Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4455308.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Sam_Winchester, Dean_Winchester, John_Winchester, Original_Characters,
      mentions_of_Bobby_Singer_-_Character
  Additional Tags:
      Angst, Masturbation, Feels
  Series:
      Part 2 of What_comes_between_us_never_survives
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-07-29 Completed: 2015-09-17 Chapters: 20/20 Words: 32367
****** Brilliant Barton ******
by cutiebiz
Summary
     When Sam had discovered his own feelings for Dean he had lulled
     himself into a silent acceptance that he was a freak and that as long
     as he never acted upon these feelings or voiced them, then maybe they
     would go away on their own. But then, after the last hunt it had been
     revealed to him that Dean shared these feelings...
Notes
     This series has a happy ending, I promise!
     Do read the first part of the series before reading this, it may not
     make sense otherwise.
     I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters.
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Chapter 1 *****
Sam sat alone on the squeaky uncomfortable green couch in their newest Hometel,
studying for his English final. The cast had come off a week ago and he
couldn't have been more happy to watch it go. It didn't keep his brother and
father from habitually keeping him out of the loop about the hunts that they
were working on which annoyed Sam so much he could feel his blood boil when he
allowed himself to think about it. If it hadn't been for him on the last hunt,
they would have never killed that Huldra or rendered her sister into docility.
Not to mention the fact that after dad had shown uncle Bobby the tail, Uncle
bobby had insisted that they hide it right away, that it was in fact something
quite precious. Sam never got a chance to hear why though because dad had told
Dean to shut the door (Sam still had his cast on at that point) and he had been
shut out of the conversation yet again, not even getting a thank you from his
father and Dean never looking him in the eye....
 
That was the biggest thing that Sam had been battling for the past two weeks.
When Sam had discovered his own feelings for Dean he had lulled himself into a
silent acceptance that he was a freak and that as long as he never acted upon
these feelings or voiced them, then maybe they would go away on their own. But
then, after the last hunt it had been revealed to him that Dean shared these
feelings...or so he had thought, but the more he thought about the events that
had transpired two weeks ago and the more that Dean ignored him and enjoyed his
sexual escapades with other women, the more that Sam thought that perhaps Dean
was just letting off some steam. This thought was the one that hurt Sam the
worst....
 
He missed the times before, the times where he could just wonder and fantasize
about what could be...because even though back then he had known that there was
no possible way that Dean would ever touch him or kiss him in more than a
fraternal way, he had the luxury of ignorance. Now he had felt Dean physically
and had brushed up against the way that it could have been emotionally, he was
more tormented than ever knowing that there was truly no hope, that the chance
at them having something more had come and gone. Sam fought back the tears that
were welling up yet again in his eyes. He was so fucking frustrated. Dean
wouldn't look at him in the eye but Sam knew that after Dean came stumbling in
every night, drunk and stinking of perfume and booze, he would stop and stare
at Sam who would be pretending to be asleep for a while before flopping down on
his own bed and passing out. Sam could also see Dean staring at him from the
corner of his eye. Usually Sam would want to talk something like this out....it
was simply too big of an issue to ignore, but he honestly was still so hurt and
furious he didn't even know where to begin and feared making matters worse by
saying the wrong thing.
Sam sighed as he looked at the clock, it was 8pm already and he had spent his
entire Saturday studying.  He eyeballed his new cellphone that dad had bought
them, after the last hunt's fiasco John had found that all of Bobby's harping
him about getting a cellphone was a lot more effective after Sam almost died.
Despite this more fluid form of communication he still never heard from Dean or
dad until they got home. He made a frustrated noise and threw his head back on
the sofa.
Where the hell is every--
Suddenly there came a loud  knock on his door and he was on his feet like a
cat, but tentative nonetheless. Both Dean and John had the keys so there was
really no reason for anyone to be knocking. He grabbed his iron knife and made
his way to the door, peeking through the peephole. The person who stood on the
other side was tall and beautiful. He had red hair in dreadlocks that went to
the middle of his back, tied back by a bandana. He couldn't have been any older
than 17, he had glasses, wore wrist bands that were covered in metal, two
eyebrow rings in his left eyebrow, a nose piercing, a lip piercing and more
tattoos than Sam could observe through the tiny opening. The young man on the
other side stood straight looking generally at ease, but that didn't fool Sam,
this guy was a hunter, and hunters were never at ease. The young man turned
back again about to knock but then he looked at the peephole, putting his
crystal blue eye up closer to it as though to peep back at Sam. Sam gasped and
backed away.
"Who are you?" Sam demanded through the door.
"Is there a John Winchester in there? I must speak with him."
He spoke with authority....or was that just the British accent?
And how the hell did he know his dad?
This could mean trouble. Sam decided that he had better make a run for it.
"He's busy. Come back later." Sam said
"Oh, alright then." the young man replied, his voice muffled through the door.
 
Sam grabbed his backpack and cellphone and ran to the bathroom. The little
bathroom had been equipped with a nice little window...a convenience that John
always highly valued whenever they were sureveying their new surroundings and
creating salt lines. And now Sam knew why. He tossed the bag out the window
first, and then climbed though it himself. He knew that their window led to the
dumpster area. He landed gracefully on the ground. Which meant that if he went
around to the other side he would be just in time to watch this guy leave and
then call-
"Hello!"
Sam whirled around. The tall guy stood behind him holding Sam's bag. Sam eyed
the bag and then the guy trying to decide the best method to get his things
back when the young man handed the bag back to Sam with a smile that reached
his eyes. He looked amused.
"No need to be thinking that way, I'm not here to hurt you."
Sam snatched back his bag and eyed the other young man suspiciously, wondering
if he should just turn and make a run for it.
"I'm Barton, by the way." he held out his hand and Sam inspected it from where
he stood for a moment before taking it into his own.
"Sam." he replied, noting how soft Barton's hands were.
"I'm sorry to have startled you Sam..." Barton kept Sam's hand in his a second
too long before releasing them, surveying the sight of Sam with shameless blue
eyes.
"I'm actually here on a hunt...there seem to be witches in this area and my
sister and I were looking for some help...there's a whole coven here you see
and we hadn't really expected that...they've caught onto me and now we can't
investigate properly, what with them knowing who I am. And then we heard from
Robert that John was in the area and so we decided to make the call."
"I'm sorry about your witch problem, but you have to understand why I can't
trust you."
"How about this, you give Robert a call and see what he says and then you can
help me patch this up."
Now Barton opened his vest so that Sam could have a good look at his white
shirt soaked in blood.
"Shit." Sam breathed staring at it for a moment and then rummaging around his
bag for his cellphone.
After a quick call to Bobby for confirmation that Barton was who he said he
was, Sam led Barton to the front where Sam deftly picked the lock and the two
of them entered. Sam put his bag back down next to the sofa and Barton placed
his own right beside it.
Sam led Barton to the bathroom where Sam grabbed his kit while Barton stripped
off his shirt. Sam felt his stomach flutter when he caught a glimpse of
Barton's lean yet muscular physique covered in tattoos, but he forced his eyes
to the bleeding wounds in his side. It looked like someone had scarped a blade
in random directions all over his left side. As Sam worked to clean up the
wound he could feel Barton's eyes on his face and the weight of the silence
between them was too much for him.
What is with this guy?
But the even bigger question on Sam's mind was what was with him?
Why did this guy make him feel so uneasy and self conscious yet not
uncomfortable or fearful?
"What happened to you?" Sam murmured as he dabbed the wound gently and
skillfully.
"Hex bag. Nasty things, those are. My sister absolutely hates witches."
"Then she and my brother would get along famously." Sam replied
Also because she's a girl and my brother's a whore. Sam thought bitterly to
himself.
"Oh? You have a brother, that's right, Robert said something about that. Dean
right?"
Sam nodded, concentrating on the wounds.
"Is he as beautiful as you are?"
This took Sam aback for a moment but once again shepherded his thoughts to the
task at hand, even though he knew by now that he was definitely blushing. Time
to change the subject. He cleared his throat.
"So where's your sister?"
***** Chapter 2 *****
 
 
It had taken over a week to get this fucking salt and burn over with. Dean had
only mentioned once to his father how much easier this thing would go if they
had Sam doing the research for them but John would have none of it. It seemed
that John had enjoyed the break from the constant fighting that he was used to
when Sam was on a case. John had an unbreakable habit of never listening to
Sam, and Sam had the habit of not backing down or doing what he was told when
he thought that he knew better...which was, of course, always. But Dean
couldn't help but feel this would have gone a lot faster if they had Sam doing
the research. Dad had gotten a phone call as they were watching the flames lick
the sky out of the grave, trying to reach out and always failing. He never said
who it was, just took his truck and left Dean alone to watch the flames subside
in the newly fallen darkness. He pulled out his own phone, staring at the name
in his contact list. They had never talked about what had happened, which Dean
thought was strange considering how much Sam loved to get chatty about
problems. Perhaps he could call him now...tell him how sorry he was, try and
get back to some normalcy.
 
Heh, normal.
 
Normal had been tossing and turning in bed fighting with his feelings for Sam,
his perverted dreams that all featured Sam naked and trembling in ecstasy under
Dean. Dreams in which Sam was crying out his name and begging for more, his
legs wrapped around Dean's waist and his skin under Dean's tongue. Normal was
Dean waking up with a hard on, his body drenched in sweat and his soul drenched
in guilt. Normal was looking over at where Sam slept wondering what Sam would
do if he ever found out....But nothing could be normal ever again now, because
Sam had found out, and his reaction had scared Dean more than the alternative.
 
It scared him because more than anything Dean wanted to give in, give up the
fight against this and possibly be happy. But Dean had learned from a young age
that happiness never lasts long, that happiness was something made to be
destroyed, a big fat target on the back of anyone who possesses it. Dean saw
the devastation in the faces of husbands and wives when their loved one was
mauled by a Windigo, the way a mother and father looked when their daughter's
head gets ripped off my an angry spirit, the way a little boy feels when his
mother is set fire and pinned to a ceiling by a demon in their home. Happiness
was no shield in this life, it was a trap doomed to snap around your leg at the
slightest touch. Dean loved and needed Sam, and if he let himself have what he
wanted, it was only a matter of time before the world crashed around him. That
would be the day that Sam would be taken from him.
Dad probably feels the same way. That's why he keeps us at such a distance. He
would never be able to handle his children dying.
Once the fire had turned to dying embers he made his way back to the Impala and
drove to the nearest bar. He was hustling a group of bros when this girl
decided that she wanted to join in on the fun. She was short, her hair a dyed
black and pink, short and in pigtails. She had heavy makeup on, piercings in
her nose and eyebrow and a single symbol tattooed on her neck. She grinned at
him as she chewed her gum, all teeth. She was cute, and more importantly she
was wearing an incredibly short skirt with fishnets and a tightly laced corset
that accentuated a pair of huge breasts and a tiny waist. She didn't belong
here, that much was for sure, but no one was complaining. The cute bartender
behind the counter was glaring at her, obviously annoyed that her thunder was
being stolen. Dean smiled at her and continued his game, collecting his cash
from the frustrated frat boys. He was about to clear out and cash in on the hot
bartender, another hustle he'd been working all night, when the Goth girl
grabbed his arm with an unnaturally strong grip. Dean looked at her and smiled.
"Can I help you?" he flashed her his smile and she grinned back that toothy
grin again.
"Play with me," she said. She had a sexy British accent...Dean had never
"played" with a British girl before. Looking at her smile though, the way she
leaned in so that he could have a good look only made him sick, made him want
to go back to the motel and take Sam in his arms and never let go. The girl was
grabbing a pool queue, so Dean chalked up his own and downed the shot that the
cute bartender had sent his way.
"I'm pretty good," Dean said grinning, motioning to the bartender for another,
"sure you can take me on?"
"Oh I'm sure," she said stretching on her pool queue, showing off her full
breasts.
He downed his drink as soon as it made it to him, and he set the glass down
deliberately on the pool table.
"What do I get when I win?" he asks her, motioning for another drink.
"You're not. So let me tell you what I'm going to get when I win." she said
with a smirk.
"Okay, I'll bite."
He was amused, and she was hot.
She leaned in close to him as he brought his drink to his lips, she smelled
like cinnamon.
"If I win, we leave and we fuck." she whispered and he nodded and grinned.
What he wanted to say was "I'm sorry, I'm in love with my brother and I'm
leaving right now to go tell him and we're gonna bite the bullet and live
fucking happily ever after."
But what Dean really said after swallowing his drink and biting back his
bitterness was "Game on."
 
She was a fucking great pool player. She kicked his ass in less than 5 minutes
and left Dean staring at the 8 ball as it made its way hurriedly to the left
corner pocket as though it had an appointment in there that it was late for.
Dean took another drink and looked at his pierced companion who was already
returning the pool queues and asking the glowering bartender to close Dean's
tab because they were going. She was ready to collect her prize, and he was
ready to numb out and let himself have this one. As she dragged him out of the
bar she said "My name's Wendy."
"'M Dean." he managed to get in before she slammed him up against the wall
outside of the bar and sticking her tongue -which he discovered at that moment
was pierced- in his mouth.
He wanted nothing more than to push her away and take a hot shower to rid
himself of her...the same way he had felt with all of the other one night
stands that he had drunkenly stumbled into ever since his little fuck up with
Sam. Instead, Dean closed his eyes and pretended it was Sam, Sam with a pierced
tongue. The thought went straight to Dean's dick and he grabbed her and pulled
her closer so she could feel how...perky he was feeling.
"Where to Dean?" she breathed up against his mouth.
Reality was a bitch, and her name was Wendy, and Dean wasn't sure that he was
capable of this tonight.
I don't wanther, I wantSam
his mind protested petulantly.
He was not taking her back to his motel, that was for damn sure...should
probably just do this right here...or in the car...
But the car had Sam's jacket in the back seat...
Go with the drunk route.
So he did.
"Can't drive baby, too much of the good stuff," he lied, grinning at her.
She grinned back holding up jangling keys and it took a moment for him to
realize that they were his.
"I can drive," she declared boldly and tugged him by his jacket into another
kiss. Damn she was forceful. She dragged him to his own car and she was in the
driver's seat before he had a chance to protest, hating having anyone else
touching baby, but hoping that maybe if he feigned drunken sleep by the time
they got to wherever he wouldn't have to go through with this. She started the
car and grinned at him.
"Where to? We can't go to my place, it's....occupied."
"'M not from here...can't remember where we're staying," he lied.
She reached over and put a hand in his pocket tugging out a receipt.
What was this girl? A fucking bloodhound?
"You're staying at the Cast Away Motel..." she reached into his leather jacket
pocket this time and pulled out the key with the big 14 on it.
"And you're staying in room 14."
"Well my place is occupied too, how about we-"
"I know where that is! Let's go!"
Dean groaned internally, deciding to fake sleep right then and there. If she
wanted to do this then they'd do it in the car. There was no way this bitch was
getting into their motel room for dad to see....or Sam.
***** Chapter 3 *****
Sam was just putting dressing over Barton's stitches, Barton watching him
intently, when he heard the door bang open. Sam and Barton both looked at the
door and saw the young woman. She was short and dressed like a total goth
skank, and to his complete lack of surprise, his brother was being tugged along
by her laughing.
"No no no! We can't go in there!" Dean was chuckling.
 They tumbled into the room, both grinning until Dean saw Sam and Barton and he
immediately stopped smiling, a look of rage flashed across his beautiful face.
"What the fuck is going on?" Dean demanded, walking past the girl and bee
lining for his brother. He stepped between Sam and Barton.
"Who the Hell are you?" Dean spat.
"I'm Barton. Nice to meet you, you must be Dean. I'm a friend of Robert Singer
and he told me where to find you." Barton replied, his voice as smooth as silk,
he reached out a delicate, thin hand that Dean didn't take.
"What are you doing with my brother?" Dean growled.
Barton's crystal blue eyes flickered from Sam to Dean and he shrugged with a
lazy smile.
"Damn hex bag left some nasty cuts, your brother was kind enough to stitch me
up," Barton let his eyes rest on Sam who was angrily packing up the first aid
kit, trying not to look at the skanky bitch Dean had brought home, trying to
bury the pain of the reopened wound in his heart.
"Your brother," Barton added, "has a gentle touch."
Sam felt his face go hot but he didn't look up from his work. He could feel
Dean tense in front of him.
"I want you out of here," said Dean, his voice menacing.
"I don't think so," said the skank who was leaning against the wall.
"Run that by me again, bitch?" Dean rounded in on her and Sam was now fully
aware, standing up, aware of the knife he kept hidden against his side. This
could be bad.
"I said, I don't think so. My brother and I need your help," she said, her eyes
fearlessly meeting Dean's blazing green ones.
"And who the fuck are you?" Dean was inches away from her face now, and she
shrunk away slightly.
"I believe we've been over this before Dean," she responded bravely, flashing a
toothy grin, "I'm Wendy. This is my brother Barton and we're hunters. We need
help and Robert recommended your father."
"Well my father isn't here right now, and when he's not around I'm in charge
and I say that both of you get the fuck out of here or hex bags won't be the
only things leaving nasty cuts all over your pretty skin." He smiled back at
her, the smile never reaching his eyes.
She blinked a few times, her face determined but showing the slightest bit of
fear.
"But we need help, we can't do this on our own."
"Well you're shit out of luck. We're all booked up," Dean said slowly and
deliberately, not once taking his gleaming green eyes from the girl's face,
still wearing his fake, cocky smile.
"I see that we may have outstayed our welcome," Barton said smoothly, "I
apologize for the trouble, we'll be on our way. Send our regards to your
father, from us, the Arlingtons. Come Wendy, we have things to do."
Wendy glared at Dean for a moment and then made her way to the door. Barton
put  his shirt back on and Sam watched the fabric cover his soft, scarred,
tattooed skin. He glanced over at Dean and saw that Dean was watching him, his
eyes flickering from Sam to Barton, looking pissed. In was going to be a long
night of silent tension here.
"Oh, Sam?" Barton said, turning to look at him in the doorway. Sam look over at
him.
"Thank you for your help. It was an absolute pleasure to meet you."
And with that Barton walked out following his sister. As soon as the door shut
behind him, Dean grabbed Sam by his shoulders and was looking right into his
face, his own expression a picture of rage.
"What the hell were you thinking Sam?"
Sam shoved him away, which, now that Sam had a good leg and time to train,
caused Dean to stumble back.
"Bobby vouched for him. He was able to describe him-"
"That asshole is practically wearing a costume Sam! He's not hard to imitate!"
Dean bellowed, pointing to the door that the other hunters had just walked out
of.
"It's fine Dean! They're gone, they didn't hurt us!" Sam yelled back, anger
bubbling up inside of him.
"He could have, Sam!"
"What, you think I can't take care of myself!" Sam, shoved Dean again, his
anger rising and rising the more that Dean yelled, the more that Dean even
looked at him. It made Sam so angry. What right did Dean have? What right does
he have to pretend like he gave a shit?
"No, I don't." Dean pushed Sam hard this time, his eyes wide and glowing with
fury.
"Oh, I see, you're just scared that dad's gonna get pissed at you for letting
something happen to me!"
Dean came at him and grabbed Sam around the waist, tackling him to the ground.
Sam struggled against him, letting his training come into play, he wrapped his
legs around Dean's body using a combination of momentum, body weight and
strength to roll himself on top of Dean, pinning him down with his body,
settling on Dean's chest, his knees pinning Dean's arms down by the elbows.
"Don't worry, dad will have no one to blame but me if I die. I have no
intention of taking orders from the two of you assholes for the rest of my
life," Sam let all of his rage and bitterness and pain come out of him,
dripping from every word that he released from his mouth.
 
