Camdon Inn - Part 5

[dragonspell]

Part 4 | Master Post | Part 6



Around midnight, Sam was waiting by the door, shotgun in his right hand and a bag full of stakes and silver in his left—never hurt to cover all the bases. Sam hadn’t actually spoken since their little run-in with Brian, but that was okay. They didn’t need to talk about this. In a little while, with a little luck, this would be all over and then he and Sam could go just right back to normal. Whatever normal was for them. Sam’s confused feelings would get sorted out—or buried again. Dean scowled. “Stay the fuck out of my head, Sam,” he warned again.

Okay, so no, Sam hadn’t actually physically, out loud, spoken. But that certainly hadn’t stopped him from poking around in Dean’s head where he didn’t belong. If they didn’t get this case wrapped up by tonight, they were going to have to have a long-ass talk about the concept of personal space. Sharing a hotel room? Fine. Sharing a bathroom? Fine. Sharing a bathroom together? Doable. Sharing a fucking brain? How about no?

Sam was projecting hurt and anger but Dean ignored him. “Let’s go.”

The hike back to the site was longer than Dean remembered. Probably because last time, there’d been a lot more running involved. The rain had washed everything out, as well, taking off with any tracks that they might have made and instead leaving soaked underbrush that clung and snared on Dean’s jeans. Dean muttered to himself as he stomped through it, the cold wet denim of his pants sticking to his legs just like before. Why did they always have to have to travel through the fucking soaked woods for miles? He wouldn’t mind actually having a case that, say, just involved a drive-by in the Impala, maybe. That’d be nice. Pull up, shoot the monster, and drive-off. No muss, no fuss, right? None of this having wet clothes twisting around you when you’re trying to walk and feeling more like you’re swimming

“Dean.” Dean stopped, taking a second to realize that Sam had actually said that out loud. So they were talking now? Dean looked over at his shoulder. Sam frantically waved for him to get down and, irritated or not, Dean hit the dirt. You just didn’t fuck around with something like that. His ears were telling him nothing, just the heavy silence of the woods and he couldn’t see jack shit in the inky darkness.

Something rippled in the air towards the right and Dean jerked. Son of a bitch… . Sam nodded and they both watched as a thickly furred creature emerged from behind the trees, strolling into the clearing. Large as a fucking bear but it was gray with a longer snout. Dean pulled out his gun, quickly checking the magazine for the silver bullets. Looked like they found their wolf. True, they didn’t have a fucking clue what this thing was, but it apparently could shift shape and so Dean figured, if nothing else, a little silver just might piss it off. He took aim, noting out of the corner of his eye, Sam readying the shotgun just in case the silver didn’t do anything after all.

The wolf jerked up, scenting the air and Dean froze, not daring to move in case it would be able to see him in the dark. It didn’t matter as the wolf took off, bounding back into the woods. “Fuck…” Dean swore softly. He glanced over at Sam and jerked his head towards where the wolf had gone and Sam nodded reluctantly. Dean nodded back and shoved himself off the ground, cautiously walking up to where the creature had been standing.

“What are you boys doing out here?” Dean whirled, pointing his gun at the voice. Sheriff Jacobson walked out of the darkness, holding up his flashlight and flashing it in Dean’s eyes.

Dean winced, holding up his hand. “Thought we saw something,” Dean answered honestly enough.

“What are you doing out here, Sheriff?” Sam asked and yeah, Dean agreed that that was really the more pressing question.

Sheriff Jacobson eyed Dean’s gun, raising an eyebrow so Dean tucked it back into the waistband of his pants. Beside him, he could see Sam was blocking shotgun from view with his body. “Little girl got lost,” Jacobson said, sounding not overly concerned. “We’re canvassing the area.”

That was a load of bullshit if Dean ever heard one. Sam stepped forward, though, calling the sheriff out directly. “We’ll help you,” he offered.

Jacobson smiled. “Not necessary. We handle our own. Why don’t you boys go get some sleep? Got a long drive ahead of you, don’t you?” He tipped his hat and turned towards the other person coming out of the darkness. “Ronnie,” he said flatly. “There you are.”

“Son of a bitch,” Dean whispered and Sam glanced at him. The kid that Jacobson was heading towards had spiky blond hair, wearing a distressed jean jacket and Dean knew he’d seen the kid before. There were flashes of that face and a grocery store restroom and things started to click into place for Dean. ‘Ronnie’ was staring at Jacobson and slowly backing up into the forest again, looking for all the world like a scared rabbit. He glanced over at Dean, his eyes widening further and then he turned and bolted.

Jacobson shot them a bland look over his shoulder. “Ronnie’s a little shy,” he said. “Hope you don’t mind.” He disappeared into the woods, leaving Dean staring after them and Sam staring at Dean.

Dean abruptly turned, staring through the woods in the direction that they’d come from. There was a prickle along his skin and a sinking sensation in his belly—he was heading the wrong way. Dean had no idea why he thought that, but somehow he knew. Somehow, he knew that going back to the cabin right now was not what he should be doing even though it was obvious that that was exactly what they should be doing. There were two, possibly more, creatures but yet Dean didn’t want to go back to the cabin to rethink the plan and he didn’t want to follow Ronnie and Jacobson. “Dean?” Sam asked. “Dean, don’t you think we should—”

Dean grabbed the sleeve of Sam’s Carhart, dragging him close. Sam still smelled like fucking chocolate. Dean wanted to bury himself in Sam when Sam was this close, or at least lick him. He swallowed the urge down. “I’ve seen that kid before,” he whispered.

