean’s head. Dean bucked one last time, hoping to roll Sam off him but Sam countered, shifting his weight to accommodate.
“No, Dean!” Sam said, straddling him more firmly. “Stop it!” He realigned his grip on Dean’s arms and sat down on his legs. “Just stop it!”
“Fuck!” Dean screamed. He finally went limp beneath Sam, the fight draining out of him. “Fuck, Sam, why’d you let me do it?” he demanded, his voice cracking as he turned his head to the side to stare off into the woods. He blinked rapidly and with a jolt, Sam realized he was holding back tears.
“You needed it,” Sam said softly, sparing Dean any excuses that he could make. Sam was just as guilty in this as well.
“No, I fucking didn’t!” Dean snarled. His arms strained, testing Sam’s grip again. “I could have handled it!”
“Dean, whatever we’re dealing with—”
“I just fucking raped you, Sammy—I don’t think we’re dealing with it!” Dean slammed his had against the ground in frustration. “FUCK!”
Pieces of the puzzle were starting to fit together for Sam and he clenched his teeth, trying to hold back reckless words that Dean would take the wrong fucking way, no matter how true they were. He’d known that Dean wouldn’t handle this well but trust Dean to take all the fucking blame himself. Sam was so damn sick of it—Dean might have been the one cursed but Sam was in this just as much. “Don’t you dare say that,” Sam hissed. Dean didn’t have a right to say that. As if Dean would ever.
“What the fuck do you want me to say?” Dean demanded, finally turning towards Sam. “I’ve got these crazy fucked-up urges running through my body and I couldn’t even fucking stop myself!”
“Yeah, well, neither could I.” Sam stared down at Dean and watched as Dean took in that little piece of information, letting it soak and click together.
“It’s affecting you too,” Dean whispered. “Oh Christ.” He thudded his head against the dirt again.
That was only half of it but Sam didn’t think that he’d be able to take Dean’s disappointment and disgust if he found out the rest. “Something like that,” Sam said grimly. It was partially true, anyway. He had to admit that there was something more than just his fucked-up version of looking up to his older brother going on here. He couldn’t have stopped himself if he’d wanted to.
“What’s it feel like?” The words were spoken so softly that Sam almost missed them. He blinked, taking a minute to think. Dean was sprawled out under him, still looking like something out of one of Sam’s wet dreams as long as Sam ignored the tension twisting Dean’s mouth into a pained frown. Dean’s eyes were distant, fixed on a spot deep in the woods.
Sam licked his lips before he continued. “It’s just this urge. That I have to do it. That I can’t stop. And it feels like there’s high voltage running through my nerves—it almost hurts but it’s warm and…I want more.” Dean nodded, still staring off into the distance, and Sam dared to ask the question he desperately wanted to know the answer to. “What’s it feel like for you?” He said it casually, almost clinically, like it didn’t matter if Dean answered or not.
Dean didn’t respond, just turned his head away and Sam sighed. Of course Dean wouldn’t want to talk about this—he was aware of that. This was a weakness in Dean’s eyes. He wouldn’t want to admit it. Normally, Sam would let him have his space—possibly nag him to death about it later, but he’d still back off. They didn’t have that luxury this time. “Dean. I need to know.” This time, Dean was apparently remembering everything—it was part of the case. Just part of the case.
Silence hung between them for a long while but Sam let Dean have it. He could wait him out. When Dean started to speak, his voice was raspy, choked with an emotion Sam couldn’t quite identify. “I can’t stop myself. When you touch me, it’s worse. When you talk, it’s worse.” Dean fell silent again, swallowing hard.
“…What’s worse, Dean?” Sam prompted. “How does it feel?”
Dean closed his eyes, giving another futile tug of his arms. “Like my fucking soul is being ripped out. Like I…Like I have to have you or I’m going to die.”
Sam sat up, releasing Dean’s hands but stayed on top of him. “…Does it feel like that now?”
“No.” Dean flicked his green eyes to Sam’s face. “It’s gone.”
Somebody had to say it. They had to get it out into the open. “Gone when you came,” Sam said, clarifying.
