Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4872217.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Sam_Winchester, Dean_Winchester, John_Winchester, Bobby_Singer, Original
      Characters
  Additional Tags:
      Angst, Anal_Fingering, Blow_Jobs
  Series:
      Part 3 of What_comes_between_us_never_survives
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-09-26 Completed: 2016-01-10 Chapters: 24/24 Words: 47014
****** Callous Candice ******
by cutiebiz
Summary
     "They had been enjoying the comfort of the only real home that the
     boys had ever known. Bobby was great cook, they actually chatted
     during their meals like a real family, and the best part, Sam and
     Dean had their own room, with a door....and privacy, of which they
     were now taking full advantage as Dean's mouth met Sam's in an
     intimate morning kiss."
Notes
     I hope you all enjoy this new installment to the series! If you
     haven't read the fist two parts, I highly suggest that you do so,
     seeing as none of this will make any sense otherwise...I do not own
     Supernatural or any of its characters and I do not make profit off of
     this work.
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Chapter 1 *****
Despite the chilly morning, Dean was quite warm under his covers. As he faded
into consciousness he was greeted by the smell of January in South Dakota, the
old wood of Bobby's house, and Dean's absolute favorite smell: Sam. The smell
in question was coming from its source, snuggled up warmly beside Dean in his
twin sized bed. Dean smiled to himself, content. It was one of those mornings
when the sheets feel especially soft, the pillows especially fluffy, the
comforter especially warm, and his company exceptionally beautiful. Sam was
asleep with his head on Dean's naked shoulder, his dark, soft hair a direct
contrast of Dean's pale skin. As though he could feel someone watching him,
Sam's eyelids lifted and Dean was staring into two deep blue pools.
"G'morning," Dean whispered.
Sam smiled sleepily.
"Good morning," he responded, rubbing his eye with the back of his hand. Dean
watched as Sam presented his body deliciously as he stretched like a cat, the
covers falling off of his bare chest and abs, every well trained muscle taut.
Dean drank in the sight, biting his lip as he became increasingly aware that
another part of his body was appreciating the show as well. Sam's eyes
flickered over Dean mischievously, as he curled back into Dean's arms.
Ever since Bobby had brought them back to his house, they had been enjoying the
comfort of the only real home that the boys had ever known. Bobby was great
cook, they actually chatted during their meals like a real family, and the best
part, Sam and Dean had their own room, with a door....and privacy, of which
they were now taking full advantage as Dean's mouth met Sam's in an intimate
morning kiss. It started out slow and sweet, until Sam's half naked body rolled
on top of Dean's and he looked up at his younger brother with surprise. Sam
smirked at him, raising an eyebrow before he kissed Dean again, sucking his
tongue into his mouth, making Dean roll his strong body up against Sam's. Sam
panted into his mouth, biting Dean's lower lip playfully making him grin. Then
Sam's mouth moved down to his throat, to his chest, slowly down his well
defined abs, still working down.
"What're you doing?" Dean heard himself ask through the fog that was sex and
Sam.
"Familiarizing myself."
Dean didn't know if it was because Sam was the one who said it, but somehow
that two word combination was the sexiest thing ever...until he felt Sam pull
down his boxers and let loose the hard, leaking boner that had been hiding
under the covers...then words really didn't mean anything anymore.
"Wait, what are you-" the rest of the sentence was replaced with a moan as Sam
took Dean into his mouth. As he worked his tongue and lips like a pro, Dean had
a very short moment of lucidity to wonder how Sam had gotten so good at this.
Dean's own attempts at giving Sam a killer blowjob were laughable, albeit
effective...but Sam was sucking his dick better than the sluttiest girls in
town...and Dean would know. He had to cover his face with a pillow to keep from
alerting the entire house to what they were doing, though it hardly seemed to
matter the way that Dean was moaning. He took a breath and held it, trying to
hold on. He looked down at Sam, who looked back at him, seeming to enjoy the
audience. He hollowed his cheeks and went down again. Dean gasped and grabbed
a handful of Sam's hair, making Sam moan around Dean's dick, his eyes filling
with want and pleasure.
"You like that baby?" Dean growled, tangling his fingers in Sam's dark, soft
hair. Sam swallowed him down in response, choking slightly, his eyes watering a
little...and then Dean couldn't hold on anymore. He tilted his head back,
covering his face with a pillow as he cried into it, coming hard into Sam's
throat, feeling Sam swallow every last drop.
Dean lay gasping for a moment, trying to catch his breath as Sam flopped back
onto Dean's chest, grinning from ear to ear.
"Happy birthday, Dean," he said, his voice hoarse and breathless.
"How the fuck did you learn to do that?" Dean managed as soon as he could
breath enough to speak.
Sam grinned again, his dark blue eyes glinting, then he rolled over a little,
fishing something out from under the bed. When he rolled back next to Dean he
was holding a book: "Blowjobs and big dicks: 3rd edition," and a rather large
cucumber.
"Practiced...but it was kind of difficult because you're bigger than the
cucumber..."
Dean grinned, kissing Sam deeply, tasting himself and Sam on his tongue.
"Mmmmm, what else have you been doing with that cucumber?"
Sam giggled, kissing Dean again, and then they heard John call "Boys! Get down
here! Sun's already out!"
Sam groaned, laying his head on Dean's shoulder.
"I thought he'd sleep longer, he took so many sleeping pills last night..." Sam
groaned.
"Where's Bobby?"
"Investigating a possible demon possession about thirty miles from here..."
Dean sighed.
"At least I know how I want to wake up from now on," Dean said with a grin,
catching Sam's lips in a playful kiss, "this was the best birthday present
ever."
"Day's not over yet, old man...."
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Notes
     I know, these first couple of chapters are pretty smutty, but trust
     me...it gets real, so enjoy for now :)
 
 
It didn't matter that it was Dean's birthday; as far as John was concerned,
monsters are monsters every day of the year, and so hunters should be hunters
every day of the year. Dean understood the logic and could get behind it. But
sometimes, on those days when he was tired, beat up...those days when Dean
was broken down after a hard hunt, or after watching people and creatures die,
that kid inside remembered what John was like before he was a hunter...back
when he was a dad. Some days, Dean could almost admit how much he missed
him. Dean couldn't tell if Sam had it better or worse. Sam never knew what it
was like to have a real dad...Bobby was the closest that Sam had ever come to
having one, but even so, there's really no replacement for a
father...especially one that you know. Sam never knew the old John, so he had
no frame of reference, and Dean imagined that it was easier that way. Ignorance
was bliss. What tortured Dean the most about the whole thing was the fact that
he knew what Sam was missing out on...and fuck if Sam didn't deserve the
goddamn best of everything.
 
So there Dean was, training in the front yard, shirtless in the cold ass
weather on his birthday, while their father sat and watched over them like a
Pharaoh on his throne. Dean knew that John would be down there in the cold mud
with them if he could be...there was nothing John hated more than being stuck
in one place for too long. During the last hunt, while Sam and Dean worked with
the Arlingtons, John and Bobby had been on their own hunt. They failed...and
now John's broken leg was in a long cast and he wore a sling for his broken
clavicle. He couldn't do shit. Now he was jacked up on hunter's painkillers,
provided and monitored by Bobby. It wasn't just the bones mending that gave him
pain, it was the immobility, the life as a vegetable. At this moment, John was
sporting a stern brow with a fashionable hint of absolute misery. It'd only
been a few days since Bobby had picked them up and John already looked like he
was considering cutting off his own leg just to be done with it and get back to
work. The only thing that kept him from doing it, Dean imagined, was that,
well, he needed it.
There John sat, watching them spar, throwing out orders all the while. Sam was
apparently on high alert, because Dean couldn't seem to get close to him...but
then again, Sam hadn't received a Grade A dick sucking this morning, so he
wasn't still a little fucked out. Considering the way that Sam was fighting
today, Dean wouldn't have been surprised if the little snake did it on purpose.
That big sexy brain...
Suddenly there was a loud THWAP. Sam flinched, his eyes immediately trying to
locate the source of the noise and Dean took his opportunity to take him down.
Sam fell hard on his back in the freezing mud, the wind knocked out of him.
Dean was on top of him, breathing his air, skin against skin... Dean's hands
held Sam's above his head. Sam looked up at Dean, his breath shaky as is came
out in huffs, but his dark eyes steady and looking straight into Dean's.
Fuck, this is so hot...
As though Sam was thinking the same thing, his eyes wandered from Dean's eyes
to his lips, then back to his eyes. Dean recognized that look, the same one
that he'd get ever since he was a kid. It was the "I want," look...the one that
Dean had a ridiculous time saying "no" to. Sam licked his lips...
God, he smells so good...
Before he did something stupid like make out with Sam right in front of their
father, or allow his body to go on auto pilot and get a boner, Dean released
his younger brother. He let his eyes sweep over Sam's half naked body, feeling
himself getting warmer despite the cold weather. Dean looked over at his father
who was holding a stick and glaring at Sam. He hit the side of his chair again,
the same loud THWAPPING noise making Sam jump again.
"You can't flinch, Sam! You had it, but then you lost it because you allowed
yourself to become distracted! It only takesone second for something to get the
upper hand while you've been stunned by the sound of a gunshot!"
"Yes, sir," Sam said breathlessly as he accepted a hand from Dean.
Dean squeezed his hand with subtle affection before letting it go.
"Again?" Dean asked John...ever the good soldier.
Dean could feel Sam tensing up beside him, his body getting ready for a fight.
But John actually smiled, something that took both of the boys by surprise.
"Sam, you got work today?"
When Sam had been forced to finish his finals early so they could bail, he had
immediately found a part-time job to help Bobby with the groceries. The
documentation for the worker's permit wasn't difficult to forge, and Sam had
told Dean and Bobby that he needed to feel like he was contributing. Dean had
immediately begun helping Bobby around the yard, having a knack for all things
mechanical. John had helped out by being on phone duty all day...but it didn't
seem to make him any less depressed.
"No, I took the day off, sir," Sam replied stiffly.
Such staunch formalities didn't suit Sam, Dean noticed for the billionth time
since Sam had learned how to talk. (Sam's first word had been "Ean." Dean
didn't like to admit it, but it was one of the best moments of his life).
"Good. You two go clean up and get outta here," John mumbled, taking a flask
out of his pocket.
"Sir?"
"It's you're birthday, Dean, go get your annoying brother off of my hands for
the day," John said gruffly, but not without affection, taking a drink from the
flask and grimacing a little. Dean wondered if Bobby knew about that...but then
remembered that Bobby caught on to everything in the end. The thought suddenly
made Dean nervous, but his thoughts were interrupted when Sam said "Yes, sir,"
and Dean found himself following Sam back inside.
 
Dean could hear John on the phone downstairs.
"Of course he's got jurisdiction! Stop wasting my guy's time and get with the
program!" he was bellowing at some clueless police officer.
Dean could hear the sound of the shower and knew that Sam was under the hot
water right now...washing mud off of his perfect body.
Sam had initially insisted that Dean get the first shower, seeing as it was his
birthday and all, but Dean could see the goosebumps on Sam's naked flesh and
how he was trying hard not to shiver and had immediately gone into big brother
mode: no one shall touch Sammy, not even a cold! He sent him off to the shower
with authority. And now he wished that he was in the shower...with Sam.
God, what is my obsession with that kid getting clean?
"I'll let you in on a secret because you sound like an intelligent man and our
guys might need your help," John bullshitted to another cop, "we've been
following cases like these all the way from Jersey, and I'm sure if you get
your guys under control and get them to cooperate, we'll put a good word in for
you with the higher ups..."
Wow, I've never heard him put on the finesse-
"Well, fuck you too! Lemme talk to someone who's got their shit together!" John
bellowed downstairs.
Ah. Normalcy.
This could go on all day.
The soft hiss of the water in the shower was sounding more and more inviting.
Dean turned the knob and entered quietly.
It was like a sauna, the little bathroom was filled in a warm blanket of steam;
tiny, warm water droplets clung to Dean's naked skin. He shed his pants,
kicking them aside as he pulled open the shower curtain. Apparently he was
stealthier than he had anticipated, because Sam hadn't noticed him. His back
was to him and he was washing soap out of his hair. Dean watched as the soap
ran from his hair to his neck, down his back...and that's when Dean saw the
familiar bruises on Sam's body. No matter how careful Dean thought he was being
when they sparred, somehow Sam always ended up with bruises...not that Dean
couldn't feel a few brewing under his own skin at the moment...an occupational
hazard really, but Dean still hated seeing anything on Sam that could cause
pain. Dean stepped into the tiny shower, laying his hands on Sam's shoulders
making Sam flinch and whirl around. Dean's reflexes kicked in first,  and
cradled the back of Sam's head, cushioning it as he pushed Sam against the
tiled wall, his hand covering Sam's mouth. Sam, recognizing his brother, rolled
his eyes, biting Dean's hand playfully. Dean stepped under the water, and
wrapped his arms around Sam, nipping Sam's bottom lip lovingly. Sam concerned
himself with wiping the dirt off of Dean's chest, his eyebrows furrowed
adorably. Dean was concerned with staring at Sam's sexy mouth, remembering
how wonderfully talented it was. 
Sam smiled that warm, genuine smile that Sam seemed to reserve for Dean only.
"You're gonna get me dirty again," he whispered, laughter in his voice.
Dean was still staring at Sam's lips.
"That's the point," Dean murmured before latching his lips onto
Sam's, his fingers threading into the hair on the back of Sam's head as his
tongue pushed into Sam's willing mouth. They stood there kissing passionately,
tongues lapping together intimately, lips brushing against each other, while
the delightfully hot water ran over them. Dean brushed his fingers softly over
Sam's skin, relishing how Sam seemed to quiver with want at the touch. Dean
gently pushed Sam up against the tiled wall again, holding him firmly while he
grinded his hard dick up against Sam's.
Sam's face contorted into a desperate look of need, and knowing
how deliciously vocal Sam could be, Dean covered his mouth with one hand. Sam's
big blue puppy eyes were begging, and once again, Dean found himself fighting
the urge to wrap Sam around his waist and fuck him hard against the shower
wall. Instead, Dean wrapped his other arm around Sam, holding him firmly in
place as he began grinding their erections together.
Dean tried to think desperately about anything other than how good this felt,
or how hot it was to hear Sam's whimpers being muffled behind his hand...
Hot, panting whimpers
...anything to keep him from coming too quickly...but then Sam's long, elegant
fingers wrapped around both of their boners, giving them more friction. Dean
fucked up against Sam's dick. It didn't take long for Sam to let out a muffled
cry, his whole body trembling as he came hard on his hand. Dean could feel the
hot cum on his dick and the fight was over. He released Sam's panting mouth,
kissing it hard before he came.
Dean held Sam against him for some time, kissing his lips, his neck, any skin
that he could reach. He could feel Sam's heart beating hard against his chest
as his breathing slowly became normal.
Dean pulled Sam back into the water, which was blessedly still hot. Bobby had
invested in the best water heater money could buy after two months of cold
water, while Sam, the notorious water hog, had been staying with him.
Dean washed Sam off, kissing his wet skin. He turned Sam around and massaged
Sam's shoulders and back, touching the now forming bruises carefully and
whispering "I'm sorry," into Sam's ear. Sam hummed happily, now completely
sated and docile.
Sam got out of the shower first, and Dean could hear John from downstairs for
the brief moment the door was open.
"The best thing you can do for yourself is step aside and let our lab guys deal
with this! Trust me! You don't want that stuff anywhere near you!"
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Notes
     I hope you're all enjoying the little cloud 9 for the time being ^^
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Dean wasn't in the shower long; he returned to the bedroom wearing nothing but
a towel. Sam was already dressed, to Dean's disappointment, and when Sam turned
around, he looked Dean over from head to toe, a smile creeping onto his
beautiful face. Dean could see that Sam's hair was still damp, and his lips
were still red from kissing. It made Dean want to kiss them more...so he did.
It had been difficult for Dean when they had first arrived at Bobby's...he and
Sam had time together now, they had privacy, they had their own little world
that they created behind closed doors, and it was officially Dean's favorite
place...but it still had been difficult. At first, the age difference, and the
feeling that he was taking advantage of Sam's feelings was overwhelming. Their
wonderful parade was being overshadowed by an enormous raincloud, a promise of
a terrible storm that the weather forecasters of his mind were calling: "Dean's
Guilt." But every day, the raincloud got smaller, and every day the sun that
was their happiness was breaking through the clouds and making Dean feel
happier than he had ever remembered.
You won't hurt him.
Reassured the voice in Dean's head.
You will protect him. Who is better qualified than you to make him happy? To
give him everything?
Dean didn't argue with it. Sam, thankfully, seemed completely unaware of Dean's
internal struggle...either that or he was thankfully not pestering him about
it.
Now, with Sam's fingers entwined behind Dean's neck, Dean holding Sam against
him, kissing him slowly, Dean felt right at home.
"I have a great birthday present for you," Sam whispered against Dean's lips.
"Mmmm?"
Dean pushed his lips softly against Sam's again. When they broke apart Sam was
blushing, and Dean knew what he was going to say before he said it.
"How about my virginity?" Sam shrugged nonchalantly, like he was suggesting
that they have Chinese food for dinner, but his blazing red face showed Dean
how very serious he was. Dean held Sam tighter to him and pretended to think
for a moment.
"You know, that sounds good-"
Sam's eyes widened, glittering with excitement.
"-But I'd like it aged."
Sam's face dropped and he looked annoyed.
"How aged?"
"I think you should put it in the cellar and bust it out sometime around my
22nd birthday."
Sam rolled his eyes.
"Why are you doing this to me, Dean?"
"Because you're too young."
Sam pulled away.
"I'm not that young, Dean."
"Yes you are...you're just too young to realize it."
Sam pulled away from Dean completely now, sitting on the bed and putting his
head in his hands.
"Why are you in such a hurry?"
Dean sat next to Sam on the bed, stroking his back softly.
"Is it that you don't want me?"
Sam's voice was wavering.
Dean turned Sam's face to his in a gentle but commanding way. Dean looked Sam
right in his sweet blue eyes.
"You have no idea how much I want you."
Sam blushed a little and leaned in, kissing Dean softly, trailing his fingers
along Dean's completely naked body giving Dean goosebumps. Sam deepened the
kiss, allowing it to be heavier before he pulled away making Dean groan at the
deprivation. Sam brushed his fingertips down Dean's naked front, causing Dean
to rest his forehead against Sam's.
"Do you know what the age of consent is in Japan?" Sam asked, kissing him
again.
"No..."
It came out as a whisper, because now Dean was fully hard again.
"Fifteen," Sam responded quietly against Dean's lips.
"Sucks we're not Japanese...we wouldn't have to wait for too long...and those
uniforms are really hot..."
Dean leaned in for another kiss but Sam pulled away.
"Do you think you could wait that long?"
Sam wore an expression of true concern, creating that adorable wrinkle between
his eyebrows.  Dean rubbed his thumb along the wrinkle to smooth it out,
smiling in spite of himself.
"Is that what you're worried about? You think I can't wait for you?"
"And what if you can't?"
Dean sighed.
"I have a lot more patience than you give me credit for."
Sam looked pointedly at Dean's hard on that was creating a Tipi with his towel.
Dean grinned at him.
"Well you can't say you don't have an effect on me."
Sam pressed himself against Dean, his blue eyes glinting.
"Fifteen."
"Eighteen."
"Sixteen."
"Eighteen."
"Sixteen and a half?"
Knock knock knock
Sam stood up.
"To be continued!" he said, pointing at Dean.
Sam waited until Dean had put on some pants and sat on the bed, awkwardly
crossing his legs before he opened the door.
Bobby was standing in the doorway, smiling and looking exhausted.
"Just making sure you two idjits are up," said Bobby. "What y'all doin today?"
Sam leaned against the doorway.
"We're going out-"
Dean suddenly cleared his throat very loud, and Bobby and Sam looked at him
quizzically.
"You alright there, son?"
"Fine," Dean croaked, his heart beating frantically. His eyes lingered to Sam
in the doorway who was giving him a private smile...the one that made his heart
flutter a little.
"Well, your Daddy and I have a little something for you. Dinner's at 6pm, so
don't be late!"
Bobby clapped Sam on the back and walked away to his own bedroom.
"Jumpy are we?" Sam teased as soon as Bobby's door closed.
"Where are we going?" Dean asked, grabbing a random shirt and slipping it over
his head.
"Wherever you want...I'm taking you out."
Dean grinned.
 
First stop was breakfast at "Uncle Bo's Diner."
Despite Sam's protests that people may know who they were, Dean insisted that
they sit in a booth...together. Dean got a large stack of pancakes and bacon,
and Sam got the fruit bowl. Breakfast turned into Dean trying to feed Sam
pancakes from his fork, to Sam becoming covered in syrup, to Dean licking syrup
off of Sam's lips, to the waitress refilling Dean's coffee mug more often than
necessary, grinning at them.
 
Second stop was the movie theater.
Dean picked "Fallen" because, hey, Denzel Washington.
The movie turned into Dean leaning close to Sam on the pretext of asking him if
"Azazel" was really a demon name, to Sam trying to aim popcorn into Dean's
mouth, to Dean straight up feeding Sam popcorn, to them making out in the back
of the theater until the guys who cleaned the place were clearing their throats
trying to get their attention.
 
Third stop was in the middle of the clearing where Bobby liked to take them for
target practice.
They shot cans, bottle, and some old stale crackers that they found in a box in
the back of the Impala. Dean let Sam have a beer, which turned into them
drinking on the hood of the Impala, to the two of them cuddling, kissing and
watching the sun set.
So far, this was truly the best day of Dean's life...something that he would
have originally deemed as a bad omen. Nothing stays thisgood for long....
Chapter End Notes
     I hope you enjoy this sugary addition! Don't hate me later! This
     series has a happy ending! <3
***** Chapter 4 *****
Chapter Notes
     Sorry it took so long to get this one out! Hope you enjoy!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
 
 
They arrived back at the house just in time for dinner. Sam frantically rubbed
chap stick on his lips, making Dean laugh before they went into the house. John
was sitting grumpily at the table looking crippled and dejected as he watched
Bobby put food in front of him. He grumbled a thank you, and Sam could tell
that Bobby knew how John felt. Regardless, John was cheerful...in a John sort
of way. They chatted a little at dinner. Bobby didn't like to talk shop at the
table, something that Sam always appreciated. It made him feel as though there
was more to life than just hunting....It made him feel like there might be more
in his and Dean's future than tracking down werewolves and burning bones.
Bobby had that effect on Sam though. Being around John every day, eating
whatever from wherever whenever they had time, his bedroom comprising of a
couple of duffle bags and a backpack, made Sam lose touch with reality. It's
funny how influenced a person is by what they're surrounded by, and stalking
supernatural things, hunting things that most people didn't even know existed
was less physically exhausting than it was mentally. It started to make him
feel like he didn't even live in the real world, like he and his family had
fallen through the cracks of real life...lived on the outskirts of existence.
But then there was Bobby; that link. He hunted, had a business, a home, and as
far as Bobby was concerned, a family.
"Got you somethin', kid," said Bobby, handing a card over to Dean. They were
eating blueberry pie, and Sam could see John tug his mouth into a kind of half
smile. Dean looked pleasantly surprised.
"Thanks Bobby," he said, grinning gratefully at the older man. This was one of
Sam's favorite smiles that Dean had. It was his genuine, honest to goodness
smile, one that Sam rarely saw outside of each other's exclusive company. Sam
added that to the list of reasons why he loved Bobby:
Reason #108:
He can make Dean smile.
He filed it right under reason #107:
He makes Dad behave himself.
"It's from both of us actually," said Bobby, gesturing towards their quiet
father. Dean's green eyes flickered just a little brighter. Sam knew that Bobby
didn't take this personally...if anything, he encouraged it.
Dean opened the card carefully, as though it was something delicate and
precious. Sam loved this about Dean.
Reason #386:
Dean opens all of his presents carefully, with gratitude.
Even if it was a toothbrush wrapped in newspaper, Dean would unfold it
carefully to reveal what was inside...on rare occasions he would tear the top
off and carefully retrieved whatever was inside by sliding it out.
Dean opened the greeting card and something plastic fell out. Dean looked at it
and grinned widely.
It was a fake ID, with his name on it.
"You know I never get carded, right?" Dean chuckled, holding it out for Sam to
see.
"Yeah, well," said John with gruff affection, "you will be when you're out with
us two geezers."
Dean looked from John to Bobby questioningly.
 