“Who, Ronnie back there?” Sam pointed towards where both Ronnie and Jacobson disappeared.

“Yes,” Dean answered. The feeling in the pit of his stomach was getting worse so he turned again, facing towards the north and like a freaking miracle pill, it went away. Ronnie and Jacobson had gone east. Sam and he, though, apparently had to head north. “I saw that kid yesterday. Just before everything went blank.”

“Dean,” Sam scoffed. “It’s a small town. He looks like that guy you almost ran over yesterday—the one that ran out in front of you? That’s probably where you know him from.”

Dean glanced sharply at Sam. “Then you tell me, Sammy: why was Ronnie back there not happy to see good ol’ Pete? Pete, who we know is probably in on this?” Dean turned back to the north and started to walk, ducking under a branch. “Probably because he was supposed to either drive us off or kill us and obviously he failed!” Which begged the question of—

“—how he failed,” Sam finished, following after him.

“That’s fucking creepy, Sam. Stop it.”

“Stop broadcasting then!” Sam retorted, like that was all there was to it, as if all it took was Dean wanting Sam to stop reading his every thought to just get him to stop. “It’s not my fault Dean,” Sam said defensively. “You just keep shouting at me.”

“Shut up and keep walking.” He was pretty sure that Jacobson and the Ronnie kid were occupied but he really didn’t want to take that chance. There was just something calling him, telling him to go north and Dean had to obey. And Sam had to stop standing so damned close—his scent was overriding just about everything.

“Dean, where are we going?”

“You tell me, Sam. You can’t feel that?” Dean shook himself and stepped over a log. A strange sense of euphoria was starting to fill him now—bubbling along his nerves and making Dean have the strange urge to skip. Fucking skip. It was like he was on drugs.

Sam frowned at Dean, staring for a few moments. Then he shivered. “What is that? And why are you the only one feeling it?”

Dean shrugged. “Fucked if I know.” His entire body was fucking tingling, alert and ready, and there was a warmth growing in his belly. Kind of like when Sam—Dean shoved the thought away. “But I know that it wants us to go this way.”

Pleasure and heat exploded along Dean’s skin and he hissed as his knees buckled, sending him crashing to the ground, kept up only by the hand Sam had clenched around his arm. “Dean!”

The world reeled around Dean, swirling madly before centering in around Sam’s grip. Dean yanked his arm away, kicking out at Sam in self-defense. “Fuck…” he moaned, curling in on himself. With Sam not touching him, Dean’s perception went back to normal but he still had aftershocks zipping through his system.

“Dean?” Sam asked, reaching for him.

Dean hunched up more and tried to crawl away. “Don’t fucking touch me!”

“Oh, God, Dean, I’m sorry!” Sam backed up a few steps, holding his hands up and Dean could actually think again. Christ. He pushed himself to his knees, riding out one last shiver. “Do you…do you think we really be following whatever it is you’re feeling, Dean?” Sam asked quietly.

Dean took a deep breath and stood up, swaying a little as his body tried to stabilize. No, they probably shouldn’t be but yet, somehow… “Yes. Yes, Sam, I really think we should.” It was fucking nuts but Dean didn’t think he could stomach the thought of turning around—which was all the more reason NOT to continue on.

“Dude,” Sam said. He looked like he wanted to grab Dean again but thankfully kept his hands to himself. “Look what it’s doing to you—”

“I don’t fucking know, alright? I just know that we have to go this way,” Dean shouted as he pointed towards the north, “and then it will be fucking okay. Can we do that? Can we do that, Sam?”

“Fuck you,” Sam snapped. “I’m not the one collapsing on the ground like I belong in a hospital instead of a forest, Dean.”

Dean growled. “I’m fucking fine just don’t fucking touch me.” Sam touching him either meant Dean jumping his bones or, apparently, him heading for the ground, waiting for Sam to jump his. Which was just fucking awesome. Dean straightened his clothes and picked up his gun before starting to walk again. The good news was that he knew they were close. So fucking close.

“If there’s more than one, we might be dealing with a pack,” Sam pointed out like Dean didn’t already know that. Which, yeah, would be fucking fantastic—instead of one monster, a whole freaking nest of them. A pack of what was the question, though. A pack of changelings just meant a whole lot of fire—conspicuous but doable. If this was something that required complex rituals and wooden stakes cut under a blue moon, though, they were fucked. Dean knew better than to trust odd sensations and what the monsters wanted him to believe but it wasn’t like they were walking into this one completely unarmed.

Dean’s boot caught on a root and he stumbled, his hand stretching out to stop his fall. A shock of hot electricity raced through Dean’s nerves as his fingertips grazed Sam’s chest. Fucking son of a bitch… He jerked his hand away but at least he didn’t go down into a useless heap like the girl in improbably high heels at the start of every horror movie ever made. Jesus. So much for fucking dignity here. Sam didn’t say a word—didn’t have to because his fucking sigh said it all. Dean set his teeth and didn’t stop, just adjusted himself in his suddenly too tight pants and made sure to keep at least a foot or so between him and Sam.