“No.” Sam blinked at the contradiction. Dean was carefully looking away again. “Gone when you came.”
Fuck. Well that explained a lot. “It’s some kind of bond then, isn’t it?” he asked.
Dean sighed and stared back up at the sky. “Feels like it.”
“Okay,” Sam said, trying to be as professional about this as he could manage. “So that’s something to go on. We should call Bobby again.” They could deal with this. They’d call Bobby again, tell him everything this time, and he’d know exactly what it was and how to lift it and they’d be fine. Well, Sam wouldn’t be fine, but at least Dean would be.
Dean nodded and sighed again. “Can I get up now?”
Sam flushed. “Uh, yeah.” He pushed himself to his feet and backed up to give Dean some room. Free of Sam’s weight, Dean rolled onto his side and stood up as well. He swiped at his clothes, brushing off the leaves and the dirt and Sam realized that he was covered, too. He began to mirror Dean’s motions before he grimaced and turned his attention to his hair. Dean’s hair had escaped the consequences of rolling around on the ground, but Sam was willing to bet that his hadn’t been nearly so lucky. He carded his fingers through it, dragging out various pieces of debris.
He was pulling out a crumbling leaf when he felt Dean tense beside him. “Dean?” Sam asked. Dean didn’t move, only flicked his eyes over at Sam before moving them back to peer out into the forest. “Dean,” Sam repeated, more urgently, “is it happening again?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Dean hissed, still staring at the surrounding underbrush and Sam finally got it. He froze too, staring into the woods. A flash moved on the right, barely noticeable, but Dean was off, running into the forest. Sam followed him, trying to stay close on his heels as they weaved through the trees, dodging tough clumps of weeds and leaping over obstacles.
They darted around a tree and then Sam finally saw what Dean had. The figure in front of them stumbled, cursing as it crashed to the ground and that was all Dean needed to catch up and throw himself on top. He landed on top of the person, bearing them to the ground as they tried to rise and rolling them underneath him. The person—a man Sam saw as he halted beside them—tried to fight back, to shove Dean off of him, but Dean easily flipped him and pinned him to the ground, slamming him against the dirt a few times to knock the fight out of the guy.
“OW!” Dean’s captive exclaimed. “What the fuck, man?”
Sam frowned—it was never a good sign when their suspected ‘monster’ used words like ‘man’ or ‘dude’—and beside him, he saw Dean doing the same thing. “Who the hell are you?” Dean demanded.
“Take it easy, fuckhead, I’m a cop!” the guy underneath Dean snapped. He kicked his feet in the dirt, churning through the leaves as he still tried to roll Dean off of him.
“A cop?” Sam asked, stepping closer.
Dean slammed the guy against the ground again. “And then what the fuck would you be doing out here?” he scoffed disbelievingly.
The guy spat out a mouthful of leaves. “Fuck! No, seriously! Let me go and I’ll show you my badge!”
“Yeah,” Dean said. “Like that’s going to happen.”
The guy—kid really—could hardly have been twenty but Sam still winced. “Dean, if he is a cop…” The last thing they needed was for Dean to be arrested for assaulting an officer.
Dean snapped his head up to glare at Sam. “Are you actually believing this bullsh—?”
“Yes!,” the guy shouted, interrupting. He struggles against Dean again, freeing an arm that Dean automatically repined behind his back. “Yes, damn it, I’m really a cop! Deputy Johnny Thompkins, swear to God, man!”
Sam’s jaw dropped. As in the Deputy Johnny Thompkins that had filed their original report? Shit. Beside him, Dean froze, his frown turning deeper as he stared at the man. “Deputy Johnny Thompkins?” he repeated.
“Yeah, man!” He pushed upward and ended up flopping against the ground like a fish. “Like I said, let me up and I’ll show you my badge!”
In an instant, Dean released him and stood up, backing away to stand just a little to Sam’s left. Together, they watched as the supposed Deputy Johnny Thompkins climbed onto his knees. “Jesus,” the deputy said, rubbing the back of his hand over his face. He reached into his pocket. “You fed types don’t mess around, do you?”