Despite Sam's supper hand, he hadn't accounted for Dean's experience and field
sharpened skill, and before Sam knew it Dean had flipped him onto his back,
pinning Sam's hands above him with his own. Sam made an attempt to get back up,
but Dean covered his body with his own, linking his feet with Sam's to keep him
from struggling too hard. Dean's face was inches away from Sam's own, and Sam
found himself staring into Dean's beautiful green eyes, those poisonous things
that would surely be Sam's demise. Having Dean so close to him, smelling him,
feeling his body on top of his own, hearing his breathing and feeling his heart
beat against his own chest Sam wanted to crane his neck up and catch Dean's
plump kissable lips with his own. The thought of it made his heart ache at the
memory. He'd had this once, for a brief wonderful moment he'd had this.
"And what about me, Sam?" Dean said quietly now, letting his forehead drop down
onto Sam's. Sam felt a lump in his throat. How dare he ask this?
"What about you, Dean?" Sam hissed, trying not to get aroused by the feeling of
Dean's moist breath against his lips. Dean just let his head rest on Sam's
shoulder, holding Sam firmly still against the floor.
"I don't like how he was looking at you Sam," Dean whispered gruffly into Sam's
ear, making Sam shiver as he felt his body yield to Dean against his
will. He quickly regained his composure when he reminded himself of that slut
at the door, of every slut that he had smelled on his whore of a brother every
time he came home after a night out. His heart wrenched at the reminder of the
betrayal.
"You have no right to tell me who gets to look at me and who doesn't Dean,"
Sam responded softly yet firmly.
Dean lifted his head from Sam's shoulder to look at him, exasperated.
"So you like him then? Got a thing for Euro trash?" Dean's voice was getting
louder with anger.   
"I could ask you the same thing," Sam replied coldly. Dean's eyes burrowed into
Sam's, still furious before he let go of Sam and slid off of him.
"You're right," Dean said, getting to his feet, "dad would kill me," and he
stepped over Sam's body going into the bathroom and slamming the door behind
him. Sam rolled onto his side, bringing his legs up to his chest and catching
his breath, fighting the tears threatening to spill onto the crappy green
carpet. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself before getting to his feet
and gathering his schoolbooks, sitting on the sofa and resuming his studying,
creating an icy barrier between his rabid emotions and his collected conscious.
He had to move on. He would not live this life forever. This time would pass
and Sam would make sure of it. He'd focus on his studies, keep his future open.
And Sam would never fall in love again.
***** Chapter 4 *****
 
It was late afternoon the next day when Dean heard a gruff voice yell "Sam,
Dean, let's get a move on!"
He hadn't heard dad get back to the motel, but there he was in the kitchen part
of the room washing his face with some water, his head hanging in exhaustion.
John hadn't been there that morning for their morning training, so Sam and Dean
had eaten breakfast awkwardly in total chill silence. Dean had run errands
while Sam had studied for his finals. Once Dean returned with no trace of his
father, he and Sam did their training, once again in silence. Dean had let Sam
shower first and had just gotten out when he heard his father's voice through
the door.
Dean put on his jeans and shirt quickly, his horned necklace falling heavily on
his chest. Dean spared a glance at Sam who had his back to him, slithering into
his own undershirt with an unintentional sensuality. Only Sam could look this
sexy putting clothes on. Dean wanted to grab Sam from behind, run his hands
under his shirt, kiss a mark into Sam's soft warm skin, feel it beneath his
lips-
"Dean," his father's voice snapped him out of his daydream, "take the Impala to
Paul's Place, that diner down the street, Sam and I will follow behind in the
truck. Sam, go get all of your books on the occult."
"Yes sir," each son said, going about their business.
Dean spared a glance at Sam who was following his father's instruction and
gathering his books, picking through his massive pile and grabbing a few
notebooks as well. The little nerd did nothing but study all day long, it was
no surprise he had notebooks full of whatever rare, shiny knowledge he had come
across in his adventures through the libraries. Dean had tried once long ago to
pick through one of Sam's notebooks, trying to make sense of his tiny, neat
handwriting, but Dean had gotten tired just looking at the potent brick of
information scribbled on the pages and had given up almost immediately. Sam was
pretty smart. The kid could knew the "hi how are you's" and "where's
the library?" in nearly 8 languages not to mention the dead languages that Sam
was pretty much fluent in. Whenever he read something or saw something, he
retained it, and it was always helpful in a pickle. Dean took one last look at
those dark blue, intelligent eyes before going out to the Impala and stroking
the steering wheel affectionately.
"I'm sorry baby, no one else will ever touch you again,"  he cooed before
starting her up. 
***** Chapter 5 *****
 
The ride from the motel to the diner was a quiet one. Sam and his dad really
didn't have much to talk about. Sam had quickly grown out of the obedient
soldier role at the ripe old age of eleven, and Dad had never been particularly
impressed with Sam's good grades and smarts. When Sam managed to translate an
old scroll, or pick apart a cypher, or told his brother how to kill a Huldra,
he was met with that arrogant expectance from his father.
You were just doing your job. You want a metal every time you "meet
expectation?"
His father would say. So Sam had gotten over seeking out validation, but had
found all of the validation he needed in Dean's gruff but genuine praise.
"Alright, we're here," said John as he parked the car, "Bring your stuff, but
keep it hidden."
"Yes, sir," Sam responded, not asking why Dad wanted him to lug all of his
books in when he could just as easily get them from the truck as needed.
When they entered the slow, quiet diner Sam spotted a tall beautiful figure
sitting beside a shorter slutty one and recognized the Arlingtons immediately.
They stuck out like two pierced and tattooed sore thumbs. They were occupying a
table in the dark corner away from the windows, Wendy the slut was sitting with
her back to them, Barton was sitting on the right end of the table and Sam
could see a composed expression on his attractive profile, and sitting across
from Wendy with a completely candid glower on his face was Dean, sitting back
in his chair, his arms crossed not looking at either of them. His green eyes
flickered up when he saw the movement out of the corner of his eye looking
straight at Sam for a second, making Sam's heart jump in spite of himself.
"Sam, how lovely to see you," said the smooth satin voice to his right as he
approached the table. Barton was standing now, his crystal blue eyes lit up and
staring at Sam with unrestrained adoration. Sam felt himself blush when his
eyes met the crystal blue ones.
"Oh, uh, hi," Sam said with a nod, his arms full of books, a backpack stuffed
with more books slung over one shoulder.
"Let me help you with those, they look quite heavy-"
"I've got it!" a voice from behind Sam growled and he felt his bag being taken
from his shoulder, Wendy taking the books he was holding so that he could get
his arm out of the strap. Sam hadn't even seen Dean get up and move to the
other side of the table, but he must have started moving as soon as he saw Sam.
Sam looked over his shoulder at Dean who deliberately did not make eye contact
and murmured a "thank you" before taking a seat beside Wendy who had stacked
his books up on the table next to her. He thanked her too and she gave him a
toothy grin.
She seems nice enough.
Sam thought to himself grudgingly. No matter what she had done with his brother
or what she had intended to do, it wasn't really her that he was angry at, and
Sam would do well to remember that. He put the books under the table next to
his feet carefully as John took his place at the other end of the table facing
Barton directly.
"Dean, Sam, this is Barton and Wendy Arlington. I believe the four of you have
met," John said dryly.
Dean was back in his chair glaring at Barton.
"We've met," Barton responded kindly, looking over at Sam and giving him a sly
grin.
Sam looked over at Dean who was now glaring at Sam and then Sam looked over at
John who didn't seem to give a shit one way or the other.
"Well good, because you boys are going to be helping them," John said looking
at both of his sons.
Dean looked down at the table and said "Yes, sir." Sam responded with his own
"yes sir" and then John stood up.
"Well then, it's all settled, I have some other fish to fry."
"Wait, what?" Dean said, looking up at John, his brow furrowed.
"You'll be working with the Arlingtons, I'm meeting up with Bobby for our own
hunt, so if you can't get a hold of me, call him."
"So I'm supposed to work with these guys by myself?"
"No Dean, you've been bitching about how useful Sam would be in the research
department, so your wish is granted, you have Sam working with you."
Sam watched as Dean gaped at his father for a second before he nodded slowly
and said "Yes sir," and with that John was off, leaving the four hunters at the
corner table sitting in an awkward silence.
***** Chapter 6 *****
 
"Let me first begin by apologizing for inconveniencing you yesterday," Barton's
cool voice flowed through the silence like a suede river. Dean flashed him a
look that could kill. Sam quickly interjected.
"That's okay," he cleared his throat, "let's talk about the coven that you're
hunting."
Wendy was looking at Dean thoughtfully, and Sam realized that without her
cocky, toothy grin, she looked dangerous.
"Well we thought it was just one witch at first, all hex bags and wickedness
with that one. It's actually quite strange, she's been playing assassin all
through the past four states," Barton hadn't taken his eyes from Sam this whole
time. Wendy quickly picked up the thread.
"She started on a History professor at UNLV, then she killed some rich guy and
his family in Utah, ransacked an antique shop in Wyoming, slaughtered through
three families in South Dakota, and she's attacked 9 people here alone."
"So what's the theory? She robbing people?" Dean said, in business mode now.
"No...as far as we can tell she hasn't taken anything from anyone. Not like
there was that much to take...the families in South Dakota and the people here
were normal middle class families."
"We can't really tell why she's choosing them," Barton continued, "but she
kills them slowly. They all seemed to have died from natural causes...heart
failure, kidney failure, one fell asleep in the bath tub. It really seemed at
first that this was not really our type of case until Wendy talked to one of
our inside police officers who said that the coroners all found that the blood
of the victims had coagulated inside of their veins..."
"Okay, that doesn't really sound naturalat all..."
"They didn't want to send people into a panic...the police can't catch a
disease," Barton rationalized.
"What kind of information do you have on the victims?"
"Not much," Barton responded, "they all come from different backgrounds, they
didn't really share any common interests, they all varied in lifestyles,
religions, political ideals. It's like she's picking them at random."
Wendy had taken out her knife and was scraping under her black painted
fingernails, every once in a while eyeing Dean, her eyes flickering between
him, Barton and Sam.
"Perhaps if we can find a common thread-"
"Why does it matter?" Wendy interrupted her brother, still scraping under her
nails, "We know who did it, we know how to find her and her little friends, we
know who to take out, so what does it matter?"
"My sister is a true hunter," Barton grinned at Sam, "she doesn't quite
understand the concept of profiling...which is what we may have to spend some
time doing, especially since the witch knows that we're after her...."
"My stupid brother," Wendy said, "decided to break into the motel we tracked
her to without telling me. He didn't expect that there would be others,"
"Others?" Sam asked.
"There were two other women in her room," Barton said, "that was when I felt
the effects of the hex bag. The other two women got away while I was
preoccupied with my wounds. I called Bobby, he told me where you were, and then
the rest," Barton gave Sam another sly smile, "is history."
Dean cleared his throat loudly looking straight at Barton, Wendy was looking at
Barton also with a shade of confusion on her face and Sam was looking at his
notes that he had been taking and was blushing violently.
"So," Dean said, calling Barton's attention to him, "Did you get a look at them
at all?"
"Not really," Barton said coolly, "but I have a photographic memory so I could
tell you every detail that I did see."
If you have a photographic memory, then why do you insist on staring?
"Oh. Good."
Was what Dean actually said in the most sarcastic way that he could muster.
"I'll draw them for you so you and my sister can keep an eye out for them while
you do interviews," Barton said kindly.
"What do you mean? What about you?" Dean asked, already knowing the answer and
already pissed.
"I'll be helping Sam with the research, it's best that I not be seen with you
two seeing as they know what I look like."
"No. Fucking. Way."
Dean dropped each word like a heavy stone, the kind they used to squish people
accused of witchcraft back in Salem. Dean wouldn't mind seeing Barton flattened
right now...like a morbid pressed flower that Dean could send through a
shredder.
Wendy was looking at Dean now, a tiny crinkle forming in between her eyebrows.
Her eyes shifted back to her brother and then over to Sam who rolled his eyes
at her and shrugged.
"Dean," Sam interjected, "what else are we supposed to do? I need help with
research, and we need people on the ground, we have no other choice."
"No. Dad didn't authorize me to leave you alone with this guy."
Sam was suddenly furious, he could feel his blood boiling and he glared at
Dean.
Of course. That's all that Dean really cares about, being a good fucking
soldier!
"Thank you for your concern Dean, but I can take care of myself," said Sam
icily.
Dean glared at Sam for a moment and then shrugged.
"Fine, suit yourself. Something happens to you, it's not on my head."
Sam felt his heart breaking all over again as he picked up his stuff and turned
to head out. To Dean's fury, Barton grabbed Sam's books from the table so that
he wouldn't have to carry them and followed him out to the parking lot. Dean
watched them go, so wrapped up in glaring at the back of Barton's head that he
jumped when he felt a hand grab his arm.
"Come on cranky," Wendy demanded, winking at the waitress who had just finally
showed up and dragging Dean out to the parking lot towards baby.
"You want me to drive-"
"NO!" Dean boomed, hurrying to the driver's seat.
"You know, now that we're working together, I think we should try and get to
know each other a little better."
Dean sighed, exasperated.
This was going to be a long fucking day.
***** Chapter 7 *****
 
Wendy directed them to the crappy motel that the witch had been staying in. It
was out in the middle of nowhere, nothing but road for landscape. Wendy led the
way to the room that the witch had been staying in, giving the door a good hard
shove at just the right angle, and to Dean's utter lack of surprise considering
the condition of the place, the door swung open with ease. Wendy and Dean both
stood still at the door, Barton's wounds fresh in their memory. Wendy took a
look around, about to brave a step into the room when Dean grabbed her arm and
pulled her back. She wasn't his favorite person in the world, but he'd be
damned if he'd let a chick take a spiritual bullet for him. He straightened out
his jacket, and let his hand come to his chest where he could feel the horns on
the emblem around his neck, not noticing how Wendy was observing this almost
religious act. He stepped through carefully...and nothing. He took another step
into the room, nothing still. He walked around for a moment, and turned to look
at Wendy, who still stood uncertainly in the doorway watching him. He held his
hands out and shrugged.
"If there's no new hex bag, must mean she hasn't been here since Barton got in
here," Dean induced out loud.
Wendy walked into the room and looked around and the emptiness.
"Alright then, what side do you want?" she asked him, giving him a suggestive
grin, "unless of course you want to share."
"I'll check the bedroom and the closet, you check the bathroom," Dean said,
pretending not to catch her little innuendo.
Wendy left the door open while she rummaged through the cabinets and drawers.
"Looks like she left in a hurry! Look what I found!" she exclaimed. Dean looked
over to see what she was holding up triumphantly in her fingers, grinning her
toothy grin. It was a single, dangling earring. Dean came closer and saw that
it had an intricate design, one like he had never seen before. Despite the way
it glittered, it seemed extremely old in design. Dean couldn't even begin to
describe what the stones in it were, they were like nothing he had ever seen
before...a deep blue, like the color of Sam's eyes.
"Wow," he managed, coming closer to squint at it. It was breathtaking.
"Dibs!" Wendy said, looping it into her ear.
"I don't think that's a very good idea," Dean said quickly, watching her
closely to see if she was going to melt or possibly explode...either one was
fine with him truth be told...then maybe he could give it to Barton, he had
pierced ears right? Wendy rolled her eyes and sighed.
"You're like my grandma or something. Just relax!"
Dean's mind conjured up an image of what Grandma Arlington probably looked
like...pierced and tattooed and he shivered.
"Alright, you can have it, just keep looking, we've gotta turn this place
upside down before whoever owns this shithole comes around wanting his money
from our little friend."
She continued looking though the bathroom, checking under the toilet, opening
pipes, checking the shower drain, while Dean looked through the room. He
checked the nightstand drawer, the closet, when he tossed the mattress off of
the bed he was actually surprised to find a black cloth sack, about the size of
a standard purse hidden underneath.
"Who hides their shit under the mattress anymore? Fucking amateur," Dean
mumbled to himself as he carefully grabbed one of the cloth straps by a pinky.
It was heavy.
"Hey! I think I've found something!" Dean called.
Wendy came bounding into the bedroom, the blue stoned earing glittering in her
ear with a light of its own, looking incredibly out of place with her dark
gothic façade.
"Well open it," she said, as though it was the most natural thing to do in this
situation. Dean turned her head and gave her a look of utter disbelief.
"You open it. Are you fucking crazy?There might be some weird witch shit in
here!"
She gave another eye roll and made a grab for the bag.
"Whoa whoa whoa!!" Dean exclaimed, taking the bag out of her reach, "Now, hang
on a sec! What if there's a hex bag in here? If there's something valuable in
here than she may have cursed the thing to keep people out!"
"We won't know until we try!" Wendy said, making another grab for the bag.
Dean pulled it away again quickly shaking his head.
"No way!"
"Dean, if we don't open it, who will? Barton's already injured, and do you
really want Sam to open it?"
Dean made a face.
No way in Hell was Sammy opening this fucking thing.
"Listen, I can open it, and if something happens, Sam can always patch me
up..." Wendy said.
Dean seemed pensive and Wendy watched his face closely as she added, "Barton
seems to think he did a fine job on him."
Dean's face went dark.
"I'm opening it," he declared, sitting down on a more open space on the floor,
just in case whatever was inside might come bursting out...like a facehugger or
baby alien.
Fucking witches.
"Be careful, Dean," Wendy said, looking apprehensive.
"Hey, this was your idea," Dean said, shrugging.
He opened the sack slowly, his eyes half shut, cringing in anticipation.
And there was nothing.
They both waited for a moment, staring at the open sack on the floor, and after
nothing happened, they both approached it slowly, looking down into it. Wendy
unceremoniously shoved a hand inside, making Dean grab her arm out of reflex.
"Be careful!" 
"God, you're such a baby."
She pulled her arm out, her hand in a fist, and she turned it over, uncurling
her fingers to reveal a little leather bag. It was a hex bag. She let it drop
quickly and both she and Dean jumped away from it, Wendy inspecting her body
frantically for any damage.
There was none.
"Okayyy," Dean said, carefully putting his hand into the bag and fished around.
He pulled out another hex bag...nothing.
"We need to call Barton now," Wendy said, grabbing her phone from her cleavage.
Dean rolled his eyes.
"There has to be other places you can keep that!"
Wendy dialed a number, bringing the phone to her ear and looked straight at
Dean, shaking her head.
"All of the other places are taken by knives and guns. Barton!"
Dean heard a pretentious voice on the other end of the line...okay, maybe he
couldn't, but he imagined it would be.
"We found a sack of hex bags. Yes....No neither of us are hurt, they didn't
seem to hurt either of us when we touched them-Oh Barton please, now you sound
like Dean! No! We're not hurt...I don't know why...oh well that makes
sense...right...right...okay, we're on it! You two head to the motel, Dean and
I will get everything we can! We'll meet you at the motel with our haul!
Alright, kisses! Chao!"
She hung up, her eyes alight, her toothy grin back on her face. Dean gave her a
look, an eyebrow raised.
"Kisses, chao?"
Wendy rolled her eyes, "And what do you say to Sam when you part ways?"
Dean's heart sank as he thought of the last thing that he had said to Sam
before heading over here...
"Fine, suit yourself. Something happens to you, it's not on my head."
Dean remembered the look on Sam's face and suddenly wished he could
rewind...tell Sam the truth:
"If something happens to you, I will fucking die."
***** Chapter 8 *****
Chapter Notes
     Hey guys! Thanks for reading this far!! I'll be posting another big
     batch of chapters on August 7th for you! So hang tight and enjoy!
     Thank you for all of your support and patience so far! I hope you're
     all loving it as much as I have loved writing it!
 