The forest abruptly opened up into a clearing and Dean sucked in a harsh breath when he finally realized where they’d been heading all along. The stones in their precise lines spiraled out from where he was standing, setting up their maze only there was one key difference—the blood was gone. Not just scrubbed clean but out and out gone like it had never even existed.

“Dean?” Sam asked, glancing around the clearing.

Dean blinked and just like that she was there. He did a double take, staring at the woman that had suddenly appeared in the middle of the clearing. Beside him, he heard Sam’s breath catch and felt him going for his gun.

The woman was small and slender wrapped in a white gauze dress that flowed around her and moved gently in a breeze that wasn’t there. Long black hair poured down her back and she turned her pixie-like face towards Dean. She smiled and it was like being sucker-punched in broad daylight. Dean felt every other thought he’d ever had emptying out as she looked at him and slowly raised her hand, motioning him closer. He took a step forward, obeying the command that she hadn’t said.

Pleasure so intense it bordered on pain throbbed through Dean’s arm again and he swung his head around to see Sam pulling him backwards. “Sammy?” A blink later and the girl was in front of them, staring at the both of them. She glared at Sam and raised her hand, her nails forming claws as she growled, low and rumbling. Sam swallowed and his fear flooded through Dean’s senses, pushing Dean into instinctively stepping in front of him.

The woman’s growl stopped, her hand lowering, as she cocked her head at Dean. She smiled again, her mood shifting, and the stabbing pleasure that had been wrecking havoc through Dean’s nerves suddenly stopped, reverting back to the dull thrum that Dean was starting to associate with ‘normal’ now. As he stared, though, trying to shake off the aftereffects, she reached out and grabbed his face with both hands.

Dean’s breath hitched as terror flashed through him before it was replaced by a blanket of sheer contentment. The woman grinned as she moved Dean’s head from side to side, shaking him and checking out every angle like she was carefully inspecting him and Dean half expected her to look at his teeth. A click of a gun, though, over Dean’s shoulder, made her stop. She glanced up at the barrel of Sam’s Taurus and her shoulders shook as she chuckled.

Though she seemed to find Sam’s threat more funny than anything, she still released Dean and slowly stepped back, holding her hands out to the side. Sam shoved Dean behind him while Dean fought back, trying to keep himself in front of Sam—she obviously liked Dean which is more than he could say for Sam but Sam was a stupid stubborn prick.

The woman’s head jerked up like a deer’s and she stood, listening. Then she glanced back at Sam and Dean, her hands making shooing motions, waving for them to go away. Sam stared at her over his gun, his lips twisted into a confused frown while Dean shrugged and started pushing Sam back towards the tree line. Apparently freaking Arwen wanted them to go hide—he could do that. She smiled again and put one finger over her lips, telling them to keep quiet as she blinked out of existence.

Sam finally got with the program, sliding behind a tree and ducking low with Dean. He still had his gun out, however, and Dean agreed, pulling out his own gun. Their shoulders were touching, Sam still smelled like melted chocolate with a spice-filled kick and a low heat was pooling inside of Dean but compared to earlier, it was definitely manageable. He took a deep breath and forced himself to focus.

He heard what the woman had been listening to a few seconds later—a crashing through the woods as a voice whispered excitedly, “It’s right over here! Come on, come on!” Dean peeked around one side of the tree while Sam took the other and together they both swore. Deputy Johnny Thompkins came stumbling out of the woods, holding the hand of a girl, pulling her into the clearing after him. “See? What did I tell you?”

The girl—the one that had turned Dean down at the grocery store if he wasn’t mistaken—glanced around. “Wow,” she said, sounding like she wanted to be supportive but couldn’t summon up the enthusiasm. “Yeah, it’s great.”

“Yeah,” Thompkins said. “I think it’s got to be from a cult or something.”

“A cult?”

“Yeah—like animal spirit worshippers or something.”

The girl crossed her arms. “As in…Native Americans?”

Thompkins shook his head. “No, as in human sacrifices! Denise, this is freaking big! I’m going to be famous for discovering this, you know—for blowing the whole thing wide open. The guys on the site are going to just love this!”

Denise sighed. “Johnny. Is this like when you expected Mrs. Ridge of poisoning the neighborhood rats to try and infect everybody?”

“No!” Johnny retorted, defensively. “But that old bitch is crazy anyway. She’s up to something—you saw how hard she beat me with her cane when I was next to her basement. You just know that she’d hiding bodies down there.”

“She just didn’t like you stepping on her daffodils—she wouldn’t have hit you otherwise!” Denise snapped her fingers. “No, I’ve got it—this is just like the time you were convinced that aliens were abducting the Johnsons’ cows!”

“I thought we weren’t going to talk about that anymore!” Thompkins whined. Dean sat back against the tree, holding his gun against his shoulder. Jesus. Apparently they hadn’t gotten the half of it the last time they’d talked to the deputy. Sam sat back down again too and Dean glanced over at him. Sam was staring straight ahead with his little ‘what the fuck?’ pout firmly in place—Sam had pouts for all occasions.

It was actually kind of adorable—as long as said pouts weren’t being directed at Dean for once.

“Johnny,” a new voice added, “I thought I told you not to come out here anymore.”