 
"It's your birthday Dean, and we're taking you out proper to a bar that isn't
in my damn kitchen!" said Bobby laughing. Dean was positively glowing. Yeah,
they all drank together at the house...no, the majority of the time it was not
in celebration, and they had never been out to a bar together before. Dean and
John went sometimes together, but it was usually after a hunt and they never
spoke. This would be a new experience for Dean, and despite Sam being a little
sad that he wasn't old enough to join in the festivities, he was incredibly
happy that Dean was going to have a proper birthday party.
 
Dean pulled a clean shirt out of his duffel bag while Sam watched from the bed
where he sat, an open textbook on his lap and a mechanical pencil in his hand.
Dean could feel Sam's eyes on him and he loved it. Dean made a show of removing
the shirt that he had on...slowly...exposing his happy trail...to his
bellybutton...to his abs...to his famously perky nipples...up over his head
making his amulet thump against his heart that was now fluttering wildly as
Dean felt Sam's eyes. Dean stole a nonchalant glance over at Sam who was now
chewing on the end of his mechanical pencil, his eyes roving over his body, a
look of want on his beautiful features.
"I had no idea you were such a voyeur," Dean teased, slipping the clean shirt
over his head and down over his body.
"I had no idea you were such an exhibitionist," Sam retorted, clearing his
throat. 
Dean shrugged.
"I could make money doing this."
"Please don't. I like being the only one who gets to see you..."
Dean wasn't so much touched by what Sam said, than how he said it, as though it
were a simple fact. It somehow made their intimacy tangible...secret and taboo,
but definitely real and solid.
Sam was looking back at his book now, writing something on a sticky note and
pressing it to the page of the textbook. He looked so adorable curled up there,
wearing nothing but boxers and a shirt, his feet curled beneath him in socks.
Dean flopped on the bed and tackled Sam who flailed helplessly in the surprise
attack. Dean pinned him to the bed, brushing Sam's hair back softly with his
fingertips.
"Are they waiting for you downstairs?" Sam whispered. Dean nodded, but made no
move to leave.
"You should go," Sam urged. "Then I can actually get some studying done."
Dean responded by kissing Sam softly on the lips.
"Will you wait up for me?" Dean murmured against Sam's lips.
"I'll probably still be studying." Sam responded honestly.
Dean nudged his ear and growled "By the time I get home, I want you in my bed."
Dean felt Sam submit beneath him, warmth radiating from his body. Dean grinned
and kissed Sam again before getting up and slipping on his leather jacket.
"See you in a bit!"
"Yeah," Sam said, grabbing his book slowly, as though just waking up to
reality. "Have fun!"
Dean shrugged and watched as Sam resituated himself into studying position on
the bed.
"More fun than you'll be having. Enjoy studying, Brain!"
 
The three hunters were on their fourth round, laughing, as Bobby retold how
John had so gracefully broken his leg and clavicle, when the girl walked in.
She was tall, slender and pale. Her slick black hair was cut in an elegant A-
line that ended right beneath her chin. Her high heels clicked pleasantly and
the sound of her vintage beaded jewelry clinked as she strutted to the bar and
sat on the stool, crossing her long legs and smiling and the bartender.
"I've never seen a girl like that in a place like this," John mumbled after
giving her an indifferent glance and drinking more beer. Dean privately
wondered to himself if John even saw women as being women anymore...or if he
just size them up and forget about them like he did everyone else...
"She looks really familiar..." said Bobby, then he grinned at Dean. "I reckon
she's half-Asian...why are mixed girls always such bombshells?"
"They're all diamonds, Bobby, just different cuts," Dean said before he
finished his beer.
"Never pegged you for a poet, there, Frost," Bobby chortled.
"Get me another one of these and you'll be hearing all kinds of Yoda shit,"
Dean said, lifting his empty beer glass and grinning.
"I think you should go get all three of us another one," said Bobby, his eyes
flickering from Dean to the girl.
"Okay," said Dean, obviously not getting it, as he grabbed the empty pitcher to
take back to the bar for a refill.
Bobby sighed, obviously annoyed at how thick he was being.
"And offer to buy her a drink, you idjit."
Dean looked up from what he was doing.
"What?"
"It's your birthday, Dean...not often you find a girl like that in the circles
we hang in."
Dean thought for a moment and realized that normally he would be more than
all over this kind of thing. As a matter of fact, he would have probably
already ditched the two older men for the chance at a hot piece of ass like
her.  If he didn't at least go up and pretend to make an attempt, it might
trigger suspicion...which by the narrow look that John was giving him now,
suspicion had already been triggered.
"Hey, happy birthday to me!" Dean shrugged, taking the pitcher up to the bar.
He was too late to buy her a drink, one had already been slid in front of her
by the time he placed the empty pitcher in front of the bartender.
"Can I get another one please?" he said, giving the tall guy behind the counter
a grin. He looked over his shoulder at John and Bobby who were obviously trying
to not obviously be watching him try and pick this chick up. He looked over at
the girl who was now taking a sip out of the martini glass, her red lipstick
leaving no trace on the rim. From where he sat he could see that what he had
thought had been a delicate patterned lace on her skin was actually black
markings that might had been tattoos down her arms. From this distance, he was
pretty sure that John and Bobby couldn't hear them. Dean thought about
something offensive to say and settled on "Nice legs. What time do they open?"
She raised her eyebrows and turned to look at him, blinking at him slowly like
she couldn't believe what she had heard. She set the glass down, and to his
surprise and dismay she gave him an elegantly sly smile.
"What time do you want them to?" she asked. Her voice was husky and sultry.
Gotta do better than that, Dean...
He leaned forward, giving her his most winning smile and said "Why, are you a
hooker? Cuz, if you are, I've just won a bet."
That'll do it.
He waited for the cold feeling of her drink in his face, but once again he was
surprised by her laugh.
"How flattering that you think I could make a business out of it!"
This isn't working...
Dean was about to grab the pitcher and head over to the table to rejoin his
crew when he saw Bobby walk over nonchalantly, grinning at Dean. He took the
pitcher, gave Dean another conspicuous grin and walked away with it.
What, are they trying to marry me off? They're turning into a couple of old
women!
Dean sighed internally.
The girl was still looking at him, playing with her beads.
"Well, it was either that or you're desperate," Dean said, giving her a smile.
"Why don't you join me?" she said, patting the stool next to her. Dean looked
around, realizing that every guy in the bar was looking at him with
unbridled envy. He cocked his grin.
"No thanks, I wouldn't want to catch anything."
"The only thing you'll catch is me," she purred.
What does a guy have to say to get a drink thrown in his face around here?
"Who said I wanted that?"
"What kind of beer are you drinking?"
"None of your business,"
A beer was set in front of him and Dean wanted to scream with frustration.
"You have gorgeous eyes."
"I can't find one thing I like about you."
"Do you work out?"
"Yeah, but I'm not the one you should be worrying about."
"So you must have some serious stamina..."
Dean downed the beer, and placed the empty glass in front of the bartender.
"Well, I gotta-"
"Happy Birthday, Dean. We're gonna leave you to it, we're old and we need to
get home."
It was Bobby. He was awkwardly helping John hobble over.
"Wait, wha-"
"You've got the Impala, we'll see you later tonight! Tab's paid for!"
And with that, his dad and Bobby were gone.
"Oh good, now I have you all to myself," she said.
"Listen, I'm really flattered and all, but I've gotta be heading out here
pretty soon myself."
"I'm Candice, what's your name?"
Dean sighed. She was smiling at him, her head titled like a cat as she leaned
her young face against her manicured hand.
"I'm Dean."
"Nice to meet you, Dean." she smiled naturally now.
"Listen, I have to go. Thank you for your time and your company, but I have
somewhere I have to be so..."
"Do you have a girlfriend?"
"Yeah, something like that..."
"Is it serious?"
"Very."
"Aw. That's too bad..." she turned away now and was taking another sip from her
cocktail. "You're like someone right out of my dream, you know..."
Who SAYS stuff like that?
Dean looked more closely at her. He had had many interactions with young women
at bars before, but none were quite like this...she couldn't have been more
lively and youthful...but something about her seemed...old.
"Well, Dean, I imagine you want to leave now..."
"Yeah, don't take it personally."
"One thing, before you go."
Dean turned to her questioningly and her fingers were under his chin. She
kissed him softly on the lips.
"For luck."
She smiled at him and he walked out without another word, leaving her behind as
quickly as he could...feeling...strange.
 
Sam closed the book and looked at the time. It was 11pm. He smiled to himself.
They must be having a good time.
He was about to get under his covers when he remembered what Dean had said:
"By the time I get home, I want you in my bed."
He eyed Dean's bed and debated whether or not to get naked before he entered it
when he heard his cell phone ringing. He grabbed it and read the name. He hit
the answer button.
"You shouldn't be calling people at this hour, you know, it's rude," Sam said
grinning.
"I'm terribly sorry," said the satin voice of Barton on the other end, "did I
wake you?"
"No, I had to get up to answer the phone," Sam responded, laughing.
"I apologize." He didn't sound sorry at all, "I just missed you so terribly, I
couldn't help myself."
Sam swallowed a lump in his throat. He felt guilty just thinking about the
butterflies in his stomach that had emerged as soon as they had seen the name
on his phone.
"It's fine. I'm happy to hear from you..."
"Not as happy as I am."
Don't do this to me...
"So, what's up?"
"I wanted to wish Dean a happy birthday," Barton responded silkily.
"Why didn't you call Dean?"
"I thought it would sound better coming from you."
Sam bit his lip, trying to think of what to say, when suddenly he heard the
door open downstairs.
"Hold on a sec," Sam said, walking to the bedroom door and opening it. He came
down the stairs to see Bobby helping his father into the house. Bobby was
laughing and John was wearing a grin.
"Where's Dean?" Sam asked, covering the mouth of his phone.
"He stayed behind," John responded, still grinning.
"Yeah, don't wait up," Bobby chuckled.
Sam felt his heart drop.
Chapter End Notes
     Some new faces and some old ones! ^^ Next chapter will be up by 10/7!
***** Chapter 5 *****
Chapter Notes
     Hello!! Happy Season 11 day!!!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
Dean didn't know why, but he was surprised that the girl, Candice, hadn't come
out after him...
Why do I feel like she's some kind of stalker weirdo?
Dean wiped his mouth where she had kissed him and he shivered, feeling sick to
his stomach.
I haven't had THAT much to drink...
He felt his face getting hot, and something felt like it was curled up right
above his stomach. It was a horrible feeling...almost like...despair. He opened
the door to the car and threw up on the ground.
"Gross," he grumbled, spitting. He grabbed a water bottle from the back seat
and swished it around in his mouth, spitting it out and groaning.
He sat for a while and waited. He was feeling better by the minute.
Must have been something I ate?
He sat for another 20 minutes before he finally felt confident that he had
gotten it out of his system and that he was going to be able to drive
without the risk of sullying his baby.
When he got back to Bobby's, the place was quiet.
He went up the stairs quietly, and though he wanted nothing more than to curl
up with Sam in his bed, he knew he had something very important to do first.
He brushed his teeth thoroughly, and was on his second rinse of mouthwash when
he looked in he mirror and saw someone pass the door behind him. He spit and
stuck his head out, looking around.
"Sammy?" he whispered.
There was no one in sight...but he didn't feel alone....
He rinsed his mouth again with water before he went into the bedroom.
When he went into the room, Sam was in his own bed with his back to the door.
He discarded all clothes but his boxers and slipped into the bed with Sam,
wrapping his arms around him and sticking his face in his hair, kissing the
back of his neck, then the side. Sam stirred and let out a little groan.
"I thought I told you to be in my bed," Dean whispered in Sam's ear.
"Where were you?" Sam muttered, turning over to look at him.
The moonlight cascaded through the window, making Sam's eyes look like an
ocean. His jaw was set, and Dean could tell that he was pissed. He looked so
beautiful.
Well, what do you expect? You were out later than the others.
Said the voice in his head.
"Dad and Bobby tried to set me up with some chick at the bar. I think they
wanted me to get laid on my birthday, which is kind of creepy if you ask me..."
Sam looked even angrier.
"You know you don't need to go anywhere to get laid, right?"
"Dad and Bobby don't know that, and I don't need them getting suspicious about
my sex life."
"So you fucked some chick to prove to them that you're, what, single?"
Now it was Dean's turn to get angry.
"I didn't fuck anyone, Sam!"
"And how do I know that?"
"You can't! You'll just have to trust me!"
"How can I if you won't let me give you what you need?"
"You are what I need, Sam! I don't need sex, I need you!"
That seemed to calm Sam down a little, and they were now laying face to face,
staring at each other in the hushed moonlight.
"I'm sorry," Sam breathed, and Dean pulled him close, kissing his forehead.
Sam tried to kiss Dean on the lips but Dean shook his head.
"I got sick on my way home...I don't know if I ate something or if I have a
bug. I don't want you to get anything..."
Sam sighed, laying his head against Dean's chest instead.
"Did you have fun at least?" Sam asked. 
"Yeah. It was different hanging out with Dad and Bobby like that, you know.
Like we're just, I dunno, regular guys."
Sam smiled against his chest.
"Good."
"What did you do? Get your studying done?" Dean asked, stroking Sam's hair with
his fingertips.
"Yeah, oh, Barton says happy birthday, by the way."
Dean's body tensed.
"You were talking to him?"
Sam sat up on his elbow and gave Dean a look.
"Yes. And he wishes you a happy birthday."
"What are you doing talking to him?"
"He called."
"And you answered."
"Yeah, Dean. I'm not going to not answer! He's a friend!"
"A friend that is totally in love with you!"
Dean sat up now, trying to calm down.
"I owe him my life!" Sam retorted, sitting up completely.
"Do you like him?"
Sam blushed in the moonlight.
"Yes, he's a friend!"
"Do you find him attractive?"
Sam brushed his hair back with his hand.
"Yeah, okay, yes. Yes, I find him attractive! I'm not going to lie to you,
Dean!"
Dean felt that familiar anger and possessiveness flare up inside of him.
"I can't help but feel like you're leading him on," Dean said, trying to sound
calm. "Unless, of course, you're not and you really like him."
"It's not like that," Sam said, annoyed.
Dean pursed his lips, thinking about what he was going to say.
"How far is that going to go, Sam, before you decide to let him off the hook?"
"How far did you have to go with that girl to convince Dad and Bobby that you
weren't coming home tonight?" Sam snapped back.
"You know what, Sam, this conversation is just getting really out of hand-"
"How far, Dean?"
Sam's eyes were practically glowing with fury now.
"She kissed me, but that's all!"
Sam sat staring at his brother, his lips a thin line.
"I think I should go to my own bed," Dean muttered.
"I think you should too."
Chapter End Notes
     This chapter is smaller, but the next chapter will be much fatter!
     Next chapter should be up by 10/10!!
***** Chapter 6 *****
Chapter Notes
     Surprise! Here's another one for you! Did it in a hurry, so excuse
     any typos for now! Enjoy!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
 
 
When Sam woke up alone in his bed, he was confused. It was cold...where was
Dean?
He sat up and looked over at the other bed, which was empty but slept in, and
suddenly the events of the evening before came tumbling into his mind, crushing
him, making the cold even colder. He put his face in his hands, his heart
aching.
What the fuck was I thinking?
He looked at the time. It was 9:03, which meant that he had slept in
considerably. He went downstairs to find John already on the phones, the early
morning light haunting the room. John just nodded his head to acknowledge him,
the phone to his ear. He went into the kitchen...no one. No sign of Bobby or
Dean.
Sam looked out the window. The Impala was gone...
He fought back the urge to start crying and went back upstairs slowly.
Sam hated himself for the fight, hated himself for his stupid feelings of
jealousy. Of course he trusted Dean...so why was he so fucking insecure? He
went back upstairs and checked his phone...nothing.
He tried calling Dean, but there was no answer.
Sam sighed. He had three hours before he had to be at work, and he couldn't
think of anything less he wanted to do.
I just need to hear his voice...
Sam decided to get a move on...nothing he could do was going to make Dean come
back to him, so he might as well go about his business. He checked his phone,
and then took a shower. He checked his phone and got dressed. He checked his
phone and ate a small bowl of granola. He checked his phone every couple of
minutes while he read a bit about Troll lore, something that Barton had left
for him. He checked his phone as he packed up his book and his apron. He
checked his phone frequently as he walked to the little Café where he worked.
It was pretty dead right now at Café Cheri, and his supervisor, Candice, was
leaning on the counter next to the register, reading a well worn paperback, her
fingers the only things sticking out of her long sleeves. Sam couldn't remember
ever seeing her without her black sweater and her choker on.
Guess that's just her style...
She was pretty, but she somehow always looked as though she had just rolled out
of bed. Most of the time, as Sam understood it, she had. They had talked a lot
during these kinds of dry periods in the store, waiting for people to get out
of their movie, or mass. In that time, she had told him that she had severe
insomnia, and that most of the time, she couldn't tell if she was asleep
or awake. 
"Hey, Candice," said Sam as he passed her on his way to the back room where he
set his things down. He put his apron on and punched the card, coming onto the
floor.
"Where do you need me?" he asked.
Candice shrugged, not looking up from the paperback.
"Bar, I guess," she said. She sounded as though she had just woken up.
"Long night?"
She stared at the pages, and after a moment said "No."
"Did you manage to get any sleep?"
She turned the page slowly, her eyes moving to watch it as it went from left to
right. "No."
She didn't have to answer, of course. Sam could tell from the bags under her
eyes, from the way that she wasn't really there, that she hadn't slept for
months.
The phone rang, and Candice let her head turn slowly to look at it. Sam, who
was stocking more beans in the espresso machine, looked at her.
"Is that really ringing?" Candice asked seriously, her eyes narrowing in
suspicion.
Sam sighed, and grabbed the phone from the cradle.
"Thank you for calling Café Cheri, this is Sam speaking, how may I help you?"
There was silence on the other end and then a CLICK, as the person on the other
end hung up the phone.
Sam made an annoyed sound and put the phone back on the cradle.
"It was that prank caller again."
Candice made an indistinct sound of acknowledgment, not looking away from her
book.
The phone rang again, and this time Sam gave the phone to Candice.
"Café Cheri, 's Alice," she mumbled, before she handed the phone back to Sam
without looking at him.
This had become a pretty common thing, them passing the phone back and forth,
taking turns answering the prank call. This happened every day that Candice
worked; the caller would choose a time and then just call incessantly. Candice
never gave her real name, it changed every time. Sam, on the other hand, tried
to stay professional just in case it was their boss calling. Sam had suggested
that she call the cops, but she had shrugged it off as being just some asshole
who wanted to fuck with her.
The caller gave up after about eight attempts. During these attempts, Candice
had been Kate, Stella, June, and Annie. Sam had remained Sam.
"I'm gonna go change the sanitizers and do a trash run," Sam said to the silent
Candice. She nodded in response, turning another page to her book. After he
changed the sanitizers, he opened the back door to the dumpsters. He was
standing outside, untying his apron, facing the large trash bin that he was
about to wheel out when he heard the scraping sound of footsteps behind him.
 