Dean shot Sam a look. “Uh…n-no,” Sam stuttered. “No, we do not.”
“Can’t be too careful,” Dean added, pursing his lips.
“Yeah, okay,” Thompkins said. He turned to face them, holding out what Sam was fairly certain was his badge.
Dean swiped it from him, flipping it open and inspecting it. He grunted. “Looks real,” he said.
Johnny Thompkins scowled. “Of course it’s real!” he snapped. “What the—”
Sam cut him off. “You’re out of uniform, deputy,” he said, nodding at Thompkins’ plaid fleece coat and torn cargo pants.
Thompkins jerked his head at Sam’s scuffed up jeans and dirty T-shirt—the T-shirt that now probably had ‘questionable’ stains on it. “So are you, agent.”
“Right.” Sam didn’t have a good comeback for that.
Dean growled. “Yeah, yeah, everybody’s fucking out of uniform—what the fuck are you doing crawling around in the woods?”
The deputy looked offended again. “Investigating! What else would I be doing?”
Dean snorted. “Investigating what? If a bear shits in the woods? Investigating us more like it and I could—”
Johnny Thompkins finally pushed himself to his feet. “You—”
Sam interrupted again, stepping between them. He did not need this escalating. “What my partner means, deputy, is that the murders took place at the inn’s main building, didn’t they? Not out here.”
Deputy Thompkins looked somewhat mollified as he turned towards Sam but there was a still a hint of derision in his expression. “Yeah, well, the criminal isn’t still there, now is he? Which might mean that he’s in these woods.”
Dean crossed his arms. “Because of course, he would have stuck around and set up camp.”
Sam leveled a look at Dean. Seriously? They were going to get nothing out of this guy if Dean kept this crap up. Dean raised his eyebrow, half ‘what’ and half challenge. Sam frowned. They didn’t have time for this right now. He understood that Dean was going through an absolutely shitty time but they had other things to do. He turned his attention back to the deputy. “You think that whoever killed those girls is still out here.” It wasn’t a question.
Deputy Thompkins glanced over his shoulder, looking behind himself and Sam leaned a little to the right to try and see what the officer could have possibly been looking at. There was nothing back there. “I can’t discuss this with civilians,” Thompkins whispered.
“Civilians?” Dean mocked. “We’re not—” Sam elbowed him, shoving him back out of the way. When Dean tried to sidestep Sam, to stop Sam from blocking him, Sam countered and gave Dean’s ankle a quick kick while ignoring the Dean’s furious glare. Dean wasn’t feeling like himself right now, Sam got that. He really did. But like fuck was Dean going to ruin the one possible break that they might get.
“No, I know you’re not civilian civilians—!” The deputy cut himself off, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “You guys, you’re just like Pete, though—you just don’t know!”
Based on Thompkins hints, Sam decided to take a chance. “There’s something in these woods, isn’t there, Deputy Thompkins?” he asked in a whisper and it was as if Thompkins had just hit the jackpot on a slot machine. His face lit up like the Fourth of July.
“You’ve seen it!” he exclaimed. “You’ve seen them!”
Sam nodded and hoped like Hell Thompkins wasn’t talking about aliens or Bigfoot. “Yeah,” he said. “They’re one of the reasons why we’re here. Biggest, actually.”
Sam didn’t know how it was possible but Thompkins grin grew bigger. “Ah, I knew it! Pete’s gonna owe me so damn big—”
“Unofficially,” Sam added hastily. “Unofficially. We can’t let this get out.”
Thompkins looked crestfallen but nodded. “Of course. Can’t let them know that we’re on to them.”
“Christ,” Dean muttered, kicking at the leaves. Fortunately, Johnny Thompkins didn’t appear to have heard so Sam decided to ignore the comment.
“No, of course not,” Sam said, nodding his head. “Tell you what, deputy, how about you help us out and tell us all you know just so we can compare notes.”