Dean glanced at Sam who nodded. They both returned to glancing around the tree. Jacobson was making his way out of the forest, stepping carefully over the stones. Somewhere along the way, he’d lost his hat but he was still making Thompkins stutter.

“I-I-I wasn’t…”

Jacobson reached Thompkins and sighed, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Johnny, he said, “why don’t you take Denise someplace nice? She doesn’t want to be stomping through these woods. Take her to a movie.” Dean wondered where Ronnie had gone—there was no sign of the kid. “If you leave now, I won’t say anything more, but only just this once. We clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Thompkins said quietly. The leaves rustled as he and Denise crashed back into the woods again, Thompkins holding her hand. After they left, Jacobson sighed again and put his hands on his hips, looking blankly ahead. Silence dropped around them, with not even a cricket to break it. Dean evened his breathing, keeping it quiet even as the silence started to freak him out.

Jacobson turned his head, looking straight where Sam and Dean were hiding.

Son of a bitch! Dean pulled back around, dropping himself to the ground, Sam slamming in beside him. The bastard had looked right at them—right the fuck at them. There was no sense in pretending that he hadn’t seen them. Dean counted to three, calming himself and stood.

“Dean!” Sam hissed, grabbing Dean’s coat, the melted chocolate scent turning bitter with a tinge of fear. Dean shook him off; they didn’t have time to be paying this cautiously—better to see Jacobson coming then to have him catch them hiding behind a damn tree. When Dean came out from around the tree, though, breaking cover, Jacobson was gone.

Dean glanced left and right, staring at the clearing but it was empty, nothing but him and rocks. He jerked back around and stared at Sam. “What?” Sam asked.

“Jacobson’s disappeared,” Dean said. Holding his gun high, he left the hiding spot, heading out onto the carefully arranged stones. There was no hint of Jacobson and no hint of the woman from before. “Shit.”

Sam showed up beside him, fingers reaching. Dean stepped to the side even as the buzzing tingle through his nerves kicked up a notch. Sam needed to learn to keep his damn hands to himself. It was like now that he’d confessed his true feelings or some such bullshit, he thought that it was just fucking open season. Dean walked a few more feet into the clearing, putting some distance between him and Sam. Sam pursed his lips and stared at the ground. “We should go back,” he said. “We didn’t plan for this.”

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face and nodded. He knew that Sam was right no matter how much he wished otherwise. There was nothing here for them to find—the woman and Jacobson would have made sure of that. There was just the symbols that they’d already sent off to Bobby and a hell of a lot more questions. Deep down, he knew that whatever had called him here—the woman, most likely—had gotten what it’d wanted. Whatever the fuck that was.

Going back, though, meant going back with Sam. That was almost worse then them finding nothing. Only ‘almost worse’ because if they could have ended this, they could have gone back to fucking normal. But they hadn’t, they couldn’t, and now Dean had to deal with being alone with Sam again—being alone with Sam when apparently neither of them had control over themselves, the curse scrambling both of their brains for the price of one.

Dean turned and punched a tree. “Damn it!” Pain rocketed up through his knuckles, throbbing and making him wince. He shook his hand, working out the stinging ache, railing at himself for being stupid because the bit of violence hadn’t helped. All it had done, judging by the few steps that Sam took towards Dean, was clue Sam into Dean being unsettled which was just fucking perfect. He was still going to be alone with Sam and a bundle of heat that Dean was starting to identify as lust curling in his body. It was worse because Sam was smelling even better than ever and apparently couldn’t keep his damn hands to himself. Dean sidestepped Sam’s grabby reach again. “I’m fine,” he snapped. “Let’s go.”

“Dean, we don’t know what we’re dealing with here—tonight just proved that.” Sam crossed his arms, staring Dean down as he stood in Dean’s space. “It’s too dangerous to be out here.”

“I’m not arguing, Sam!” Dean wanted to shove Sam but settled for stalking around him, heading off into the forest, back towards the cabin. “I said let’s go, for fuck’s sake.” Sam tried to grab for him one more time and Dean swung around on him. “I SAID keep your hands to yourself, Sam!” A shiver skated down his spine as a memory of Sam’s touch echoed through him and Dean snarled, starting towards the cabin again. He was so fucking screwed. Probably literally.

Dean kept himself at least five feet away from Sam during the entire long trip back to the cabin, trying his best to ignore the looks that Sam kept shooting at him. As long as Sam kept his distance, though, Dean would let him get away with the damn staring. If Dean was being honest, it wasn’t even Sam’s touch that he was trying to avoid or even the helpless lust that it inspired—it was the fact that he was starting to crave that touch, and, somehow, he knew it wasn’t just the curse talking, either. Dean had to keep reminding himself not to give in, to try and fight this, because every time Sam reached for him, Dean wanted to lean into it. Fuck, did he ever.

And that meant that it was completely off-limits. Even if Sam did smell like the best damn chocolate ever made and his touch made Dean want to believe that there was a God. He couldn’t fucking give in to this. He couldn’t!

But the fact remained that Dean was painfully aware of just how much control he had over the whole damn situation. He swallowed and glanced back at Sam, his eyes running over inch of Sam’s body as Sam navigated through a snarling thicket. Like a damn dog drooling over a steak for fuck’s sake. Dean snarled at himself and turned back around, trying to focus.

It was bad enough he was already aware of how easily he would roll over for Sam and that his body fully intended on doing it again, his wishes be damned. He didn’t have to spend every fucking waking moment dwelling on it.