Dean woke up before Sam did, the lavender tips of dawn bleeding in through the
window. It was so cold. Dean stared at the bed across from him where Sam lie
sleeping and he felt his chest ache. He wanted to slide into bed beside Sam,
wanted to wrap his arms around him, wanted to kiss him, wanted to tell him that
he was sorry for being a jealous jerk.
He needs his space.
Black bitterness burst inside of him, and he rubbed his face with his hands. He
let out a silent, shaky breath before slipping out of bed. He stole one more
longing glance at the sleeping Sam before he went downstairs.
John was awake already, going through a stack of papers, circling and underling
things, transferring information into his journal. John had gotten into the
habit these past few days of taking notes while he answered phones. If John
couldn't hunt, then he'd learn as much as he could from other people's hunts
while he was stuck here.
They exchanged good mornings and Dean had just opened the fridge for some
breakfast when he saw Bobby come down the stairs, already dressed and clean.
"Nice to see she didn't wear you out, kid!" Bobby teased as he entered the
kitchen.
Dean wanted to scream that it was all Bobby and dad's fault that Sam and he
hadn't shared a bed that night, but Dean just flashed him a guilty grin. He
knew the fight really had nothing to do with Bobby or John...not even Candice
for that matter. No. It was his own fucking fault that Sam didn't trust him. He
understood why...he had never been with one person before, it must have been
difficult for Sam to accept that Dean would behave any differently in this
relationship.
I'll just have to show him. I'll just have to make him see that he's the only
one....
For good.
"Well, you get to run some errands with me today, son." Bobby said, grabbing
some folders from the table and sticking them in a bag.
"No problem, what time are we leaving?"
"Well, I'm headed out now, you'll meet me at Uncle Bo's at around 8:30. Take a
look at this if you get the chance," he tossed Dean a folder before clapping
him on the back and heading out.
Dean did his morning exercises and stretches, showered and got dressed quietly
so as not to wake Sam.
He got himself and Dad some breakfast, and looked over the file that Bobby had
left with him. 
Not far from here, a woman had complained that her son was showing signs of
demonic possession.
23 Year old male. Rapidly losing weight, acting strange...paranoid...hearing
and seeing things...
This must have been where Bobby went yesterday...
As far as Dean understood, though, Bobby had ruled out Demon possession because
the kid was detoxing after years of heavy drugs. Crazy behavior was to be
expected. Dean read the bottom note that said "Called again, there are
questionable markings appearing all over his body...in places he can't reach on
his own...."
Well that's creepy.
Dean met Bobby at Uncle Bo's diner and took a booth. Bobby was having biscuits
and gravy while Dean drank a cup of coffee, having already eaten breakfast. The
waitress was the same waitress as yesterday. She smiled all the while at Dean,
as though they shared a secret...which, Dean realized, they absolutely did.
"Looks like you've got fans everywhere," Bobby chortled into his coffee.
"What can I say, I'm irresistible."
Dean felt a pang of sadness as he glimpsed over at the booth where he and Sam
had been just yesterday.
Funny how quickly things get fucked up.
The drive to where the woman and her son lived was a rather long one. They
passed neighborhoods and then drove through a long stretch of just fields and
forests. They were passing another such field when he saw an enormous house
hiding behind a thick line of trees, one giant black gnarled tree stood out
above the others. It gave Dean an uneasy feeling and suddenly he felt as though
he was being watched. He glanced behind him, but there was nothing. It was then
that he realized that he had left his cell phone in the Impala and he kicked
himself internally. He sighed.
"Does anyone live over there?" Dean asked
"Yeah, there's a family that owns the place...never really see them around
though. Some rich people, I guess, use the place as a vacation house, usually
around Christmas time."
The uneasiness lifted as the house went out of sight.
They knocked on the door and a woman answered almost immediately. She was
wearing a waitress uniform, her dyed red hair unkempt and a cigarette hanging
out of her mouth. She looked exhausted and scared.
"Hey Robert," she said around her cigarette.
"Hey Mimi, where's he at?"
"He's up in his room. He woke me up in the middle of the night, yellin' at
someone. I went to find out what was wrong and he was nekked as the day he was
born, yellin' into the phone. That's when I saw all 'em markings all over him.
Then I called you."
Bobby nodded.
"Mimi, this is Dean, he's gonna be helping me out today with all of this."
Mimi regarded Dean with a eye sweep and her brows furrowed.
"You a little young to be doin' this kind of work, arnchya?"
"He's John's boy, been doin' this awhile now," Bobby answered for him.
She shrugged and stepped aside so they could come in.
Bobby sat with Mimi to discuss everything, while Dean examined the house. The
kitchen was dirty, but normal, the bathroom and Mimi's bedroom looked hardly
used and smelled like cigarettes. It was the living room that looked like a
tornado had hit it. There were things strewn about, as though someone had gone
through it in a rage. Dean knelt down and picked up a scrap of paper that
turned out to be a photo. It had been torn in half, and there was a young man
in it, looking completely strung out, his arm around someone that must have
been on the other side of the photo.
Rehab and a shitty breakup was a recipe for disaster, and Dean toyed with the
notion that perhaps this whole thing really was just in this guy's head.
But there are those markings...
Dean rejoined Mimi and Bobby. Mimi had an ashtray on the table close to her
that was so full of ash it could have been a sandbox.
"Mimi, we should probably see those markings now," Bobby said gently.
Mimi shook her head.
"Boy's got a lock on his door. The on'y way we're seein' 'em is if he comes out
on his own."
And as though called from the dead, a thin, ghost of a man came walking into
the room. Dean recognized him as being the young man in the photo...if he had
died last week and these were his remains. He was pale, and freakishly thin
under his clothes. Dean observed that he had deep  gashes all over his exposed
arms...they were in a rather pretty design...it looked like ripples in water...
His wrists were in bandages, Dean saw, as the young man itched absently beneath
them.
"Mo, these men are here to help you," Mimi said cautiously.
Mo didn't seem to hear her, and he picked up the phone that was hanging on the
wall and began dialing.
"Not this again..." Mimi muttered.
He held the phone to his ear. Dean heard a familiar voice on the other end. He
stood for a moment, saying nothing, and then hung up, picking it up to dial
again.
"I would have that thing disconnected if I din' need it for my evenin' job,"
Mimi said quietly to Bobby and Dean.
Dean didn't want to ask what her night job was.
They watched as he did this over and over again.
Finally he slammed the phone down, turned and gave Dean a long, frightened
look, and wandered out of the room.
When Dean and Bobby got back in the car, Bobby sighed.
"I guess we'll have to try an exorcism, but to be honest, I've never seen no
Demon possession look like this..."
Dean was recalling the haunted look in Mo's eyes...like he wasn't seeing Dean,
he was seeing something else...
Bobby dropped him off back at the Diner where that Impala was waiting. Dean
snatched his phone up and saw that he had one missed call...from Sammy.
Dean let out a sigh and felt like he was going to break apart. He needed to be
with Sam now.
He parked his car on the street in front of Café Cheri. He had never visited
Sam at work before, but he had passed by a couple of times while he was running
errands. He walked inside quickly and stopped in his tracks when he saw the
girl at the register.
It was Candice...that was for sure, though she barely resembled the clean,
energetic temptress he had met at the bar the night before. She looked tired,
wilted, and was reading a book, leaning her elbows against the counter. He
approached the counter slowly. She didn't look up. He cleared his throat
"Hey Candice," he said, trying to sound nonchalant.
Her eyes flickered up for a second and then went back down to her book.
"Do I know you?" she grumbled.
"Uh, yeah, we, um, met last night..."
"And?"
Dean suddenly felt a wave of relief that she didn't seem to recognize him.
"Never mind, is Sam here?"
"Out back," she responded in a monotone voice.
He left the store and turned the corner where there was a large dumpster area
that seemed to be shared by all of the businesses in its vicinity. And there
was a familiar figure, his back turned to him, pulling his apron strings untied
and lifting it over his head, and Dean suddenly felt like he was going to
explode with happiness. He took another step forward and Sam turned around,
quickly at the sound.
Sam just stood there for a moment, and then his blue eyes welled up with tears.
"I'm so sorry-"
But Dean had been bee lining for Sam the moment he had seen him, and stopped
his apology with his mouth.
Dean felt his body hum with relief and satisfaction, as though it had been
starving for this as he kissed Sam deeply and thoroughly. Sam had wrapped his
arms around his neck and was kissing back just as fervently. Dean pushed his
tongue into Sam's mouth and Sam let out a needy whine that went straight to
Dean's dick. When they finally broke apart they were both panting, their
foreheads together.
"It's my fault Sammy," Dean whispered. Sam shook his head, but Dean kissed him
again. "I'm going to show you, Sam, I really will."
"Dean-"
Another kiss to silence him.
"And I'm going to make you feel so good, you're not going to want anyone else."
This came out as a growl that made Sam seem to lose it as he tightened his grip
around Dean's neck and thrust his body up against Dean's.
"I don't want anyone else." Sam whispered against Dean's lips. "This is yours,
take it or leave it, and it always will be."
Dean bit his lip to stifle a groan as, Sam rocked his hips up against Dean,
rubbing Dean's erection.
I am not going to fuck him behind the store. I am not going to fuck him behind
the store. I am not going to fuck him behind the store...Do I have time to give
him a blowjob?
"Sam, got customers."
The voice cut through the moment like a bullet, and both Sam and Dean nearly
jumped out of their skin. Candice gave them a look that said she gave no shits
about what she had just seen and then went back out of sight.
"Um, coming..." Sam said, blushing terribly.
"Not yet you're not," Dean whispered into his ear. 
Chapter End Notes
     Seriously though, next chapter will be posted on 10/10 :)
***** Chapter 7 *****
Chapter Notes
     Sorry this is late everyone! Enjoy! :)
 
 
 
Work got steadily busier over the day, but what made Sam the most flustered was
Dean, who had decided to set up camp at one of the tables, reading a paper and
drinking a coffee. Every time Sam looked up from making drinks, he caught Dean
staring at him, completely ignoring the paper he had propped in front of
him. Sam tried not to blush as he went about his business. He could feel Dean
staring at him, and it made his heart flutter. After about a half of an
hour, Sam went out to clean the tables, picking up Dean's mug.
"Refill sir?" he teased. 
Dean surveyed Sam with the hungry green eyes of a panther.
"Only if I can drink it from your mouth," Dean growled.
Sam bent closer to Dean, his cleaning towel still in his hand, his hair falling
in his face, narrowing his eyes at Dean.
"That's going to be extra."
Sam knew he got the effect that he was looking for when Dean made a little
sound in his throat, his eyes burning like twin green coals.
"What time do you get off of work?"
Dean's voice was hoarse.
"Eight."
"I'm picking you up."
"Oh, is that what you were trying to do?"
 
Sam left an hour after Candice did, and grinned widely when he saw the Impala
parked outside of the store. He got into the car, Led Zeppelin on the radio. As
soon as Sam shut the door, Dean reached over to the passenger's seat, pulling
Sam into a deep, hungry kiss. Sam forgot to be worried that anyone would see
them and pushed himself up against Dean, tasting him.
"Did you miss me?" Sam whispered against Dean's open mouth.
Dean kissed him again as a response as Sam lost himself in the feeling.
"When we get home," Dean whispered, eyes smoldering, "we are getting in my bed-
"
Sam pressed his lips against Dean's again and moaned "Please tell me we're
going to have make-up sex!"
Dean's face looked like he was using all of his self control....maybe just
another little push...
Hey, I wouldn't mind losing it in the back of the Impala....
Dean let out a shuddering breath.
"Well, time to go home. Time to go home now."
 
He remembered when he was younger, the way that Dean had always made him feel
as though nothing could hurt him...that so long as Dean was around he would be
safe. He felt that same feeling overwhelm him as he sat in the passenger seat,
watching Dean drive them home. He looked at Dean's hands on the steering wheel,
the way he sat in the driver's seat as though on a throne, completely
comfortable with the idea of always being in control. He probably got that from
Dad, only Dean made it look good. Dean made it look natural. Dean made
everything look sexier. He trusted him...knew he'd never hurt him...knew he'd
be gentle....
Dean seemed to notice Sam staring at him from the passenger seat, because he
gave him a glance and then his eyes turned back to the road, a grin on his
face.
"See something you like?" Dean asked, still grinning.
No, I see something I LOVE....
Sam opened his mouth to say something when suddenly something moved in the back
seat of the car. Sam snapped his head to see what it was, and frowned. There
was nothing there.
"How was work?" Dean asked, calling Sam's attention back.
"Fine, just busy, you know." Sam shrugged.
Dean cleared his throat.
"Who was that girl you were working with today?"
"Candice," Sam said absently as he looked in the back seat again.
Must have been a shadow...
"She seemed kind of like a zombie..." Dean said casually.
"Yeah, she's always like that...she doesn't really sleep..."
Dean turned his head to see what Sam was up to.
"What are you looking for?" he asked.
"I dunno, I thought I saw something..."
Dean was suddenly on high alert.
"It didn't look like a rat, did it? Or a bug? Don't tell me baby's infested!"
"No...never mind...."
 
When they got back to the house, John was on the sofa reading through his notes
from the day's phone calls and Bobby was at the kitchen table reading through
some files. Sam could feel it the moment that he walked in...the air heavy with
the corpses of fighting words.
They must have had a really bad argument...
"Hey Sam! I've got leftovers if you want 'em," Bobby said cheerfully from where
he was sitting. Sam smiled at him and shook his head.
"No thanks, Bobby, I'm pretty tired."
Really, he couldn't bear the idea of sitting in the fog of hostility for any
longer than he needed to.
"You work too hard, son. You need to get more rest," then he said a little more
loudly, his eyes flickered to John "focus on school-"
John picked up a pair of large headphones from the sofa next to him, snapping
them on and turning on the cassette player to listen to the wired conversations
that he'd had.
Sam looked over at his father, who's lips were in a tight line as he began
scribbling notes. He suddenly felt a strong hand clap onto his shoulder and he
immediately felt his anxiety vanish.
"Rest, that's what he needs! Let's go upstairs Sammy!"
Then Dean stopped, looking a little reluctant, his back to Bobby and John. He
let out the tiniest sigh that Sam was only able to catch because he was so
close to him. Then Dean turned around.
"Dad, you need any help with anything?"
John said nothing, but continued to work on his notes.
Dean, always the helper...always the good soldier....
"He can't hear you, those things are pretty sound proof. Damn expensive too..."
Bobby shrugged.
"How about you, Bobby? You look like you're ready to go out for a ride, you
need a partner?"
"Thanks Dean, but I'm already set on helpers. Meeting up with two other people
for a hunt. Won't be gone too long, maybe a few days."
"I'll take care of the salvage yard for you."
Bobby nodded and thanked Dean.
"When are you leaving?"
"Just gotta finish up here, and then I'm out."
"Well, be careful okay?"
"Yeah, you too. And Sam?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm serious, get some rest...you don't look so good..."
Sam didn't want to admit it to himself, but ever since that afternoon he had
been feeling sick...something coiled in the pit of his stomach...He knew if he
said anything to Dean, he would become a mother hen and send him off to bed
without delay...or extra activities...
"Just tired from work," Sam said, giving him a reassuring smile.
 
Sam went upstairs first and stripped down to his boxers, feeling nervous as
hell. He sat down, cross legged on Dean's bed, his heart beating wildly. He was
suddenly very aware of how fucking cold it was as he shimmied under Dean's
covers and breathed in the scent of Dean and he felt himself calm down. A few
minutes later, the sound of the door handle made Sam jump and Dean walked in,
looking gorgeous as ever. Dean grinned at Sam as he made his way to the bed. He
crawled onto the bed and pinned Sam down by his wrists.
"Alone at last," Dean murmured as his lips met Sam's. Suddenly Dean pulled
back, looking concerned, his thumbs rubbing along Sam's wrists.
"Sammy, you're shaking..."
"I'm just really cold," Sam said, his voice shaking with his body.
"I guess I'll just have to warm you up," Dean said, crawling under the covers
with Sam and wrapping his arms around him, kissing him over and over again.
Dean pushed his tongue into Sam's willing mouth and Sam moaned, attacking
Dean's clothes under the covers. Dean laughed softly as he stripped bare,
including his boxers, releasing his hard dick from its cotton restraints. It
was nice and warm under the covers, and Sam wasn't shaking anymore as Dean
covered his lips and body in kisses. He rubbed his calloused, hunter's hands
down Sam's sides and hooked the elastic of Sam's boxers. Sam let out a tiny,
needy whimper and Dean slid them off slowly, letting the fabric softly caress
Sam's skin, giving him goosebumps. Dean's mouth met Sam's again and rolled his
hips against Sam's, both of them still completely submerged under the blankets.
Sam could feel his body calling to Dean's with every roll of his hips, their
erections rubbing together making Sam moan.
"Fuck, Dean, I need more..." Sam begged.
Dean stopped, and looked deep into Sam's eyes, softly pushing a hair off of
Sam's face, making Sam close his eyes at the touch. When Sam opened his eyes,
Dean was peeking his head out of their blanket sanctuary, opening the
nightstand drawer. Sam let out a little whine when he saw that Dean had
retrieved a bottle of lube from the drawer. He felt his heart skip a beat as he
looked longingly into Dean's eyes.
Dean kissed Sam softly again while Sam wrapped his arms around Dean's neck
trying to bring them closer. Dean slowly began to kiss down Sam's body,
stopping to lick around his left nipple which made Sam let out a little "Oh,
God!" and grab for a pillow to smother his sounds in. Then Dean moved down, his
strong hands squeezing Sam's sides playfully where he knew he was ticklish. Sam
could feel himself blushing as he giggled.
"Rude," he grumbled. "You're such a tease-"
His own moaning cut him off as Dean had decided to take his hard dick into his
mouth right then. His lips felt incredible, and his mouth was so wet and hot,
Sam was worried he was going to come right there, until he felt something cold
against his opening. Dean used his wet, delicious tongue on Sam's shaft as he
gently pushed one well lubed finger inside. Sam braced himself, letting his
body adjust. It didn't take long, seeing as he'd done this to himself many
times before. The minor discomfort disappeared as Dean hooked his finger
slightly to find that sweet spot, humming around his cock when Sam let out a
cry into the pillow. Sam felt Dean slip a second finger in, hitting his
prostate in time with his sucking. If it wasn't for the pillow over Sam's face,
muffling his unabated cries of ecstasy, the whole fucking state of South Dakota
would hear how much Sam was enjoying this. This was Sam's first time ever
experiencing someone else touching him here...Dean touching him here...and it
was incredible. Sam felt Dean tentatively slip in a third finger when he came
hard in Dean's mouth, crying out Dean's name into the pillow, his body
clenching around his fingers and his dick pulsing in Dean's mouth. Sam lay,
gasping for breath as Dean laid down next to him, wrapping him up in his arms.
Dean held him as he came down from his orgasm, whispering in his ear.
"God you're so beautiful, Sammy..."
They lied in the darkness, warm in each other's embrace, exchanging soft kisses
until they both fell asleep.
***** Chapter 8 *****
Chapter Notes
     Sorry for the long wait everyone!! I hope you enjoy the chapter! I'll
     try and get the next one up by the 21st!!
 
When Dean woke up his arms were still around a sleeping Sam, the alarm having
done nothing to stir him.
"Sammy, wake up, that's your alarm," he said softly.
Sam didn't respond but snuggled closer to Dean, burying his face in his neck.
Dean was suddenly torn between letting Sam sleep in his arms for the rest of
the day, or doing the right thing and waking his adorable ass up because he had
school and work.
He sighed, and then sat up, pulling the covers off of them. Sam's eyes shot
open as his naked flesh was exposed to the freezing cold air that was January.
"Oh, whyyyy?" Sam moaned, as his hand searched for the covers.
Dean was looking over Sam's body with contentment...it was covered in
goosebumps and Dean was suddenly envisioning himself rubbing ice slowly
down Sam's naked abdomen and was very aware of his morning wood. He cleared his
throat.
"Time to get up!" Dean said, clapping his hands and grinning. "Rise and shine!"
Sam let out another little grumble before he rolled out of bed and started
putting on his clothes.
Dean gave him a soft kiss on the lips before he threw on some clothes. He was
about to head downstairs when he noticed Sam looking around.
"Did you hear something?" he asked, buckling his jeans.
"What did it sound like?"
Sam shook his head.
"Nothing, never mind."
 
John had fallen asleep where he sat, his hand on a mostly empty bottle of
whisky and his headphones still securely on his head...which made Dean let out
a little sigh of relief. As much as he enjoyed Sam's delicious happy noises, he
really didn't want anyone finding out who was helping him play that tune. He
was tempted to wake John up and tell him that if he had been a monster, he
would have been dead already, but decided against it, fearing his post binge
wrath more than he cared to admit.
He took Sam to school, giving his hand a little squeeze before he jumped out of
the car, slinging his heavy backpack over his shoulder. Sam glanced back at
Dean and gave him that smile he knew was only for him. Once Sam was out of
sight, Dean put his car into drive, singing along with he Animals.
 
Mondays didn't mean dick to Dean anymore now that he wasn't in school, but this
Monday seemed to remind him of how much he used to hate them.
While John worked the phones, Dean worked the salvage yard, following requests
and instructions left by Bobby.
Bobby may have had a problem with Sam working too much, but Dean being out of
school and jobless pretty much made him fair game. Dean didn't mind at all,
though; he liked helping Bobby, and hoped that his cooperation would somehow be
enough to make up for whatever problems John was making for him. When it was
almost time for him to go get Sam and take him to work, he was covered in oil
and muck. He took a quick shower and headed out. When he saw Sam come out of
the school, he was slightly taken aback. Sam, who had inherited their father's
tanner complexion, was looking pale. It was only a slight difference, but Dean
noticed it immediately.
The moment that Sam got into the car, Dean put a hand to his forehead.
"You sick?" Dean asked, his face a picture of worry.
"I'm feeling a little weird, but I'm fine."
"You don't look fine. Maybe you shouldn't go to work tonight."
"I'm fine, Dean, it's probably just a little cold."
"Yeah, and it could get worse if you work too much..."
"I'm fine. Really." Sam said with a  reassuring smiled.
Dean dropped him off and watched him get out of the car, still filled with
concern.
Sam turned back and took one last look at Dean before he went into work.
 
As Dean tried to finish the tasks that Bobby had left behind for him, he
couldn't help but think about Sam and worry...call it an older brother reflex.
He tried not to think about it. He ate an easy dinner with his father, never
exchanging more than a few words, both of them so deep in thought.
It's just a cold! It's fucking freezing out right now, everyone gets colds,
just relax, it's just a COLD!
It's not just a cold.
It was never just a cold. They were Winchesters, God's red listed citizens. It
was never just a cold.
So the worrying continued, and as the time stretched on it had built up and
morphed until Dean couldn't handle it anymore. The sun had gone down and he had
to see Sam. He had to check on him...he didn't care if he had to sit in the
lobby for an hour, he was worried. He grabbed his jacket and headed out, asking
John briefly if he needed anything while he was out. After John had shrugged,
not paying any attention really, Dean headed out. He fet a little guilty that
he wasn't as concerned about John, but knew that if John had detected any sort
of sympathy he'd be even more pissed about his situation than he already was.
 