“Seriously?” Thompkins squealed, slapping his thighs. “Man, that’s so awesome. See, I knew! I knew! They all told me I was crazy but I knew! You got my report, didn’t you? Man, I’m so awesome! See, I knew Pete was wrong! That’s why I put it up on the site—”
Sam fought to keep his face neutral while Thompkins jumped around like a kid on Christmas. One wrong move would fuck this all up and even all Thompkins had were crazy ramblings, they still had to know. The guy might have been a conspiracy nut but that didn’t necessarily mean he was wrong. Dean apparently didn’t see it that way at the moment—he stood a few feet away, staring at the forest like he was hoping that the monster would just jump out of hiding and kill him already.
“Okay, okay,” Thompkins said, calming down. “So I don’t know much—I mean, I know a lot, but well, it’s not like I can prove it and—”
Sam winced. “Deputy.” They didn’t have all day here.
“Right, sorry. So, as far as I can figure, it’s got to be some crazy kind of cult, you know?”
“Cult?” Sam asked. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dean shake his hands, his lips pursed in an ‘ooooh.’ Dick.
Thompkins only had eyes for Sam, though, his apparent conspiracy theorist in arms. “Well, yeah, I mean, that’s what I think, because, well, Pete says it’s just some stupid kids’ camp sites but, man, I don’t know. The setup just looks, well, ritualistic, you know? Like tribal dances or something.” Sam nodded. “Which, you know, isn’t all that strange—could be some dumb kids or something—but there’s all the paw prints and the—”
Dean finally turned at the paw prints comment. “Paw prints like a big wolf?” he asked sharply.
Thompkins glared at him for interrupting. “What else?” he sneered like Dean had just asked if the sky was blue or if molten lava was hot. “They’re obviously wolf worshippers. And then there’s the blood,” he finished.
“Blood?” Sam prompted, crossing his arms. Blood meant a big fucking clue and big fucking clues meant that they were getting somewhere.
“Well, yeah.” Thompkins nodded. “Pete—he won’t let me put it in the report. Says it’s not blood but it looks like blood so I don’t know what else it could be.”
Sam knitted his eyebrows and crossed his arms. “Deputy Thompkins, do you think you could show us where this scene is?”
Thompkins shook his head. “No.”
“No?” Sam’s jaw dropped. So close and yet so far? Seriously?
Thompkins actually looked abashed, kicking at some leaves. “Pete says he’ll suspend me if he sees me hanging around there again.”
Oh. Because that wasn’t suspicious at all. “Why?”
“He says that I’m wasting my time and the station’s resources. Like I said, he thinks it’s probably just some kids or something. But—” Thompkins’ mouth closed with an audible click, cutting off whatever he’d just been about to say.
“But?” Sam prompted again. He was not going to let go of this. Dean’d always called this his pit bull routine but fuck him. Sometimes it came in handy.
“No, no, Pete will kick my ass if I go back there. Look, I just know that there’s something off about the place. I just know.”
Sam raised his hands, placating. “Fair enough. Could you tell us where the site is, Deputy?”
Thompkins looked torn, his face sliding into a disappointed pout, no doubt realizing that they had every intention of checking it out without him now. “I suppose. It’s about a mile back, right by the old mining caves.”
“That way?” Sam asked, pointing north. When Thompkins nodded, Sam smiled. “Thank you.” He reached for Dean’s arm, attempting to herd Dean away but Dean violently shrugged him off, glaring as he stalked towards the north. Sam grimaced and followed. In the face of an actual lead, he’d almost forgotten. He wondered if Dean felt anything now when Sam touched him or if it was only during the times that Dean was losing his mind in the thrall of whatever the creature had done to him.
“Hey, so, you’ll keep me updated, right?” Thompkins called after them. Sam waved his right hand and kept walking after Dean, leaving Thompkins as they pressed into the woods. “Because I have a right to know, you know!” Sam curved around a grove of trees and saw that he was gaining on Dean with Thompkins voice starting to fade. “So I’ll see you guys later. Or something!”
Dean was a thundercloud, scowl firmly entrenched on his face, when Sam caught up to him. Not that Dean would ever admit that there was something wrong. Oh, hell no. That would be weak. Sam opened his mouth to ask if he was okay but Dean cut him off. “Sheriff’s in on it.”