Sam wanted him to, though. Sam was willing to do all of this, or so he said. Claimed that it was his damn teenage fantasy. Christ but they were fucked up. His baby brother wanted to fuck him and Dean was starting to consider that just par for the damn course. Who thought that? Who actually shrugged their shoulders and said ‘whatever’ to a little bit of incest?

Fucked up people, that was who. People that were fucked in the goddamned head—which described them to a damn T.

And what if—just what if—Sam was actually right? What if when the curse was lifted, Sam would still want this? That he had always wanted it? Knowing that, would Dean give in? Even if Dean didn’t want to? He’d always done so much for Sam, was letting Sam fuck his ass less like an uncrossable line and more like the next damn step? Yeah, compared to giving up the last of the Lucky Charms, it was a little much to ask, but compared to beating the living shit out of some bully that threatened Sam? At least no one was getting hurt with the incest. Physically, anyway.

Okay, well, at least not permanently. And judging by the way Sam seemed to come absolute buckets, it was only Dean that ended up sore. Not that Dean didn’t enjoy the hell out of it—there was the line again. There was that line that Dean kept flirting with.

Regardless of how much Sam wanted this or what he felt or even that Dean couldn’t control himself, it was one thing to be cursed into fucking your brother. It was bad and wrong and sick but, in the world they lived in, it was still probable and maybe, possibly, understandable. It was quite another, though, to be okay with that fact.

If they kept this up much longer, Dean didn’t know how long it would take until he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. He’d always craved Sam’s touch, Sam’s affections—this was the same yearning Dean had been dealing with for years except with the dial cranked to eleven and that new sexual overtone added. He glanced back at Sam again, gnawing on his lower lip.

Sammy wanted to fuck him. Sammy, his baby brother, apparently liked fucking him. The line was already gone for Sam. Question was: had it ever been there? Sam said that he’d been wanting this for years; maybe the line had never even existed for Sam. How was that for fucked-up?

Dean rubbed his forehead, feeling an onset of a headache. It was just too much to contemplate—it wasn’t every day that a guy had his entire reason for living flipped upside and turned on its ear. He needed some space. Only he was heading back to the cabin with Sam and he knew that he wasn’t going to get any there. There wasn’t any other safe place to go, either, and, more than that, Dean didn’t want to go.

No, he knew that he was going back to the cabin with Sam and he knew exactly what he was going to do there. It made him want to punch another damn tree but there it was. Fuck! He was already hard in his jeans in anticipation and he wondered if Sam knew that. He wondered if Sam was all worked up, too, if maybe Sam would just ignore Dean’s order not to touch him and slam up against the side of the cabin. Wondered if Sam would take him hard and fast so that Dean didn’t even have to think.

Dean breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the cabin’s clearing even as his cock gave a hopeful twitch. Christ. Dean hoped that after this was all over, he didn’t have a fetish for cabins—unable to even look at one without getting hard. Sam was still the requisite five feet behind Dean but Dean could still smell him as they walked along the path that they’d already started to form in the grass. Dean jumped up the steps of the cabin’s front porch and shifted from foot to foot as he waited impatiently, arguing with himself. He shook his legs, trying to get the wetness of his jeans like a dog before just giving up.

He couldn’t believe that he was going to let this happen. Matter of fact, he wasn’t going to let this happen. He was just going to be fucking normal for once and ignore what his body was screaming, tell Sam ‘no’ and him and Sam were just going to figure this bitch out and go on to live happy, non-incest-filled lives.

Yeah. And Dean owned the fucking Golden Gate Bridge, too.

He darted inside the cabin, stopping in the middle of it and waited. Just fucking waited. He kicked off his boots, tossing them against the wall to make it that much easier on them. Dean wasn’t saying yes—he still knew where the line was—but you couldn’t fight the inevitable. Sam would know what to do. He was a smart boy. Dean felt ready to explode, to burst into a million, tiny pieces all over the cabin walls and his hunger was threatening to eat him alive. He needed it.

Sam, though, hadn’t gotten the fucking memo or something because he bypassed Dean and headed straight for the couch, sitting down as he booted up the laptop. No wall sex in sight—not even a rough hump.

Dean swallowed. Okay. Maybe Sam wanted it…there. He could do this—he could. He sat down next to Sam and stared ahead at the wall. Sam slanted him a look. “Obviously not a werewolf,” he said.

Dean kept his eyes focused straight ahead, analyzing the pattern of the wood. “Yeah, but we knew that. Pagan god?” he ventured. His heart wasn’t particularly in the guess but it was a good one considering the woman that they’d met in the woods.

“Could be.” And yes, that was definitely Sam’s thigh underneath Dean’s hand. Dean cursed himself even as his heart rate sped up. He didn’t even have the patience to wait until Sam was onboard, damn it anyway. He wasn’t going to do this—he wasn’t going to force Sam or give him ideas or anything. Except that Dean could feel the roughness of Sam’s jeans and the heat of his body. His fingers stroked along the inseam, casually exploring. It felt—Sam felt…nice. Dean swallowed. Yeah. Touching Sam felt nice. Better than nice—fucking perfect, actually. He sucked in a deep breath and finally let his hand move where it wanted, straight to Sam’s crotch.