He parked outside of Café Cheri and hurried out of the car. It was dark and
cold as he walked towards the store, the only lights in the darkness were the
pools of light from the windows of the stores and the weak, orange glow of the
streetlights. He was almost to the door when he saw a familiar figure stepping
outside of the store, holding her apron and looking as tired as ever. Candice
stepped out into the darkness, her breath creating a fog around her tired,
pretty face. The moment she stepped out though, another familiar figure grabbed
her by her wrists. He was hunched over, his eyes glittering with desperation
and madness. It was Mo, and he looked ten times worse than he had when Dean had
seen him just yesterday.
"What the fuck, Mo?" Candice said, her voice monotone.
Dean was about to tell him to fuck off and leave the lady alone, when Mo spoke.
"I know you're in there Candice!" he said shakily, his eyes glowing, looking
deep into hers.
"Jesus, not this again..."
"You're different, Candice! You've changed! You have to fight it! Please! I
know you're in there somewhere! Let her go!"
"You look like shit, Mo."
"Have you looked in the mirror lately?"
"Fuck, Mo, have you been cutting yourself?"
Her brow wrinkled slightly as she looked at Mo's writs covered in bandages.
"We have to figure this out Candice! We're falling apart!"
"Speak for yourself," she said bluntly. "Listen, Mo. I don't know what kind of
trouble you've gotten yourself into. Frankly I don't care. I never want to see
you again. We're over."
"No. It just wants you to think that! We don't stand a chance if we don't stick
together!"
"Goodbye, Mo."
With that she wrenched from his weak grasp and stocked away, never once looking
at Dean as she passed.
Dean looked over at Mo who was staring at the floor, his crazy eyes wide and
filled with tears.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" he wailed as he put his hands over his eyes and started
sobbing. No one else was on the street to witness this but Dean, who was
staring at Mo, wondering what the Hell to do now.
He sighed.
The poor bastard...
He headed over to the thin, ailing man and clapped a hand on his shoulder.
"Women, right?" he said conversationally.
Mo dropped his hands from his eyes as he looked at Dean. His eyes filled with
recognition.
"I know you..." he sounded like he was in a daze. "You were at my house
yesterday...but someone else was with you...."
"Yeah, that was Bobby. I'm Dean by the way." Dean held out his hand to shake
Mo's, but Mo was staring at him, searching his face.
"No...not Bobby...it's gone..."
"I'm sorry, I don't follow...."
"It never really goes away, Dean...just finds somewhere else to go....So, who
did you give it to?"
Dean suddenly felt unsettled.
This guy is fucking nuts.
Then why are you so fucking terrified right now?
"I have to get going now, please take care of yourself," Dean said carefully as
he headed over to the door of the café.
"Don't dismiss this, Dean! It's jealous! It's evil!"
"Okay, buddy..."
"What's the point?" Mo's voice was wavering again, tears filled his eyes, "No
one will believe me. Everyone thinks I'm crazy, and Candice...she's gone..."
"Listen, I don't know what happened between you two, but there's plenty of
other fish in the sea...."
Mo shook his head sadly.
"No one will believe us. So, I'll just submit...."
Dean didn't know what to say to fill this awkward silence, but he was spared
the need to when Mo looked at him. It was the first time that Dean had ever
seen him look sober before.
"I'm sorry, Dean. I am so sorry for you. Whatever it wants from you, it's
already taking it. There's nothing left for me. I'll be seeing you
around....but please try to remember."
Dean shook his head, having no idea what to say to this psycho babble.
Mo put his hands in his pockets, put his head down and started to walk away,
but right before he passed Dean he said quietly, "It has a way of making you
forget."
Dean turned to look at him, but Mo was trudging away. Not looking back.
Dean tried to shake the heavy feeling of uneasiness as he finally headed into
the store and smiled when he saw Sam at the coffee grinder. He still looked
pale, and now quite tired, but he still managed to look delicious all the
same...something about that apron made Dean want to undress him...
Dean went to the register, Sam's back to him as he turned off the grinder.
"Excuse me, I demand service!" Dean said annoyingly.
Sam turned to look at the source of the disturbance, an eyebrow raised. When he
saw Dean he grinned.
"I'm sorry, sir, we're out of everything. Please leave!" Sam replied, putting
his hands on the counter, leaning against it.
Dean put his hand on Sam's and leaned closer to him.
"That's not the kind of service I was looking for..."
Sam blushed a little and looked around at the empty lobby.
"Why are you here alone?" Dean asked, leaning over the slim counter and placing
a soft kiss on Sam's neck.
"I'm not, the other two are out back smoking..." Sam said softly, leaning loser
to Dean.
"I think you should come home with me," Dean said in his ear, knowing how
wonderfully sensitive Sam's ears were.
"Well they let Candice go home early, I don't see why they wouldn't let me..."
"Hey, Sam, we're done with the-"
A short blonde girl had just come through the swinging door that led to the
back room and she had stopped when she saw the scene that awaited her. Sam and
Dean immediately pulled to their respective sides of the counter.
Fuck, we have to be more careful!
Dean longed for the day when they wouldn't have to be careful anymore...to move
to someplace where no one knew them so they could just be together....
Dean put on his most charming smile and the little blonde grinned, her cheeks
turning pink.
"Hey, Randy, is there any way that I could go home early?"
"That's what I came out here to tell you..." Randy responded, still smiling at
Dean.
"Great!" said Dean, clapping his hands. "Go grab your stuff!" 
***** Chapter 9 *****
Chapter Notes
     As promised! I hope you all enjoy! :)
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
When they got home, Dean ordered Sam to go upstairs immediately while he talked
to dad. Sam usually would have been annoyed by being treated like a child, but
he was so damn tired, he found that he didn't mind. He unloaded his stuff into
the bedroom and headed to the bathroom to take a quick shower. He turned on the
hot water and began to undress. He couldn't wait to wash the smell of coffee
from his skin and hair. Dean had voiced how good it smelled, but to Sam it
smelled just gross.
I need to wash my clothes twice in order to get the stink-
Sam looked into the medicine cabinet mirror over the sink. It was now so
heavily fogged, his reflection was a vague shadow...and there was another
shadow behind him. Sam whirled around in the foggy bathroom, but there
was nothing.
I need to get more sleep....
Sam decided before he stepped into the shower.
As he let the water run over his body, he felt...itchy.
Damn coffee must have permeated my pores.
Sam felt something on his wrists, stinging and itching. He held his wrists out
to see if there were any bug bites, but there were none. It took Sam a moment
to realize that the itching was coming from the scars that Abby had left on
him, and despite the fact that they had faded significantly since they had
healed, they were now a bright angry red.
Sam suddenly felt a sense of dread...he had been feeling a bit on the jumpy
side, but now he felt downright terrified. As he stood in the shower, the hot
water getting into his eyes, he noticed that the shower curtain was trembling
slightly. As Sam watched, a small section of it would puff inward...as though
someone was one the other side...breathing.
Sam took a deep breath, wishing desperately that he had salt, or iron, or
anything for that matter, as he grabbed one end of the shower curtain.
He pulled it back quickly and let his eyes search the foggy bathroom. There was
nothing...yet again. No boogey men, no cold spots, no nothing. Sam finished
washing quickly, and exited the bathroom as fast as he could. He could hear
Dean and John downstairs talking quietly. It was the most that he had heard
John talk since they got to Bobby's. Sam went into the bedroom and toweled off.
As soon as he was dry enough he fell face first into Dean's bed, taking in a
deep breath of Dean pillow and he suddenly felt safe again. He was about to
drift off to sleep when he heard something crash to the floor. Sam sat up and
stared at his backpack, which had taken a dive off of his own bed. He stared at
it for a moment and then heard a loud buzzing. He let out a sigh of relief as
he got out of bed and unzipped it, releasing his vibrating cell phone.
"Hi," he breathed when he answered the phone.
"You all right?" Barton's soft voice asked on the other end. "You sound
stressed."
"I'm fine, just getting a little sick I think."
"Maybe I can take care of you when I get there..."
Sam's heart leapt in his throat.
"You're coming? To South Dakota?"
"Wendy and I will be passing though, there's a possible hunt in Minnesota..."
"Where are you guys now?"
"Home, in California. We're leaving tomorrow though."
"Home's in California?"
Barton laughed softly on the other side.
"Where did you think we were?"
"I don't know..." Sam said, blushing even though no one could see him. "England
or something."
"You think I'm so monstrous as to land you with a phone bill like that?" there
was laughter in his voice. "No, my siblings and I moved to the states three
years ago."
Sam suddenly felt a pang as he remembered what Barton had told Marder about his
siblings dying off. He was suddenly at a loss for words.
"I miss you terribly..." Barton said, and Sam could detect the slightest hint
of nervousness in his voice, which was a lot considering Barton always
maintained a certain demeanor of stoic confidence. Sam could feel his heart
start beating like crazy.
"I miss you too...what kind of hunt is it?" Sam asked, changing the subject
quickly.
"We're not sure yet, really. Mother called to send us in."
"Is your mom a hunter?"
"Not anymore, she and father used to be hunters, but they have found it far
more profitable to send others out."
Sam could hear a hint of bitterness in his voice.
"How is there profit in that?"
"Plunder. You'd be surprised how many people collect the occult objects that we
find. They pay good money, not to mention the fact that we are instructed to
put every person we save on the 'you owe us' list."
"That just sounds..."
"Wrong? I know. I'm not keen on it either, and neither is Wendy. Luckily we
tend to keep things from being sold to the general public by conveniently
forgetting to tell our parents that we've acquired them."
Sam was surprised that their parents would still be willing to send their
children out to hunt when they had lost the majority of them already, but he
didn't voice this to Barton.
"Well I'm happy that I'll be seeing you, commissioned hunt or not," said Sam.
He could hear footsteps coming up the stairs. He said goodbye to Barton and
slipped back into Dean's bed before the door swung open.
"You're still awake?" Dean asked, surprised.
"I was on the phone with Barton," Sam said, watching Dean's closely. He had
been indecisive as to whether or not to tell Dean about it or not, but his
"honesty is best," rule won out in the end. Dean didn't seemed phased though as
he took his shirt off. Sam watched as Dean discarded his clothes, leaving
nothing but his boxers on. He turned out the light and got into bed with Sam,
wrapping his arms around him, and kissing his lips softly.
"So, what did the Brit want?" he asked, stroking Sam's skin sleepily in the
darkness.
"He's going to be in town soon, so he was just calling to tell me...."
"Is he on a hunt?"
"Yeah, in Minnesota."
"Do they know what it is?"
"No. What were you and Dad talking about?"
"There's this guy's mom thinks he's possessed by a demon, but Bobby and I don't
think so. I guess his mom called Bobby because Mo came home today acting even
weirder than normal....I saw him today, outside of your work..."
"Really?"
"Yeah...so don't talk to anyone outside of work and school until we figure this
thing out, okay?"
I'm not EIGHT!
But Sam suppressed his ironically childish remark and allowed himself to be
lulled by the warmth of Dean and the feeling of his fingers on his skin.
"Okay," Sam said sleepily, and Dean pulled him closer. Sam let his head rest on
Dean's
"You get some sleep...I think you should take tomorrow off...."
"I can't, I don't have any friends to take notes for me."
"At least take work off tomorrow?"
Dean was obviously making the huge effort of compromising, which was a great
improvement from his usual "my way or the high way," theory, so Sam nodded.
"Okay, I'll call out sick tomorrow."
"Thank you," Dean whispered against Sam's lips before kissing them softly
again. Sam deepened the kiss and Dean moaned, pulling away.
Sam was suddenly worried and Dean grinned when he saw the worry on Sam's face,
their eyes having adjusted to the glow of the moon.  
"You're sick, and if you get me riled up, I'll never let you sleep."
Chapter End Notes
     Next chapter will be out soon, probably on 10/26 if not sooner! :)
***** Chapter 10 *****
Chapter Notes
     Sorry about the wait everyone! My internet is being a fickle whore!
     Ill try to have the next chapter up as soon as possible (if my
     internet will allow it). There's a LOT going on, but all shall be
     explained! As always, I hope you enjoy it! Please forgive any typos,
     I was in a race against my internet.... :)
 
Sam woke up naturally to a cold grey dawn soaking through the window. It was
colder than when he had fallen asleep. He turned over to snuggle closer to Dean
for warmth, but he wasn't there...Sam opened his eyes fully now, and in his
grogginess, he touched Dean's side of the bed...it was cold....Dean had been
gone for awhile now....
Sam rubbed his eyes and willed his consciousness to sharpen. He sat up and
looked around and a sudden feeling of dread was falling over him like a veil.
He wasn't at Bobby's....he was back at the motel in Iowa where they had hunted
the Witch with Wendy and Barton.
What the fuck is going on?
He got out of bed, and looked around. He hurried to the bathroom and looked
inside to find no one. He grabbed his cell phone, found Dean's name and hit the
call button. He looked around frantically as he listened to the faint sound of
the ringing against his ear.
"Come on, Dean, pick up!" he muttered to himself, his heart racing. It was so
goddamn cold in this room...and everything looked the same, as thought they had
never left. The spell books were still piled on the coffee table, notes and
torn up pieces of sheets from the Witch's motel room. The phone rang against
his ear and he suddenly heard a noise behind him that made him nearly jump out
of his skin. Sam pulled the phone from his ear a little to hear the sound
better. I was coming from Dean's duffel bag....it was his cell phone. Sam
dropped the phone completely without hanging up and rummaged through the bag,
plucking the ringing cell phone from underneath Dean's shirt. The name that was
displayed on the little window read "Sam."
It was as though yet another dark dawn was emerging into his reality, as a
realization set in that his mind stubbornly refused to address. He went to
shove the phone back into the bag, to bury this horrible nightmare before it
had really started, when his hands touched something cold in the duffel bag,
also buried in Dean's shirts. His mind screamed for him not to proceed, but the
investigator, the researcher in Sam refused to let it go, and he gently pulled
the cold object out of the bag.
It was the keys to the Impala, cold and jingling softly in Sam's outstretched
fingers. Sam stared at them, and tears began to blur his vision.
The shack...the body....
"No, no, no..."
Sam began to hyperventilate, getting dizzy as he clutched the keys and curled
into himself, leaning his head on Dean's duffel bag like he was praying.
"Wake up, Sam!" Sam sobbed to himself as tears began to fall from his eyes
landing on Dean's shirts.
There was a soft knock on the door and Sam ran to it.
Maybe Dean walked somewhere...he just forgot his phone...
All that blood....
He's on a run...
That crossbow hanging on the wall, useless...
He's out paying our motel bill because we're leaving soon...
The hex bag in his pocket...
The knocking on the door was soft again.
Sam swung the door open and stared wide eyed at the person on the other side.
It was Barton. His crystal blue eyes looked tired and sad behind his glasses
and a huge terrible cut from his neck to his chest had been stitched up hunter
style.
"Barton, what's going on?" Sam asked in a small voice. "Where's Dean?"
"I'm so sorry, Sam."
"What's going on?"
Sam's voice was a whisper now, unable to rise above the tears.
Barton knelt down so he could be eye level with Sam, his bright blue eyes
filled with sorrow.
"You don't remember?"
"Remember what?" Sam demanded stubbornly.
Barton gently put his hand on Sam's neck, tracing a line down to his heart
where he put his palm.
Sam could feel something pressed between his own chest and Barton's warm
palm...something was poking into his flesh.
Sam slowly let his hand go to where Barton's palm was, his hand slipping under
Barton's to feel what was there.
His fingers slowly took hold of the little metal amulet. He ran his thumb over
the little horns.
No no NO!
The acceptance and realization must have shown on Sam's face, because Barton's
eyes suddenly became even softer, his eyes glittering with tears. He wrapped
Sam in his arms and pulled him close. Sam was in shock, his hand still locked
to the amulet around his neck, clutching it so hard he felt his own blood
filling his palm. He felt dizzy, like he was about to faint. He stared over
Barton's shoulder into the cold grey morning and his eyes were immediately
attracted to the loud colors yellow and red. There was a girl standing nearby.
She was beautiful, really tall, long red tumbling curls went to the middle of
her back. She wore headphones, a yellow sundress and pink sandals. A hemp purse
was draped over her shoulder, and her blue eyes were looking straight at Sam,
observing the scene with interest. In the colorless morning, everything else
looked like it was in black and white, all except the girl who looked as though
she alone had the attention of a brilliant, summer sun. She looked...terribly
familiar. She smiled at Sam and waved, as though they were old friends. Then
she pointed at something behind him and mouthed, "Be careful."
At that second, it was like two freezing hands had wrapped around his lungs,
squeezing the air out of him. His whole body began to itch uncontrollably,
and the scars in his wrists felt like they were on fire. He tried to take a
breath, but no air would enter. He made a choking sound.
"Sam?"
It was Barton's voice.
"Sam."
The girl mouthed.
"Sam!"
Why does she have Dean's voice?
Everything went black.
 
"Sam! Wake up, baby! Come on!"
Sam opened his eyes slowly, tears blurring his vision.
He took a breath and sweet oxygen filled his lungs.
He felt someone stroking his face.
He felt so loved, so safe all of the sudden.
"Sammy..."
Sam blinked the tears away and saw Dean, his green eyes filled with
determination and dread.
"That's it, Sammy," he whispered shakily. "Come back to me."
"Dean?" Sam croaked, the nightmare still fresh in his memory.
"Yeah, it's me. You're okay. I won't let anything happen to you."
Sam felt warm again, wrapped in Dean's arms. Sam looked around a little, trying
to fight the tears. They were at Bobby's, in Dean's warm bed. There was blood
on Dean's naked chest, and Sam saw the horns of Dean's amulet were red with
blood. He looked at his palm. There were two tiny holes in his hand...shallow
little cuts from where the horns had dug in.
"Is this real?" Sam asked in a quiet voice.
"Yeah, it's real Sammy. You were just having a nightmare."
Sam looked into Dean's green eyes, reaching out and touching Dean's face.
He was real. He was warm.
"You're here," Sam swallowed hard as tears filled his eyes. "You're alive."
"I'm right here Sammy. I'm not going anywhere."
Dean was looking Sam over, worry still etching into his beautiful face.
"What was that all about, huh?" Dean asked, smiling finally.
This had to be real.
Only Dean would ever be able to smile and look concerned at the same time.
"I had a nightmare," Sam said, trying to hold the tears back. "You were dead."
"Well you should have known right then that it was a dream, Sammy." Dean
shrugged. "I'm, like, impossible to kill."
Sam smiled tearfully at the old reassurance that Dean used to tell him when Sam
was too young to hunt but old enough to know what was going on. He used to
cling to Dean before they'd leave and beg him not to go, and Dean would tell
him, "It's okay Sammy! I'm like a superhero! I can't die!"
Dean kissed the tears from Sam's face and Sam let himself be lulled by the
touch of his lips. Dean took Sam's injured hand and kissed that too. Then Dean
cradled Sam's face in his hands and kissed him on the mouth, working his lips
open with his hot tongue.
He was real. Sam could taste him, feel his strong body holding him close,
rocking softly against his. He let his hands run over Dean's body, his hard
muscular back, his smooth freckled skin. He let his fingers draw down his
strong abs, reassurance of his physical presence, of his live being, writing
themselves into Sam's mind. Dean curled his fingers into Sam's hair and softly
tilted his head back, pressing open mouthed kisses onto Sam's throat, his other
hand sliding down the front of Sam's body, taking hold of Sam's now hard dick
into his hand, stroking it. Sam bit his lips hard to stifle his moan that
wanted to come bubbling out of him, his own hand finding Dean's member under
his boxers. Dean let out a tiny growl of appreciation, latching mouth onto
Sam's again, stroking him faster and harder now, swallowing Sam's whimpers and
moans with his mouth. Sam pushed himself into Dean's hand, and came first,
muffling his involuntary moan against Dean's neck. Three more strokes from
Sam's hand and Dean was pumping hot seed all over his hand. If Sam was
physically capable of coming again, he would have at that moment, because
Dean's hot green eyes were boring into Sam's, so filled with desire,
pleasure and unrestrained love that Sam could hardly take it.
Dean slid off his boxers under the covers and cleaned them both up, grumbling
that he hoped the stains would come out of the sheets, or they'd have to burn
them before Bobby discovers them. They lay tangled up together, kissing softly,
Sam fighting sleep harder than he'd ever fought. Dean seemed to notice, because
he said "Why don't you go back to sleep? You still have time before your alarm
goes off."
"I'm afraid of having that nightmare again," Sam murmured, snuggling into
Dean's neck and breathing in his warm, living scent.
"So, what did me in?" Dean asked, raising an inquisitive eyebrow and stroking
Sam's arm.
"It was back in Iowa...it was so real...that spell that the witch put on you
killed you..."
"Hmmmm," Dean hummed thoughtfully.
"How did you survive that, anyway?" Sam asked, propping his head up on his
elbow and looking at Dean.
"I had a hex bag in my pocket...one of the rewired ones that you and Barton
made, just in case we needed to use it on the witch. I don't remember what made
me do it, but I suddenly remembered that I had it, opened it up and I chewed up
everything inside of it...it made like a juice...."
"That's disgusting," Sam chuckled quietly.
"Yeah, it was so gross. Then I swallowed the hex juice and spit everything else
out, and I felt better," Dean shrugged. "And that was that."
"How did you know that was going to work?"
"I didn't...but I was dying anyway, you know, so what was there to lose?"
Sam nodded in agreement...his mind for some reason going back to the tall girl
in his dream...and her familiar bright, cold blue eyes. 
***** Chapter 11 *****
Chapter Notes
     I hope everyone had a wonderful Halloween!! Just as a warning there
     might be some triggers in this chapter, if you are sensitive, please
     check the bottom notes :) I will NEVER have rape or non con in my
     stories, so you can put that out of your mind! ^^ Thanks for sticking
     with me everyone! <3
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
When Dean opened his eyes the next morning, the worry for Sam that had been
hovering in his mind blossomed into a whole new species of dread. Sam was pale
as death, so much so that Dean put his hands to his face, feeling that he was,
in fact, warm and alive. Sam wasn't just warm, he was burning up. Dean turned
off the alarm before it had a chance to go off.
"No school for you today, Sammy," Dean murmured quietly, stroking Sam's hair.
He headed downstairs to raid the medicine cabinet. Bobby had an array of over
the counter drugs and remedies, along with weird stuff in jars that Dean had
seen him apply to himself and others when treating wounds and sickness.
Dean made care not to touch them...Bobby may know how to handle this crap, but
Dean steered clear of anything that didn't have labels and directions...or an
ingredient list. Dean grabbed the Tylenol and a glass of water, passing his
father who was asleep in sitting position on the sofa, a stack of books and
pages upon pages of notes littering the coffee table. Dean made a mental note
to make some strong coffee and check on his dad once he had Sam settled in.
When Dean laid his hand on Sam's shoulder to wake him, Sam sat up, eyes wide
and terrified, gasping for breath.
"It's okay, Sammy, I've got you," Dean said, holding the shaking Sam against
him, rocking him like he used to when he was little.
"Dean," Sam gasped out.
"I'm right here, not going anywhere...you were just having a nightmare-"
"My alarm didn't go off! I'm going to be late for school!"
Sam was now struggling to get out of bed.
Dean gently flopped him back down onto the bed, wrapping him up in the
blankets.
"Is that what you're so stressed out about?"
"School waits for no one, Dean!" Sam replied defiantly.
"You are going to take this medicine, and you are going to rest. I will call
you out of school and work today." Dean said definitively.
"I have homework..." Sam said weakly.
"Yeah, and that is to rest and not spread your disease to the entire school."
Sam groaned and leaned his head back, seeming to know that there was no use in
arguing there.
Dean fed Sam his Tylenol and water.
"You hungry?" Dean asked softly, stroking Sam's head lovingly.
Sam shook his head. His eyes started to drift shut but he opened them wide
again, fighting sleep.
"You're having more nightmares?" Dean asked.
Sam nodded, looking up at Dean with those dark blue puppy eyes.
"Same one?" Dean asked.
Sam shook his head.
"No, I keep dreaming that something's after me...." Sam groaned, rubbing his
face with his hands.
"Just take the arsenal with you when you go back to sleep," Dean said, smiling.
Sam scoffed and rolled his eyes.
"Will do."
A thought suddenly occurred to Dean.
"Wait, I've got an idea!"
Dean went downstairs and scoured the walls.
I know I've seen one somewhere....
Dean headed for the closet that was mostly filled with cleaning supplies and
various forms of ammunition. The walls where littered with pieces of paper.
Stuff in latin mostly, some were little scraps of paper with phone numbers and
coordinates, ready to be taken in a hurry. But hiding in the center of it all
was a tiny dreamcatcher, barely visible to anyone who wasn't looking for it.
He carefully removed it from its hook and took it back to their room, where Sam
was sitting up fully now in Dean's bed, willing his eyes to stay open. His dark
blue eyes were the only color on his pale face. The dark bags under his eyes
that had been forming there since yesterday were even more prominent now that
his face was so pale.
Dean held out the dreamcatcher, dangling from his fingertips.
"Yeah? Am I a genius or what?"
A tired, little smile flitted onto Sam's face as he looked at the tiny,
feathered talisman.
"Do those things even work?" Sam asked doubtfully.
"Do silver bullets kill Werewolves?" Dean shot back, eyebrow raised. "Never
know until we test it, right? They way I see it, Bobby wouldn't have it around
unless it had some kind of purpose."
Dean shrugged and took down the little mirror that hung above his bed and
replaced it with the dreamcatcher on the hook.
He then laid on the bed next to Sam, taking him into his arms and laying him
down carefully beside him, stroking his hair.
Sam didn't put up a fight, but curled up close to Dean, making his heart skip a
beat when he nuzzled his nose into his neck.
Dean held him closer and shut his eyes, breathing in the soft, wonderful scent
of Sam, warmth and contentment bursting in his chest, gratitude filling his
being.
How the Hell did I get so lucky?
As he watched Sam surrender his fight and fall asleep, Dean frowned, something
scratching at the back of his mind...that old black reminder that happiness
always comes with a price.
 