 
Sam and Barton were sitting at the local used bookstore/café, Sam skimming
through the books on the occult along with the million photocopies of books
that were no longer sold in fat 3 ringed binders that the clerk had
begrudgingly pointed out to them. They had a huge section of three ringed
binders, called "Borrow for tomorrow" filled with town history, family
trees, photocopies of old newspaper clippings from town or featuring the
town. The Bookstore/Café was called "Think and Drink."
"Sounds like the name of the most depressing pub in the world," Barton had
commented.
The place wasn't that bad though. It smelled like a library, seeing as 99% of
the books were used books, and the owner of the place was some hippie who
believed that knowledge belongs to all. It was a place where you could sit and
read an entire book cover to cover and put it back on the shelf, or, buy it for
however much you thought it was worth depending on how well you argued your
price.
The owner wasn't there today, but Sam had seen him around...he was a nice
guy, Dustin Keri, who was the editor of the town newspaper.
Barton helped with the collection of information, looking at books and notes
from the history and culture section. The witch had attacked a History
professor and had broken into an antique shop, it just seemed right to check. 
"You never know where you'll find your break," Barton had said cheerfully,
giving Sam a warm smile, his eyes resting heavy on him from behind his glasses.
It was almost closing time when Barton's cell phone began to ring, causing the
clerk, Mr. Keri's assistant, Charles Serafin, to send him a foul look from
behind the counter in front of the espresso machine. Reading Niche and drinking
a cappuccino at the counter, Sam couldn't have imagined a more relaxing job and
privately longed for the moment that he turned fifteen when he could get a
worker's permit and possibly get a summer job...anything to get away from dad
and his condescending bullshit, and Dean who was impossibly beautiful and just
as evasive.

It would be nice...Sam thought...to have a new life.
Maybe if he was away from all of this, he could start to forget, and then maybe
one day he could pretend that the entire first part of his life had been a bad
dream. Maybe after a few years of waking up without Dean in the next bed over
could make each little piece of himself lock back into place...mold back
together somehow. No, he could never lie to himself...he knew he'd never be the
same...knew he'd never be "normal." But at this point Sam was willing to settle
on some entirely not normal, imperfect peace. Sam couldn't really imagine which
was worse...living without Dean, feeling like half of a person without him by
Sam's side, or being with Dean every day and feeling his heart scratch at his
ribcage like a trapped animal trying to escape...trying to get home...
Barton smiled at him apologetically as his phone rang again. He put one slim,
graceful finger up to Sam to signal that he needed a moment and went outside,
the pissed off Charles watching him all the while, moving only his head to
follow him, like some kind of oversized owl. Once Barton was out of
sight, Charles gave Sam a glower over the top of the paperback before
going back to reading.
When Barton returned, he was shaking his head, sighing as he put his cell phone
back in his pocket.
"What happened?" Sam whispered.
Barton knelt down to be eye level with Sam.
"We need to get back to the motel," Barton whispered back, leaning just a
little bit too close to Sam as he did so. Sam noted that Barton smelled like
peppermint, and that his eyes looked softer from this close...and that his eyes
really liked looking straight into his own, no fear, no denial or modesty. This
person with his consistent way of elegant sureness, like he thought he was
invisible and couldn't care less about anything that existed beyond his bubble.
Sam admired Barton for this. He wished that he could feel like he was
invisible, instead of constantly wishing that he was invisible. Sam nodded,
turning his gaze away from those crystal blue pools and began packing up his
notes. Barton stood where he was for a moment, and then finally backed off,
collecting his file of photocopies and his sketchbook where he had been taking
notes and making the sketches for Dean and Wendy. Sam hadn't really had a
chance to look at them yet, had only really seen the beginning stages, the
shape of a head, the guidelines of the face, faint circles and lines that would
soon resemble the face of a person...a likeness projected onto a piece of paper
that would mark them for death.
 
Sam sat in the passenger side of the Arlington's silver Honda Civic, the books
piled onto his lap, the sketchbook at the very top. He stared out the window as
he watched the sky darken, a soft lavender now as the sun took its exit and the
night seamlessly stepped onstage, the transitional act: Dusk. He almost
couldn't contain his curiosity as he let his eyes fall on the blank, black
cover. Barton gave him a curious sideways glance from the driver's seat.
"The drawings are where the marker is inside, if you'd like to have a look,"
said Barton, his voice soft and rich as down.
"Thanks," said Sam, carefully opening the book to where the black, anonymous
marker was sandwiched between the pages. The drawings were fantastically
lifelike...just more evidence of how much Barton privately observed through
that constant stare. Sam surveyed the three faces carefully. One was a woman
who looked to be about Wendy's age, she had a nose piercing and heavy makeup,
the picture made her eyes look dark and opaque.
The witch.
The notes that pointed to the hair said "Brown" and the notes that pointed to
the eyes said "dark brown." The next picture was of a woman who looked to be
about in her thirties with fair hair and eyes that looked almost transparent.
It was the last picture that made Sam take pause, because the face on the page
looked...familiar. Not like someone he had met before, but possibly the sister
of someone he had met before...She too had fair hair and pale eyes, but she
looked much younger, perhaps in her late teens. She was beautiful, and her face
looked...kind. Sam was about to shut the book when he caught a glimpse of
another drawing on the next page. He glanced over at Barton, who still had his
eyes on the road, and then turned the page up just a little at the edge and saw
...eyes...
"We're here," said Barton as he parked.
Sam slammed the book shut, glad for the now quickly encroaching darkness as
dusk announced night. In the darkness, Barton couldn't see Sam blushing.
"Dean and Wendy found hex bags," Barton said, as he unloaded the car, taking
the heavy stack of books off of Sam's lap after slinging the book bags over his
shoulder, leaving only a few notebooks for Sam to carry.
Sam's stomach dropped.
"Are they okay?"
Is Dean okay?
"They're fine, I think it was the witch's ready-made arsenal, so they can only
really be triggered after an incantation of some sort," Barton replied as Sam
let them into the motel room. Sam breathed out a private sigh of relief. Sam
hated being worried about Dean, hated loving him so much and despising the
bastard at the same time. Perhaps he could escape the lifestyle, he could
escape seeing Dean's determined jaw and his watchful green eyes, but Sam knew
he would never escape the soul eating love that he had harbored in his core for
as long as he could remember. And that was the scariest part of it all.
***** Chapter 9 *****
Sam and Barton had only just finished getting all of their things on the second
hand coffee table, opening up their notes and their photocopies when Wendy
burst into the room, her toothy grin planted on her face in triumph, holding a
fabric bag causally over her shoulder.
"Evenin' gents!" she exclaimed with an air of victory. Sam half expected her to
be wearing a cape that a gust of wind with no source would bring to glorious
life. What came up behind Wendy, though, was Dean, looking grouchy as ever with
a big heavy trash bag swung over his back. In comparison to Wendy's sparkling
entrance, Dean looked like he had just robbed someone.
Dean gave Wendy a look before moving around her and dropping the heavy black
trash bag on the floor deliberately between Barton and Sam who had been sitting
side by side to ponder over a photocopy of a victim's family tree.
"What's this?" Sam asked, opening the trash bag and peering inside.
All he saw were sheets and pillow cases.
Sam looked up at Dean questioningly, but Dean was staring at the open sketch
book where the face of the witch looked back at him.
"That her?" Dean asked.
"Yes, she's the one who threw the hex bag, the other two are her companions,"
Barton responded, giving Dean a quick look to acknowledge his presence before
he carefully lifted a condom out of the trash bag. It was tied in a knot at the
end and Sam felt his stomach do a summersault, throwing Dean a wide eyed look
of fury and horror...a look only Sam could really pull off. Dean looked from
the condom to Sam and then opened his mouth to say something when Barton asked
"What's in it?" completely unfazed.
"It's some hair I found at the bottom of the shower drain. You'd think she'd
been more careful..." Wendy responded, one hand on her hip as she opened the
fridge and pouted at its contents.
Then Sam finally understood. Here in this trash bag was an orgy of the witch's
DNA. Skin flakes, small hairs, body produced oils, saliva, it could all be
found in her bed sheets. Sam looked from the trash bag to the cloth bag that
was now resting on Wendy's hip and Sam suddenly felt like someone was looking
at him. Sam turned to see Barton gazing at him, a soft affectionate look
hovered around his crystal blue eyes.
"We're going to be opening those hex bags and doing a little...rewiring...."
Barton said, a sly smile sliding onto his face.
 "UGH! How long's that going to take then?" Wendy groaned, shutting the
refrigerator and giving Barton an exasperated look.
"Not to worry darling sister, you and Dean are on food detail," Barton said
smoothly, looking through the stack of books that Sam owned on the coffee
table. Sam watched as Dean glared at Barton, who was now pulling an old
hardcover of "Dark Coven Magic" from the pile with his slender hands.
"Says who?" Dean growled.
"I'm sorry Dean, you must understand, I can't allow my sister to go out there
by herself, and I certainly can't be seen with you lest the witches be out and
about, so it's best if the two of you go and Sam and I can stay here."
Sam could hear the silent command in Barton's voice, the one that was taking
control, and Sam could see the look on Dean's face, one that said that this was
not fucking happening.
Even Wendy gave her brother a curious look.
"No way in Hell. Your sister can stay in here with you and Sam's coming with
me," Dean retorted, not looking at Wendy who had discovered the Redvines in the
drawer and was now looking back and forth between the two men with narrowed
eyes.
"I need Sam to do the cataloguing. I was under the impression that Sam was the
one who does the research around here..."
"You don't need shit! You're not the boss here, 'kay guy? You're sister can do
that just fine!"
"Research isn't really her area of expertise...."
"Hey!" Wendy butt in, "I'm the one who brought you that con-dom! I do have some
detective skills you know!"
"Yeah! See, she'll do it! No problem! Now Sam will come with me-"
"Oh, no fucking way Dean," Wendy cut in again, taking a Redvine and chomping
it.
"Pardon?" Dean snapped.
"There's no way I'm going to do thatshit! It's fucking boring, and I'm fucking
hungry! Let's just be good little warrior bees and go get the honey, eh?"
She took the Redvine between her sharp teeth again and tugged at it violently
until it finally snapped and she began obliterating it viciously in her mouth.
She's a fucking wolf creature.
Dean looked over at Sam, who just looked tired of the whole fucking thing.
"Listen Dean, it'll be fine, just go grab us some pizza or something and we can
get through these things," Sam said, making his puppy dog face, "I'm just
really hungry, Dean."
That face. The secret fucking weapon.
God Damn It.
Dean reflected that Sam hadn't really used that face in quite some time...not
since...
Dean cleared his throat, and grabbed his keys out of his pocket. He pointed at
Barton, his eyes becoming green flares and his jaw setting sternly, making Sam
melt despite himself.
"Anything happens to Sam and I'll fucking kill you. Wendy, give them the bag
and let's get this thing over with."
"Uuuugghh!! Fiiinaallllyyy!"
Wendy bent down next to Sam and Barton so she could carefully put the sack on
the floor and Sam saw something glimmer through her dyed pink and black hair as
she undid the top of the sack.
"What is that?" Sam asked, looking stricken.
"Oh!"
She moved her hair aside so that Sam could have a better look. The earring was
breathtaking, a single dangling piece with stones that shimmered without any
light. The color was a beautiful green, the exact color of Dean's eyes.
"This looks familiar," Sam murmured, then it hit him.
"I've seen this before!"
He leapt up and began rummaging through the photocopies he had made from the
"Myths and Legends" section of the crappy bookstore. He found it almost
immediately.
He held the folder out for them all to see and they all crowded around him. It
was an old portrait of a woman's face with fair hair and pale eyes. Her hair
was pulled up away from her face, two intricate, jeweled earrings dangled
beside her long neck. Barely visible in the photocopy, around her neck was a
thin chain with a tiny crown pendant.
That's why that drawing looked so familiar.
Sam said, "Barton, your drawing of the witches, show them to us."
Barton nodded and flipped through the sketches until he landed on the last one.
"They do look alike," said Barton.
Dean groaned internally.
Great, now he's a master artist too...
"You guys go ahead, we need to look into this..." Sam said, distractedly laying
the open folder down on the coffee table, grabbing a notebook and a pen, his
blue eyes skimming through the text on the page, his face intent. Dean felt
that familiar pull coming from his chest, the one that made him want to sit
behind Sam and rub his shoulders while he worked, to whisper in his ear and
tell him to relax...wrap his arms around him and bury his face in Sam's hair to
smell him, to be close to him-
"Dean! Let's goooo!" Wendy's voice snapped him out of his daydream, and he
turned to follow her, giving Barton one final, threatening glare before walking
out the door.
 
***** Chapter 10 *****
It was like Deja vu. Dean and Wendy at the same bar as the night before, the
same hot bartender sending the same nasty looks at Wendy, but it was different.
Everything was different. It's funny how different things look when you're on a
hunt for more than hot chicks and guys dumb enough to bet on a game of pool.
The bar was the only place open at the late hour and the joint served pizza, so
lucky them.
"We need three large pizzas, on the double," Wendy said cheerfully, obviously
happy to get within ordering distance of food.
"For here or to go?" the angry, hot bartender asked, her eyes like daggers.
Wendy looped her arm through Dean's and gave the bartender a toothy grin.
"What do you think baby? For here or to go?"
"To go please," Dean responded distractedly, looking at his phone, debating
whether or not to call the number he had highlighted. He didn't want to seem
too needy, but he really didn't like leaving Sam alone with that asshole. He
just wanted to hear his voice.
"Can we get two blondes please while we wait?" Wendy asked.
The bartender slammed two beer bottles in front of them and whirled away
angrily.
There was the soft sound of the jukebox playing some anonymous song in the
background...Dean really pay too much attention to it. If it wasn't classic
rock it was really just noise. The light was dim in the bar, but people were
laughing and talking all around them...it's funny how being around a lot of
people can almost feel more private than being by yourself, almost as though
you're hidden in other people's distraction. Alone with your thoughts, looking
at a name on a phone.
Dean sighed and tucked his phone away into his pocket and picked up the beer.
"She's kind of a...sore loser, isn't she?" Wendy said, pursing her lips and
watching the hot bartender flirt obnoxiously with another customer, laughing a
little too loud at his jokes, flipping her hair a little too much, shooting
furious glances at Dean a little too often.
"Nice ass though," Wendy remarked, and Dean watched as she tilted her head back
and down the whole beer in less that 20 seconds.
"Oy! Baby! I need another!" Wendy hollered.
The hot bartender stormed over to where the two were sitting and uncapped
another beer. Wendy caught the bartender's hand as she slid the bottle over to
her.
"Does this really have to be a fight darling? I'd trade him in for you in a
hummingbird's heartbeat."
Dean, who was taking a drink of his beer, choked on it and began coughing
loudly. The bartender was staring at Wendy now, her eyes open wide as she
gently pulled her hand from Wendy's grasp.
"I'll go get you some water..." said the bartender, not taking her eyes from
Wendy.
"Thank you," Dean choked weakly.
The bartender whisked a glass of water in front of Dean and disappeared.
Dean drank the water coughing, while Wendy put her head in her hands and let
out a frustrated groan.
"You are sucha cock block Dean!"
"Sorry," Dean said, starting to sound normal now, "but I don't really think you
have a cock to block."
Wendy turned and looked at him thoughtfully.
"And how would you know? You never gave me my winnings for last night."
"Well that was just a ploy to get me out of here wasn't it? I mean, you knew
who I was, right?"
Wendy said nothing and just stared at him, her chin in her hand.
"If I tell you something, you need to tell me something," Wendy said, taking a
drink of her beer.
"What is this, truth or dare? Are we like thirteen now?"
"More like truth or truth, and we can be any age you want us to be Dean, I'm
very flexible."
"Okay..."
"I'll go first, truth or truth Dean?"
"Whatever,"  he said, taking another drink of his beer.
"Good, why don't you like my brother?"
"Because I don't trust him."
"You don't trust him around Sam."
"That's two questions."
"Fine, I pick truth."
"Did you know I was a hunter when you picked me up here last night?"
"No. I had gotten a call from Barton saying that he was alright and so I
decided I wanted a drink and a fuck to calm down. You're not the only one who
worries about their little brother, Dean. It was simply an amazing coincidence
that the one I wanted was you..." then she added quickly, "and the bartender,"
tilting her head in the direction of said bartender, who was no longer laughing
or strutting flirtatiously.
"My turn now Dean. Tell me a secret."
"Um..."
"Don't lie, and tell me something that I would never know about you otherwise."
"Okay. I was married..."
Wendy raised her eyebrows and took another swig of her beer.
"What happened?"
"She died..."
"I'm so sorry Dean-"
"I killed her," he said, looking at her straight in the eye.
Wendy looked at him, her brows furrowed, obviously trying to puzzle something
out.
"Why?"
"She tried to hurt Sammy."
Such is the fate of all who touch my Sammy.
Was what the statement clearly said.
Wendy nodded and turned her beer, causing it to make a grinding sound of glass
against wood. She tilted her head back and drank down the beer, putting the
bottle down softly.
"Okay. Now you tell me a secret," Dean sounded more menacing that he intended
and Wendy looked at him with eyes that showed just a hint of fear.
"Alright, my brother likes your brother-"
"That's not a secret."
"Listen, I know that you're...protective," she said the word delicately, "but
my brother is loyal and kind."
"He can find someone else in the next town to hit on."
 "Well that's the thing Dean," Wendy said seriously, "I've never seen Barton
like this. He's never really taken an interest in anyone before, I mean, of
course he's had his flings with men and women, but I've never seen him look at
anyone the way he looks at Sam."
"Well he'd better fucking stop, because Sam's not on the market, him being
fourteen and all."
 Dean was getting angrier by the minute. What the fuck did this bitch want from
him? His fucking blessing?
Well fuck her! She's not getting it!
 But she looked at him as though she was looking right into his brain, like his
bluff was as good as called.
"I don't think that's why you have a problem with Sam dating," Wendy said, her
eyes calmly weighing into his. Dean just took another drink of his beer.
"You should think about Sam's happiness you know," she continued, and Dean felt
a sharp pain wrench in his heart.
"He could really use someone around who is his age, has things in common with
him...someone who doesn't think he's a freak because he's known how to use a
switchblade since he was fresh out of diapers."
"We talking about my brother or yours?"
"I'm talking about our brothers, Dean. I've seen Barton's heart broken so many
times it hurts me. I just want to see my brother happy Dean. Don't you want to
see Sam happy?"
Dean just stared at her, a lump in his throat was forming and he nearly cried
with happiness when the hot bartender interrupted and sat a new beer in front
of Wendy.
"On the house," she said, giving Wendy a shy smile.
Wendy grinned back and watched the bartender walk away.
"Looks like one of us is going to be getting some tonight after all!" Wendy
cheered quietly, taking a drink of the fresh beer.
"Dean?"
"Hm?"
"What color is this?" she asked, pulling her hair back to expose the earring.
"It's a uh, dark blue. Like, I dunno..." Dean took a drink of his beer, "the
ocean."
Wendy nodded.
"I thought it would be."
***** Chapter 11 *****
Barton and Sam sat on either end of the couch, nothing but the sound of
scratching pens, the loud clunking sound of the three rings of the binders
being forced apart, and the high squeak of highlighters passing between them.
Sam was going through everything he could about the woman in the painting. The
painting was simply entitled "Troll Queen." The story that the painting
belonged to was an old newspaper article from 1956. The painting which had been
hanging in the town library for as long as it had been open, the painting that
had seemingly no origin nor any particular special worth, had been stolen. The
entire article simply stated that it didn't know why...
The shit that passes for news in this dump...
What frustrated Sam even more were the people who passed for reporters in this
dump. This was literally all of the information that he could find on it...one
little blurb in binder after binder of history, page after page of carefully
clipped, categorized and stored newspaper clippings that were supposed to
somehow help "tomorrow."
"The problem with people," said Barton, after Sam expressed his
frustration, "is that they don't know what details to look at. It's not
mankind's fault for being unable to tell the future, for being ignorant about
what they should have been paying attention to."
Barton opened another three ringed binder, slowly turning the pages.
"The best we can do really," he continued, "is guess what's important and
observe the details and then leave everything that we've discovered behind,
hoping that our guess, however 'educated' it might have been, was the right
one. What makes matters worse is that the details that our forefathers
have passed to us are the ones that determine the details that we look for as
well and directly influence the course of our future as a species."
He unhinged the binder with a loud snap and took out a sheet of paper that he
stacked neatly on a pile that he had been collecting.
"Sir Isaac Newton was hit on the head with an apple and he deemed it important
to know why things fall. Things fall down, it's a fact of life. Such a plain
observation that no one ever really thinks about and suddenly some guy gets an
apple to the face and he discovers gravity and becomes the father of physics."
Barton looked up at Sam who was now staring at him intently, and Barton winked
making Sam's heart beat just a little faster for no goddamn reason.  
"Things would have gone a hell of a lot differently if he had just eaten the
fucking thing."
Sam smiled a little at that and then went back to looking through the pages of
the last three ringed binders in the newspaper category. Sam noticed though
that Barton was still looking at him, he hadn't turned back to what he had been
doing.
"Sam," Barton said gently.
Sam looked up, trying to keep the blush out of his face, trying and yet failing
to get trapped by those demandingly calm crystal blue eyes.
"There's something I think you should take a look at."
"What is it?" Sam asked from where he sat, the huge binder still taking up his
entire lap.
Barton simply patted the couch next to him with one long slender hand, and Sam
shut the binder, carefully marking his page and laying it down on the floor. He
sat next to Barton with a thump and looked at the pages that he was holding.
The top page was a family tree that listed each person in great detail. All of
the papers that Barton had were family trees, all neatly piled with names
circled on each. Sam stared at the names that Barton had circled, trying to
understand...and then he saw it, the connection clicking into place.
"These are the victims that died here in town..." Sam said. Barton nodded as
Sam's eyes continued to scan the circled names, "and these are all of the
victims that were killed on the way here..."
That's when Sam started to look at the highlighted names...the highlighted
names that all of the victims shared a relation to.
"Holy shit, all of the victims were literally related!" Sam breathed.
Details...
 