Sam caught his hand, holding it still on the bulge of his dick. “Dean.” Dean shook his head. No, they weren’t discussing this. They were just going to do it and get it over with and there was not going to be any talking. The hunger would be gone, Sam would be happy and Dean wouldn’t have to think about how good Sam would feel at least until the curse regained its momentum. “Dean, you said you don’t want this.”

“I don’t,” Dean replied thickly. He really, really didn’t. Except for the part where he did.

“Then what are you doing?” Sam asked, standing up, pulling away from Dean’s hands.

Dean bit back the urge to whimper at Sam leaving him but he couldn’t keep the patheticness out of his voice. “I need it.” Sam didn’t come back down, so he tried again. “I need it, Sammy.”

“Dean I can’t do this.” Sam couldn’t mean that. He hadn’t had a problem before and Jesus, it felt like Dean was going to tear in two. He needed this and Sam was going to say no? “You don’t want this,” Sam repeated like that little fact made a difference at all.

“Sam…” Dean raised his hand, placing it back on Sam’s crotch. God, even just that felt amazing. Sam started to back away, though, so Dean raised his eyes to meet Sam’s. “Please,” he tried. Oh God, please!

“Fuck,” Sam whispered and it was like his strings were cut—he collapsed on top of Dean, legs straddling Dean’s lap as he buried his nose in Dean’s hair. “Dean, you’ve got to tell me yes. Tell me yes, Dean.”

Sam didn’t know what the fuck he was asking. He couldn’t know what he was asking. There was no way that Dean could willingly let himself go through with this—he just couldn’t stop himself! There was a damn line that Dean had to follow. Why didn’t Sam understand that? Sam didn’t know, couldn’t know, what it was like. If he said yes, it would mean that he was agreeing to do this. It would mean that he was…

“Say yes, Dean, please, say yes.” Sam moved on top of Dean, grinding himself down and fuck, he was hard, his zipper bulging with the weight of his big dick. Yeah, Dean needed this. He so fucking needed it. Dean arched into Sam with a little moan, drawing out an answering, shaky whine.

“Sam, just—” Do it already. Get it over with. Take the choice out of Dean’s hands.

“Tell me you want this, Dean,” Sam pleaded, hands skimming along Dean’s neck. “Tell me. Say yes.” Each touch was a mini array of fireworks across Dean’s skin.

He just fucking needed—“Yes, Sam,” Dean whispered.

Sam shuddered, his entire body shaking with it. “Yes?”

Damn Sam for making him say it. “Yes, I want it.” Dean could always claim later on that it had been a lie.

Even if they both knew otherwise.

“Oh thank God,” Sam said and pressed his lips to Dean’s, licking his way inside. It was electric and Dean felt his entire body sit up at attention even as he started to melt against Sam. Fuck, but it was perfect.

Sam changed up the angle, fitting their mouths better together as he stood up, pulling Dean along with him. Dean followed him blindly, not particularly caring where they were going just as long as Sam didn’t stop touching him. Sam pulled him close, running his hands down Dean’s back as he moved them away from the couch.

Dean grabbed Sam’s hair, trying to hold him still long enough for Dean to kiss him properly. Sam groaned, his hands sliding down to grip Dean’s ass and Dean whimpered as Sam pushed him backward. “Yeah,” Sam said. “God yeah…” and Dean agreed.

The back of his knees hit a surface, stopping him from being able to move but Sam pressed him further, toppling him over backwards. Dean’s arms flailed out, trying to stop himself from falling but Sam was following him down, a firm pressure against him. They bounced, softness underneath Dean and he had a moment’s confusion of wondering how they’d gotten into the bedroom before Sam erased everything simply by unbuttoning Dean’s fly and sticking his hand into Dean’s jeans.

Dean arched up, desperate to get Sam to touch him some more, as Sam’s fingers skimmed along his dick and dipped below his balls. “Oh fuck…” Dean gasped and Sam hummed in agreement, finally breaking away from Dean’s mouth to turn his attention to Dean’s neck, worrying a piece of skin between his teeth. Dean hissed at the bit of pain as it zinged through his already over sensitized nerves and clutched Sam’s shoulder, trying to keep himself grounded.

He couldn’t help it, though—it felt so good. He was going to fly away, he was going to shatter, he was going to—Sam licked the abused skin in an unrepentant apology, nuzzling at the ache.

Mine… Sam hadn’t said it out loud but it was in Dean’s head loud and clear and Dean was just gone. “Yeah,” he panted. “Yeah, oh fuck, oh fuck…” He was owned. Owned by Sammy—Sammy who was stripping off his shirt and shoving his hot hands back inside Dean’s pants and Christ—“Please,” Dean gasped, the word slipping out without his consent. Like through a broken dam, the rest came flooding out, “please fuck me, God, please, Sammy…”

“Yes,” Sam said, his fingers slipping back down, his index pressing inside. Dean bit his lip, his hips lifting off the bed as Sam twisted inside of him, making him shudder. Fuck, but Sam had to hurry up. Dean was going to die if he didn’t.

“Fuck,” Sam swore and reared back to start yanking off Dean’s jeans. Dean helped him eagerly, wiggling out of them and kicking them off. Then Sam was grabbing Dean’s ankle, pulling Dean’s legs apart as he positioned himself and slowly pushed in.