When Dean went back downstairs, John was awake, staring at his notes, his eyes
red with dark circles under them.
Everyone's looking like shit today.
"Good morning," Dean said, heading to the kitchen and putting a pot of coffee
on.
John said nothing, but remained where he sat, looking over his notes for the
millionth time.
Dean poured himself and John a cup and then delivered it to his father who took
it without thanks.
"I'm going to the store to get Sam some soup. Do you need anything while I'm
there?" Dean asked carefully, not wanting to sound like he thought John
incapable.
"'S wrong with Sam?" John slurred.
"He's really sick."
"What kind of sick?"
"Cold sick, I think."
"Hm."
John took another sip of his coffee, looking deep in thought.
"He's been acting kind of weird lately, don't you think?" John asked with his
casual gruffness, like he really didn't care one way or the other. But Dean
knew he wouldn't have mentioned it unless he wanted to know.
"I haven't noticed anything..." Dean replied tentatively, trying not to sound
like he was on the defensive.
"He get a girlfriend or something?" John asked, looking up at Dean with
narrowed eyes.
"Not that I know of." Dean replied, trying to sound casual, but not so casual
that he was suspicious.
"He tells you everything."
Was John...prying?
"Yeah, he hasn't mentioned any girls, though. Probably afraid that we'll tease
him," Dean said with a shrug and a grin that he hoped was convincing.
"Maybe he's not cold sick then..." John said thoughtfully.
"What do you mean?"
John actually lifted one side of his mouth into a smile.
"Love can make you pretty sick too..."
"You mean, like a breakup or something?"
"No. Sometimes you think you know what you want until you get it...then it just
makes you sicker than when you didn't have it," John was rubbing his face with
both hands now.
"Well that's disturbing." Dean said aloud, suddenly feeling an incredible guilt
crawl out of its hole and into his mind.
Guilt had a funny way of spreading like ink in water....
Dean tried to shake it off.
"So, you need anything?"
 
Dean strode into the grocery store and headed straight for the soup aisle.
Bobby had plenty of soups, along with canned vegetables and fruits in his
cupboard, all for that inevitable rainy day in which they would have to live
off of canned foods for a few years. Bobby was prepared for damn near
everything and had damn near everything...except for chicken noodle soup. As
Dean loaded the soup into the hand basket he had grabbed, debating whether or
not to call Bobby and ask if he needed anything from the store, he saw someone
in he corner of his eye, getting close to him. He moved over to give them some
space, but they didn't try getting around him.
He turned to look at the person and could hardly recognize who stood in front
of him, smiling and looking fresher than ever.
"Hello Dean!" Candice said in her husky voice, her smile wide and her eyes
glittering. She stood tall, wearing a warm, tasteful outfit with a pair of high
heeled boots. Her hair fell neatly around her face which was flushed from the
chilly weather outside.
"Hi, Candice," Dean said, trying to keep the surprise from his voice. She
looked well rested, there was color in her face and a spring in her step,
energy practically radiating from her smile. Candice looked at his basket that
now contained around five cans of chicken noodle soup.
"Is that not what people eat when they get ill?" she asked, looking at him
questioningly.
Dean cleared his throat, suddenly feeling self conscious...he'd never had
anyone check out his groceries before.... 
"Yeah."
She looked at him, with her head tilted to the side, her slick black hair
falling into her face a little.
"Are you ill, Dean?"
"No, no..."
"Who is sick then?"
"Uh, Sam actually...I called him out of work today..."
Even though she was staring at him intently, she seemed to be thinking hard, as
though trying to remember something.
"Sam...the kid that works with me?"
"Yeah...."
Her eyes suddenly widened a little and she was looking straight at Dean now.
"You were kissing him behind the store?"
Dean didn't know why that was a question considering she had been there and
seen it for herself....He decided not to respond.
"So, uh, getting groceries?"
Candice shook her head.
"No, I saw you come in here, so I wanted to talk to you."
"Oh..."
That's creepy....
That same discomfort Dean had felt when he had first met Candice came creeping
back over him.
"Um, what's up?"
Candice shrugged.
"Would you like to go get a coffee with me?"
"Uh, I have to get going-"
"Why? Sam's sick."
"Exactly, so-"
"How about we go get a coffee together, and you can walk me to my car? I am a
lady after all."
Will you stop following me then?
But Dean bit his tongue.
"Sure, let me just, uh, pay for these, okay?"
"Alright," she said, smiling.
 
They walked to the café next door. Dean let her go first and hung back, not
wanting to give her the impression that this was anything other than them being
in the same place at the same time. A part of him, the part that wanted
terribly to be a gentleman, wanted to pay for her drink, but he won the fight
with himself...didn't want to lead her on in any way. He got a regular coffee
and immediately headed out.
"Where's your car?" he asked brusquely.
"I know you saw Mo talking to me the other day...." she said, as though she
hadn't heard him.
"Yeah," Dean said noncommittally, trying to discourage conversation.
"We used to be a couple," she said in her deep voice. "We just weren't right
for each other though. I thought he was perfect for me...well the old me...we
had so much in common, and we were so happy together."
Dean wondered if he could get away with asking her if she could walk any
faster.
"But he was so bad for me, Dean," she soldiered on. "He was doing me more harm
than good by staying with me, and I started hurting myself...I didn't know why
I was so depressed, but after we broke up it became pretty clear that he was
the problem."
Typical chick, the guy is always the problem.....
Dean debated on whether or not he should just take her keys and bring her car
around for her...anything to make her shut up.
"I'm happier now," Candice said, smiling at Dean, taking a sip of her coffee.
"Well, that's great. What kind of car do you drive?"
"Sam's a little young to be in a relationship, isn't he?" She asked, looking at
him attentively.
"Don't you have work or something today?"
"No. They gave me the day off because of my father's death," said Candice in a
matter of fact sort of way.
Dean turned to her, shocked.
"Oh, wow, um, I'm so sorry."
Shit...now I might have to sit down with her.
But she didn't seem the least bit phased.
Dean cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the silence...and the feeling that
she didn't give a shit that her father was dead.
"Um, so, were you two close?"
"Yes. We were."
"How did it happen?"
"They don't really know...he just kind of fell asleep and never woke up...he
had been sick for a while though, or so I heard."
"That sucks...I'm really sorry to hear about that."
"Yes, my mother's dying too," Candice said nonchalantly.
Get out of here Dean, she's a fucking sociopath....
"Well, I have to get back to, uh, what I was doing before...good luck to you-"
"Leading Sam on like this isn't nice you know," Candice said, flipping her
short hair and looking at him with regal narrowed eyes, her perfectly
lipsticked mouth puckered in distaste. "Come now, Dean. Do you really think
you're going to be with him forever? You don't know if there's someone out
there better for him...or you."
"I'll see you around, 'kay?" Dean said, giving her a smile and rushing to his
car as quickly as he could.
Something was wrong. He could feel it...
He checked his phone. No one had tried calling him....
 
When Dean got home, John was out of sight, which meant that he was bathing,
seeing as it was one of four things that he could do on his own in his current
condition. Dean unloaded the cans of soup into the cabinet and hurried upstairs
to check on Sam, his anxiety creeping in on his psyche like a cat on a
mouse...something about his conversation with Candice had shaken him up....
He had been away for forty five minutes at most, so Sam was probably sleeping.
Dean opened the door slowly, so as not to wake him, creeping in and sitting
down on the bed softly. Sam didn't move. Dean put his hand on Sam's forehead
and his heart dropped.
Sam was ice cold.
Dean took Sam's face in his hands and gently patted his face.
"Hey, Sammy?"
Nothing.
His lips were white...like he had no blood left.
Dean tried not to panic, tried to go into hunter mode, where he was ready to
figure out what was wrong, chase anything away, patch anyone up....
But this wasn't anyone, it was his Sammy.
Dean put his fingers to Sam's neck. He had to close his eyes and really
concentrate, because his own heartbeat was pounding hard in his ears. He could
feel a slow, sluggish beat.
"Okay," Dean gasped out. "Okay, Sammy we're going to the hospital, you just
need to hang on!"
He grabbed a blanket from Sam's untouched bed.
Gotta keep him warm...gotta wrap him up...gotta take him to the car and get him
to the hospital...
I shouldn't have gone to the fucking store! I should have just stayed here and-
Dean's thoughts stopped dead as he stared in horror at what he found under the
covers.
Blood had soaked through the sheets in Dean's bed...Sam's wrists were gaping
open, crimson liquid dripping lazily from the wounds.
Chapter End Notes
     Display of possible suicide attempt.
***** Chapter 12 *****
Chapter Notes
     Hello everyone! Things are getting dark again...sorry :)
When Sam woke up he was greeted by blinding white. The gray daylight peered
coldly though the windows, the gray reflecting off of the white walls of the
sterile room. He had to blink a few times to let his eyes adjust, feeling
groggy, taking his surroundings with increasing confusion. He knew he had had a
fever, but he didn't think it had been this bad....
Where's Dean?
He looked around. He was alone in the room....
The place was abandoned...
You are abandoned.
Something in his mind hissed.
All was silent but the distant sound of "Love Rollercoaster" playing on a pair
of headphones.
In his groggy state he couldn't tell where it was coming from, but there was no
need...a hand took his and Sam jumped, turning to look at the culprit. It was
the girl with red hair, the music was coming from her headphones.
Sam stared at her wide eyed. She stared back, crystal blue eyes searching his
as though trying to figure something out...then she nodded as though in
understanding.
"Who are you?" Sam asked, his voice coming out louder and more panicked than he
had intended.
She just put her finger up to her lips, the universal hush.
"Where is everyone? What happened to me?"
The girl held her wrists up so Sam could see them.
Sam furrowed his brow and looked down at his own arms. The wounds that Abby had
left on him had somehow opened up...his white hospital bed covered in bright
red blood.
"What the fuck is going on?" Sam demanded, his heart beating furiously in his
chest as he tried to sharpen his senses.
Why couldn't he get a grip?
He looked at the girl who was staring at the doorway now.
Sam turned to the door too, which was almost closed.
What was she looking at?
As Sam stared harder he noticed something that looked like the paint chipping
from the white painted door...then he realized that it was a hand...a black,
skeletal hand, clutching the door, a pair of bright blue glimmering eyes
staring at him through the crack.  
Sam suddenly felt the air sucked out of his lungs. He couldn't breathe....the
pain in his chest was trumped only by the ridiculous itching all over his body
and the burning of the open wounds on his wrists.
He felt someone shoving him. It was the girl. She looked calm and almost a
little annoyed.
"Wake up!" she mouthed.
 
Sam sat up in the bed, taking a deep lung full of sweet sweet air. He could
hear the gentle beeping of the heart monitor at his side. It was dark, night
time, and he was in a hospital bed.
Sam took a few more breaths through his nose and looked around frantically.
Dean was asleep in a chair beside the bed, his hand clasped firmly to Sam's.
Sam saw that his own wrists were bandaged.
"Dean."
It came out as a weak croak, but Dean's green eyes flew open at the sound of
Sam's voice.
His eyes looked tired and more worried than Sam had ever seen them...
In all of their years of living together, being on the road together, sharing
their lives, Sam had come to know Dean's thoughts and emotions, sometimes
before Dean even felt them himself...he didn't have to be a psychic to read
Dean's mind. Now Sam could read exhaustion, sadness and the thing that worried
Sam the most: guilt.
Guilt was one of Dean's very favorites; his fall back emotion: when in doubt,
it's all Dean's fault.
Dean sat on the bed and cupped Sam's face, looking into his eyes...so sad...and
so fucking guilty.
"Sammy, I'm..."
Dean's eyes were filling up with tears, making them look even greener than
usual, like water in the amazon.
Sam didn't want to talk, he just wanted to feel Dean, wanted to feel his lips
against his own and tell him that whatever he was worried about was stupid, and
that they'd figure it out...just wanted to feel safe...just wanted to feel
whole.
Sam brought his hand up to brush Dean's lips with his thumb, and those green
eyes, still red, still sad, looked tempted. Dean's eyes flickered from Sam's
lips to his eyes.
For a minute Sam thought he was going to get his wish, but Dean something
passed over his eyes and he pulled away, his hand sliding from Sam's face to
his shoulder. He casted his watery eyes down to the bed, avoiding Sam's gaze.
"I'm so sorry, Sammy. This is all my fault...." Dean said in a husky voice.
"What are you talking about?" Sam was getting his voice back.
"I'm so fucking selfish, I didn't think of you, I was just...thinking about me,
and what I want...."
"I don't know what-"
"Why didn't you just tell me?"
Sam felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach...that dark, churning
hurricane of deja vu.
"What do you mean?"
Sam's voice was cold now.
Abandoned....
Dean finally braved a look at Sam, his eyes looking as though he was broken
from the inside.
"Why would you do this to yourself, Sam?"
The fury was the first thing that Sam felt...it rose in him like a tidal wave
of oil on fire. He took a few calming breaths and was surprised that smoke
wasn't coming out of his nostrils. He didn't know if he wanted to cry or punch
Dean in his stupid face.
"You think I did this to myself." Sam said flatly, still breathing through his
nose, trying to remain composed. "You really think I would do this."
"Are you saying you didn't-"
"OF COURSE I FUCKING DIDN'T!"
Dean was quiet now, and Sam had his full attention.
"I didn't do this, Dean. One minute you were feeding me Tylenol and I was
falling asleep, next minute I'm in this fucking place listening to you ask me
why I would do this to myself!"
"So, what, Sam?"  Dean was pissed now, his face becoming its chiseled mask of
anger and betrayal. "Someone snuck into our room while I was out, somehow got
past Dad, was lucky that you were asleep so he could slit your wrists, not your
throat, your wrists and then, what, snuck out?"
"I don't know, Dean, but I sure as Hell didn't do this to myself!"
Dean looked around the room for a minute, his eyes calculating.
Sam felt his exhaustion collapse over him while the anger, that had been
holding him up, faded as he looked into his brother's distant eyes.
"Dean, why were you blaming yourself?" Sam asked.
Dean glanced up at Sam and then he looked away again quickly.
"I think you're too young for...for this..."
"No fucking way, Dean-"
"I think you've been under a lot of stress, and this whole sneaking around
thing is taking its toll on you..."
Sam was shaking his head in disbelief.
Guilt: Dean's fall back emotion.
"I didn't do this, Dean. You believe me, don't you?" Sam could feel the tears
and the pain welling up in his chest, making his breathing shaky as he assessed
Dean's face.
Dean looked at him for a moment, seeming pained. Then he smiled and stroked
Sam's cheek.
"Of course I do, Sam."
And Sam knew he was lying.
"I have to go and talk to the doctors."
Sam watched Dean walk out of the room, Sam's heart crumbling with every step.
 
The next few days were silent torture. John refused to speak or look at Sam. He
knew why. John had never looked kindly upon suicides, always considered them to
be weak and cowards. Sam knew that his pleas of innocence were bound to fall on
def ears, and Dean wasn't being much better, though he was attentive and tried
his hardest not to let Sam know that he was watching for his next attempt at
corporeal evacuation.
He smiled at Sam, but never let his eyes linger, would brush up against him,
but would never touch him, would lay in bed next to him but would never kiss
him...
Sam tried to called Bobby, but it would go straight to voicemail.
A familiar darkness took over his days. The blackness would overshadow the
light of the day, creating a bubble around him as though everything that
happened in the outside world was strictly separate from him. He was alone.
Abandoned.
He went about his business in a fog. Work and school he did mechanically,
speaking only when spoken to. He hardly spoke to Dean, who seemed to be giving
Sam his space, while taking some for himself all the while. Candice was gone
from work, she was attending her father's funeral, and from what Sam heard
through the grapevine, her mother wasn't doing so well either.
It was on one particularly cloudy and sad Saturday when Sam finally got some
reprieve. That morning he woke up, and like so many other mornings after the
incident, he was alone in bed, Dean having woken up hours before. He said good
morning to the stoic John and the cautious Dean.
Where the fuck was Bobby?
John said nothing and Dean immediately asked him how he was feeling, which made
Sam's mood immediately head South. It's like winter had seeped into his bones,
every aspect of his life was frozen and dead. He headed to work much earlier
than he was supposed to, refusing Dean's offer to take him to work, and his
offer for breakfast. This seemed to make Dean worry even more, because he
continued to persist until Sam literally shut the front door in his face. Sam
felt betrayed. His own fucking family thought he was trying to kill himself,
not even taking heed that there may be something out there killing people.
And Dean wasn't listening.
Dean didn't trust him.
Dean kept himself at farther than arm's length.
Sam toyed with the notion that perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad thing to live
up to their expectations, but he shook off the melodramatic thought.
This can't last forever. This time will pass.
Sam went to Café Cheri and studied at one of the tables until it was time for
his shift. Randy had taken all of Candice's shifts for the next couple of
weeks, and Sam had been asked to pick up more shifts to help pick up some of
the slack. 
It was the calm before the Saturday night storm as Sam wiped down the counters
next to the grinder, in a daze, on automatic. Sam heard the sound of the street
coming in the through the open door and knew a customer had just walked in.
"What can I get started for you?" Sam asked before turning around, throwing the
rag into the bucket on the floor.
"Anything, as long as you make it," said a voice that sounded like it was
wrapped in velvet.
Sam spun around and couldn't stop the first smile that had broken onto his face
since he woke up in the hospital. He came around the counter and Barton pulled
him close into a warm hug.
"I'm so happy to see you," Sam murmured against his chest, taking in the smell
of cinnamon that always seemed to linger around Barton's tall frame. Barton
laced his fingers into Sam's hair and brought his lips down on the top of his
head.
"I missed you," Barton said softly.
When they parted, Barton's clear blue eyes looked deep into Sam's, taking him
in calmly. Barton took both of Sam's hands in his own, bringing one up to his
lips and kissing it chastely, not taking his eyes from Sam until they observed
the white gauze sticking out from under Sam's long sleeved shirt. Barton's
intelligent eyes analyzed it as he gently pulled the sleeve down to see more.
Sam could feel his heart hammering in his chest.
Was Barton going to shun him too? Was he going to disappear? Write Sam off as
some kind of emotional liability?
"Sam?" Barton's brows furrowed slightly, looking into Sam's eyes again. "What
did this to you?"
The tears came unbidden now, flowing out of his eyes uncontrollably, he was so
fucking grateful. He choked out a sob as Barton pulled him gently into another
warm embrace as Sam shuddered against him, staining Barton's shirt with his
tears. 
***** Chapter 13 *****
Chapter Notes
     I'm so sorry it's taken this long to get this up!! I hope you all
     enjoy!!!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
When Dean woke up that Saturday he was tangled up in Sam's ever growing limbs.
It was barely the break of dawn, purple tinges were bringing shape to the
curves and angles of Sam's sleeping face as though he was being raised from a
violet abyss. Dean knew that soon he would have to carefully untangle himself
to keep his desires at bay...as far as Dean was concerned, the sleeping
teenager was irresistible, and even now in the slow ascent of dawn, Dean could
feel the pull to Sam, like gravity, one heart to the other and Dean felt the
ache deep in his chest. This whole fucked up situation was like torture.
The biggest part of Dean, the one who knew Sam, the part that had been by his
side, fed him, fought beside him, slept with him and loved him believed that
Sam had not been trying to hurt himself...that he was telling the truth and
there was a monster out there killing people and making it look like suicide.
But the hunter in Dean, the older brother, and his father's son, the one that
saw more blood than kindness...the one ridden with the guilt of the whole
fucking world, thought otherwise. He couldn't kiss Sam, couldn't touch
him...had to let him heal...had to figure out what he believed...He still slept
with him if only to keep a close eye on him.
Either way Dean found himself having he same internal argument everyday.
I have single handedly fucked up my brother...he's traumatized...scarred for
life...he's going to be a basket case in therapy, birdwatching and collecting
dead bugs for the rest of his life in some basement...
It doesn't FEEL wrong...I don't think he's unhappy with me....
Then another voice echoed in his mind, a piece of paint chipped off of a recent
memory come to float on the surface of his consciousness...
I thought he was perfect for me...I didn't know why I was so depressed...
Yeah, but Candice is pretty fucking nuts....
She had a point...
Dean unconsciously reached out and pushed a piece of hair behind Sam's ear,
letting his fingertips relish the softness of it, like dark down...Sam didn't
stir...he was looking more pale by the day....
Dean pulled his hand away. He wanted to tell Sam that he believed him...that
they would figure this out...that Sam meant everything to him....
Then he'd think you're pathetic...pity you and stick around enduring your
creepy affections so you wouldn't go off yourself...
Dean took a silent breath and removed himself from the bed, letting the cold
air hit him like a wall, sharpening his senses and his constitution. He had to
fight himself not to look back at Sam, who would probably sleep for another few
hours.
 
Dean knew he had made a mistake the moment the words had fallen out of his
mouth.
"How are you feeling?"
Sam's dark eyes glared at him for a moment before he said, "I have to go to
work."
"I thought you didn't have to go until later-"
"I'm going in early."
Dean could feel the irritation instantly rising in his chest, ready to crawl
out of his mouth and make him act like a jack ass. He did his best to swallow
it down, though his jaw hardened and he felt his brow furrow automatically.
"You want some breakfast?" he managed.
"No, I have to go to work."
Sam tied his shoes without looking at Dean.
Irritation turned into anger.
This shit was getting ridiculous.
"A piece of toast, maybe," Dean bit out, trying to keep his feelings from
coloring his words.
John said nothing, but sat looking at a phone list on a yellow legal pad,
making notes next to names.
Sam grabbed his backpack and headed out the door, still not looking at Dean.
Dean followed him.
"You have to eat something, Sam!"
Sam shut the door in Dean's face and Dean was staring at white paint that
needed touching up.
 
Dean was cleaning the guns in the supply closet, thinking about whether or not
he should go visit Sam when he heard his phone ringing in his pocket. He stared
at the number for a moment, not recognizing it. He flipped open the phone.
"Yeah?"
"This Dean?" a woman's voice on the other end drawled.
"Who's asking?"
"'S Mimi," the voice replied. "Mo's ma."
"Oh, yeah. Hi."
"Was lookin' for Bobby...ain't answerin' his cell."
"He's not here either, been out on a hunt the past week."
"Mmmm"
Dean could practically hear her sucking in a drag from her cigarette.
"Anything I can do?"
"Mo won' wake up."
She sounded calm enough, but Dean knew better.
"Why don't you take him to a doctor?"
"Why waste good money on somethin' I know ain't gon' work?"
 