Sam continued turning the pages, the dates becoming older and older, following
the family line, tracing it back to a Velia Hansson.
"It says here that Velia Hansson's daughter, Gretchen, had six children with an
unknown husband...she died at 49 and they have no record of when her children
died and no record of any of her children having children..."
"What I'm wondering now..." Barton said in his velvet voice, "is whether or not
this girl," he had the sketchbook in his hands now, page open to the pale eyed
girl, "is related to that girl in any way..." he pointed to the black and white
photocopy of the missing painting.
"It's not that far fetched," Sam said, "Wendy found that earring at the Witch's
motel..."
"And why do these Witches have it out for this family?" Barton asked mostly to
himself. Sam shuffled through the family trees again, trying to hold them out
in front of him side by side, trying to find the right details...trying to
discern what was important.
 
 As he held them up to compare, the light from the lamp made them somewhat
transparent and Sam noticed something on the back of one. Barton was now deeply
interested in the photocopy of the painting. Sam turned the paper over and was
suddenly staring at his own reflection. It was a drawing of Sam, so detailed
and so beautiful, with a heavy concentration on the eyes. On other parts of the
page were smaller sketches of himself, one of him looking away, another one of
his profile, just little sketches of himself when he wasn't looking. Sam
suddenly realized that Barton had stopped moving, and could have almost sworn,
had stopped breathing.
 
When Sam met Barton's eyes, it was the first time that he had ever really seen
the tall graceful man looking concerned...a little worried...a little shocked.
Barton was now looking at Sam, his face completely neutral, holding perfectly
still, his hand still holding the photocopy out where he had been investigating
it, his eyes wide and clear. All he needed at that moment were whiskers, and
he'd be a cat that had been startled out of a daydream.
 
Sam cleared his throat, suddenly feeling terribly awkward, feeling a hot blush
coming up his cheeks.
"Barton, these are really good-"
"You have to know you're beautiful Sam," Barton said softly, in something that
could have been a blurt if Barton was capable of blurting at all.
Sam opened his mouth and shut it looking back at the pictures and shrugging,
trying to figure out what to say. Something about knowing that this guy had
been staring at him, observing him, made Sam feel strangely lightheaded. Barton
had been drawing him. Barton had thought that Sam was important enough to note
his details...wanted to send who Sam was into the future. For the first time
ever, Barton seemed a little unsure of himself.
Barton leaned in closer, and Sam could smell the peppermint, feel himself
getting warmer.
"You do know that you're beautiful, don't you Sam?" Barton whispered this,
gently lifting Sam's chin with his soft fingers and bringing Sam's mouth to
his.in a soft and tender kiss. Sam let himself get swept away by it, and Barton
looked into his eyes when they parted, still looking unsure. 
"I've wanted to kiss you since the moment I saw you jump out that window,"
Barton said with a little chuckle that came out as hot breaths against Sam's
lips, and despite his heart fluttering terribly, Sam smiled. Barton looked at
Sam's smile and kissed it again, this one only the slightest bit more demanding
than the first one.
And Sam let him. He let Barton kiss him, listened to him as he kept whispering
"you're so beautiful," and let himself enjoy it. Sam parted his lips to let
Barton's tongue in, making Barton pull Sam closer to him.
It felt so good to feel wanted. Felt so good to be touched, that Sam didn't
think much of it at first, until he realized that he wasn't really having that
good of a time. Every kiss, and every touch was being held up against Dean's,
every look and every whisper was being compared, and with every kiss Sam
realized that it was just making him miss Dean more...making him want those
green eyes to be the ones staring back at him, making him want Dean's hands and
lips on him. Every kiss just picked at the healing wounds in Sam's heart, just
made him bleed more. He lifted his hands and gently pressed against Barton's
chest, softly pushing him away, when he heard Wendy say, "Oh tits."
 
***** Chapter 12 *****
Wendy was glowing all the way back to the motel, the pizzas stacked on her lap
and she admired the receipt with triumph in the passing flashes of the street
lights. The hot waitress had written it on the back of the receipt and had put
it in Wendy's hand, Dean entirely forgotten, not that he was
complaining...she'd been pretty hot, but seeing as they'd be staying here a lot
longer than expected, he really wasn't looking for anything long term...long
term being anything over 2 hours...maybe 3 if it was really good.
 
While Wendy admired her prize, Dean stared at the road ahead of them, thinking
about what Wendy had said.

Was he being selfish?
Was he really keeping Sam from being happy?

But I'm avoiding all of that by staying AWAY from Sam!
And keeping everyone else away from Sam too...
That sneaky voice said in his mind.
I'm his older brother, I know what's best for him.

Have you ever stopped to think of what SAM wants?

Sam's just a kid, he doesn't KNOW what he wants.
Dean argued.
You don't think Sam is old enough to make his own choices?

Not about THIS ! I'm not going to let his hormonal decisions ruin the rest of
his life.
You think that hiding your own feelings from him is going to make his life
better?
 They were out in front of the hotel now, Wendy was taking her time, putting
the number on the back of the receipt into her phone.

One day,Dean rationalized to himself, Sam will meet someone special, and he'll
have a real shot at a normal relationship.
He parked and got out of the car, going over to Wendy's side and opening her
door.

Oh?The voice in his head whispered, And YOURnormal relationships are so
healthy? Tell me Dean, is boning a new chick every other day making your
feelings for Sam any less real?
Dean took a couple of pizzas from Wendy's lap while she punched the number into
her phone to save the contact.
This is a phase, he'll get over it.

Yeah? Are YOU over it?
Dean took out the key and put it into the motel door, turning it.
Sam is going to grow out of this. He's going to find someone special, and he is
going to be so happy that he waited...so happy that he didn't go through
with...whatever this is...
Someone like Barton perhaps?
Dean opened the door awkwardly with one hand, trying to stop the ridiculous
argument he was having in his head...with himself (wonderful Dean), the other
arm holding the pizza boxes. He turned around when he got inside and stopped
dead in his tracks.
No. No fucking way.
And there he was. Barton, on the sofa, his hands all over Sam.

MY Sam.
Barton's lips locked against Sam's soft ones, and fingers combing through his
beautiful hair.
He felt like his heart was going to explode...and shoot boiling lava all over
Barton and his pretty fucking face.
He just stood and stared in shocked silence for a moment, trying his hardest
not to throw the pizza on the floor and beat the living crap out of the tall
imposter, when suddenly he heard footsteps coming from behind him and then
Wendy's voice cut through the silence.
"Oh tits."
Sam was the first one to turn and see what was going on, his eyes going wide in
shock, face going pale.
"If we were monsters, you'd both be dead already!" Dean heard Wendy chastise
them from what sounded like far away in his completely furious state. Dean was
beyond the point of control, because now Barton was looking right at him, like
he didn't give a shit, like he had no fucking idea what territory he was
treading upon. Dean slowly walked over to the kitchen area and put the pizzas
down on the little table, then turned around to find that  Sam had already left
the sofa and was coming towards him, face worried. Dean gently put his hands on
his shoulders and guided him out of his way, and then walked silently for
Barton. He heard Sam trying to say something, but he couldn't hear him. It was
like he was possessed, he had no idea what he intended to do, couldn't hear
anything, couldn't see anything or think of anything except for Barton's hands
in Sam's hair, Barton's lips on Sam's lips, Sam's hands on Barton's chest.
The last thought made his chest squeeze, the pain ripping through him like a
knife to the heart.
Could Sam really want this guy?
It should be his lips, his hands.
Barton held still, his eyes calm and when Dean grabbed him by his shirt and
slammed him up against the wall, Barton didn't move, didn't say anything,
didn't put up a fight, just looked at Dean right in the eye calmly from behind
his glasses.
"I don't care who you think you are," Dean said, his voice Arctic, just loud
enough for Barton to hear "but you lay one finger on Sam again, and I swear to
whatever God is listening I'll kill you."
Barton just looked at Dean with steady eyes, completely unafraid.
"Dean, I could never hurt Sam," Barton said just as quietly, his crystal blue
eyes looking straight into Dean's furious green ones.
Dean said nothing but suddenly took into account what it was he was doing. He
knew he had to calm down. Barton slipped a hand around Dean's wrist gently.
Dean noted somewhere in the back of his mind how soft it was.
"I know why you wouldn't trust me Dean," Barton continued, still in his calm,
soothing voice, "I know you'll never know how I feel about him..."
Oh I know all too well.
Dean thought bitterly.
Dean loosened his grasp, catching his breath.
I can't be selfish. I HAVE to think of Sam.
"Reflex," Dean said finally, letting go of Barton completely now.  
He turned to look over at Wendy, who had her hand to her hip, where he knew she
probably kept her knife, and Sam, who was staring at Wendy, his hand on his own
knife, watching her movements. Dean felt strangely touched when he realized
that Sam was ready to protect him.
"I understand," Barton murmured.
No. You never will.
Dean stepped away from Barton and he felt Wendy relax, and then after a moment,
felt Sam relax as well.
"Barton," Wendy commanded, "we need to leave now."
Barton looked at the floor and nodded, glancing over at Sam.
Sam looked from Dean to Barton to Wendy, still tense, but he wasn't reaching
for his knife anymore.
Wendy grinned her toothy, relaxed grin, and grabbed pizza off the top while
Barton grabbed their things. 
"We'll be back tomorrow. We have a hunt to finish after all," said Wendy over
her shoulder as she turned to leave.
Barton was behind her and nodded at Dean.
"Goodbye Dean," he said, then turned to Sam and his eyes softened, "Sam."
And with that the Arligtons left the room. 
***** Chapter 13 *****
 
The air seemed to go out of the room when the door shut behind the other
hunters, and Sam refused to look over at Dean, who he knew was staring at him
from where he stood. Sam just stared at the floor, absolutely mortified.
"It's not what you think Dean! I love you!" He wanted to scream.
Instead he waited for Dean to say something, to yell, to punch a
wall...anything really. Anything was better than this thick electric silence.
"I'm sorry Sam," Dean finally said.
That was not was he was expecting...
Sam looked over at him cautiously.
Dean was looking at him, looking tired, his green eyes soft, his hands in his
pockets.
"Really. I am. If you like-" he seemed to struggle with his next words, "that
guy, then I have no right to stop you."
There was silence for a moment, before Sam decided to break it.
"You're right. You don't."
Dean took a breath and nodded, his green eyes glistening in the dim light of
the crappy fire hazard that this motel called a lamp.
"Just like I don't stop you, even though I would like to," Sam said, his vision
blurring as he looked down at his feet. All of this shit was just too much...he
just wanted to curl up in his bed and disappear. Too much. This hunt, Barton's
confession, Dean's reaction...and now Dean's acceptance...all of this shit in
one day was drowning him. He didn't know how to feel. He hadn't really known
how to take Dean's jealousy. He had been pissed about it, pissed that Dean
would feel so fucking entitled after all that he had put Sam through.
That fucking hypocrite
But somewhere deep down it had made Sam feel good that Dean actually cared.
And being with Barton had made him feel so good. Barton made him feel wanted
and beautiful, but at the same time so so sad. Barton was fucking perfect, but
Sam didn't want him, he wanted Dean...he had always wanted Dean. Especially
right now. There's nothing Sam wanted more than to have Dean holding him. He
wanted Dean's hands on him, wanted to taste his breath.
Sam dragged his hands down his face and sighed shakily. He was so tired. He
couldn't look at Dean, his beautiful green eyes, his strong, sexy jaw. One
look, and Sam couldn't guarantee that he'd have full control over himself.
From the corner of Sam's eye, he saw Dean approaching him. Sam waited for Dean
to pass him, holding his breath. But tonight, Dean was full of surprises. Dean
knelt down in front of Sam, like he was praying, taking Sam's hands into his
own strong, calloused hands. These were the hands that could crush the life out
of damn near anything if they needed to, but when they took Sam's, they were
careful...gentle.
Sam looked down into his face against his will, confused.
"Dean, what are you doing?"
Dean softly wiped a tear from Sam's face from where he knelt in front of him,
looking deep into his eyes, making Sam's heart beat a mile a minute,
seemingly reaching for Dean.
That's the one I want...
It seemed to whisper.
Sam had to steady his breathing while Dean's strong hand brushed his tears
away. It was such a relief, his face turning into Dean's touch, relishing the
feeling of Dean's skin against his own, melting the pain away, like when he was
a kid. And there he was, doing exactly what he didn't want to do, looking into
Dean's eyes, looking over his face, taking in every detail.
"What do you want Sam?"
Dean's voice was soft and thick.
"Anything Sam. Anyone. If you like him Sam, it's okay. I won't stand in your
way. Ever. I just want you to be happy."
Sam looked deep into Dean's bright green eyes, getting lost in them, losing
himself in his touch.
He had to lick his lips and find his voice before he answered, Dean's touch was
nothing short of intoxicating.
"What do you think, jerk?"
Dean shook his head, and  gave him a tired smile.
Fuck, his smile just made it worse.
"Why don't you stop being a bitch and tell me?"
Sam let his fingers entwine with Dean's, too tired to fight, too tired to be
angry, he just wanted to be close to Dean.
"I want you Dean. I just want you. I can't help it, I'm sorry..."
And the tears started flowing again.
Dean held him tightly, stroking his hair gently, nuzzling his neck, making Sam
weak.
All of Sam's defenses fell away as he let his arms wrap around Dean, giving up.
And there it was, that familiar strength, those protective arms.
"I'm sorry Sammy," Dean was whispering in his ear, stroking his hair softly.
Sam could feel Dean press his lips against his hair, could feel him taking a
deep breath, taking in the smell of Sam.
Dean was standing now, both of his hands cupping Sam's face gently, and he
brought their foreheads against each other.
"Sammy," he whispered, the nickname and the feeling of Dean's words against his
lips making Sam shiver, his senses overwhelmed with pleasure. It was like being
drunk; Dean smelled so good, felt so good.
"Please," Dean continued, looking into Sam's eyes, which were probably red and
puffy now from the crying, "be patient with me."
Be patient with me...
The words echoed in Sam's mind, but he couldn't understand.
"What does this mean?" Sam asked, afraid of what the answer would be.
Dean said nothing but brushed his plush lips up softly against Sam's, pulling
away before Sam could kiss them properly.
"I want you too Sammy. Just you. I know I don't deserve you. I know you deserve
better... I'm not as smart as you are Sam...not as strong...so if you can,
please be patient with me, then maybe one day I could come close to being good
enough for you."
Sam smiled, having Dean's eyes on him was like basking in sunshine. Being this
close to him made him feel whole. He felt Dean's heart against his own chest,
hard and nervous.
"Okay," Sam whispered.
"Okay?" Dean smiled, relief spreading across his beautiful features.
"But no more girls Dean...no one but me," Sam said seriously, his blue eyes
glaring into Dean's.
Dean nodded, holding Sam even more tightly.
"Deal?"
"Deal."
***** Chapter 14 *****
Chapter Notes
     So sorry about the wait everyone! I was overseas, but I'm home now! I
     hope you enjoy this next installment!!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
When Dean woke up, the sun was already shining through the cracks in the
curtains in warm golden rays. He looked over at the digital clock that sat next
to the bed and it read 8:08am. He sat up and looked around the room, realizing
that he was not in his own bed. The memories of yesterday faded back into his
consciousness...the hunt, Barton, Sammy.
Wait.
Where IS Sammy?
 Last he remembered, he had forced Sam to eat (he always had trouble eating
when he was stressed) and Dean had fallen asleep with his arms around Sam,
Sam's head against his chest. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept
so well. Dean was about to panic when he heard the water running in the
bathroom. He went to the door and knocked.
"Yeah?"
It was Sam's voice.
"Just making sure that you're okay," Dean said in his gruff morning voice.
"I'm fine, just taking a bath," Sam's voice came from the other side of the
door.
Sam must be stressed again...
"You sure you're okay?" Dean asked, leaning his head against the bathroom door.
"Seriously, I'm fine," Sam responded, annoyed now.
Somehow the sound of Sam's annoyed voice made Dean feel more comfortable.
"Mmm'kay," Dean grumbled, scratching his head, stumbling to the side of the bed
where he had discarded most of his clothes. He put on his jeans and found a
clean shirt...couldn't find the shirt he was wearing last night... By the time
he had dressed, the sound of the water was gone...which meant that the bath
must be full...which meant that Sam is probably in the bath...wearing
nothing...
Dean's pants were suddenly becoming uncomfortable.

Wonderful.
Dean stared at the bathroom door intensely for a moment, almost as though he
was trying to see through the door. As he observed it he realized that the
doorknob was an old fashioned one...with an honest to god keyhole.
Oh God...the temptation...
No no no no no!
 