Sam gaped, his mind trying to catch up, before nodding. Yeah, that was true enough. “The way he won’t let anybody look into the ritual site? Probably.”
“Knew there was a reason why I hated that douchebag.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “You just didn’t like him because he kicked us out of the diner.”
“Which is the sign of an evil man, Sammy.” At the sound of his nickname, Sam turned his head to watch Dean, not even bothering to correct the slip.
“…Are you—”
Dean stopped, whirling on Sam and shoving a finger in his face. “If you say ‘okay’ or ‘alright’ or any bullshit word like that, I swear to fucking God, I’m killing you right here! Christ, Sam, what the hell’s wrong with you? There’s nothing ‘okay’ about this!”
Sam resisted the urge to grab the finger Dean was shaking at him, instead backing up and refusing to rise to Dean’s bait, keeping his voice level. “Dean, we have to talk about this.” They weren’t going to figure this out, otherwise. Yeah, sure, they could check all the areas they wanted, but their biggest fucking clue was right here inside of Dean and Dean wanted to pretend it didn’t exist.
“No we fucking do not! I told you before, Sam, we don’t have to talk about this! We just have to fucking FIX it, you got that?”
“Yeah,” Sam growled clenching his fists and fighting back the instinct to punch Dean—a reaction honed from years of dealing with his brother. He knew, though, that that was exactly what Dean would want. To be punished because it would feed straight into the fucking martyr complex Dean was attempting to develop. Fucked in the damn head. “Except that I’m hearing your thoughts, Dean,” he snapped, throwing his last bit of information at Dean like a dart.
The blood drained out of Dean’s face, his anger melting away into sheer out fear. Fucking bull’s-eye. “…What?”
Sam licked his lips, stalling for time because now that he had Dean’s attention, he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. “Not all the time. Just I’m pretty sure I didn’t scream my own name when I came and, well, you didn’t say anything, so…” The other things Sam couldn’t be sure hadn’t been his own thoughts.
“This is so fucking messed up,” Dean snarled and started stalking away.
Sam ran after him. “Why, because we slept together?” In the grand scheme of things, this really wasn’t the worse thing they’d ever done. After all, they hadn’t actually killed anybody, right? Dean ignored him, pressing northward, heading for the mines. “Let’s face it, Dean,” Sam said, deciding to just throw it out there, “that’s not the worse thing we’ve done!”
Dean didn’t stop, just shoving branches out of his way. “We fucked, Sam. We fucked and last time I checked, brothers don’t do that. So why don’t you just shut the fuck up!” The branch that Dean had been bending back slipped out of his hand and smacked him in the chest. “Fuck!” He reached out, grabbing the branch and bent it around. With a well-placed kick, he snapped it off the tree and then discarded it into the woods. “Call fucking Bobby already,” Dean growled.
Sam sighed but nodded. If Dean wasn’t going to talk, what else did they have to go on? He pulled his phone of his pocket, searching through his contacts for Bobby’s number as Dean kept a good ten feet between them.
“Hello?”
“Bobby!” Sam said.
“Christ,” was the reply. “What did you boys do now?” Sam winced. They really needed to start calling Bobby with some good news sometime. “Do you got anything new, because I got to tell you, boy, besides the usual suspects, I don’t know yet. A big dog type says black dog to me.”
“Well, uh…” Sam frowned as he tried to puzzle out the best way to breach this conversation.
“Spit it out, boy, I don’t have all damn day.”
“We think it does, uh, bonding spells, too.”
“Bonding spells?” Bobby repeated and Sam could just picture Bobby’s eyebrows disappearing underneath his trucker hat.
“You know, ‘bonding.’ Like ‘forcing people together,’ bonding.”