Dean made the long drive over without eating lunch....his appetite hadn't been
so good since the incident with Sam...
Dean passed the barren land, cold and white with ice, nothing but crows
strutting the ground like they owned it, which, during this time of year, they
did....Dean saw the house hidden behind the dead trees and saw that gnarled
black tree poking above the others and just like before he felt uneasiness
settle over him, adding to the darkness that had been shrouding him now for a
week since finding Sam bloody and half dead.
He found his way back to the dingy little house and didn't even have to knock
when the door swung open, Mimi standing in the doorway, one hand on the door,
the other on her hip. Her face was streaked with mascara like a road map where
her tears had traveled.
"Upstairs," was all she said.
Without another word, Dean made his way up the stairs and approached the room
with the open door. The room was an unholy disaster. There were torn up
pictures all over the floor, newspaper clippings, books and copy paper
littering the floor, as thought Dean had just walked in on the most massive
collage he'd ever seen. He carefully picked his way to the unconscious man, not
knowing why exactly he cared so much about crunching the paper. He sat on the
bed where a thin and pale Mo lie. Dean looked up at Mimi who was now leaning
against the door's threshold with her arms crossed, her body stern but her face
showing nothing but despair as she stared at her son. Dean pressed his fingers
to feel Mo's pulse, half expecting to find nothing at all. But there was a
beat, slow and true. He wanted to shake Mo, slap him, yell in his ear, and he
would have if he wasn't a thousand percent sure that Mimi hadn't tried to do
all of these things before calling Bobby and him. As Dean removed his fingers,
he noticed something on Mo's neck. He pulled the loose shirt down a little so
he could see. The markings made purple and blue ripples along his body.
"Just got worse," Mimi said in barely a whisper that Dean knew was not for Mo's
benefit. "They was pretty bad before, but now they're everywhere...all over...I
never seen nothin' like it..."
"Neither have I..."
Something caught Dean's eye as he looked Mo over...his wrists were still
wrapped...
"Did he cut himself?" Dean asked, his heart suddenly going a million miles a
minute.
Mimi shrugged.
"Cut himself real good... have a bill up to my ears now for gettin' him to the
hospital...don't know why he did it...never tol' me."
Dean could hear her voice waver and carefully kept his eyes from her, giving
her some privacy.
Fuck, Bobby, where are you?
And then, miraculously, Dean's phone rang.
The window read "Bobby"
"Where the Hell have you been?" Dean snapped into the phone.
"Don't you be takin' that tone with me boy! I've just come up from spending
five days in tunnels tracking these fuckers down, and I am in no mood for your
shit!"
"Sorry, there's just..." Dean let out a sigh and swallowed hard, emotion
threatening to leak into his words. "We've just need you is all...."
Bobby seemed to hear the hesitation in Dean's voice.
"What's wrong?"
"How far away are you from home?"
"'Bout five hours I'd say."
"Well get back as soon as you can, Mo is unconscious. We can't wake him up."
"Take him to the hospital for now."
"I said that, bu-"
"His mamma ain't the type to trust doctors, but tell her she don't got a
choice. Nice thoughts and prayin' ain't gonna keep him alive while we're
figurin' out what's eating him."
 
Dean had been back only long enough to shrug off his leather jacket, toss a
collection of papers he had taken from Mo's room onto the table and grab a beer
from the fridge when he heard the sound of a car pull up in front of Bobby's
house. He had been deep in thought all the way home about Mo, about his
wrists...about Sam. The hunter inside of him was intrigued and far more willing
to believe Sam's story. He wanted to ignore the car, and go to Sam now, fall to
his knees and beg for his younger brother's forgiveness. He sighed, knowing
that Bobby would never forgive him for letting a customer get away. John was on
the phones as usual, and Dean took a whole second to notice John's slightest
bit of contentment at being useful before he opened the door. He recognized the
Honda immediately and felt the anger jump into his chest for the second time
that day. Barton stepped out of the driver's side and waved at Dean amiably,
smiling. Dean glowered at him, about to tell him that Sam wasn't here and that
he should get back into his car and continue on to wherever he was going, when
Barton went to the passenger side and opened the door. Sam stepped out and
Dean's heart wrenched when he saw that Sam was smiling for the first time since
they had brought him back from the hospital. Barton opened the door to the back
seat and pulled out Sam's backpack, slinging it over his shoulder. They came to
the door, Sam brushing past Dean to get inside, never looking at him, while
Barton stayed at the door.
"Hello Dean, it's been awhile," Barton said, his voice dripping in honey as he
offered his hand to be shaken.
Dean, who was standing in the doorway with his arms crossed and his green eyes
resting cold on Barton, let his eyes flicker to Barton's outstretched hand,
making no movement to take it.
A small smile reached Barton's lips as he shrugged elegantly, letting his
slender hand fall to his side.
"Would invite you in, but I understand there's a hunt you were on your way to."
Dean said, his eyes burrowing into Barton's.
Barton's catlike gaze didn't waver.
"I think this situation with Sam is far more important, don't you think?"
"Yeah, and what do you think this situation is, exactly?"
Barton's eyes looked Dean over from behind his glasses.
"I think the more important thing is what you think it is."
"Dean?" John's voice came from the kitchen. "That Arlington?"
"We expecting him?" Dean blurted, turning his head in the direction of his
father's voice.
"Bobby said he's coming to stay for a few days."
Dean sighed and looked at the tall man before him.
"I forgot to mention I spoke to Robert after I picked Sam up from work." Barton
gave him a genuine smile that went to his eyes. "I must say, Dean, I am very
happy to be working with you again."
Chapter End Notes
     Next chapter should be up sometime around 11/15 :)
***** Chapter 14 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
 
It was later in the evening that Bobby finally arrived home, looking haggard
and sporting a black eye.
"What the hell happened to you?" John asked gruffly.
Dean saw worry so finely written on John's face that it was near impossible to
notice had Dean not grown up with the man.
"Don't ask. Dean, where'd Mimi take her son?"
"Crappy little hospital about ten miles North of the neighborhood."
"Better than nothin' I guess," Bobby muttered, tossing his bag on a chair and
rummaging through it. "I'm starvin'. Reckon you could go grab us somethin'
quick to eat while I shower?"
Dean cleared his throat, crossing his arms.
"Your company's here..." he said, tilting his head in the direction of the
library that he had been skirting around since Barton arrived with Sam in tow.
Bobby spared a glance at Dean, pulling the file he had been looking for out of
the bag.
"Why you throwin' a bitch fit?"
John snorted where he sat.
Dean blinked a few times, affronted.
"I-I'm not," he said lamely, pursing his lips and looking down at the floor.
Bobby offered a tired but genuine chuckle from the back of his throat.
"You're about as bad at lyin' as your daddy." Bobby said, glancing over at John
and flopping the folder onto the table. "So why don't you just go ahead and
tell me what's got your panties up in a bunch?"
Bobby leaned against the table and looked at Dean expectantly.
"We need to talk about Sam," Dean said evasively.
"About the thing that attacked him?"
"You heard?"
"Yeah. Heard you and your daddy weren't much on board with that explanation,
though."
Bobby's blue hazel eyes cast a chastising look at John, who had the decency to
look thoughtful.
Dean felt the shame curl in his gut as he tore away from the demanding eyes and
settled on inspecting his shoes.
"Yeah, well, it didn't look like any attack we'd ever seen."
"What was it that finally convinced you? Barton talk to you?"
Dean's eyes snapped back up, fury igniting inside of him.
"Why the Hell would Barton's opinion matter about Sam?"
Bobby stared at Dean unfazed, and John was looking at Dean with an odd
expression on his face.
"Well now I know who stole your ice cream, at least. Before I ask you what beef
you've got with Barton, I'm gonna tell you that he's got pretty good intuition,
and you should trust him and his sister."
"Thanks for the advice, but when it comes to trust, I look no further than
blood."
Bobby's eyes hardened at that.
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, jackass, but looks like you don't trust
your blood as much as you thought."
"What the Hell is that supposed to mean?" Dean said, suddenly defensive as he
shifted his weight where he stood, his arms still crossed tightly in front of
him, like a barrier.
"How d'you think Sam felt when you didn't trust him?"
Dean could feel his heart sinking, but he kept his eyes fixed on Bobby, who
trudged on.
"Probably the time he needed you the most, and you just let him sit with this
weight!" Bobby was livid now. "Not only is something after him, but y'all
went and blamed him for it! Some kind of family that is!" Bobby's eyes
flickered from John to Dean. "Remind me not to call you next time somethin' is
trying to eat me, lest you idjits think I'm tryin' to rip my own head off!"
There was silence for a long minute.
"Hello Robert, it's nice to see you," said a rich voice from behind
Dean, pulling the hot wind out of the room with a single phrase.
Bobby's face changed quickly and he grinned as he rose from where he was
leaning while Dean turned around a remained where he stood.
"What got you?" Barton asked, surveying Bobby's face as Bobby clapped him on
the back.  
"'M fine," Bobby said gruffly. "How's Sam?"
Dean felt heat rising to his skin, a combination of self loathing and an
incredible annoyance linking hands and singing in Dean's ears as he clamped his
jaw and hung back.
Of course Barton had to be back at one of the most pivotal failures of Dean's
relationship with Sam, brother or otherwise.
And, of course, Barton was the one who was on Sam's side.
And, of course, the fucker was right...as usual.
"He's alright, he's doing homework and hasn't eaten all day-"
"I tried to get him to eat!" Dean blurted out, hardly able to contain the lava
boiling in his veins.
"I don't doubt that at all, Dean. I think we all know how stubborn he is,"
Barton said fondly, his eyes resting on Dean with a steady weight before he
turned to Bobby. "Regardless, would you like me to go and get something to eat?
You look like you could use a hot shower, no offense of course."
"I'll go with you!" Sam called through the open door of the library.
There was a fine line being toed at that moment for Dean, where he wondered how
much more he could take before he wrapped his hands around the neck of
the closest person....or Barton.
 
Dean sat in the library organizing the various papers, clippings and
photographs that he had sampled from Mo's room, barely able to concentrate. Sam
had claimed the desk with a mound of schoolbooks and an arsenal of pencils and
papers. Barton had convinced him to stay and finish his English paper. So there
he sat in stony silence, never once giving acknowledgment of Dean's
presence...or existence. After Dean stared at the photo in his hand for so long
without seeing it, he cleared his throat and looked over at Sam, opening his
mouth to speak.
"Don't. Bother." Sam said immediately, never looking up from his work. The
words were like two bolts sliding tight on a shut door, and Dean's heart
sank at knowing he was being locked out.
"I'm sorry, Sam," Dean started in anyway, fighting the burning desire to go to
Sam, to get on his stupid knees and beg for fucking forgiveness. Bobby's words
had hit him hard. Sam had needed him, and Dean had turned away.
You're a fucking idiot, Dean.
The voice said.
But that had always been his problem, hadn't it? Jumping to the cleanest
solution, not bothering with the messy shade of grey that inevitably tints
every situation; ignoring the shrapnel that suggested his decisions were
anything but perfectly reasonable.
"You have to understand-"
"I don't have to understand anything!" Sam snapped, his dark blue eyes darting
up from his work, the light of disbelief shining through them.
Dean sighed heavily. He wasn't used to being he one who wanted to have these
conversations...wasn't usually the one who wanted to work it out. But Dean
couldn't shake the feeling that if he didn't try now, he'd never get a chance
later, a thought that once entertained was unbearable.
"I fucked up! I'm sorry, Sam!"
If Dean's voice was shaking from both frustration and anguish.
"We need to talk about this...." Dean said, with a valiant attempt at keeping
his voice steady.
The words felt foreign in his mouth, but they were necessary.
Sam's eyes softened a little, and the anger was replaced by sadness and
betrayal.
"You had your chance to 'talk about this' when I woke up in that hospital bed.
We could have talked about it then, we could have talked about it when we got
home. You could have told me you didn't believe me, but you avoided the problem
altogether!"
"I didn't think I had any other choice!"
"Let me guess! You thought I tried to kill myself because of what we-"
"STOP YOUR BICKERING!" John bellowed from the other room.
There was dead silence for a moment as they both took a breath, neither having
realized that they were shouting.
Sam looked pointedly back at his work and began furiously flipping through a
giant hardcover.
Dean took a shaky breath and stood up, his body moving on its own accord. He
walked over to Sam who seemed to ignore him, but Dean could feel his body
stiffen slightly once Dean slipped behind his chair. Slowly Dean knelt, putting
both hands on the desk, one on either side of Sam so that his mouth was next to
Sam's ear.
"Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to stay away from you?" Dean
whispered, getting drunk off of Sam's smell.
"Didn't seem to be that hard for the past week or so," Sam retorted, shutting
the book and slamming it down on the desk dangerously close to Dean's right
hand. Dean didn't flinch.
"I thought I was the problem."
"Well, you are now," Sam deadpanned back, sliding another book into his path
and cracking it open. Despite his words, Dean could tell by the way Sam's body
was relaxing so close to his own that Sam didn't really object to his presence
as much as he let on.
"I thought that deep down you were resenting me...." Dean continued against
Sam's ear.
He could hear Sam's breathing become shaky, could feel warmth emanating from
his body.
"The only one resenting you is yourself," Sam managed, but his voice was hushed
and he was turning his head slightly towards Dean.
"I do...I have to protect you, and if that means from me, then that's how it
will be."
"You're stupid."
But Sam's words were light puffs of warm air against Dean's lips.
"Yeah, well," Dean's eyes were staring at Sam's mouth now and he gave a cocky
grin. "I've never been called the brains of the family."
The loud sound of Bobby's footsteps coming down the stairs forced Dean to stand
upright and Sam to turn back to his work.
Bobby's hair was still damp, but he looked fresh despite the shiner on his
face.
"Heard you two down hear hollerin' somethin' fierce," Bobby drawled, leaning
over to look at the stack of papers that Dean had left on the sofa.
"Thanks for checking on us, we're fine," Dean said, giving Bobby his obviously
fake smile that wrinkled around his eyes, but Bobby wasn't paying attention, he
was staring intently at a photograph that he had found in Dean's pile.
"Barton back yet?" Bobby mumbled, flipping the photograph over to see if there
was anything written on the back.
Sam and Dean both shook their heads.
"Dean, isn't this that girl you were flirtin' with at the bar?"
Sam immediately tensed up in the chair in front of Dean, his hands that had
been pale this past week, balled into fists.
Dean made his way over and looked at the photograph, trying to ignore Sam's
glare.
Sure enough, the picture was of Candice, much heavier than when Dean had seen
her, and looking like she was on something hard, her eyes red and her skin
clammy.
"Yeah, that's her," Dean murmured, still staring at the picture.
"D'you have any contact with her?" Bobby asked.
Dean could feel the heat in his face and he cleared his throat. Sam already
knew, but Dean really didn't need it brought up right now when he and Sam were
so fragile.
And who's to blame for that?
The voice in his head whispered.
"We kissed," Dean said, hoping that if he said it quickly enough, that somehow
Bobby would hear it but Sam wouldn't.
"Not that, you idjit!Did you get her number? Can you call her?"
Dean was full on blushing now, feeling like the biggest moron.
"No, I never got her number," Dean said flatly, risking a glance over at Sam,
who was staring at the desk now, his jaw tight and his lips pressed in a thin
line.
Something about the picture scratched at something in the back of Dean's mind,
like there was something he was missing, but he just couldn't grasp it. Dean
looked up, a thought suddenly occurring to him.
"Sam, you work with her, you guys have phone lists, don't you?"
"Who are you talking about?" Sam asked, still looking at his paper.
"Candice."
"You kissed Candice?!" Sam blurted, his eyes wide and accentuated by the dark
circles that had taken residence under his eyes since he got back from the
hospital.
"She kissed me!" Dean retorted.
"How convenient!"
"What the Hell is that supposed to mean?!"
"I can't believe you made out with my coworker!"
"We kissed once! That doesn't count as making out! I had no idea she was your
coworker!"
"Oh, and that's supposed to somehow make it better?!"
Bobby was looking from one brother to the other, his brow furrowed, but his
eyes clear.
They heard the front door open and Barton was walking into the library with two
anonymous paper bags, the bottoms stained with grease, and Dean was suddenly
reminded of how hungry he was.
Barton stood in the doorway obviously aware of the energy that he had walked
into. His eyes roamed over the scene from behind his glasses. For anyone else,
this may have seemed awkward, but Barton somehow managed to look as dignified
as a man could look holding two large bags of burgers in the middle of a family
dispute.
"Should I take this into the kitchen, then?" Barton asked casually.
"No," Bobby said a little too quickly, his eyes flickering between Sam and
Dean. "I'll take that in to John, why don't you boys hang out in here."
Barton peeked into one of the bags and leaned toward Bobby so that he could
take it, and then set the other one down on the desk where Sam had cleared a
space for him.
"A burger for you, Dean," Barton said, lifting the burger in question from the
bag. "Salad wrap for you, Sam. Dean, pie. Dean, fries. And the chicken sandwich
is for me."
Dean sank into one of the chairs that sat in front of the desk, his stomach
rumbling, and began to dig in.
Sam smiled and thanked Barton, taking the wrap and placing it delicately on
napkins before he opened his water bottle and began to drink.
"How is the paper coming along, Sam?" Barton asked, his velvet voice wrapping
around the name like cherished silver.
"Almost done," Sam replied with a smile that made Dean's heart do a backflip.
Sam seemed to deliberately ignore the pout that Dean undoubtedly had on his
face.
"Dean, did you find anything out about the thing that attacked Sam?"
Dean gave him a look before he said, "We'll be following some leads tomorrow."
Barton nodded thoughtfully before letting his gaze drift over to Sam. He
inspected him for a long moment under long red lashes before saying gently,
"Sam, you haven't eaten."
Sam looked up as though he had been caught doing something he wasn't supposed
to.
"I'm not really hungry..."
"You haven't eaten all day."
The words that may have sounded naggy coming from someone else's mouth, sounded
delicate and loving coming from Barton's slender throat. This would usually be
the time that Dean would throw some angry comment in Barton's direction about
Sam being able to take care of himself, but instead he watched as Sam shook his
head. Dean looked back to Barton as he took a patient breath, one that could
only be seen it was so soft.
"You need your strength to fight," Barton's voice was just above a whisper, yet
still smooth as a spring of water. "I know you don't want to, but I must
insist. Please, Sam, eat for me."
Dean noted the way that Barton said the word "eat," how it
sounded...strange...like there was a drop of something in it that could be fed
to the listener.
To Dean's surprise, Sam picked up the wrap with uncharacteristic obedience. He
took a bite and chewed slowly, seeming to savor the taste of it, and Dean
watched as the tiniest bit of color, ever so slightly, seemed to return to
Sam's face as he ate. He still looked like Hell, but not like the bottom level
anymore.
 