 
Something about boundaries and privacy and respect for personal space all went
flying through Dean's mind all at once and he decided to get the fuck out of
here before he flung himself through the door to make sure Sam was extra
clean...or very very dirty.
Dean felt himself get even harder when he was suddenly reminded of their last
time in a bathtub...the ache that went through Dean's body at the memory made
him lean against the door for support as he caught his breath and tried to will
his erection away.
A dreadful sound suddenly ripped through the silence, and it took Dean a moment
in his lustful haze to realize that it was his own stomach growling.
"Dean...are you standing outside of the bathroom?" Sam asked through the door,
the muffled sound of his voice strange from the way it was bouncing off of the
bathroom tiles.
Fuck.
Dean cleared his throat awkwardly.
"Uh-What do you want for breakfast?"
"Nothing thanks."
"Sooo two donuts and a red eye?"
"I don't need anything Dean."
"Lots of cream and sugar, okay, got it!"
Dean heard Sam make an exasperated sound on the other side of the door and he
grinned to himself. Sam was still his little brother. Dean grabbed his keys and
made his way out, shutting the door hard behind him. It wasn't until he had
started the car that his cash wasn't in his back pocket.
Shit.
It had taken all of his willpower to leave...
That fucking keyhole...who even uses those anymore? This place needs a serious
update...
 
His thoughts babbled through his head as he returned to the motel room, trying
to hurry. He unlocked the door, leaving it open behind him as he knelt down
beside the bed trying to find the cash that must have fallen on the floor. He
tried not to notice how the bed smelled like Sammy and how good it had felt to
lay in this bed with Sam wrapped in his arms-
Dean heard a low filthy moan come from the bathroom.
Shit. He doesn't know I'm back...maybe I should make some noise-
He heard Sam make another sexy little sound through the bathroom door...
Maybe it's best not to disturb him...
And before Dean knew what he was doing he was on his knees with his eye pressed
against that Goddamn keyhole.
Sam's head was tilted back against the tub, his soft lips parted, his beautiful
throat exposed, his eyes closed. Whatever he was doing was giving him immense
pleasure judging by the expression on his face and moans escaping his parted
lips...and judging by the lube that was laying on the bathroom rug next to the
bath and the way Sam's legs were parted, Dean knew exactly what he was doing.
So much for privacy...
Dean watched as Sam reached for something next to the bath that Dean hadn't
noticed (being distracted by Sam fingering himself and all). It was a very
familiar black shirt....Dean watched as Sam's thin fingers balled up around it
as he brought Dean's shirt to his face, feeling the texture against his skin,
smelling it, kissing it...
Dean was unbuckling his pants now, reaching down...
So much for boundaries...
Sam was taking deep shuddering breaths and whimpering into Dean's shirt, and
Dean heard Sam gasp in a tiny muffled voice "Dean," and that was the final
straw.
Dean stood up and flung he bathroom door open. To his surprise it wasn't
locked.
So much for respect for personal space...
Also to Dean's surprise, Sam looked at him, his long sexy fingers
still touching himself, completely unsurprised.
"This was a trap wasn't it?" Dean asked, his pants unbuckled, his erection
making a tent in his exposed boxers and his face undoubtedly red as the
rising sun.
Sam didn't say anything, he just leaned his head back against the tub
and grinned...that sexy, guilty grin that made Dean want to beg. Fuck, the kid
was too smart for his own good.
"That big sexy brain of yours is going to get you into some serious trouble
some day," Dean huffed as he knelt down, grabbing Sam under his arms.
Sam wrapped his wet arms around Dean's neck, standing up, the bathwater
sloshing in the tub and dripping from his body. Dean picked Sam up, and he
wrapped his legs around Dean's waist, Dean held his naked body against his own,
his clothes getting soaking wet in the process, but he didn't care...all he
cared about was Sam's wet delicious lips brushing sensuously against his own,
his naked body wrapped around him, his naked erection pressing against his
stomach.
"Take me Dean," Sam begged softly, panting against Dean's lips, "make me
yours."
Dean caught Sam's lips with his own, forcing his tongue inside, tasting
the inside of his mouth, feeling Sam's wet naked body trembling against his
own. Dean hugged Sam closer as he carried him to the bed, kissing him deeply,
relishing the taste of him.
Mine.
 
Dean flopped Sam's naked body onto his bed, cradling Sam's face in his hands
gently and looking into his deep blue eyes. He let his fingertips run over
Sam's beautiful skin, basking in Sam's incredible responsiveness. Sam was
getting goose bumps and his nipples were hard.
"Sammy," he whispered, as he covered Sam's body with his own.
Sam responded by wrapping his arms around Dean's neck and pulling him down on
top of him and kissing him softly, tugging at his shirt. Dean's erection was
beyond painful now and it took all of his self control not to pull his boxers
down and tenderly give Sam what he was asking for....
He's all ready for you...
The voice in his head taunted.
Dean pulled away gently and watched as fear suddenly flashed through those
beautiful blue eyes and Dean mentally kicked himself. He'd been so fucking hot
and cold with Sam that now he didn't trust him.
God I am such an asshole.
 Dean stroked Sam's cheek and kissed Sam slowly and thoroughly before pulling
away again.
"You're already mine Sam," he whispered, against Sam's moist open mouth, "and
I'm already yours."
Sam looked relaxed again, his eyes flickering from Dean's lips to his eyes and
then back again.
"You're not mine because I'm the first one to be with you...which" he said,
rubbing his lips against Sam's "I will be..." Sam swallowed hard as his big
dewy eyes drowned Dean's, wiggling against him sensuously.
"And," Dean continued, trying to ignore how beautiful Sam looked naked and
spread out on a bed for him "I'm not yours because of what we have or haven't
done...I'm yours, Sammy, because of the way you make me feel..."
Sam arched his body against Dean's and Dean shuddered with want...he could feel
Sam's erection against his through the thin boxers.
"How do I make you feel Dean?" Sam whispered, his voice shaky with lust and
need, licking his lips.
Like I want to fuck you into this mattress so hard and so good the whole
country will hear your screams...
Dean could hear his own heart beating in his ears as he contemplated what he
wanted to say. How could he say this without scaring Sam away? How could he say
this without making Sam feel like Dean was his responsibility somehow? How
could he say this...without the whole world hearing?
Holy shit I left the door open...
"I'm not leaving you Sammy, and I'm not changing the subject but I do need to-"
"Shut the door?" a voice behind him suggested.
Dean felt his blood go cold as he instinctually grabbed his gun from under the
pillow that Sam's head was laying on, put his hand against Sam to keep
him protected behind him and whirled around to point it at the offending voice.
It was Wendy, she was leaning against the refrigerator eating a slice of cold
pizza and grinning. She was incognito today, wearing her black and pink hair in
a ponytail, a simple black tank top exposed her lacy black bra straps and her
tight black pants showed off her perfectly imperfect figure. She wore hardly
any makeup...and she actually looked pretty good and calm for someone who'd
just walked in on someone making out with their naked brother on a bed....
 
"It's okay. I closed it," she said, motioning to the door and taking another
bite, looking at the half eaten slice with admiration, "it's always better the
next day isn't it?" she said through a mouth full of pizza. She took another
bite and Dean stared, his mind completely blank...all he could think was:
Why do we ALWAYS get interrupted?
"Sam, you have like two minutes to grab some clothes and make a run for it, my
brother went back to  get all of the stuff," she said, turning around and
opening the fridge, rummaging. Dean took his shirt off and slipped it over Sam,
careful to hide him with his body. Sam's eyes flickered from Wendy to Dean
before he gathered up his clothes from his bag and darted to the bathroom.
Once Sam was out of sight, Dean turned to look at Wendy who was looking Dean
over like she was a lioness and he was a struggling gazelle...which to be
honest is how he felt at that moment.
"What?" Dean demanded, grabbing another clean shirt.
She shrugged, taking a drink of a beer that she had found in his fridge.
"This is the first time I've seen you without your shirt, let me enjoy it."
Dean rolled his eyes and put his shirt on quickly.
Wendy pouted.
 
Dean cleared his throat and decided to discuss the elephant in the room (okay,
maybe not an elephant, but Dean still got plenty of compliments about his size)
now before Barton comes in and makes it even more awkward than it was...if that
was possible.
Before he could say anything Wendy said "I'm not judging you Dean. Do I look
like a judgy judger to you?"
Dean said nothing and stared at Wendy, trying to think of what best to say.
"Little bit of an age difference though, don't you think?" she added, opening
the fridge again.
"Only four years..." Dean grumbled, "it's not gonna seem like a lot when we're
older..."
"Ah," she said, giving him a sly smile.
"What?"
"So you are thinking about the future."
"What the Hell is that supposed to mean?"
 
But before she had a chance to answer the door swung open and there was Barton,
tall, fresh and beautiful, carrying an armful of enormous ledgers and a paper
bag was balanced on the very top. Dean came to the door and grabbed the top
half of the tower of books to help. He could smell food through the bag...it
smelled delicious. They put all of the books on the kitchen table gently and
Dean had a chance to look over the whole array. They were all spell books,
leather bound and hand written with scraps of paper sticking out of them here
and there.
"Where'd you get these?"
"Loot," Wendy replied with her wide Cheshire grin.
"We've collected these from other witches that we've hunted, everything that
didn't go into a cursed object box we kept for our personal records," Barton
said coolly as he adjusted his glasses. His dreadlocks were pulled back in a
loose ponytail today, his clothes casual, but his clear eyes somehow looked
even more haunting without the black makeup around them. They weren't directed
at Dean now though, they were looking at his sister, his brow slightly
furrowed.
"What are you doing dear sister?"
"Nothing," Wendy responded with a mouth full of food.
"Oh, for the love of Odin, I fed you this morning, there is no possible way
that you're still hungry-"
"Rabbit food doesn't count Barton-"
"You're drinking? It's 9 o'clock in the morning-"
"I'm an adult, I can do whatever the fuck I want-"
"Hardly! I swear, you'll die from diabetes or liver failure-"
"YOU'RE NOT MY MOTHER!"
"Ahem."
 
They turned at looked in the direction of the interrupting sound. It was Sam,
dressed and clean, and Dean felt his heart do a back flip.
"Good morning Sam," said Barton cordially, his haunting eyes illuminated.
I hate you.
"I brought the two of you some breakfast," Barton continued, grabbing the paper
bag and taking out two wrapped sandwiches, "sausage and egg for Dean and turkey
bacon and egg white for Sam," even the way he said "Sam" was different, softer,
"and Wendy, I knew you'd be hungry again so I have here for you a fruit salad."
"Thaaaankks mum!" Wendy said, snatching the plastic container, flicking it open
and attacking it with the plastic fork.
"Turkey bacon? Is that even possible?" Dean said, wrinkling his nose.
"Yes, it's much healthier...Sam seems a little bit more picky about his food."
Barton made it sound endearing.
"Yes, I'm very aware that he's picky, I've only known him his whole life," Dean
muttered under his breath.
Sam thanked Barton, ignoring Dean's muttering and began munching on the
sandwich delicately, perusing the new collection of books with interest. It
made Dean incredibly uneasy how natural Barton and Sam seemed together, like
they had known each other for years.
"The two of you will have to take that to go I'm afraid," Barton said to Dean
and Wendy.
"Why, where are they going?" Sam asked, and Dean felt instantly irritated by
how Sam literally looked up to Barton to ask that question.
"I'm glad you asked," Barton said, taking out a binder from the pile and
opening it up over the tops of the other books, "do you remember last night,
when we discovered that family line?"
Oh yeah, I remember last night VERY well...
Dean thought to himself angrily.
Calm down Dean, remember who Sam ACTUALLY ended up with last night?
said the calm, rational voice in his head.
Sam was nodding, and Dean reluctantly brought himself back to the conversation.
"Look here," Barton opened up a phonebook next to the binder and Dean wondered
somewhere in the back of his mind when that whole stack of books was going to
fall over.
Sam looked and his dark blue eyes widened with interest.
"They live here..." said Sam in a hushed voice, "here in town, and they're
still alive?" Sam was comparing the pages in the phonebook with the pages in
the binder.
"As far as we know," Barton responded.
"Which means that we have a stakeout to look forward to!" Wendy sounded
ecstatic, "And we're taking your car!"
Chapter End Notes
     Next chapter is on its way and will be up by the 4th of this month!
***** Chapter 15 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
 
"IIII'mmmm sooooooo boooooored!!!!" Wendy moaned in the passenger seat,
throwing her head back dramatically.
"We just got here," Dean retorted, annoyed.
"Yes, but it was such a loooong drive! I'm huuungry..."
The house belonged to Daniel and Laura Wagner. It was a nice one story house,
blue, white trim, porch, little mailbox that was painted to look like a cow,
all and all a pretty friendly place.
"It was fifteen minutes...oh yeah I forgot, that must be like a week in dog
time."
"No need to get nasty, pet," Wendy was distracted now as she pulled a leather
bag that she had brought along onto her knees. She snapped it open and rummaged
around inside, pulling out two clipboards and a rather nice looking white
blazer with black pinstripes. She shrugged it on a pulled out a pair of glasses
and right before Dean's eyes, Wendy became sophisticated.
"Wow, look at you! I could almost believe that you can read now!"
"I'd check my horoscope before being a big bitch to me today Dean."
Her voice carried the slightest amount of menace.
"Because my horoscope says that I'm going to take out my frustration on someone
today."
"Please tell me that includes the silent treatment."
"Let's check your horoscope Dean! It will be fun!"
"Ugh, here we go-"
She pulled out a leather daily planner, flipping to the current date. Each of
the days was covered with tiny handwriting in blue ink. Wendy squinted to look
at it.
"What are you, Dean? Aquarius?"
Dean sighed, staring at the steering wheel, wanting very badly to get back down
to business.
"Good guess."
"Of course you are....Hmmmm...well that's not good..."
"What?" Dean asked, trying not to be curious but unable to stop himself from
trying to read the tiny smudged handwriting on the page. Wendy slammed the book
shut and glared at Dean.
"It says you're going to die. Now. Be. Nice."
Dean scoffed and rolled his eyes.
"Okay, give me a clipboard," Dean said, reaching his hand out, but instead of a
clipboard he got an ID card.
"Take off that leather thing and clip this on."
"Why?"
"No one is going to believe that you're from the Health Department wearing a
leather jacket."
"No one is going to believe that you're from the Health Department with all of
those piercings."
"Fine, wear the jacket, you can be my trainee."
"Whatever, let's just get this over with."
"Okay, but we need to get our back stories straight."
"Back stories? Wha-"
"I'm desperately trying for a promotion, but you're probably going to get it
before me because-let's face it- you're a man."
"This is absolutely unnecessary-"
"That's why you get to wear that leather jacket, because your daddy is some old
money guy who went to Harvard and won the Nobel prize-"
"Can we just go?"
"Oh, and we're fucking."
With that she opened the door, grabbed her big leather bag and made for the
happy white door.
She had rung the doorbell once already by the time Dean slid up beside
her...without the jacket.
She waited all of one second before she began ringing the doorbell incessantly
and Dean had to grab her by the wrist to make her stop. Once her ability to
push the shiny button was gone, she used her other hand to use the shiny door
knocker that made an infinitely more annoying sound.
"Would you stop that?"
"Mr. and Mrs. Wagner! We're from the Health Department!" Wendy bellowed.
"Cut it out! Normal people take a minute to answer the door!"
"It's been longer than a minute, we should just go in."
"NO-" Dean calmed himself and then brought his voice down to a whisper, "No,
they could still be in there."
"Then why aren't they coming to the door?"
"I wouldn't answer the door either if I saw you standing on the other side."
"Do you think these people even still live here?" Wendy said, exasperated. She
turned around and began marching toward the cow mailbox and wrenched it open
with a high screech of metal that made Dean cringe.
Great, now the neighbors can watch us rob these nice people of their mail.
Dean was looking in all directions while Wendy stuffed her hand into the little
mailbox and began flipping though the envelopes and coupon books. To his
horror, she began opening an envelope that she found while flipping through the
stack.
"What the Hell are you doing?" Dean hissed.
"I'm opening this piece of mail," she replied, as though Dean was blind and
couldn't clearly see what she was doing. She unfolded the piece of paper and
began reading.
"Huh, it's a good thing they didn't answer; we'd have been totally fucked, he's
an organic chemist, he would have seen right through us... and it looks like
he's just won some kind of award for contribution to research..."
"Great, let's get back in the car."
"No, it looks like the award ceremony is out of state, so they are most likely
not home..."
"Okay, but other people are and they can see us looking through these people's
mail."
"Don't be ridiculous Dean, it's 9:30 am on a Monday, everyone is either at work
or school."
Dean spared a moment to wonder whether or not Sam should be missing school
today or not, but didn't have time to come up with a conclusion before he had
to chase Wendy, who was now headed straight for the front door again.
"What are you doing?"
"Dean, if you have a better plan, go ahead and tell me, but until then I'm
going to do what needs to be done-"
"This is a stakeoutWendy, not a stakein..."
Wendy laughed heartily at that, but blatantly ignored the message as she took
her lock pick out of her pocket and in seconds flat had the door open. Before
she could go in though, Dean grabbed her by the arm and said "Wait."
"We're hunting an entire coven here, we need to proceed with caution. If she's
already here, or any of her little friends, then this place could be covered
in traps."
Wendy looked at him for a moment, her bright eyes seemed serious for a moment,
as though deep in thought. She looked straight into Dean's eyes and he suddenly
felt like he was being read...it was like he was looking at a completely
different person. Then the moment was lost as her wide grin took over her face.
"I'll go first then."
"That's not what I meant-"
"Dean, I'm not the Aquarius, my luck will be fine today."
And without another word she went into the house.
He sighed and followed her in. She walked with a sureness of someone who had
been here a hundred times. She showed no fear and she dropped her leather bag
in the middle of the living room as though she was home after a long day at
work. She flopped onto the sofa and took a deep breath.
"This place smells nice."
"I'll go search the rest of the house..."
"Don't bother Dean, there's no one here and nothing's been tampered with."
"How can you be so sure."
"I just am, now go check the kitchen for anything to eat and I can get
started."
"Get started doing what?"
Wendy made an annoyed sound.
"What do you think Dean? We know that these are the only other relatives here
in town who are alive-"
"We presume-"
"So they're bound to come snooping around. I need to set traps."
 
The sun was going down and Sam and Barton were still busy with the hex bags.
They first had to open each hex bag and identify the materials. Together Sam
opened the bag and told Barton each material as Barton logged it in his
notebook and began flipping through the leather spell books. Then Barton had to
narrow down their purpose and their incantation. While Barton was on
research, Sam was on DNA duty. Wearing a pair of gloves he took out the sheets
from the Witch's motel room and began cutting them into small squares, setting
them safely on plastic wrap. Barton had expressed the importance of not getting
even a flake of his skin on anything they were going to put in the hex bags.
They worked side by side in the concentrated silence that Sam thrived in,
stopping every so often to eat what Barton had brought. Sam worked in a trance
and it was only until that moment when the sun was going down and Sam was
having a hard time seeing was he was putting into the hex bags that he realized
that he hadn't heard from Dean all day.  
"Let's take a break," said Barton, taking off his own gloves and giving Sam a
tired smile.
"We should take what we have to Wendy and Dean before 10 pm so my sister can
use them for the traps...and I imagine they're rather hungry by now, perhaps we
can get them something more than grease to eat."
"Why 10pm?" Sam asked, taking off his gloves.
"The Witch will be there a little before midnight," said Barton.
"How do you know that?"
Barton said nothing but gave Sam a little smile as he pulled his keys from his
pocket.
Sam took his phone out of his pocket and his heart leapt in his throat when he
realized that with all of the commotion the day before he hadn't charged it.
Shit. Dean....
Sam was used to going a day without him, but it didn't make it any easier to be
away from him.
"Let's get some food, shall we?" he asked in his calm voice.
Sam also hadn't noticed how starving he was for more than fruit and sliced
cucumber. Sam plugged the phone into the wall and followed Barton out.
 