“Sam, you’re gonna have to be just a little bit more specific here. Are we talkin’ fuckin’ ‘gluin’ people together’ bonding or—”
“Sleeping together,” Sam breathed out in a rush. The woods suddenly parted around Sam, opening up into a small clearing that Dean was already starting to poke around. Sam could see why Thompkins had thought the place was a cult ritual site—symbols had been carved in all the surrounding trees and small rocks swirled out from a firepit in a complex maze. They’d been splattered with blood, the stains themselves following a pattern as well. Dean kicked at one of the rocks with his toe and Sam was so busy watching him, he almost missed Bobby’s low whistle.
“That changes things.” Bobby paused. “You mean you and Dean together, don’t you Sam?”
“What? No!” Sam denied.
“Don’t lie to me. Or you would have mentioned it in the first place.” There was silence and then, “It happens, Sam.” Thank God for Bobby being so understanding. Sam just didn’t think that Bobby’d take it so well, though if he realized just how much Sam really didn’t mind the supposed curse.
“Yeah,” he sighed. “Yeah, it has.”
“…Fuck, boy.”
“Yeah.” Dean moved on to examine the symbols on the trees, tracing them with his fingers. “Bobby?”
“I’m here, Sam, just give me a minute.” Bobby sighed. “What else you got?”
“We just found what we think is where the monster’s been—” Dean turned away from the tree, striding up to Sam and snapping his fingers. Wordlessly, Sam handed the phone over.
“Bobby?” Dean asked. “There’s a bunch of symbols carved in the trees here. I’ve never seen them before.” Sam watched Dean as he talked, the way that Dean’s mouth moved and how his hands kept waving around even though Bobby was here to see what he was gesturing at. …This was really the wrong time to be thinking about this, but Sam really liked Dean’s mouth. He liked how the plush lips moved to form words—always had—and Sam indulged himself while Dean was occupied, blatantly staring. Dean flicked his green eyes to Sam and Sam quickly looked away. With a scowl, Dean walked forward past Sam and into the middle of clearing, standing just to the right of the firepit. “Yeah, we’ll send them to you. Listen, there’s a lot of blood here, too, following with the modern art built out of rocks. Can’t tell if it’s human or not, but I’m guessing so.”
Dean looked great in a pair of jeans, too. It wasn’t exactly the first time Sam had thought that, either. It was just the way that Dean’s ass curved, filling out the back. He usually covered it with a long shirt or his jacket but right now Sam could see every little bit. He wanted to run his fingers along the swell like he’d done last night.
“Yeah, will do.” Dean flipped the phone closed, hanging up and turned around to glare at Sam. “Stop staring at me, Sam!” he snapped and Sam’s blood ran cold. Caught. But Dean continued on with, “I don’t need you constantly checking up on me! I’m not going to break!” and Sam blinked, unsure what to say to that. In an odd way, he was grateful that Dean had misunderstood his staring yet disappointed at the same time. Dean turned back around, holding the phone out as he started taking pictures. “Bobby wants to see this for himself so he’ll have more to go on.”
“Okay,” Sam said, crossing his arms and leaning against one of the trees. “Does he have a better clue what we’re dealing with?”
“He didn’t say,” Dean replied, snapping another picture. He suddenly turned, pocketing Sam’s phone. “You hungry?” he asked, tilting his head.
Sam blinked again, startled by Dean’s about-face. “What?”
“’Cause I’m fucking starving…” Dean moved past Sam, heading back towards the cabin, leaving Sam standing in the clearing staring after him. “Let’s go eat.”
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This is brilliant:
…he was dressed in one of Dad’s old shirts -- a clear sign to leave him the fuck alone if Sam ever saw one.
Y’know, this made me kinda sad.
Well, Sam wouldn’t be fine, but at least Dean would be.
Made me feel badly for Sam.
OMG! I’m practically breathless to find out what happens next! *g*
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And I love the idea of Dean wearing his father's clothes when he needs to feel safe--same as I love the idea of him wearing one of Sam's hoodies.
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i'm really intrigued by the puppetmaster behind the spell.
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Exactly what I think of their questioning techniques!
Ah ha ha ha ha! Exactly!
I loved this chapter. I had to stop reading in order to go to work and thought about it quite a bit while there, so you've really got your hooks in me. Cool.
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Thanks so much for reading!