Dean threw his head to the side, pressing against the mattress as fought through the pain-filled pleasure—fuck, but Sam had a monster cock. Yet Dean knew that he didn’t want Sam to stop—not ever. There was a building heat inside of him, overtaking the hunger that he’d been feeling before, and Dean needed more. He wrapped a leg around Sam’s waist, trying to pull him in closer and Sam collapsed on top of Dean, burying his face in the join of Dean’s neck and shoulder. He sucked on the skin, wetting it and pulling it into his mouth as he rolled his hips in a small, tight, circle—not enough to be a thrust, but still movement that had Dean gasping as it pulled at him. “God, Sam, stop teasing…”

Sam bit down on the skin he’d been sucking on, a small warning before he drew back and slammed back into Dean. Stars exploded behind Dean’s eyes. “Fuck!”

“You okay?” Sam panted, sounding so unwilling to stop Dean wondered why he was even bothering to ask. His eyes stared earnestly down at Dean but Dean could feel the tremors racking his body, showing how hard it was for him to hold still. Dean didn’t bother to answer him, just dragged him down for a kiss, wrapping his tongue around Sam’s and Sam moaned, his hips starting to find a rhythm.

Sam gripping him with both hands as he fucked inside of him, pining him to the bed but far from making Dean claustrophobic, it made him feel warm and protected—owned, perfect. His orgasm took him by surprise, shuddering out of him as Sam kept moving. “God,” Dean gasped, his head lolling to the side as Sam seemed determined to fuck him into the bed.

Sam kissed his way down Dean’s neck, stopping at the bottom to suck another hickey onto Dean’s skin. Dean ran his hands over Sam’s shoulders, feeling the muscles flex and strain, and gave in, feeling the hunger and the heat wash over him. Then Sam’s breath was hitching and he was coming and everything turned to blessed nothingness—everything except for the heavy press of Sam above him. Dean wrapped his arms around Sam, nuzzling against his face and let the world slip away for just a little while.

---

Dean pulled himself out of Sam’s sleepy embrace, ignoring Sam’s muttered protests. He wasn’t running away—he just needed some air. That was all. Just some air. Dean slipped out from under the heavy quilt that they’d pulled over themselves and Sam rolled over, going back to sleep.

Good.

Dean wandered out into the living room. He’d definitely say that he’d crossed the line. Somewhere along the way, that line had just fucking disappeared and it was upsetting Dean that he didn’t even seem to care.

Sam didn’t care, but they both knew that. Sam certainly had no problem fucking his older brother. Dean winced, rubbing at the sore spots on his neck that he was sure were turning into very obvious hickeys like he was freaking 13 again. And he wasn’t even going to think about the pain in his ass.

Christ, Sam was huge. When the Hell had Sam gotten so damn big? Sometime in between when Dean had stopped taking baths with his baby brother and…now.

But, no. Sam had no problem with fucking, biting, licking, or doing any other –ing to his brother—to Dean. In fact, he had definitely seemed to enjoy it.

Not that Dean could say he hadn’t either. Fuck, but there’d been a line there, somewhere, Dean was certain of it and he’d definitely crossed it. Somewhere in between refusing to admit to this and begging Sam to fuck him.

Christ, that was not only fucking twisted but embarrassing. Because yeah, not only had Dean told Sam that he wanted it, he had a distinct memory of saying “Please, please, fuck me, God, please, Sammy.” Dean groaned and buried his face in his hands.

“Was it that bad?” a voice asked him casually and Dean’s heart skipped a beat. He turned to look behind him and found Ronnie, the kid from before, sprawled on the couch, smirking at him and eying him up and down. Dean froze and regretted his decision not to at least grab his jeans. “You’re supposed to be dead,” Ronnie said conversationally and pointedly stared at the bruises on Dean’s neck.

The kid looked just like Dean remembered—as much as he could remember—except for the long scratch traveling along the entire left side of his face. Dean narrowed his eyes and squared his shoulders. “And you’re supposed to be running away from Jacobson. He give you that?” he asked, jerking his head back, stalling.

How the fuck had the thing gotten in here without him and Sam noticing? Because yes, thing—the kid sitting there on the couch, Dean was pretty damn sure wasn’t human. Dean glanced over at the salt lines, the runes, the traps…

“Those don’t work on me,” Ronnie explained, sounding bored. “The one might if I had been made ‘properly’ but, since I’m flawed, it doesn’t matter.”

“So you fucked-up.”

“No!” Ronnie snarled. “It wasn’t my fault that I wasn’t suited! Unlike some, apparently.” He glared at Dean and Dean could stop himself from taking an instinctive step back. “She likes you. I can smell her on you—smell her approval.”

“And what the fuck does that mean?” Dean asked.

“Figures that the first person in half a century to be suited for turning and you’re a hunter.” Ronnie turned his head to look at out the window on his left. “She can’t sustain me for long,” he said sadly. “I need—” He stopped himself and turned to look at Dean, consideringly. “Maybe yours will make me whole. I think I’ll take it now. You're not dead like you should be, but maybe that will just make it better.”

“Oh, like hell you will.” Dean wasn’t sure exactly what of his Ronnie wanted but Dean was certain that he wouldn’t like it. He glanced at the duffle beside the couch, wondering if he could grab it before Ronnie noticed.