Dean sat inside of the house, the sun had gone down entirely and he was
drinking his coffee and listening to the sound of the neighborhood in the
darkness of the room. He habitually checked his phone. He had tried calling Sam
a few times, just to check up on how the hex bags were coming along...
Just so I can hear his voice...
Suddenly he heard a floorboard creek and he was on high alert, his gun in his
hand.
"Just me, Skip!" said Wendy's voice as she opened the door. She had ditched the
blazer and glasses and was carrying a plastic container with a salad in it.
"Oh, yes, fooood," Dean said, grabbing the container out of her hands and
prying it open eagerly.
What stared up at him from the container was a Caesar salad with chicken and he
glared at Wendy, "this isn't food!"
Wendy made an annoyed tsk sound and leaned in the doorway.
"You're telling me, Barton brought it in...fancies I'm a fucking aphid or
something..."
"Wait, your brother is here?" Dean said, scrambling up.
"Was here Dean, get a grip."
"Hey could I-"
"And for the millionth time Dean, no you can not borrow my phone."
"Could you tell me why this time?" Dean demanded.
Wendy bit her lip, grinning with a look of malice on her face.
"It's a surprise..."
"Whatever, what time is it?"
"It's about 9:00pm, and I have these!"
She held up the sack of rewired hex bags.
"I reckon these will come in handy when the time comes don't you?" she
said excitedly.
It had suddenly occurred to Dean that Wendy's life consisted of hunting, eating
and fucking. He knew for a fact that she did two of these things with great
force and brutality and he suddenly remembered what her horoscope had said and
decided to keep her in the hunting vein...
He cleared his throat and pretended to be very interested in the little leather
pouches.
"Yeah...What do we do with them?"
"Barton says she has to hold them."
"What about her friends? Will it work on them?"
"Not sure if any of them slept in her bed with her or not...seemed she was
traveling alone before she got here to rejoin her coven."
Wendy was eating her own salad as though she hadn't eaten in days, but Dean
knew that if he could see the kitchen now it probably looked like an entire
football team had been in there after a game.
"That's weird..."said Dean.
"Whaaaf?" Wendy said through a mouthful of lettuce.
"Why would she stay in a motel alone here if this is where her coven is?"
Wendy shrugged and chomped on the salad, bits of lettuce sticking out of her
mouth. She grabbed Dean's coffee and washed the salad down with it.
"So...we have a few hours...how do you want to pass the time?" she asked,
looking him over like he was her next meal. Dean suddenly became very
interested in his salad.
"Um, what do you suggest?"
"Honestly Dean? Do you even have to ask?" she purred.
Dean looked up at her, trying to keep his face neutral, his heart beating
a hard in his chest. He wasn't sure if he could fight her off...he couldn't run
either, the whole fucking house was booby trapped. When he just stared at her
she gave him her jackal's smile and said, "It's time to form a battle plan!"
 
It was 11 pm and Sam was staring at his now charged phone. He was filled with
worry. He had tried calling Dean a few times now, but he never answered.
"Probably on silent," Barton told him, "they're hiding in the house, the last
thing they need is for a phone to go off and give away their position."
But that didn't keep Sam from worrying. It brought him back to all of those
nights when John and Dean had been out all night, those nights that ended with
one of them bloody and Sam stitching them up...or those nights when John came
home long before Dean...and Dean coming back later smelling like booze and
bitches. Sam was now both worried and furious. He was alone in that fucking
house...with Wendy.
All the while Barton was watching him from where he sat on the sofa.
"Sam," he said softly.
Sam looked up from his phone.
"Yeah?"
Barton moved swiftly as a cat closer to Sam, and Sam could feel his chest
tighten in sudden anticipation. Barton gently took the phone from Sam's hand,
his eyes never breaking contact from Sam's. He put the phone on the coffee
table and pushed a strand out of Sam's eyes. Sam could hear his heart in his
ears, and knew for sure Barton could.
"Sam," Barton said, his voice like a feather dropping on snow, "you are very
tired. You need to calm down. You need to rest."
Sam just looked into those commanding eyes and nodded, his words leaving him.
"I'll wake you with any news," Barton was stroking his cheek affectionately
now, and before Sam could protest, Barton planted a single soft kiss on the
corner of his mouth, pulling him into a warm embrace.
"Sleep."
Was the last thing Sam heard before his eyes closed, and darkness took him.
 
It was 11:30pm and Dean was still in the room, waiting. He hated this part. He
looked out the window from the side. Nothing. Just blackness. Wendy was waiting
outside to give him the signal if anyone came in through the back.
11:31
Nothing.
Perhaps she wasn't coming after all-
The sound of metal scraping against metal came from downstairs and he heard a
shrill scream of agony.
Dean slinked down the stairs as quickly as he could, avoiding the traps that
Wendy had pointed out to him and had made him memorize. He heard wailing in the
living room. She must have come through the window-
When he got to the living room though, no one was there...
Dean bent down slowly and picked up the source of the wailing. It was a tape
recorder. Dean felt breath on the back of his neck.
Second trap today...
"DEAN! DOWN!"
Dean obeyed, and dropped to the floor. He was just in time to catch a glimpse
of the witch who was glaring at Wendy...then he saw Wendy pushing a button on
her phone. He heard the sound of another phone ring right before a blast. The
house phone that hung on the wall next to where the witch was standing
exploded. Dean felt blood splatter his face in a spray as the Witch clutched at
her face. She dropped to her knees to the floor, choking and sputtering blood.
In the moonlight Dean could see nails sticking out of her face. She was wearing
a black hoodie, and in the darkness he could see the dark blue glow of the
earring...and then she collapsed on the floor in a pool of blood.
Dean took a few shaky breaths before grinning despite himself.
"How did you do that?"
"I'm a genius, I just don't like to brag," Wendy said breathless.
"Holy shit!" he was actually laughing now. He sat up and looked at Wendy,
shaking his head. Even she could have moments of brilliance. She was grinning
back when suddenly her face dropped.
"DEAN LOOK OUT!"
Dean felt a hand grab his arm. He looked down and saw the bleeding, mutilated
face grinning at him as she pulled her body closer.
"Mortuus ater sanguis" she choked out, blood dripping from her mouth as she
spoke.
Dean suddenly felt a wrenching pain that he had never fathomed he could
feel pulling at his chest and abdomen. He could hear Wendy calling from far
away as his vision blurred. The last thing he saw before he lost consciousness
was Wendy's boot kicking the witch in the side of the head.
Sammy...
Chapter End Notes
     I really hope you all are enjoying the fun! Next chapter will be
     coming along on the 7th of this month!!
***** Chapter 16 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
"Sammy..." said a gentle voice.
Sam opened his eyes and  blinked a few times, trying to clear his vision. There
was the faint orange light of the lamp beside the sofa and leather bound books
stacked to high heavens on the coffee table. Sam looked at the bright,
beautiful green eyes that stared into his and he sighed with relief. Dean was
kneeling down beside the sofa, stroking Sam's hair with unabashed affection. It
felt so good. It felt so good to be touched by Dean.
"You were gone for so long..." Sam whispered before Dean's lips brushed against
his softly. Dean's tongue pushed Sam's mouth open and Sam yielded, letting Dean
use his fingers to tilt his head up so he could kiss him even deeper. Sam gave
a low moan. He could feel his body becoming warmer as he pushed his fingers
into Dean's hair and their kisses became deeper, hotter, and before Sam knew it
he was whimpering longingly, his body hot and sensitive against Dean's while
Dean was practically fucking his mouth with his tongue, Sam folded in his
strong arms.
"Sammy," Dean panted, pulling away so they could look at each other. Sam stared
into those green eyes and he suddenly felt a heavy uneasiness surround
him...that telltale sign in the pit of his stomach.
"Dean, what's wrong?"
"I love you, Sam, will you remember that?"
Sam suddenly felt tears burning his eyes, but he didn't know why. His heart
began racing and he couldn't breathe...he felt like he was drowning...drowning
in the black cold sensation that was filling his veins like acid. He was on
high alert, his body painfully torn between arousal from Dean's hot mouth, and
absolute dread from Dean's terrifying tone.
"What's going on, Dean?"
But Dean was already kissing Sam's lips again, his jaw, his neck...he took a
deep breath and sighed against that tender spot on Sam's neck.
"God, Sam I love you..."
"Dean please-"
"Tell me you love me," Dean whispered into his ear, and Sam shivered, his body
melting into Dean's touch. He could hear a faint sound coming from the crappy
little lamp.
"Tell me what's wrong," Sam demanded through the haze. With every kiss, his
body wanted to relax, but that nagging feeling would not let up and he was
thoroughly freaked out now. Dean pulled away from him again, staring into Sam's
eyes lovingly.
He looked so vulnerable...
Something's WRONG!
"Tell me you love me."
Dean had a look of urgency in his eyes and the damn lamp was humming louder and
louder.
"No. Tell me what's going on!" Sam was sitting upright now. He whisked a tear
away from his face as he glared at Dean. Sam was trembling, afraid of
something, but not knowing what...that feeling that you get in the dark after a
nightmare...like something's standing over you but it's too dark to see it. 
"Please, Sammy."
His words were wavering with emotion.
The lamp sounded like it was on its last limb, and Sam wondered somewhere in
the back of his mind when the last time the fucking light bulb had been
changed.
"You know I love you Dean. I love you. I love you! Okay? Now tell me-"
The lamp made a final sound, like a jammed up blender, before everything went
black.
 
Sam sat up with a loud gasp for air. He couldn't breathe. Where was he? Where's
Dean? Sam checked his surroundings.
He was on the sofa...he must have fallen asleep.
Sleep...
Barton was sitting cross legged on the other side of the sofa and had been
reading a leather bound book, this one looked like a planner... he was now
staring at Sam intently, worry in his icy blue eyes.
"Sam?"
He snapped the book shut and discarded it on the coffee table, immediately
coming closer to Sam, his brow barely furrowed.
"What's wrong?"
"...Dean?"
Sam couldn't speak above a whisper, he couldn't breathe and his heart wouldn't
stop beating like he had just run here from somewhere far away.
Tell me you love me...
Barton had his hands on Sam's shoulders now, observing Sam calmly.
"What was that, love?"
Sam took another couple of shaky breaths out of his nose, trying to stop the
trembling.
"Where's Dean?"
Barton took the blanket that he had laid on Sam after he fell asleep and
wrapped it around Sam's shoulders, rubbing his arms, warming him up.
"You're shivering," he murmured, studying him.
"Where's Dean? I need him-to talk to him. Now."
Barton nodded, his face growing ever so slightly more concerned by the second.
"They're still on site. I'll get your phone."
Barton leaned over to the coffee table to grab the phone when suddenly his own
pocket began to ring. He looked at Sam, looking slightly puzzled. He didn't
seem to like where this was going any more than Sam did. Any anxiety Sam had
been feeling before tripled, and he couldn't even take his phone when Barton
tried to hand it to him. 
"Answer it," Sam said in a flat voice.
Without moving his eyes from Sam, he pulled the phone out of his pocket and
flipped open.
"Wendy?" He said calmly into the phone.
The voice on the other end was frantic, but Barton kept eye contact with Sam.
His voice was composed and commanding when he spoke back to his sister.
"It's going to be okay Wendy. Just stay where you are. I'm coming to get
him...He what?...I'm sure you must have been mistaken...no I'm not calling you
daft, but I just don't know if that's possible...tell me exactly what she
said..."
Barton grabbed his notebook, flipped it open and began scribbling words into
it. He stared at it for a moment and said "It's the same one she used on the
others, she must be able to control the speed, she must have been able to slow
it down with the others....Start disarming the house. You'll follow me back to
the motel."
He hung up the phone without looking at it, still looking at Sam.
"Slow what down? Never mind. I'm coming with you-" Sam said immediately.
"No. You need to stay here. The Witch doesn't know where you are, you're safer
here."
"Dean is hurt and I. Am. Coming. With. You."
"Putting yourself in danger is not going to help your brother. What do you
think will happen to himif anything happens to you? Do you think Dean would
think it was worth it if the Witch comes back to finish them off and takes you
too? We also need you to-"
"Honestly, Barton I don't give a shit about what Dean thinks right now, as long
as he's alive to think!"
"As far as I know," Barton continued, his voice calm and smooth, "your father
put you under Dean's care, and Dean would want you to stay here. Besides-"
"What do you mean, he 'would want?' Take me to Dean!"
Sam was in full work mode now...anything to avoid panic mode. He stood up and
laid the blanket back on the couch, and headed for his backpack. He unzipped it
and began taking out the books so he could replace it with ammunition, his
hands were shaking so badly, though, he just turned the damn thing upside down
and dumped the books out onto the carpet.
Will you remember that?
He had to hold the tears back as he picked up his knife that had fallen out and
tossed it back into the bag, stood up, turned around and collided with Barton's
chest.
Damn he's tall...
Barton put his hands on Sam's forearms and gently pushed him back so his bright
blue eyes could meet Sam's.
"Sam, your brother is known for being one of the strongest and most skilled
hunters of his age. By the time he is your father's age, he will have surpassed
him tenfold, if not more. He can survive this, but he needs you safe, and he
needs you calm."
Sam was shaking his head defiantly, fighting harder than ever to keep the tears
that were forming behind his eyes from disclosing his utter terror.
"I'm coming with you."
"Dean also needs," Barton said, softly titling Sam's face up by his chin, his
eyes demanding his attention, "a counter spell."
Sam just stared at him.
"We have the spell she used, now you need to do as much research as possible.
Time is of the essence."
Fuck.
"Fuck! Fine! But you hurry and bring Dean back to me. Alive."
 
Sam skimmed the pages of the handwritten spell book. Her spell was in
there...there had to be a counter spell...
And what if you don't find one?
The voice in his head said softly.
Sam shook the thought out of his mind. Dean wasn't going to die. Dean was going
to live. He tried to focus on the pages, tried to focus on the words.
God, Sam I love you...
FOCUS!
Sam, sighed and put his face in his hands. He had to fight it. He had to battle
the despair. If he did that, then there might not be a reason to despair at
all. He took a few deep breaths and put his hands palm down on the coffee
table, his right palm feeling the cool touch of leather beneath it. Sam lifted
his hand. It was the planner that Barton had been reading.
Focus!
It was a 1997-1998 planner...
Focus
It looked like it was already filled out all the way...
focus
He pulled it open gently, feeling a pang of guilt for invading Barton's
privacy, but his curiosity was stronger than his guilt as he read what was
scribed across the first page in blue ink.
"I will always love you."
Sam almost didn't want to continue, but he had already gone this far...
He flipped to the current date and stared at what was written there in blue
ink. The ink had bled through the other side as well, but it wasn't hard to see
what was written there:
"They will be there around midnight. Aquarius will die. She doesn't know what
it looks like. Bring the axe. Wendy, release the beast. Barton, you're right."
"What the Hell?" Sam murmured to himself.
Aquarius...
Dean.
"Snooping are we?"
Sam looked up and leapt to his feet, grabbing his knife from its holster and
backing away from the woman who was sitting at the table in the kitchen area,
flipping through a book. She was pale, her eyes almost transparent, she looked
to be about in her 30's, and she was so beautiful... After a moment, he
realized that she was one of the witches that Barton had seen....
"How did you get in here?" Sam demanded, as he backed toward the bed where he
knew his gun was under the pillow.
"Those wards you have lying around don't work on us," she said distractedly as
she turned the pages in a book. Her voice was deep, but not unpleasant, and she
had a strange accent. Sam continued backing away. He recognized the book that
she was looking at as Barton's notebook...she stopped turning the pages and
stared at the picture for a moment.
"It looks just like me..." she murmured.
As Sam inched closer to the bed, not taking his eyes from her, he saw that she
was wearing the same, green, glowing earrings that Wendy had found in the
motel. He also noticed, as he felt the bedspread under his fingertips, that she
was wearing a lot more jewelry that matched the earrings...all of it green,
glittering, on her fingers, her wrists, and several hung around her neck. She
even had her long pale hair up in a pin that shone beautifully with green
shimmering stones. Sam could feel the pillow now, and he slipped his hand
beneath it...
Just to find nothing. Sam smoothed his hand under the pillow relentlessly
trying to find the gun, but there was nothing.
"Looking for this, boy?" said an incredibly deep, accented voice behind him.
Sam whirled around, clutching his knife in his hand. There was a man standing
behind him. He was just as pale as the girl was, his eyes pale, but he had no
hair, although he looked young. He had dark black tattoos all over his muscular
arms, and he wore a necklace that glowed the same bright green. He was holding
up the gun so that Sam could see it, but his finger wasn't on the trigger.
Stay calm.
"What do you want?" Sam demanded, holding out his knife that he knew at this
point was probably useless.
How did they get in? Stay calm. Focus.
"We're here to get those bastards that have been killing off our family..."
said the woman behind him.
Wait...What?
Sam glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand.
It was Midnight.
"You know, boy, your little friends?"
Chapter End Notes
     See you on the 9th with the next chapter! I'm trying to stay as on
     schedule as possible! Enjoy the long weekend everyone! ^^
***** Chapter 17 *****
Chapter Notes
     Enjoy everyone!! ^^
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
 
 
Barton pushed through the door holding Dean up with his arm slung around Dean's
waist, Dean's arm around Barton's neck.
"Come on, Dean, just a few more steps...."
The last word was drawn out as Barton's cold blue eyes surveyed the scene
before him. Sam was sitting on the sofa between a large, muscular man and a
beautiful woman. She was looking through Barton's planner, perusing it the same
way someone would leaf through a magazine.
Sam jumped to his feet at the sight of Dean, but the man grabbed him by his
shoulders and sat him back down. His heart felt like a caged bird in his chest
as he watched Dean's pale figure slumped against Barton, barely alive. Sam
could see his veins...they looked like they where turning black.
"Dean!"
"Quiet, boy," said the woman distractedly, still looking through the planner.
Dean looked up, his green eyes resting wearily on Sam who tried to get up again
but was pulled down again by the man, who now stood up.
"Hello Witch," the man said pleasantly.
"...hate...witches..." Dean managed before he sputtered and coughed blood onto
the linoleum.
"Not you, hunter, the tall one," said the woman again. She still hadn't looked
up from what she was reading. Sam watched Barton's face carefully.
Barton's large, catlike eyes narrowed ever so slightly into a look of
confusion, but the look quickly faded as his eyes landed on what the woman was
reading and then widened a little. He looked over at Sam, concern written
across his lovely face.
"Did they hurt you?" Barton demanded, though his voice was still calm.
"You can cut the act, Witch, he knows what you are. Seems he didn't know that
you and your friends were involved in cult murders..."
"I don't know what you're talking about-"
Dean spat more blood onto the floor and grimaced.
"I knew there was a reason why I hated you-" he wheezed.
More blood splashed onto the floor as Dean sank to his knees holding his
stomach.
The woman ignored Dean and held up the planner that she had been reading,
looking at Barton accusingly.
"We have one just like this one...belonged to another one of your...friends..."
She stared at Barton, her transparent eyes gleaming with expectance and rage.
"Let me jog your memory, Witch. I found one of these on the man who killed my
brother."
Barton had knelt down next to Dean, who clearly didn't want his help as he
staggered toward Sam, completely ignoring the two who flanked him on the sofa.
Barton stood back up and looked at the planner that she was holding up, his
eyes devoid of any emotion.
"I see," said Barton finally, his voice as soft as the felt of a piano hammer.
Dean staggered over to Sam who leapt from the sofa to hold onto him, leading
him to the sofa. This time the man didn't stop him, but just stood and glared
at Barton, his pale eyes filled with malice.
Sam paid no attention, but wrapped his arms around Dean who had dropped his
head on Sam's shoulder, his breathing shaky slow.
"And how long ago was that, may I ask?" Sam heard Barton ask the woman, as
though asking her when the last time she'd had a facial was.
"Ten years...then your other little friend...the crazy one...pink hair? Yes.
She killed two of my sisters...last year, I believe...and then your other
friend, that brunette...she's been running around killing my cousins..."
Dean pulled away from Sam so he could cough up more blood.
"Dean..."
I've failed him. I'm not smart enough. I couldn't just fucking concentrate and
find the counter spell...
Sam was crying now, stoking Dean's dirty blonde hair.
"Pleeease don't die," Sam was whispering, tears streaming down his face
unhindered, "don't leave me, Dean...."
The woman looked at Dean with slight distaste from where she was sitting.
"This one's dying," she said flatly.
"Fuck...y-"
Dean began before he coughed up blood all over her skirt. She glared at him,
her brow furrowed.
Dean glared back at her and coughed again, this time defiantly.
"How is he even still alive?" the tall man asked nonchalantly over his
shoulder.
She was shaking her head but then she looked at Sam closely, staring at him.
"Well, Arvid," said the woman to the tall man, "let's take them to Marder and
see what she wants to do with them."
 