Bobby never emerged from the kitchen, and when Dean came in to throw away the
bag of napkins and leftovers, John and Bobby were in deep discussion, John
looking tired, his eyes red around the edges.
"Just talk to 'im, John, for fuck's sake," Bobby was murmuring when Dean walked
in.
He tossed he bags, grabbed a beer and disappeared from the kitchen, knowing
well when he wasn't wanted.
He returned to the library where Barton was sitting next to Sam on the sofa.
The two of them leaned close together as they went through the pile of papers
Dean had brought back from Mo's...their knees and shoulders touching....
"Well!" Dean said a little more loudly that he intended. "We have an early
start tomorrow, so I think we should all be hitting the sack here soon!"
Sam looked up at Dean, giving him a highly perfected bitch face. Dean sighed
internally at the amount of work that would have to be done in order to fix his
mess.
Sam's worth it. 
Dean went upstairs and brushed his teeth before going into the bedroom and
sitting on the edge of his bed, waiting patiently for Sam. He didn't know how
long he had been waiting when the door finally clicked open and Sam walked
in, never looking at Dean.
"Hey," Dean ventured into the silence.
Sam glanced over at him, his eyes still dark blue acid.
"What?"
"We need to finish our conversation."
"No," Sam said, his back to Dean as he took off his shirt. "We don't."
Dean was about to protest when he noticed something on Sam's back. He stood up
and quietly approached Sam, who was turning down his own bed to get in.
Dean reached out and touched the deep groove in Sam's back. It looked like a
ripple in water...just like Mo's, but not the same bruised purple...more like
it had been carved into a tree.
"Dean," Sam said, turning away from his touch. "What are you doing?"
"You have something on your back, same thing as Mo...does it hurt?"
"Obviously not, if I never knew it was there," Sam retorted. "Now, back off, we
can figure this out tomorrow."
Dean sighed, looking at Sam's stubborn back.
"Fine. Okay, have all the fucking space you want," Dean said, throwing up his
hands and slipping into his own bed.
Sam dropped his head and stood there for a moment before he clicked off the
light and got into bed.
In the cold darkness, Dean lie awake on his back.
There were no sounds but the crickets...and Sam's sniffling. 
Chapter End Notes
     More of Dean!! I love him to pieces as a character because of his
     direct approach to things, but that's always been one of his major
     character flaws when it comes to anything but monsters...
     Bobby's back and I couldn't be more thrilled! Besides the boys, he's
     my favorite character!
     I'm talking a lot...I hope you all enjoyed the chapter!! ^^
***** Chapter 15 *****
Chapter Notes
     Hello!! I hope everyone had a lovely weekend! Thought I'd send you a
     little love for this coming week!! Please enjoy!
Sam slept better than he had since he had first started having the nightmares.
A heavy, dreamless sleep enveloped him like a warm blanket, and there he
remained until the wet smell of dawn hit his nostrils, his cue to wake up. When
Sam opened his eyes feeling well rested and relaxed, the feeling that had been
looming over him that something was watching him had finally subsided. Sam
didn't want to think abut why he was suddenly feeling so chipper, but
preferred, for the moment, to feel grateful. He stretched and turned over in
his bed, the covers still flopped over him, the air surrounding him still warm.
He chanced a look at the bed beside him. It was empty and made. Sam frowned at
that. Despite the fact that Dean wasn't his favorite person at the moment...he
was still his favorite person...the one that he knew he'd be bonded to
forever....
It was something that he had always known....
But does Dean feel the same way?
Of course he does.
Looking at the bed beside him, the covers crisply pulled and tucked, leaving no
trace of the man that had been sleeping in it the night before, Sam's memory of
the dream came creeping back into his mind...darkening the corners of his newly
restored mental well being. He felt a sinking in his heart and he quickly stood
up, shaking his head and trying to control his breathing. His heart was beating
in his chest, out of control, and Sam knew he was having a panic attack. The
images of Barton, that horrible scar, the empty bed, the amulet next to his own
heart....the cell phone.
I have to control my breathing. I have to stop thinking about this.
You don't remember?
Barton's sad voice.
Sam stood up and paced the room for a moment, but his head was already fuzzy
and dizzy from the panic that was searing images into his mind. Images of a
fire...a hunter's funeral.
"Fuck!" Sam hissed, involuntary tears forming in his eyes.
I have to get water...have to get fresh air...
Sam pulled the door open and came down the stairs.
It was still a little dark in the house, everything tinted the plum color of
the outlines of dawn. The cold was hitting his half naked body, bringing
goosebumps to his flesh, but he was too scared to care. He needed to see Dean,
he needed to find dad, Bobby, Barton, anyone to tell him that it was okay.
He couldn't control his heart beat.
The flames licked the side of the wrapped corpse.
Couldn't breathe.
The Impala, alone without its owner, waiting in the motel parking lot as John
and Sam roll next to it, the truck bed empty...
He was shaking all over now, from cold and from panic filling his veins like
hot black tar.
He stumbled over a book on the floor and something stirred in the corner of
Sam's eye.
"Sam?" said a voice that sounded slightly thick from sleep.
Sam looked over, his heart still beating loudly in his ears.
It was getting brighter by the second, the dark plum slowly becoming the color
of purple sweet pea in early spring.
Barton was sitting up now, his tattooed back bare as he fumbled for his glasses
that were lying somewhere near the bed.
Sam couldn't say anything. He was paralyzed. He knew that if he tried to open
his mouth, a sob would be the only thing to come out.
Barton put on his glasses and straightened up, taking in Sam's state with a
sweep of his crystal blue eyes and suddenly, Sam wasn't cold anymore. He was
surrounded by warmth and the smell of Peppermint, as strong, slender hands led
him to the makeshift bed that had been made out of the library sofa. He sat
with his back against Barton's warm chest as the Brit began to gently massage
his neck under his ears.
"Sam," Barton's voice was deep yet soothing. "I want you to close your eyes.
Can you do that for me?"
"I can't breathe," Sam managed.
"Close your eyes," the voice said soothingly.
Sam obeyed.
"You're in a field..."
...And it was green and flourishing. The grass was tall and the clean, fresh
air swept through it in a warm breeze. The only sound was his own heartbeat and
the rustling of blades of grass brushing up against each other. Sam could see a
single yellow flower in the field, dancing happily in the grass, pushed lazily
by the wind. Sam picked the flower and held it in front of him. Five, perfect
yellow petals surrounded the middle. He pulled one petal and his heartbeat
began to slow, ever so slightly. The second petal, his heartbeat slowed even
more, and his breathing began to return to normal. Third petal, he couldn't
hear his heart anymore, it wasn't pounding against his chest the way it had
been before. After the fourth petal, his heartbeat was back to normal, his
breathing was steady and calm. Fifth petal...
"And you feel yourself relaxing...everything is back to normal...you're
fine..."
Sam lay, letting his body adjust to the normalcy, feeling drained...as though
he had never slept.
He was vaguely becoming more aware of the steady heartbeat against his back,
two tattooed arms wrapped around him, their fingers intertwined.
It was lighter now as he looked at their fingers, his own darker ones linked
with two paler, thinner ones, a symbol in black ink over the pale ring finger.
"What was that?" Sam asked sleepily, as Barton pulled the blankets up around
Sam.
"Just something to calm you down," said Barton, still holding a now bundled up
Sam.
"It was terrifying-"
"Don't talk about it right now...you're still too close to the brink."
Sam closed his eyes, Barton's whispers were warm and moist against his hair
next to his ear.
"We can talk about it later if you'd like..." Barton continued. "But right now
you need to think of something else..."
Sam took a deep refreshing breath.
"What's this?" Sam asked, running his thumb across Barton's ring finger.
"It's Gemini."
"Why?"
"It's our sign."
"Whose?"
"My sister and I."
"Wendy?"
"No...my other sister...."
Sam now had the wherewithal to know that this was probably a sensitive
subject, so he moved on to the next one on the bone of Barton's wrist. 
"This one?" and he tried not to notice how Barton's breath seemed to catch in
his throat as Sam rubbed his finger across it.
"That one's Aquarius," Barton said steadily.
"Like Dean..." Sam whispered, more to himself than to Barton.
"Yes...my oldest sister was an Aquarius as well..."
Sam sighed.
"Why are they so difficult?"
He felt Barton chuckle softly in his chest.
"It's in their mythological DNA I suppose..."
Sam wiggled around so he could see Barton's face. The redhead looked slightly
ruffled from sleep, the lines of slumber still under his eyes which were now
staring into Sam's.
"What's in their mythological DNA?" Sam asked, leaning against Barton's
shoulder and looking up at him.
Barton returned the gaze behind his glasses, eyes calm and inviting.
"Well, according to Greek mythology, there was a young man by the name of
Ganymede who was considered to be the most beautiful mortal, so beautiful, in
fact, that Zeus took a particular liking to him," Barton smiled a little. "So,
Zeus being Zeus, turned himself into an eagle and snatched the poor bloke from
the mountain where he was tending sheep and brought him to the Heavens where he
served as cup bearer and Zeus's favorite side shag. Eventually he was
immortalized when Zeus placed him in the sky...forever young and
beautiful...The myth changes here and there, but that's the general idea. "
Barton shifted now, taking a glass of water that had been sitting on the
windowsill where the light was now a pale blue.
"In conclusion, the love of an Aquarius is coveted, at times needs to be stolen
in order to be obtained, and even then they can't be kept any closer than the
distance required to fill your cup."
Barton handed the glass to Sam who took a small sip.
"They are beautiful, and terribly evasive."
"Sounds about right," Sam murmured, his eyelids becoming heavy again, taking
another small sip.
"You need to get more rest," Barton said, slipping the water from Sam's fingers
and placing it back on the windowsill.
"Where is everyone?" Sam mumbled, as Barton pushed Sam forward gently so he
could get out from behind him.
"That's what I'm going to find out..." he said. "You stay here and get some
rest."
Sam lay back on the sofa, bundled in the comforter, his head on the pillow. In
the light of the new day and the warmth of the little nook in the library, it
didn't take long for Sam to fall back into another dreamless sleep.
When Sam opened his eyes again, the sun was stronger and warm against his face.
The room came into focus slowly...the desk...the chairs with the familiar
sketchbook laying on one of them.
Barton was sitting at the desk, his sharp eyes concentrated on his leather
calendar book that Sam knew had blue handwriting scrawled in every day. The
blue words on the front page...
I will always love you.
"Hey," Sam said, rubbing his eyes.
Barton shut the ledger softly and smiled at Sam.
"Good morning. How are you feeling?"
"Better, thank you," Sam said honestly. "Where is everyone?"
"Robert and Dean are checking on the other young man afflicted with whatever it
is you seem to have, and your father is on phone duty. He doesn't seem to want
to talk to anyone."
Sam let out a huff.
"Doesn't surprise me."
"Are you hungry?" Barton asked, and Sam suddenly realized that he was...he was
fucking starving...
All week he hadn't noticed having an appetite, and suddenly he was ready to
raid the kitchen....
"Yeah, actually," the disbelief obvious in Sam's voice.
Barton's eyes searched Sam's face, regarding him with interest...and something
else...something soft and caring...something that looked like desire and
Sam could feel himself blushing under the gaze.
"Sam-"
 Suddenly, Barton's cell phone, which had been sitting on the edge of the desk,
started ringing.
"Robert?" Barton said into it immediately. Sam could hear Bobby's voice on the
other end. Barton lifted his eyes to Sam. "Yes, he's here...we were just about
to fix something for breakfast...."
Barton's eyebrows came together a little.
Is Dean okay? Where's Dean?
Was all Sam could think as he listened to the sound of Bobby's voice on the
other line.
"Yes, he actually has some color today...seems to have gotten some decent sleep
and he's hungry...."
Barton listened to the voice on the other end in silence for a moment, then a
look of worry eclipsed his calm face.
"How?" Barton asked.
Silence again.
"That poor woman....Hurry back, we'll wait here....What-Oh, hello Dean- Wha-
Yes, of course," Barton held out the phone. "Dean wants to talk to you."
Sam got up, his heart beating hard again, but now with the desperate need to
hear Dean's voice.
"Dean?" Sam breathed.
"Sammy, are you okay?"
Dean sounded about as frantic as Sam felt.
"I'm fine! Where are you guys, are you coming home?" Sam didn't care that he
sounded worried, didn't care how obvious it was to anyone listening how much he
needed Dean to be close to him.
There was silence on the other end while Dean seemed to be taking a shaky
breath of relief.
"How are you? Are you feeling strange? Did you sleep? Have you eaten anything?"
"He's fine Dean...sounds like whatever it was passed right over him," Sam heard
Bobby say from next to him.
"Bobby's right. I slept like a rock, I'm starving, we're going to eat something
here soon. I feel better than I've felt since this whole thing started."
"Good," Dean swallowed hard on the other end, his voice still in disbelief.
"Good."
"Dean, what's going on?" Sam asked.
Silence again as Dean seemed to be deciding whether or not to tell Sam.
"Mo's dead."
***** Chapter 16 *****
Chapter Notes
     Sorry about the wait everyone, and Happy December! I hope this new
     chapter was worth the long wait!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
Dean didn't even wait for the car to stop moving before scrambling out of it
the moment he saw the back door. 
"Damn it, Dean! Be careful!" Bobby bellowed.
But Dean didn't hear him, he just ran for the door and flung it open, letting
his eyes scan for the familiar brown hair, those dark blue eyes...he needed to
find Sam....
He trudged into the kitchen to find John staring at the phones, his eyes red
ringed and distant. Barton was focusing on a large hardcover that was cracked
in front of him on the table. His eyes flickered up.
"Hello, Dean-"
But Dean had already turned out of the kitchen, making his way upstairs, his
pace speeding up when he heard the sound of water running in the bathroom sink.
He turned the corner and saw Sam rinsing his mouth, spitting out mouthwash. He
didn't even give Sam the chance to process his presence before wrapping his
arms around Sam's waist from behind him. Sam gave out a little cry of surprise
before melting into the embrace, letting his head fall back as Dean nuzzled his
nose in his neck.
Sam smelled like mint and old books and pencil shavings and Sam...
"Sammy..." Dean let the name out in a breath that he had been holding in since
he saw Mo's poor body in the hospital...covered in ripples that had become
colorless in death...they looked like they had been carved into his skin...deep
grooves.
Mo had simply given up...as though whatever had hold of him had given him one
last squeeze, releasing Mo from his human bondage. The most frightening part
for Dean was the look on Mo's face. It was a look of absolute peace, like the
suffering that he had long endured was finally at an end. Dean couldn't help
but imagine that this body could just as easily be Sam's...his Sammy's.
Dean looked Sam over in the mirror. He looked better, so much better...there
was color in his skin again, he looked well rested, and he looked strong again.
Dean thanked whatever God was listening as he tightened his grip around Sam's
slight frame.
"I'm still mad at you," Sam whispered, his breath catching as Dean's lips
brushed his neck.
"I don't care," Dean puffed against Sam's jaw before placing a lingering kiss
there, closing his eyes and letting himself bask in the warmth of Sam's living
body, feeling the pulse in Sam's neck under his lips as he smothered his
brother in kisses.
"Dean," Sam panted, "we can't do this here..."
But Dean was already sliding his hands underneath Sam's shirt, caressing his
skin with his fingertips.
"Dean," Sam whimpered quietly, need dripping from the name like honey. "People
are here...the door is open...we have to stop...."
But Sam was now lifting his arms behind him to wrap around Dean's neck, turning
his head so their lips could meet.
Dean kicked the bathroom door shut absently as he pushed his tongue into Sam's
mouth, causing Sam to shift in Dean's arms so that he was facing Dean head on,
wrapping his arms tighter around Dean's neck, the kisses becoming more
heated...more desperate and hungry, and Dean had to step back to catch his
breath and control his body which was ready to drag Sam into the bedroom and
deflower him.
Sam leaned his head against Dean's shoulder, clutching the fabric of Dean's
shirt.
"I miss you," Sam whispered.
"I love you," Dean murmured against Sam's lips, looking into two dark blue orbs
that were now wide with surprised.
"What?" Sam said, his eyes searching Dean's, glimmering with emotion.
"What?" Dean asked, not understanding what the big deal was.
"What did you just say?"
"Um..." Dean suddenly began to feel uncomfortable.
Was that the wrong thing to say?
"Did...did you just say that you love me?"
"Yeah...is there something...wrong?"
"No! No, I just don't remember you ever telling me..."
"I'm sure that I have...pretty positive..."
"I know that you love me...but...you know...."
Sam was blushing now.
"No...I don't...."
"Are you...in love with me?"
Dean gave out a little huff of disbelief, a smile on his face as he stroked the
hair out of Sam's face.
"I think that's pretty obvious..." Dean said quietly.
"How is that obvious if you never tell me how you feel?" Sam whispered, giving
Dean his big beautiful puppy eyes.
"You want to know how I feel about you?"
Dean cupped Sam's face with both hands gently, planting a soft kiss on his
lips, biting his lip a little before they parted.
"Sammy," Dean said, his voice barely a whisper, "I have no idea how to tell you
how I feel about you without scaring the Hell out of you."
Sam's blue eyes stared into Dean's, seemingly lost in a trance.
"For now," Dean continued, his eyes moving from Sam's lips to his eyes, "just
know that there is nothing I wouldn't do for you....That you're everything to
me...and that I am never leaving your side...."
Sam leaned his forehead against Dean's, his eyes slipping closed as he pressed
his lips against Dean's again, letting his fingers run through Dean's hair. 
There was a quiet knock on the door that brought them both our of their moment
abruptly, causing Dean to pull away from a dazed Sam and stare at the door in
annoyance, already knowing who was on the other side by the pretentious knock
(if knocks could be pretentions...)
"Are you alright in there, Sam?" asked a cool voice on the other side. Sam
cleared his throat, his cheeks turning a darling shade of red. Dean imagined
Sam blushing like that with himself balls deep inside of him and he once again
had to fight for restraint, biting down hard on his lower lip so much that it
drew blood.
Eighteen! Only three more years and four months!
Age of consent in Japan is fifteen....
NO! EIGHTEEN!
"Yeah! I'm fine! I'll be down in a minute!" Sam called back cheerfully, his own
voice still thick with lust.
Dean was suddenly grateful that the door to their room was shut so that Barton
wouldn't be able to tell that there was no one in there...the last thing they
needed was for him to wonder why the two of them were in the bathroom together
for this long. Dean missed the simplicity of life without Barton, when Bobby
was busy on hunts and John was on the phones downstairs. He suddenly felt a
pang of guilt as he reminded himself that the only thing that they had to thank
for their extended privacy these days were John's injuries.
They waited for the sound of Barton's footsteps to hesitantly move away from
the bathroom and towards the staircase, then Dean slowly went to the door and
cracked it open. Through the small sliver in the door, he could see nothing but
the empty hallway leading to the staircase. He opened the door fully now and
stepped out, intending to turn for the bedroom and change his shirt to make it
look like he had actually been doing something while Sam had been in the
bathroom.
"I'm just going to change my shirt, Sammy. I'll see you downstairs," Dean said
over his shoulder.
When Sam didn't respond right away, Dean turned to look at his brother, who was
now holding onto the bathroom sink for support with one hand while the other
was balled against his stomach. He was as pale as he had been a few days ago,
his skin like marble. His eyes were wide with shock and Dean could see that his
bandages were becoming red as fresh blood began to soak through them.
What the fuck is going on?
"Sammy?"
Dean hadn't realized that he was kneeling in front of a white and trembling Sam
until he felt the discomfort of tile against his knees, but he didn't care. He
brushed hair out of Sam's face, which was cold and clammy. With every touch,
Sam winced in pain until Dean pulled his hands away, palms forward as though
showing Sam that he meant no harm.
Sam slowly sank to his knees in front of Dean, curling up and putting his head
against the floor as though he was praying, his hair dark waves against the
off-white tile.
Dean swallowed hard, his ears ringing from the sound of his heart beating, his
body cold from a fear that shook him deeper than a werewolf could have ever
hoped to achieve.
"S-Sammy," Dean choked out, his hands still outstretched but making a great
effort to make sure he never touched Sam. "Talk to me baby, tell me you can
hear me-"
"Sam! What the Hell happened?"
Bobby was on his own knees in a flash, his hands reaching for Sam.
"No Bobby! Don't! He can't be tou-"
But Bobby's rough hands had already landed softly on Sam's exposed shoulders,
and this time Sam didn't flinch. Instead, he sat up, his eyes completely blank,
and grasped at the fabric of Bobby's shirt, his fingers clinging to him, trying
to find a grip.
With Bobby's arm around him, and Sam's arm slung around Bobby's shoulder, they
both rose form the cold, tile floor, Bobby grimacing a little as his bad knee
popped when they stood to their full height.
Dean watched the scene, still kneeling on the floor, looking up at their
silhouettes outlined by the shabby bathroom light above the sink...an old
soldier aiding his wounded comrade.
Dean stayed where he was, his mouth agape, his heart filled with fear, his mind
with confusion.
Could it be that it only hurt Sam when Dean touched him?
He put his hand down on the floor to support himself as he rose. Once he was
standing straight, he was greeted by a tall figure standing in the doorway, one
hand grasping the doorjamb.
"Are you alright?" Barton asked, his eyes looking Dean over in a calculating
manner, so different from the warm way they regarded Sam.
Dean tried not to be annoyed at the question, reminding himself there were more
important things to worry about than the tall, lean figure that loomed over his
relationship like a beautiful rain cloud.
"'M fine...it's Sam...."
Barton's eyes flashed when he heard the name, and like a cat in the brush, he
disappeared out of the doorway, sliding away so quickly, Dean could still smell
peppermint where he had been standing.
Dean emerged from the bathroom slowly. Suddenly the distance between the
bedroom and where he stood seemed so far and daunting, as he guided his feet in
the direction of Sam, the North to his internal compass.
He ghosted the doorway and looked into the bedroom where Sam had curled up on
Dean's bed, even though Dean could see that Bobby had tried turning down Sam's
own bed in preparation. Bobby was rubbing Sam's back like he was an infant
again.
"You just rest now, y'hear? I don't want you gettin' up for anything. If you
need anything, you just tell me," Bobby said as he stood up from the bed. Sam
didn't move but made a little sound so quiet that Bobby had to lean forward a
little to hear what he was saying.
"Dean," Sam said a little louder, and suddenly two sets of eyes were on the
older brother.
Dean cleared his throat.
I can't go near him...I'll hurt him....
But he made his way over to the bed all the same, compromising with himself
that he would keep their contact at a minimum.
"Yeah, Sammy. I'm here."
He knelt down, resting his hand on the comforter, wanting more than anything to
reach out and touch Sam, to crawl into the bed with him and hold him. Sam
seemed to be thinking the same thing, because he slid his hand to where Dean's
was resting so that their fingertips were barely touching.
"Barton, you go tell John we're gonna head out and then go ahead and pack our
bags. We're gonna kill this thing," Bobby's eyes flickered from Sam to Dean to
their fingers. "Dean, you, uh, stay here. I'll be right back."
Barton turned and left the room with speedy grace while Bobby spared Sam and
Dean one more quick glance before exiting the room and heading in the opposite
direction that Barton had gone.
"Dean," Sam said weakly. "What's happening?"
"I don't know. But we're gonna figure this thing out, okay, but you've just
gotta hang on, you got that?"
Sam nodded, his eyes filled with tears of pain.
"Okay...Sammy, be truthful now, does it hurt when I touch you?"
After a moment of silence, Sam nodded very slightly, as though he was hoping
Dean wouldn't notice.
"Okay," Dean said softly, "I'm just gonna..." and he slowly began to pull his
fingers away from Sam's.
Sam's eyes went wide, his eyes welling up with even more tears as though his
worst fear had come true.
"No, Dean," he said weakly, grabbing Dean around the wrist, his eyes filled
with pain, but fighting it. "We're stronger when we're together Dean. I can't
do this without you. Please don't leave me...."
Dean's heart lurched. The only way he knew how to keep Sam safe right now was
by staying away, finding this thing, and killing it...but Dean had a nasty
feeling in the pit of his stomach that if he left Sam's side for even an
instant, something terrible would happen.
Dean took Sam's hand in his own, trying not to notice the way the pain seemed
to burn in Sam's eyes, and kissed the back of his hand tenderly.
"I'm not going anywhere, Sammy."
Sam's eyes bored into Dean's, wide and determined.
"You promise?"
Dean nodded. "Bobby and Barton can take this one."
Dean wanted more than anything to bash in whatever it was that was doing this
to his Sam, and hated that he needed to hand it off to someone
else...especially Barton.  But through the dark haze of fear, anger and blood
lust that pooled in his mind like murky water, he felt a sureness in his
decision...a tiny fleck of light.
This is the right way.
Chapter End Notes
     I realize that the Holidays are approaching, so y'all are probably
     going to be really busy until the end of this month, but I still have
     a present for you! ^^ Thank you for reading, and I'll be seeing you
     soon!!
***** Chapter 17 *****
Chapter Notes
     Thank you for waiting everyone! And sorry it's been so long! I hope
     you all have beautiful holidays!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Sam's head was throbbing as he fought to remain conscious, clutching Dean's
hand tightly. There was a thumping in Sam's ears that echoed in his head like
it was a cave, reverberating in his skull and making him squeeze Dean's fingers
more tightly. If he was causing Dean any discomfort, Dean didn't show it, but
softly rubbed his fingers over Sam's knuckles affectionately . He soon
discovered that the sound had been footsteps when Bobby appeared in the
doorway, walking in, dressed in his FBI gear.
"C'mon, Dean, we're going to Sam's work to find out where this Candice lives.
See if we can get any information out of her."
Sam opened his eyes to look at Dean, who was looking at Sam with softness in
his green eyes.
He loves me.
Somehow the thought, which made his heart flutter, made his body flash with
indescribable pain.
"I'm staying with Sam," Dean said, not taking his eyes from Sam's face.
Bobby seemed taken aback for a moment before he closed his eyes, and Sam knew
that he was gathering patience.
"Dean, we have a lot of ground to cover and time is of the essence..." Bobby's
voice was strained, as though willing himself to stay calm. "I really think
that we need all hands on deck at the moment."
Dean looked away from Sam and over to the older man.
"The last time I left Sam alone, I came home to him bleeding and unconscious,"
Dean said, a hint of menace in his voice. "I'm not leaving him again."
"Dean," Sam heard Bobby say patiently, "please be rational. We need to figure
this thing out and we need you..."
But Dean didn't move.
"Robert, we really ought to be leaving," said Barton who reappeared in the
doorway.
His eyes met Sam's and became soft.
"Hang in there, Sam."
Sam tried to nod and was met with more pain in his head and he had to close his
eyes against it.
"Dean?" Bobby's voice said.
"Someone needs to stay with him, Robert. Wendy will be here this evening,
she'll be able to help."
Bobby's voice suddenly became so silent that Sam could barely hear the words
that came out next.
"I don't know if we have that long...."
"It may be better for Dean to be here...to help him fight...." Barton's voice
gently urged.
Please Bobby! Just LISTEN to him!
Sam wanted to scream.
He needed Dean, and at this moment, he really needed silence.
"Fine," Bobby said with obvious reluctance in his voice. "But be next to your
phone, Dean."
"Got it right here."
Sam opened his eyes slowly and saw that Bobby and Barton were both looking at
him with worry etched in their faces.
Sam looked to Dean who was still running his thumb over Sam's knuckles and
looking pensive.
After a second, Dean's brows furrowed and he looked down.
"Time is of the essence, fellas, hurry the Hell up!" Dean snapped, his voice
commanding.
Barton vanished without another word, and Bobby sighed and followed.
 