Ronnie lunged at him, moving faster than Dean had anticipated, and Dean threw himself to the right, just barely rolling out of the way. Ronnie crashed into the kitchen and Dean scrambled for the duffle—if only he could grab a gun, a knife, anything… Heavy hands forced him down to the floor, slamming him against the wooden boards, making his head reel. Dean rolled over, thoughts of a half-remembered public restroom interspersing themselves over his current reality. “Fuck…” he muttered, shaking his head.

Above him, Ronnie was staring down at him and, fuck, his face was changing, growing, getting longer. Dean tensed and tried to skitter out from underneath him. Was the fucker morphing? Dean shoved at the creature on top of him, trying to shove him off but he might as well be heaving at a brick wall for all that Ronnie moved. Dean bit his lip and kept trying, forcing the sense of déjà vu away. Ronnie’s hands were growing sharper, digging in to Dean’s flesh and pain was rocketing along Dean’s nerves. “Get off of me!” Dean shouted.

A long bang erupted in the cabin and Ronnie yelped, leaping off of Dean and scrambling for his feet. Behind him, Sam was running up to Dean, standing next to him and aiming again as Ronnie careened into the front door. Another shot and Ronnie screamed but threw himself out of the cabin, disappearing into the night. “Damn it!” Sam swore, lowering the gun.

He was panting as he turned to Dean. “Did he get you?” Sam asked, dropping to the floor to check. Dean was checking himself, patting his hands over his chest just to make sure that everything was there.

“No,” Dean said, relieved, and dropped his head back against the floor. Besides the lingering ache in his arms where Ronnie had been holding him down, he appeared to be fine. Christ… Sam apparently didn’t believe him and pawed at his chest as well, running his fingers quickly over Dean’s body. Dean let him, the constant hum that Sam’s touch caused now constant enough to be considered background noise. He chose instead to stare out the blood-splattered door that Ronnie had fled through. “We should go after him.”

Sam’s hands stopped. “You want us to go chasing after the monster wolf that almost killed you in the dark.”

“It’s already attacked, Sam. It obviously knows where we’re at.” It was either take the battle to it or move and Dean had the sneaking suspicion that if they chose the latter, it’d just find them again, anyway.

“Dean,” Sam growled, “you’re such a fucking liar.”

“What are you talking about, Sam?” Dean snapped. They didn’t have time to go through this!

“You’re bleeding, Dean. He’s already wounded you and you want to go beg him for more.” Dean blinked at Sam wondering what the fuck he was talking about and Sam raised Dean’s arm. Ronnie’s not yet formed claws had apparently broken through his skin.

“Fuck,” Dean said, eyeing the damage as Sam got up and grabbed Dean’s duffle from the corner, pulling out the first aid kit. Dean rolled his arm. No wonder he was still feeling it, then. At least the claw marks weren’t that deep—the fucker hadn’t had enough time.

“Yeah, ‘fuck’,” Sam repeated sarcastically, pulling out the antiseptic and a couple of bandages. He starting wrapping one of the bandages around Dean’s arm, making it tighter than was absolutely necessarily, Dean was sure. “What did it want?” Sam asked. He shook his hair out of his eyes.

Dean grunted as Sam finished up the first arm and pushed himself up on his elbows. “Don’t know, but I’m guessing my heart?” Sam’s mouth thinned, not liking the answer, and Dean rolled to his knees. “We’re going after it.”

“We won’t find it,” Sam replied stubbornly, moving closer to wrap the last bandage around Dean’s left bicep.

“Bullshit—you hit the thing. It’s gotta be leaving a trail.” More than that, there was something tugging at the corner of Dean’s mind. Like a scream heard from a mile off. Dean wondered if Sam could feel it, too.

“A trail that we can track in the dark? Dean—”

Dean stood up and cut Sam off, shaking him off as well and sealing the bandage himself. “If we wait until morning, Sam, it’s gonna come back.”

“And you know that how? You said it yourself, Dean, I shot it. It’s going to spend the night licking its wounds.”

“And then sheriff is going to have it covered up.” Dean glanced down. Or maybe Pete would do them a favor and just kill Ronnie for them. Of course, that meant that Pete would probably be the one coming after them… “It’s gotta be tonight, Sam.” Something was telling him that this couldn’t wait. Something was telling him that they had to follow, just like out in the woods. “I think that woman we met at the cult site is going to be there.”

“Dean, we still don’t even know what we’re dealing with here and you want to go track it on its territory in the middle of the night?” Put that way, it sounded reasonable enough just that… “Using whatever fucked-up senses IT gave you? Whatever happened to ‘not embracing the evil powers,’ Dean?”

Dean winced. “Sam—”

“What if it’s a trap, Dean?”

“You telling me you’re not feeling it, too?” Dean asked. Even if Sam wasn’t feeling it, he damn well knew what Dean was going through.

The muscle in Sam’s jaw jumped as Sam clenched his teeth, betraying Sam’s thoughts no matter how much he wanted to keep them wrapped up. “Dean, we’re not doing this.”

“Yeah we are, Sam.” They weren’t going to argue about this. They didn’t have the time and if Sam was feeling what Dean was, then he had to know that too. Dean had no idea what was happening but something inside him told him it was big and it was happening now. “Now grab your pants because we’re going.”

Part 4 | Master Post | Part 6