He couldn't tell how they got to the place...some house...one some hill...
The pain was beyond anything that he had ever felt before. He was sweating with
fever now, and he could hear his heart beating sluggishly yet determinedly in
his ears.
Where the fuck am I?
Someone was gently shaking his shoulder.
"Sammy?"
There was a pause, then "Dean?"
Dean coughed, and he felt someone stroking his hair. It felt so good...made the
pain subside a little. Dean could tell from the voice, scent and the way those
soft fingers caressed his skin that it was indeed his Sammy.
"I love it when you touch me..." he breathed, too exhausted to open his eyes.
"You won't get sick of it?" Sam whispered in his ear.
He could feel his head on Sam's lap, could feel Sam's soft hair in his face.
"I'll never get sick of you...but you'll always be a pain in my ass."
"Oh, so I get to be on top?" 
Even in this freezing cold, painful nightmare, Dean could hear laughter in
Sam's hushed voice.
"Not a chance," Dean managed before the pain wrenched his guts and he groaned
in agony.
Dean felt Sam's hands grab his own, entwining their fingers.
"Hey, remember when Dad was teaching us how to pick handcuffs?" Sam asked
quietly.
"Hm," Dean nodded.
Dean felt Sam's hands squeeze his affectionately.
"And I was the guinea pig, and then in the middle of it, the guy in the room
next to us had an emergency..."
"The microwave explosion," Dean murmured to show that he was following the
bouncing ball.
"Right. Dad had to take him to the hospital and completely forgot about us for
like six hours..."
"I had to feed you because you had your hands behind your back hooked through
the cabinet handle," Dean chuckled, sweat running down his face as he tried to
ignore the feeling that his head was splitting.
"Hey, a man's gotta eat," Sam said seriously.
"And the whole time...I didn't even know it..."
"The key was in your pocket."
Dean opened his eyes and was greeted by pitch blackness, Sam's voice still
echoing in his mind.
He was alone, his head was on a cold hard surface.
"What the fuck?" Dean croaked.
Great, I'm dying AND tripping out.
But Dean couldn't shake the feeling that he had missed something...
Your pocket...
Dean grimaced as he reached down into his pocket, his fingers wrapping around
something soft and smooth. He pulled it out, unable to see it in the blackness,
but he knew what it was. It was a hex bag that Wendy had taken out of the sack
that Barton had brought them. They each had taken one and the rest they had
left in the sack for future use.
Fuck it, I'm gonna die anyway.
He thought as he untied the strings by feel and opened it up. He felt around
inside and found a little piece of cloth that he suspected was a piece of the
Witch's sheets. He flung it away into the darkness and felt around what was
left inside.
A man's gotta eat...
It was mostly herbs and roots from what Dean could tell...he didn't even want
to know what kind of oils the Witch had to put on these things to make them
spell worthy. He didn't think about it as he brought the bag to his mouth
and chewed the contents inside.
One Hell of a last meal...
Dean tried not to throw up, even though it really didn't taste that bad...it
tasted like there was ginger in there...maybe some licorice root...if that's
what that twig was. He let the juices run down his throat before he turned his
head and spit everything out.
Well that was a stupid idea.
But maybe it wasn't...because he was suddenly feeling a whole lot better.
 
Sam was sitting across from Barton on a plush, powder blue couch. The sitting
room was luxurious with a lovely marble fireplace, paintings on the wall,
antique furniture, and sculptures. The house must have been built on the side
of a cliff because there was a sliding glass door that led to the huge balcony
that overlooked a scene of forest and rolling hills. Sam was exhausted as he
stared outside, not really seeing anything. He was numb. They had taken Dean
away from him after Dean had fallen unconscious, and Sam had fought with all of
his might to keep them from taking him, going so far as to punch Arvid in the
face repeatedly, but to no avail. Arvid didn't even seem phased as he took Dean
away into another room that Sam couldn't see. That had been an hour ago, and
Sam had finally stopped crying. Barton hadn't said a word the entire time, just
sat calmly watching everything happen. Sam could feel Barton staring at him,
but he refused to look at him.
"Sam," Barton said finally.
"Do. Not. Speak. To. Me," Sam replied, his voice dry and cold. It was only
because he had used up all of his strength trying to get Dean back that he
hadn't leapt over the polished wooden coffee table and strangled Barton to
death.
He heard Barton sigh from where he sat, and out of the corner of his eye, Sam
saw Barton slump over, putting his face in his hands.
"It's not what you think," Barton said, the last word broke, and Sam could hear
pain in his voice.
Sam finally turned his glare onto Barton, but Barton had his head down still,
his elbows on his knees, his long elegant fingers holding his head up by his
face.
"What, so you didn't kill their family?"
"No, no, we did-"
"Well then how the fuck is in not what I think?"
But Barton was just shaking his head in his hands.
"This is simply the most enormous misunderstanding that I could have ever
gotten you into. And if anything happen to Dean...if anything happens to you."
Sam sat and stared at the tall man.
Has he ever done anything to make you believe that you can't trust him?
His rational mind asked him. 
"Why did you kill those people Barton?"
Barton looked up at Sam, his intelligent eyes tired, but coherent.
"They're not people."
"So that professor at UNLV? The antique shop owners? Those families? They
weren't people?" Sam cried incredulously.
"Yes, they were people, but we didn't kill them."
"So who killed them if the Witch didn't?"
"She did."
Sam stared at him, fury and lack of sleep making it hard to put all of the
pieces together.
"Sam, Wendy and I don't know her. She's no friend of ours, we're trying to kill
her."
Barton's eyes were burrowing into Sam's.
"But you said you killed their family...so explain!"
Barton's eyes suddenly drifted from Sam to something behind Sam.
"Yes," said a soft, accented voice from behind Sam.
Sam turned and saw the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She looked to be
in her teens, her smooth pale skin was almost luminous, and her eyes were clear
like Caribbean water. She wore her long almost white hair up in a green
shimmering pin, and she wore a tasteful, white silk dress that went to her
knees.
"Please," she said, her voice sounded like the tinkling of a crystal
chandelier. She took a seat beside Sam, crossing her legs and leaning forward
so she could be part of the conversation.
"Explain."
Chapter End Notes
     Thank you all for your comments and support! They genuinely encourage
     me to update frequently! It makes me so incredibly happy that you are
     enjoying the piece so far! I'm almost done transcribing the next
     chapter so you'll be seeing it on the 12th!
***** Chapter 18 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
 
Barton suddenly looked very tired as he looked at the young woman sitting next
to Sam. Sam was too tired to give a shit altogether. If he was going to die, at
least he would be with Dean again. He was tempted to ask the woman to just get
on with it, because knowing that Dean was most likely dead, wherever he
was, was like being half of a person.
Sam didn't even try to imagine what it would be like to live his life without
him. Dad would probably kill his Demon (though he had always been very
steadfast on the idea that it was their Demon for some reason...Sam and Dean
weren't old enough to have any, if you asked Sam) and then hunt every witch
down. Anything to keep busy. Anything to keep from mourning. And Sam? Sam would
lay down his weapon at just the right moment...fail to shoot his salt gun right
before a ghost throws a pitch fork through his chest, drop his silver bullet
right before a Werewolf sinks its teeth into his windpipe. That is, of course,
these people, here, didn't kill him tonight.
"Let Sam and his brother go," said Barton calmly to the woman, "they have
nothing to do with this."
"We'll see about that," said the girl, not unkindly, "You were going to say
something to the boy, weren't you? About my family?"
She was resting her chin in her hand, looking relaxed and interested.
"I admit that your brother died at the hands of my brother. I admit, also, that
I and my sister are both responsible for the death of one of your sisters...."
The girl continued to stare at Barton, her expression unchanged.
"But  Wendy and I have nothing to do with the death of your cousins."
Finally, the girl's marble face changed from interest to intent, her
transparent eyes glinting.
"Why did your brother kill my brother?"
Barton blinked slowly, greatly resembling a tired, bored cat. He seemed to be
choosing his words very carefully before he stated flatly: "Because your
brother was eating people."
 
Dean, made his way through the blackness, his hands out in front of him as he
walked carefully. Each step he took was careful and slow. He was feeling better
now, the pain in his core had subsided and he had stopped coughing up
blood...which was an improvement. He was still dizzy and lightheaded, and
beyond exhausted. But he couldn't stop.
Sammy...I have to find Sammy...he's alone...with Barton...I HATE Barton...
He had already tried finding his phone to no avail. Finally he found a handle
against a wall. He hesitated before he turned the knob and opened it. He felt
cool air against his face and he took a deep breath of freedom. From what he
could tell they had thrown him into some kind of outdoor garage to die.
Dicks.
He slinked out into the darkness, quickly taking cover in the bushes where he
hid and took in his surroundings. It looked at though he were at the bottom of
some very big hill. There was a road leading up the hill that was blocked off
by a large black gate.  Although Dean hadn't seen anyone standing guard or
otherwise, he approached the gate as silently as he could. From where he stood,
he couldn't see the house at all...
The trees must be blocking it.
The gate itself had a rather uninviting and ominous feel to it. It was tall and
overgrown with ivy and other various forms of life, making it look as though it
hadn't been opened in quite some time. In the middle of it were old warning
signs: "Do not trespass," "Private Property," "Warning: Falling Rocks."
This MUST be where we came in though.
 Dean vaguely remembered, now, being flopped into the back of a van like a bag
of charcoal...and he remembered Sam's hands, cradling his head...Sam's breath
against his ear as he whispered to him, telling him to hold on...Sam's lips
against his forehead, his eyelids, his own lips...
Dean felt the death grip on his heart again, but this time it wasn't from a hex
bag.
I need to find Sam
 He looked at the gate desperately now. In comparison to how he had been
feeling not more that fifteen minutes ago, he felt Golden...but did that mean
he had the strength to scale a 15 foot wrought iron fence?
I do feel BETTER...
He told himself as he looked up at pointy ends at the top of the enormous gate.
He could concentrate and the pain was dimming by the minute, but he was still
weak, nauseous, and had a slight headache. His legs felt shaky as he took his
careful steps and his arms felt like Jell-O. No, Dean was not going to be
scaling any fences today, and it was too low to crawl under.  He looked over at
the shed that he had just come out of...he hadn't remembered hearing a gate
open when they had brought him down here...which meant that there must be
another path that led here that wasn't blocked by the gate. He silently crept
back to the shed where they had left him to rot and slowly made a circle around
it. It was small...wooden, nothing fancy...there were no windows...but there
was another door on the other side of it. Dean was in the middle of inspecting
the other door when he heard a sound approaching. He ducked back into the
bushes and looked in the direction of the noise. It was a maroon Saturn pulling
up with its lights out. It carefully rolled up behind the shed, hiding
itself...
Dean sank lower to the ground and watched the familiar, dark haired figure with
one shimmering, blue earring step out of the car. Her hoodie was down and Dean
cold see the holes where she had pulled the nails out of her face. Now that
Dean had the chance to observe her, she looked like anyone else on the street.
She wore regular clothes and a small backpack that she had slung over her
shoulder. He could have seen her any day in the market...in a Diner...liquor
store...bar...gas station...and never know. When he had seen the drawing that
Barton had made, it looked as though she had been wearing a lot of makeup...but
now that he could see her somewhat in the darkness, he realized that what he
had mistaken for makeup was just dark circles surrounding her eyes...her lips
so pale they blended into the rest of her face. He watched her walk toward
the gates and look at them calculatedly. She pulled at something under her
sweater and retrieved something glowing around her neck. Dean squinted. It
looked like an arrowhead...and it seemed to be glowing brighter and brighter as
she neared the gates. She then put her hand into her backpack and fished out a
hex bag. She opened it slightly by pulling the drawstrings and Dean watched as
she carefully unclipped her shimmering blue earring, using the outside of her
sweater, and dropped it into the hex bag. She tied it back up tightly, and
placed it in her pocket, then looked back at the iron gates.
As Dean was watching her kneel beside the gate and rummage through her bag
again, Dean saw movement out of the corner of his eye. At first he thought he
had imagined it, but then as he looked on he saw the back door of the Saturn
open very very slowly...on its own....
Dean held his breath as it stayed open for a moment and then very slowly and
softly shut the door, not all the way, so that it never made a sound. Dean
watched the door, his eyes wide for a moment, before suddenly he heard an
explosion come from the gates.
At first he thought the Witch had blown the fucking things down, but when Dean
looked over the gates were seemingly undisturbed, even the ivy. But the Witch
stood in front of them, her back straight, unmoving when suddenly Dean heard
stirring on the other side of them. One after the other, people appeared on the
other side of the gate...just out of nowhere, men and women were on the
other side of the gate looking out...lights had gone on and they were
searching. There the Witch stood but no one seemed to notice her. The people on
the other side, opened the gates and emerged, some carrying weapons and some
just so giant that Dean didn't think they could possibly be human. Out
they came, stalking around, smelling the bushes. One particularly large man
with glimmering blue arm cuffs and horns growing out of his head came trudging
out and Dean suddenly thought that maybe he wasn't as all together in the head
as he thought he had been.
They searched and the Witch just stood where she was...no one paying her any
mind. As they went about, literally beating the bushes, the Witch strolled
through the gates, making sure not to touch anyone as she went.
She was going up the hill, unhindered, right for Sam.
 
 The girl stared at Barton for a moment, her eyes filled with something that
looked like sadness.
"Eating people you say?" she said almost in a whisper.
"Yes."
"I wish I could have asked my brother for himself," she said, her voice still
low, but there was nothing accusing there. If Sam had to guess, she believed
what Barton was saying.
"I'm afraid I can't offer you that," he responded, his voice soft and his eyes
sympathetic.
"What about your brother? Could he tell me more?" her voice sounding hopeful.
"He can't help you. The confrontation with your brother killed my brother."
Now Sam was confused, but he was too tired to care.
Tired all the way through.
"I'm sorry to hear that. The loss of a family member is very tragic," there was
only a slight bite of bitterness to her voice that Sam could hear.
"It is," Barton agreed quietly, his chilly blue eyes filled with sadness.
Barton looked across the way. At first, Sam thought that he was looking him,
but then Sam realized that he was looking beyond him at something with great
interest.
Sam turned slowly to look. And there it was. The painting. "Troll Queen."
"Is that your mum?" Barton asked.
The girl didn't have see what he was looking at to know what he was talking
about.
"Yes...she had six children and left instructions that we look after one
another...but, as you see, I've lost a brother and two sisters," her eyes sent
daggers in Barton's direction "It's incredibly hard to lose one's sisters as
well," the girl pried, her eyes digging into his.
"I know that too."
Despite himself, Sam was suddenly interested. Though he shouldn't have been
surprised that he didn't know everything about Barton, he still felt that it
was strange that he had never asked Barton about his family...and was even more
surprised by his answer.
"I've lost my older sister as well..."
The girl's brows had furrowed and she was looking at him now with deep empathy
that Sam could have never expected on this night.
"There were once five of us," Barton continued, his eyes looking deep into
hers, looking dewy and heartbreaking, "and now there are only three...and the
youngest could be dead for all we know...we haven't heard from her in over two
years."
The girl seemed to compose herself and took a deep breath.
"Why did you kill my sister then?" she asked in a sigh, letting a delicate
finger whisk away a rogue tear that threatened to blemish her perfect façade.
"Your sisters were feeding men ale that was practically a drug. They were
tempting them with beauty and beer and then beating them to death. Wendy and I
put one of them down...."
The girl's eyes were wide as she stared at him, a pained expression on her
face. She was quiet for a moment before she said "You say that you don't know
this Witch."
Sam held his breath.
Here it comes.
"And I believe you," she said, "but do you know why she kills my cousins?"
Barton seemed to think for a moment before he nodded knowingly.
"I think she's looking for something...."
"What is she looking for?"
Barton's eyes flickered to the painting again.
"I'm fairly certain it's-"
Suddenly, the beautiful girl's eyes rolled back in her head. Sam stared at her
in horror as she made a choking sound and rolled off of the sofa, completely
lifeless.
Sam jumped up at stared at the girl. Even on the floor, her hair and silk
sprawled all over the floor, she was beautiful. Sam turned to Barton who was
staring, only his wide blue eyes showing his distress as they looked past Sam
again.
Sam turned around and saw, to his horror, the Witch grinning at him with dead
white lips, bloody holes all along her face...and Wendy standing beside her,
staring fixedly with no expression at the woman on the floor. 
Chapter End Notes
     More to come!! See you on the 14th!! I hope you're all still enjoying
     my monsters!!!
***** Chapter 19 *****
Chapter Notes
     This is the final show down, everyone! I hope you're enjoying the
     story! Thank you for sticking with me so far! Enjoy the carnage ^^
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
Sam had just begun to back away when he felt someone gently pull him back, and
for a fleeting moment in his tired, drained mind, Sam thought that he was being
attacked.
Good riddance.
But it was Barton, who now had stepped in front of Sam protectively.
The Witch just sneered at this, her teeth black with caked blood.
Wendy just seemed to notice the two of them standing there and grinned her
giant grin, waving at them as though they had just bumped into each other
somewhere.
Small world.
Sam thought bitterly.
But then she put her fingers to her lips, a glint of malice in her eyes, and
that's when Sam noticed for the first time that she was, in fact, armed...not
just armed, mind you, but armed...with a giant axe swinging at her side,
brushing the sack of hex bags that they had rewired. Sam didn't even want to
think of how strong one would have to be in order to hold an axe like that the
way that she was holding it...like it was a lady's clutch purse....
Wendy was silently giggling...she seemed to think that something was terribly
funny.
"Where is it?" the Witch demanded in a husky voice.
"We don't know, we were brought here against our will," Barton said, his voice
clear, one hand holding onto Sam's arm from behind him.
Sam watched as Wendy mouthed "She can't see me!"
Sam stared dumbly at her as Wendy waved her hand in front of the Witch's
face...the Witch didn't flinch, and Wendy shrugged, her large grin set firmly
on her face. She hiked up the axe, ready to swing at the witch when suddenly
Barton said "I saw it on the way in, but you need to tell us how to cure our
friend first."
Sam looked up at the tall man, and Wendy's blade stopped a centimeter from the
Witch's neck. She was looking at Barton, seemingly waiting for further
instruction.
"Fine. I can save him, but you have to show me where it is fir-"
Sam suddenly heard a loud THWANG coming from behind him and an arrow was
suddenly sticking out of the Witch's chest. Sam whirled around and saw Dean
standing there, looking down a crossbow that was pointing right at the Witch. 
"Never mind," said Barton coolly, "kill her."
And with a swish, the blade had taken the Witch's head clean off, blood
spraying everywhere. Of course, Wendy was not satisfied with a beheading, and
continued to slam the Witch's fallen body repeatedly, the Witch's arm flying
and landing somewhere next to Sam's foot...but Sam wasn't paying attention.
Dean had closed the distance between them as soon as the Witch had stared at
the still vibrating arrow in her chest. Sam had his arms around Dean's neck,
Dean holding him close whispering , "It's okay, I'm here...I'm here baby
boy..."
And without even a thought of the sound of metal hacking flesh, or the two
other people -well, liveand consciouspeople- present, their lips met. It was
soft, but intimate. Sam didn't give a shit who saw, what they thought or what
kind of judgments might wait for him in the future. This was Dean, his Dean,
and he was alive, and they were together.
"I'm sorry it took me so long," Dean whispered, kissing Sam's lips softly
again, stroking his hair, staring into his eyes. Sam snuggled into Dean's neck
and let out a deep sigh of relief. Dean held him close, pressing soft kisses on
his head, pulling his fingers through his hair.
Sam could hear Wendy chatting loudly with Barton, telling him about how she had
been disarming the house when the witch had returned for her tape recorder and
some necklace that she was wearing, and Wendy had stood there ready to fight
but the Witch had never seen her.
"That's when I remembered that I had that hex bag in my pocket...must have been
an invisibility spell, because she couldn't see me."
Then Wendy had followed her to her shitty little Saturn and had sat in the back
seat, hoping the Witch was driving to her coven. When they had arrived, Wendy
had snuck out and watched the Witch put the earring in her pouch and had been
invisible to the guards...which meant that all of the guards at one point must
have touched those earrings. So Wendy had followed her lead, putting her own
earring in her own hex bag, deciding that wherever the Witch was going must be
interesting. So she followed the Witch here, where she had seen her brother and
Sam and figured "Now must be a good time to get rid of her once and for all."
Sam was resting his head against Dean's chest, ready to fall asleep, knowing
damn well that the fun had just begun...they were in a nest of some sort with
ancient creatures who apparently eat people and their leader is on the floor
unconscious...
"Where'd you get the crossbow, Dean?" Wendy asked, sounding impressed.
"Found it in the shed where they left me to die...I guess they didn't think I
was gonna need it," Dean shrugged, unconsciously rubbing Sam's wounded knuckles
from when he had tried to fight Arvid.
"We parked behind that shed!" Wendy said, as though it was the most exciting
coincidence ever.
Barton was now kneeling beside the unconscious woman. He took the hex bag from
around her neck where the Witch had placed it, tilting her face, trying to find
out how to help her.
"I know," Dean said, "I saw her get out of the car...and I saw the back door
open too...was that you?"
Wendy nodded, but Dean frowned.
"Why couldn't I see you?"
"Probably because you were the one who took the sheets off of the bed...you
must have gotten a hair in that particular hex bag or something...doesn't take
much you know."
"Marder's alive," Barton said from where he was crouched beside the woman,
"that Witch must have been powerful to knock out a Troll..."
Sam blinked a few times at Barton, then he looked down at the girl. She was
the third girl that Barton had drawn and she was even more beautiful in
person...
"She doesn't really look like a...troll..." Dean said, voicing what Sam had
been thinking, "aren't they supposed to be really big and live in,
like, mountains or something?"
"Some do," Wendy said, nodding.
"The big ones that you're talking about are called Jötnar, but they can look
like pretty much anything really," said Barton, looking at Sam closely, those
cat eyes observing his face for longer than they ought to...
"Sam, you look exhausted....We need to get out of here...she should be fine,
but we won't be if they find us with Marder looking like this....Dean, how did
you get in here?"
Dean didn't look up from Sam's bloody knuckles, gently stoking Sam's fingers
with his own, and hitched a thumb in the direction of the door behind him.
"There's a passageway that leads up here from where the shed is..."
"Good! Let's take her car!" Wendy said brightly, holding up a key ring. Sam
could hear the slow, wet pitter of blood dripping off of the keys onto the
floor.
 
They approached the door, Wendy leading the way with her axe brandished. Behind
her was Barton, followed by Dean with his crossbow, behind him, Sam. Dean
suddenly heard Sam make a terrible sound, and Dean snapped around to see what
was wrong...his heart was suddenly going a million miles a minute when he saw
the Witch. She was covered in blood, the pieces of her had just seemed to be
melding together, giving her the effect of having multiple, gaping stab wounds
all over her body. She had Sam from behind, facing them, one of her hands over
his mouth and the other clutching his stomach. He was tearing at her skin of
her neck, but she didn't seem to notice. She dragged him slowly backward, each
step sounding like the slap of raw meat against marble.
"Ginger...get me the bröllopsgåva and maybe I'll let the pretty one go..."
"What? I'm not the pretty one?" Wendy whined from behind Dean, who was now
pointing the crossbow at the Witch.
"Put him down or I swear to fucking God-"
She squeezed Sam's stomach like talons and Sam let out a muffled wail of pain
from behind her hand.
"I'd think again, big boy."
"Wendy," said Barton calmly, "where's the hex bag you used to get in?"
Wendy kicked it over from where it had been lying on the floor. Barton knelt
down and undid the knot, taking out the square of sheet. Dean could see the
blue glowing from inside of it.
Barton slipped it into his pocket.
"Wendy, my pack please," Barton said, holding his hand out to Wendy but not
taking his eyes from the Witch. Wendy handed over the sack that she had been
carrying and Barton stepped away to where the woman was lying. He knelt down
beside Marder and Dean watched as Barton stroked her hair softly.
"You need to help this poor dear too," said Barton.
"Keep talking and I'll just snap this one's neck when you return."
Dean made to lunge at her, but Wendy grabbed him from behind with incredible
strength.
"Don't," Wendy hissed.
"Sammy, hang on!" Dean said.
If I hadn't gone ahead of him...If I lose him, it's my fault...
Sam was writhing in pain, his weak hands still grasping and clawing at her neck
in determination.
Barton left the room, returning not more than two minutes later with a box in
his hands.
He wasn't lying when he said he knew where it was.
It was rather small...a perfect cube about six inches around, beautifully
crafted, dark polished wood with intricate designs carved into it. It had
painted gold and milky ivory had been embedded into the design. Barton held it
out, and Dean noticed that his pack was gone...
The Witch flung Sam away, and Dean caught him, holding him close, putting his
hand to Sam's stomach.
"Are you okay? What did she do to you, Sammy? Tell me where it hurts-"
"Dean," Sam whispered, holding a fist up in front of Dean's face.
Sam slowly uncurled it fingers to reveal a glowing arrowhead in his palm.
Dean watched as the Witch took the box from Barton, smiling like she was the
happiest person alive...if that's what you could call her... She opened the lid
and a shimmering blue light cast across her excited face. Her face contorted
and she coughed. Blood splashed out of her mouth onto the lovely wooden box.
Dean pulled Sam closer and Barton stepped away backwards as the Witch continued
to cough up blood. Her eyes and ears began to bleed and she grimaced in pain as
she sunk to the floor glaring at the contents of the box. The gaping wounds in
her face began to bleed and her skin began to slide off in bloody patches.
Within seconds the Witch was reduced back to the bleeding heap that she had
been after Wendy's axe treatment. 
The box was knocked over and its contents were lying all over the floor in
puddles of her blood.
It was the hex bags that Barton and Sam had rewired, and the blue glow had been
coming from a glistening blue hairpin that now shimmered beautifully in its
nest of carnage.  
Chapter End Notes
     The final chapter of Part 2 will be posted on 9/16/15!!
***** Chapter 20 *****
Chapter Notes
     Thank you all so so much for reading! I hope you've enjoyed it enough
     to continue on to the next part that I'll start putting up within the
     next week...
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
The moment the Arlingtons had shut the motel door behind them, Dean quickly did
his safety check while Sam, exhausted, watched from where he was sitting on the
sofa. Then Sam felt Dean's arms around his waist and in the blink of an eye,
Dean had Sam on the bed, his tongue deep in Sam's mouth. Sam melted into the
deep, hot kisses, moaning into Dean's mouth. It's funny, with Dean pushing his
hands up under Sam's shirt, caressing his skin, Sam suddenly wasn't tired
anymore. Dean made quick work of Sam's shirt as he began kissing Sam's neck,
making Sam gasp, his breathing becoming shaky as his heart beat quickened in
anticipation.
"I'm never letting you out of my sight again," Dean growled possessively in
Sam's ear. Sam was too out of breath to respond, but instead grabbed Dean's
shirt and pulled it over Dean's head. Dean hovered over him, now half naked and
utterly beautiful, stroking Sam's hair out of his eyes and then he was
kissing him again. Sam felt as Dean's fingers softly caressed his skin down his
chest, down to his stomach where the Witch had left some nasty scratches. Dean
wrapped a hand around the back of Sam's head, digging into his hair and
deepening the kiss as his other hand unbuckled Sam's belt. He snapped the
button and slid his hand down Sam's pants, taking Sam's hard member in his
hand. Sam whimpered into Dean's mouth and Dean grinned, beginning to stroke
Sam's dick causing profanities and needy sounds to tumble out of his younger
brother's mouth. Dean seemed delighted with this effect,  judging by the bulge
that Sam could feel through Dean's jeans against his own. Dean released Sam's
cock, and Sam groaned.
"You're such a tease," he panted, as Dean kissed the scratches on his stomach,
moving down slowly, licking and kissing, until his strong hunter's hands
grabbed onto Sam's jeans and boxers together, pulling them down and exposing
Sam's swollen, hard dick. His green eyes glinted in the first dark purple light
of dawn. He licked the tip, watching Sam's body jerk and listening to Sam gasp
before taking his entire length into his mouth, one arm pressed down on Sam's
hips to keep them from moving, his other hand was working on his own aching
erection. Sam could feel the heat radiating from his own body as he moaned
unabashedly, listening to the wet sounds of Dean sucking him off. The feeling
of Dean's wet mouth tight around his cock, watching those perfect, plush lips
running up and down his shaft made Sam's limit come faster than he would have
liked. The feeling was so incredible.
"Dean," Sam panted, "I'm gonna-"
But Dean just hummed and hollowed his cheeks and that tipped Sam right over the
edge as he cried out Dean's name and came hard in Dean's hot mouth, moaning.
Sam was dizzy and suddenly incredibly sleepy, taking deep shuddering breaths.
Dean joined him on the bed and grinned at his breathless Sam, who smiled weakly
in return, leaning in to kiss Dean. They lied there, kissing lazily as the
color in the room changed from a dark purple to a soft lavender, and by the
time the lavender had turn to a blood orange, Dean had wrapped them both up in
blankets and pillows. By the time the orange had turned to the golden rays of
morning, they were asleep, their heads on the same pillow, their bodies
entwined.
 
Dean woke up first, for once, glancing over at the digital clock that read 12:
03pm. A beautiful, sunny day was reaching through the window, and Dean could
see dust floating, exposed by the sunny rays. Dean turned his attention to Sam,
who was curled up in Dean's arms, breathing peacefully and steadily. Dean's
heart fluttered in his chest when the thought suddenly occurred to him that he
wouldn't mind waking up like this every day...for he rest of his life.
He really wanted Sam to get some sleep...but he also really couldn't help
himself....
Dean pulled Sam closer and softly pressed his lips against Sam's. Dark blue
eyes fluttered open and Dean felt his breath catching in his chest. Sam was a
sight to behold when he woke up, but Dean was suddenly very insecure about how
he must look on this glorious morning...just barely scraping past death and
all....But Sam smiled at him sleepily.
"Good morning," Dean whispered, stroking Sam's warm, tan skin with his thumb.
Sam silently leaned in, catching Dean's lips with his own, slipping his tongue
into Dean's mouth.
Frisky this morning, are we?
Dean heard himself make an approving sound as he pulled Sam in, brushing his
tongue against Sam's, his body taking an extreme interest-
"Ahem."
Two thoughts went through his head at once:
Fuck, where's my gun?
NOT AGAIN! JUST CUT ME A BREAK!
Dean sat up and looked in the direction of the sound.
It was Marder, wearing a pretty pale pink dress and her long flowing hair was
down, a dark blue glittering necklace around her neck.
"How the fuck did you get in here?" Dean demanded, wanting to stand up and have
some dignity, but utterly unable to due to his erection and his boner revealing
boxers.
"Our wards don't work on them," Sam said casually as he leaned off of the bed
to grab his jeans that were lying on the floor.
"What do you want?" Dean demanded, following Sam's lead and grabbing his pants
by the belt, trying to keep glaring eye contact with the girl all the while.
Marder didn't seem even slightly fazed by his anger, she just sat at the
kitchen table, her legs crossed and her chin in her hand, a leather ledger next
to her elbow on the table. As relaxed as she seemed she was looking at Dean
with deep intent.
"You look like you're feeling...better..."
Dean pulled up his hands, giving her the dirtiest look that he could muster.
"When did you suddenly become interested in my health?"
"You should be dead," she said as though she hadn't heard him, "I was wondering
how you managed to survive..." she looked over Sam now who was shimmying on a
shirt, "Now I think I know..."
Dean tried to ignore the glorious sound of cloth brushing up against Sam's
skin.
I am too distracted for this conversation.
"Yeah, well, now you know, I guess, so leave."
"Don't be so rude, dead boy," she tsked, "I'm here because this book says that
the other two hunters should be here...right about now."
There was a knock at the door.
"I'll get it," said Sam.
Dean figured he shouldn't be surprised that Sam was acting like this was just
another day...because considering how fucked up the past couple of days were,
this was pretty much normal.
Barton and Wendy entered, both empty handed besides Wendy who had a motorcycle
helmet under her arm. She was wearing a leather jacket and her short black hair
was down. Barton practically glowed when he laid eyes on Sam.
"I'm so happy to see you're alright," he said softly to Sam who, to Dean's
dismay, blushed a little and smiled.
"Yeah, you too."
Dean tried not to imagine running Barton over with the Impala as he turned his
attention to Wendy who now sat at the table with Marder as though they had
arranged to meet here for coffee.
"Sorry we left such a mess at your place," she said, opening a crinkling pack
of peanuts, putting one in her mouth and crunching away.
"Yes, it was quite the disaster," Marder agreed, blatantly not accepting the
apology, but not seeming too upset about it either.
"You going to kill us?" Wendy asked, putting another peanut in her mouth.
Dean listened as he glanced over at Barton who was now looking at he scratches
the Witch had left on Sam's stomach and Dean had to use all of his willpower
not to scream "No! Mine!"
"Not all of you, just one," said Marder, "we're even when it comes to our
brothers, my sisters on the other hand needed to be brought to justice by our
own people...but seeing as you killed the Witch who was killing my cousins,
I'll consider one of those lives paid...but which one of you will die in
payment of my other sister?"
Dean heart suddenly skipped a beat, and now everyone's attention was on Marder.
He really hated the Arlingtons...like, really hated them...but not enough to
let Trolls eat them.
"That won't be necessary," Wendy said, eating another peanut, "I released the
beast yesterday."
"In what condition?"
"Emaciated and battered."
"Then I want your Sun axe."
"No."
"Then I'll have no choice but to-"
"Listen bitch," Wendy was suddenly fierce, her eyes alight with sudden fury,
"See those books over there?"
She pointed in the direction of the large stack of spell books that she and
Barton had collected.
"We've learned a lot from those books, and we know where you and your little
family live. I will come into your home and murder each and every one of you if
you so much as touch a hair on the head of any of my few remaining family
members."
Barton and Sam were both staring at Wendy, and so was the girl. Marder sighed.
"Fine, you send my sister back to me alive and everything that your family has
collected from my family and we can consider the matter settled."
"Done," Wendy said, cheerful again, "What a gorgeous day, isn't it? Marder gets
all of her stuff back, Barton and I get to go home, Dean came back from the
dead-"
"What?" Dean and Sam exclaimed at the same time.
"Oh yes, Dean, you were dead for the better part of 5 minutes...I'd go to a
doctor, mate, could have brain damage...then, just like that you came coughing
back to life right as I was calling my brother."
Sam went pale, as though he suddenly understood something. Dean made a mental
note to ask him about it later and Marder stood up, pushing the ledger along
the table to Wendy. Then, without a word, she put a pair of sunglasses on and
walked out the door.
Wendy flipped open the cover of the ledger and smiled to herself, looking sad.
"You never listened to me then, you won't listen to me now, but I had to try,
because without you, the world is so much darker."
Wendy was reading the words on the front page.
"Max's?" Barton asked, walking to the coffee table and picking up his bag.
"Yeah...never got a chance to read what she wrote in his..."
"What's in those things anyhow?" Dean asked, helping Barton put his books into
the bag, expediting the procedure so the Arlingtons would leave.
"The future," Barton shrugged.
"Right..." Dean said as he stacked a pile of books and started walking them out
to the Honda.
 
Once they were all packed and ready, Wendy gave Sam a huge hug, squeezing the
air out of his lungs.
"Just so you know, I'd love to have you as a little brother-in-law," she said
and Sam heard Dean clear his throat loudly. She released Sam and pulled Dean
into a deep ravenous kiss that seemed to surprise Dean as much as Sam.
"One day, we'll pick up where we left off..."
Now it was Sam's turn to interrupt.
"Hey, I didn't know you had a bike!" Sam said loudly, as Wendy released his
brother. She grinned.
"How do you think I got to the bar? Barton, I'll meet you there!" 
Then she put on her skull motorcycle helmet and was gone.
Barton closed the trunk where he had stored the last of their belongings and
smiled warmly at Dean.
"I'm glad that you're alright, Dean," he said in his velvet voice, "Sam has my
number if either of you need anything."
Dean looked like he wanted to retort with something, but probably remembered
that it was Barton who had saved them....
Barton hugged Sam tightly and Sam hugged him back, smelling Peppermint...
Barton put his hands on Sam's shoulders, his cold blue eyes looking tenderly
into his.
"I'll always be there when you need me. Don't ever hesitate, alright?"
Sam smiled and nodded, and admitted to himself that his stomach was a bit
fluttery.
Barton leaned in closer so that their noses were nearly touching, "Just
remember that I'd do anything for you."
He placed a small, chaste kiss on Sam's lips and Sam felt himself go red.
Then Barton got into the car, giving Sam one last look before he drove away.
As Barton drove away, John's truck pulled up and Sam sighed to himself...He had
kind of been hoping he'd have at least a minute alone with Dean...
"Hey boys!"
"Bobby?"
 
To be continued...
Chapter End Notes
     Part 3 is called Callous Candice, and should be up within the next
     week <3 Sorry this last chapter was late!
End Notes
     Thank you for allowing this slow build up, I'm all about angst and
     monsters, so be patient and know that there's more to come :)
     I hope you love it!
     Comments are gold!
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
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