As soon as they heard the distant sound of the Honda driving away from the
house, Dean climbed into the bed next to Sam. Sam noticed that he kept his
distance, trying not to touch him...not to hurt him.
Sam was both grateful and depressed over it. So long as Dean wasn't touching
him, the pain was almost manageable...but he wanted more than anything for Dean
to hold him right now.
They lay there in silence for some time, and Sam felt his eyelids becoming
heavy, drifting shut.
 
When he opened his eyes again he was standing in a graveyard surrounded by
trees...it was dark and cold, the full moon shone a ghostly light through the
trees.
"Dearest Stamfar, I bring you thanks for your gifts. All may have forgotten
your deeds for this family, but I have not forgotten."
He heard a familiar voice whisper.
He turned in the darkness, trying to see where the sound was coming from.
He heard the clinking of porcelain on packed earth and then heard the rustle of
someone standing.
"Enjoy your meal, and be comforted that your etterfølger are successful thanks
to your sacrifice."
Sam turned again quickly enough to see a shadow disappearing into the trees.
He looked down and saw a white bowl sitting on the floor. He knelt closer to
it, and was able to make out that it was porridge...a pad of butter on top.  He
looked up and saw that it had been placed before a mound of earth. Sam stood up
and looked around, searching for the person who had left the bowl of porridge
there....
That voice was so familiar....
Wait...how did I get here? Where's Dean?
He heard the faint sound of a beat...a rhythm...words muffled....but he could
still hear them.
"...everyone knows the only ones left were Joe and me and Tim...."
Sam whirled around and saw her, sitting there comfortably on a tombstone,
headphones over her ears, a crown in her red hair. Even though it was clearly
night, it was as though she was lit by sunlight...clear as day in her yellow
dress. Her hemp bag was lying on the floor, turned to the side, and a small
brown rabbit was nibbling on the grave grass.
"...the only ones left to tell the tale were Joe and me..."
The girl lifted her fingers and gave a little wave. She smiled as she bounced
to the music.
"...Timothy, Timothy, where on earth did you go?..."
"Who are you?" Sam demanded.
The rabbit perked up its ears and looked at him, but the girl pointed to the
headphones and shook her head, as though indicating that she couldn't hear him.
"...Timothy, Timothy, God why don't I know?..."
"Answer me!"
Suddenly the eerie sound of porcelain being dragged over pebbles came drifting
through the night. The rabbit darted into the hemp bag that lay on the floor
and the redhead was staring behind Sam, her eyes fixed with curiosity.
He didn't dare turn around...he could hear the sound of something being dragged
across the dirt in a slow steady rhythm.
"....Joe said that he would sell his soul for just a piece of meat..."
The girl's cold blue eyes were boring into his.
"Wake up!" she mouthed silently.
"...Timothy, Timothy, Joe was looking at you..."
I'm safe....
Sam thought as he heard the dragging stop.
Dean's with me...I can feel it....
Slow, uneven footsteps replaced the dragging...
"...Timothy, Timothy, God what did we do?..."
They stopped right behind him and he could feel a cold moist breath against his
neck.
The girl was shaking her head, as though disappointed.
He felt a searing pain on both of his cheeks, as though he was burning.
"Sam!"
It was Dean's voice.
If he could just reach him-
 
"Sam!"
Sam opened his eyes slowly, the light in the room having changed a little since
he drifted off.
Dean's hands were on his cheeks, patting him, trying to wake him up.
That explains the pain...
"Dean...."
Dean smiled at him, relief relaxing his face.
"You were groaning in your sleep," Dean said quietly. "And not in the good
way...."
But Sam wasn't looking at Dean anymore, he was lookin at the dark figure
standing over Dean, a skeleton covered in the black and rotting remains of what
once had been its body. It's eyes glinted, reflecting the light like a cat's as
it glared at Dean.
Somehow Sam knew that the only thing separating him and this thing was
Dean...and on the same vein knew that it posed no danger to Dean.
"What is it?" Dean asked, turning to look over his shoulder.
Sam shut his eyes tight, listening to his heart beating in his ears. After a
few seconds he opened his eyes again slowly....
It was gone.
"Talk to me. What's going on?" Dean urged, his eyes glinting with hawk-like
focus. 
"There was...a mound..."
"A mound?" Dean repeated back flatly.
Clearly this was about as enlightening to Dean as it had been to Sam.
"And someone gave it oatmeal...or porridge...or something...."
"Oatmeal," Dean repeated back, his eyes intent, but voice empty as though he
didn't even know what oatmeal was.
"It was an offering..."
Dean still had his seriously concentrated face on...but his eyes looked
distant, as though he had vacated the conversation to try and wrap his head
around everything.
His eyes lowered, falling on Sam's neck and his eyes suddenly became sharp
again.
"What the fuck?"
Dean reached out to touch, and Sam flinched in the anticipation of pain. It
must have been evident, because Dean withdrew his hand.
 "What is it?" Sam asked.
He could see in Dean's eyes that he was petrified, but his face was arranged to
look calm and observant.
"You have another one of those things on your neck."
They stared at one another for a moment.
The sound of a phone ringing cut the silence, causing both teens to jump.
"Bobby?" Dean said into it immediately. 
Sam stared at Dean, listening to the muffled voice on the other end and
watching Dean's face.
"What do you mean the address was wrong?" 
Chapter End Notes
     A little insight into our monster ^^
***** Chapter 18 *****
Chapter Notes
     Here's some more...just in case you're traveling an have to read
     something and you somehow deem this piece worthy <3
See the end of the chapter for more notes
"We went to Café Cheri and told the girl working that we're cops," Bobby
started. He and Barton were sitting on Sam's bed while Dean sat across from him
on his own bed, Sam curled up behind him. "She gave us the contact information,
Candice's cell number, her address. She never answered her phone....We went to
the address listed, and well..."
Dean stared at him expectantly.
Barton took the hint.
"The location has been condemned for over eight years."
Dean stared at Barton, the words circling in his head as he tried to make sense
of what had just been said to him, which was difficult because his mind was
still on the deep grooves that he had found on Sam's neck...water ripples
carved into Sam's beautiful skin.
A new one...I couldn't protect him.
"So what you're telling me is," Dean croaked, "that our only lead has vanished
into thin fucking air?"
"That's what we're sayin'," Bobby said, looking exhausted, "I'll look into the
lore...I just don't know where to start."
"Sam said something about a mound..." Dean said quickly, looking from Bobby to
Barton.
They both stared back at him, Bobby looking puzzled and Barton looking deeply
interested.
"He said that someone offered it oatmeal...or something...."
Bobby's eyebrows came together, but Barton's blue eyes had lit up.
"When did he see this?"
"He dreamt it, I guess," Dean said lamely.
He didn't know why he felt it was important to tell them about Sam's weird
fever dreams, but at his point he was willing to try anything.
Looking at Barton's face was beginning to make him feel more optimistic...for
once.
"Does this ring a bell?"
"It sounds dreadfully familiar...like something my grandmother used to tell us
as children. Would you gentlemen excuse me while I call my sister? I feel like
this is something that she would remember better than I."
"Go ahead," Bobby said, and Barton disappeared.
 
Bobby brought the papers from Mo's room to Dean and the two of them went
through the pictures, scouring for anything that would help. Barton had been
unable to get a hold of Wendy and was engulfed in one of the large books that
he had brought from Bobby's library.
It was an unspoken agreement that they do the research in the bedroom. They
needed each other's help, and Dean refused to leave Sam alone in the room, so
there they all were, the books stacked on the nightstand, Barton sitting on the
bed, Bobby at the desk that Sam usually used for homework.
Dean looked through the pictures that Mo had taken of Candice. He recognized
most of them as being from inside of Mo and Mimi's small residence. The few
pictures that interested Dean the most were the ones taken in an anonymous
house.
This must be where she lives....
He came across a picture of her holding the reigns of a beautiful brown horse,
its mane braided...with a white ripple pattern on its neck.
This place has to be big enough for a horse stable, and place to ride....
The next picture was one he had already seen before...the one that Bobby had
shown him just a few days ago.
Dean sighed internally and looked at the photo. Candice was standing up against
a wall, squinting against the golden sunshine that made everything in the
picture look yellow. The picture must have been taken sometime in summer,
because the grass was green and she was wearing a short skirt and a spaghetti
strapped shirt.  And yet the dark shadow cast beside her on the wall unlocked
something in his mind.
"I know where this picture was taken," Dean said.
Bobby and Barton both looked at him, their eyes wide, and Dean suddenly felt as
though he was surrounded by owls.
"Bobby, do you remember that place we passed on our way to Mo's? The one that-"
"BOBBY!!" a voice bellowed from downstairs.
Dean could barely recognize it as his own father's voice it was so pained.
Bobby jumped up and ran out of the room. After a few minutes he reappeared in
the doorway, his jacket on like he was ready to go somewhere.
"Dean, your daddy and I are heading out...."
"We're taking him with us?" Barton asked, looking surprised. "Isn't he
injured?"
Bobby sighed.
"I'm not going with you...."
Bobby's eyes wandered over to Dean who felt like he was ready to explode and
then lingered over Sam, a look of sadness and something else written in his
gaze.
"You expect Barton to do this himself? We don't even know what 'this' is and
you and Dad plan on going for a joyride?" Dean cried incredulously.
"Barton don't have to do it himself...if you go with him...."
Dean's heart dropped...Bobby was right...if he went with Barton, this whole
thing could be settled tonight....
And Sammy will be safe....
You promised you wouldn't leave him!
The voice in his head protested loudly.
I can't just let him die!
You don't know what you're dealing with! He needs you here, he SAID so!
He doesn't know what this thing is!
Dean looked over at Sam, who was sleeping peacefully.
He didn't even try to imagine a life with Sam...he knew that if anything ever
happened to Sam, he'd be right behind him....
"Fine, I'll go with Barton," Dean murmured.
Bobby nodded but Barton looked silently concerned.
Bobby disappeared from the doorway and Barton rose.
"Which car will we be taking?" he asked, his eyes on Sam.
"Mine," Dean replied, stroking a strand of soft brown hair out of Sam's face,
the word ringing with double meaning in Dean's own ears.
"You know you can stay here, right? Wendy should be here soon. She and I can
manage...."
"We haven't heard from her, and I can't risk it."
Dean looked at the carved skin on Sam's neck.
"We end this tonight."
Barton nodded and headed downstairs, Dean suspected, to gather his tools and
prepare for the hunt.
Dean lay down beside Sam and whispered in his ear.
"Sammy."
Sam's long eyelashes lifted like curtains revealing the dark blue eyes that
made Dean's heart skip.
Dean set his jaw and tried to calm his heart, which was beating hard, breaking
as he set to tell Sam what he desperately didn't want to say.
"I'm going with Barton to find Candice...."
Sam's eyes suddenly became hard.
"You promised you'd stay with me."
"Bobby and Dad are gone, and Wendy isn't here yet. We think we've found
Candice-"
"Candice is with her family!"
"But we found where she lives and we need to investigate!"
"Then I'm coming with you!"
"You can't evensit up, let alone go on a hunt!"
"You can't be serious! You can't leave me!"
"I have to! We need to kill this thing-"
"I need you here! You promised you wouldn't leave me!"
Dean let his eyes slip away from Sam's as he tried to push away the guilt that
was rising up like a tide in his chest.
"Dean...if you leave, something terrible will happen..."
"How do you know that?"
"I just know! Okay? That should be enough! Why don't you ever trust me?"
Dean's eyes flew up to Sam's, which were dewy with unshed tears.
"I trust you more than anyone, Sam!"
"Then why aren't you trusting me on this?"
"I do trust you, Sam, but I also know that I need to protect you, and you're
aren't really playing with a full deck right now-"
"Oh really? Is that so?"
"You're sick and monster tormented-"
"I hate to interrupt, gentleman, but I believe it's time to go," said a voice
from the doorway.
Dean glanced over at Barton, who was wearing a black coat and had his dreads
pulled back in a ponytail.
He looked back over at Sam, whose eyes were pleading.  
"Please, Dean," Sam whispered, a tear falling down his face, making Dean's
whole body ache.
It won't hurt this bad after I save him....
"Keep your phone next to you. I'll be back as soon as I can, Sammy."
Dean got up and walked out of the room, Barton close behind him. He had time to
hear a tiny choked sob coming out of the room before they went down the stairs.
"You still have time to turn back, Dean," Barton said quietly as they
approached the Impala.
A image of Sam cold and soaked with blood in his bed flashed across his mind.
"Not a chance."
 
Barton's phone rang halfway to their destination, breaking the silence that
existed between Dean and Barton like an invisible cubicle.
"Wendy darling?" he said into his phone.
Dean could hear Wendy's lively voice on the other end as Barton listened to he
quietly.
"A Tomte?" Barton inquired softly.
"A what?" Dean demanded from the driver's seat.
"How do we kill it?"
More lively talking from the other side.
"Alright, I'll look into the lore, did you get the location of where we're
meeting?"
The response must have been affirmative because Barton nodded and said "We'll
see you there then. Kisses. Please drive carefully on that thing."
Barton hung up and knelt down to rummage in his bag which he had next to his
feet.
"What's a Toto or whatever?" Dean asked, glimpsing at him from the driver's
seat.
"A Tomte," Barton said, sliding a green hardcover from the bag. "According to
Scandinavian mythology, it's a spirit of the farm...said to protect its farm,
or dwelling and come down with vengeance upon those who cause injury to what
they consider to be in their jurisdiction."
"A farm spirit?" Dean repeated, letting his disbelief heavily season his words.
"Apparently," Barton responded as though he didn't notice Dean's obvious
displeasure with the explanation.
"So, what, Candice lives on a farm and gets hexed by this thing?"
"Legend has it that a Tomte has incredible power. Most of the time it would
just pull pranks, but when it's really wrathful it can kill. Its bite is deadly
and is said to cause their victims to whither away. She most likely has been
bitten"
Dean recalled the final image of Mo and decided that this explanation may not
be as far off as he had originally thought.
"It can also drive its victims crazy, causing them to see and hear things that
aren't there. In order to save themselves from the anger of a Tomte, people
would present a bowl of porridge to its mound with a pad of butter on top. This
was mostly done on Christmas, but during the pre-Christian era it was whenever
they could. It would choose its favorite horses or people and would allow them
to thrive as drastically as they destroy their enemies."
"So how did Sam get this thing?"
"Well, you said that the markings that were on Sam and Mo were the same as the
one on the horse in that photograph."
"Yeah?"
"That must mean that Sam got it from Candice. They worked together, so they
must have been in close proximity...."
"So...Candice bit him?" Dean asked, looking over at Barton who looked as though
he was thinking something that he would rather not think about.
"Or kissed him." Barton said flatly, the words obviously upsetting him.
Dean's stomach dropped as he looked back to the road.
I fucking gave it to him...this is all my fault....
Dean tok a shaky breath.
"Can the poison, like, skip over people?"
Dean saw Barton in the corner of his eye turn to look at him quizzically.
"As in, someone else kissed Candice and then kissed Sam?"
"Yep," Dean croaked.
"But then that 'someone else' was not affected?"
"Uhuh."
Barton was quiet for a moment, deep in thought.
"I suppose if a Tomte can take control of someone's mind to torment them, it
could possibly control the process...possibly making it faster or slower..."
"Could it possess someone?"
Barton pulled a flashlight out of his bag and cracked the book open, shining
the light on it.
"It's not out of the question. If they specialize in mind control, I imagine
that them pulling the strings from within might be quite practical."
"What's this mound that you mentioned?"
"That's where the-" Barton suddenly looked over at Dean, his eyes wide behind
his glasses. "That's where their original, human bodies are buried!"
"So they used to be human?"
"Yes! They're the original owners of the land! After they die their spirits
linger to protect it!"
"So that means we're just dealing with-"
"A very powerful ghost-"
"And this is just a salt and burn-"
"We just need to find the body-"
"Which is probably just under a mound!"
That's when the heavy raindrops began spattering against the window, the chill
making  the raindrops icy, as though someone in Heaven had dropped their
slushy. 
Both men frowned.
 
They arrived at the mansion hidden in tress just as the rain began to fall
harder.
They had to park a bit of a ways away to be sure that no one saw them entering
Candice's property, and had to hoof it the rest of the way in the wet sludge
that was piling from the sky.
Both had sacks on their backs filled with salt, lighter fluid, matches,
lighters, and extra rock salt ammunition.
They were both armed with rifles that were wrapped in cloth and each had a
shovel across their backs like some medieval sword.
They approached the house carefully, keeping to the trees prevent discovery.
Dean didn't know if Candice was back fro the funeral or not, but he had to be
careful either way. He looked up at the giant old house, staring into the dark
windows that had rain water dripping from their sills. If someone was home, he
couldn't tell.
Then, Dean saw something staring back at him through the window...two yellow
eyes that reflected the light like a cat's.
Dean stared harder at it, squinting his eyes against the rain to get a better
look.
Barton placed a long elegant hand on his shoulder, and when Dean turned to give
him a questioning look, Barton pointed to a gate that led into heavy forest to
the right.
He looked at the word written in the top of it in curled metal.
Gravplass
Dean lifted an eyebrow at Barton.
"Graveyard," Barton mouthed.
Dean nodded and they trudged along the trees in the direction of the ominous
gates.
Chapter End Notes
     I love you guys! Thanks for sticking around for my long stinky story
     :p
***** Chapter 19 *****
Chapter Notes
     Short and not so sweet!
Sam lay in Dean's bed, his face buried in Dean's pillow as the tears trickled
lazily down his face and dripped off of his nose.
How could he leave me here?
You've been abandoned.
He would never do that!
He just did.
He's trying to save me.
"But he won't."
Sam sat up with such a start that his head immediately began to ache.
But he barely noticed.
There was a man sitting on his bed.
He looked like Santa.
"Hello, Sam," the Santa man said, smiling kindly.
He was a heavy, older man, with a long white beard and a weird looking hat, his
eyes looked like those of a cat.
"What the fuck?" Sam whispered.
"This must be quite a shock for you, perhaps I should have warned you before I
came barging in here."
Sam shook his head.
"DAD!" Sam bellowed, trying to get out of the bed. His legs were too weak to
hold him though, and they crumpled under his weight landing him on the floor.
"No use, Sam, no one can hear your on this side," the old man said, shaking his
head.
"This side?"
"I'm not trying to hurt you Sam. I can help you get better, you just have to
let me."
Sam closed his eyes and counted to ten, and then opened them slowly.
The man was now sitting on the floor looking at him with an expression of pity
on his face.
Sam noticed that the man was quite small...almost the size of a child and
wondered how he hadn't  noticed it before.
"Who are you?"
"I'm a protector, Sam. I protect the people and places that I love."
"What do you want from me?"
"I'm trying to protect you. There's something trying to hurt you, and I'm here
to take you away before it can find you."
He's here to protect me.
"That's right, Sam," the little man said pleasantly.
He's going to save me.
The man reached out his hand to Sam, and Sam looked at it suspiciously.
Dean...
"No time for that, Sam. If you ever want to see him again, you have to come
with me."
I don't trust him.
But Sam was so tired and in so much pain. The fall from the bed had been too
much for him and his body was already aching as though he had fallen from the
roof and not the old queen.
"How do I know I can trust you?" Sam asked against his better judgment.
His head was aching and his body felt itchy all over, as though he could
scratch until he hit bone and still never be satisfied.
The old man smiled, his cat eyes glinting. He reach out again for Sam, who
tried to scramble away but found that he was to weak to move.
He touched Sam's forehead despite his wiggling protests and suddenly it
happened.
The headache had gone.
The itching was dissipating.
Sam glared at the old man but privately relished the relief that he hoped
wasn't showing on his face.
"You're too tired to fight it, Sam. Let me help you...let me protect you."
I'm so tired....
Dean...please come back....
"Dean isn't here to protect you. He left."
Abandoned.
"He abandoned you."
Sam felt the tears start to roll down his face again.
"But I'm here. I'm here to protect you. I can take you away from this place
before the monster finds you, and you can talk to Dean about all of this
later...when you're safe. When you're well."
Sam sat for a long moment staring at the kind face before him.
"What do I have to do?" he heard his own voice say.
"You're vulnerable now because you're trapped in between."
For some reason the girl with the red hair came to mind.
"All you have to do is let go."
***** Chapter 20 *****
Chapter Notes
     SURPRISE! I should have combined this one and the last one, but I
     totally forgot to do it...sorry. Enjoy!!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
The slushy rain had eased up by the time that Dean and Barton finally found the
damn mound...and a mound it was, quite literally, a pile of dirt protruding
from the ground among the headstones as though it belonged there.
More than any of the others do...this guy was the first and the original....
They let their sacks fall to the floor and they both stared at the tiny
mountain for a minute, the mutual silence that was held between them became a
respectful yet nervous one. Dean had never dealt with anything like this
before, and he was pretty sure that Barton hadn't either. Dean felt the same
unease that he usually felt when walking through tall grass, always secretly
waiting for a snake to bite him and end him slowly....
Barton placed a flashlight on a nearby tombstone (a Freja Marie Sampsen),
propping it up so that they could see what they were doing slightly. He opened
his pack and brought out some salt and began to sprinkle it over the ice that
had formed over the mound from the cold rain. In unison, they began to crush
around it with their shovels. Once it had softened, they began to dig into the
mound. It was coming down with incredible ease, so much so that Dean had to
stop and look at Barton, who, when he realized that Dean had stopped digging,
looked at him questioningly.
The last thing Dean wanted to do was complain.
The sooner I can get back to Sammy, the better....
"This soil is too soft," Dean said in a low voice.
"I've noticed. Considering the time of year and how long ago this must have
been placed here, it should not be this easy."
"Do you think..." Dean swallowed hard, "Do you think it...got out?"
Barton shook his head slowly.
"No. Tomte can take a corporeal form, but they cannot reanimate their old
bodies...especially not one as old as this...."
"Alright. Let's keep going."
So they dug.
Eventually, with unpromising ease, they were making a hole in the ground. At
this point, Barton removed the flashlight from he headstone and they took turns
flinging the loose soil out of the pit.
Dean was the first one to smell it, but Barton was the first one to mention it.
"Something smells bloody awful down there mate...."
Dean nodded.
Like something dead...something FRESH....
Dean covered his nose and mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes watering
from the stench that was emanating from under his feet. He looked up at Barton,
who was holding a piece of black cloth over the bottom half of his face.
Barton hopped down into the hole with Dean, landing as swiftly as a wolf. He
reached up and pulled in the shovel that was had been lying next to the hole.
He handed Dean the flashlight, which he accepted, and the handkerchief, which
he did not, and began to take shallow scoops of earth with his shovel.
In another five minutes they both stared down at the corpse below them.
It was the withered body of a horse, a rippled pattern on its coat.
"Psssst," something above them hissed.
When Dean looked up he was staring at a skull, grinning at him from the ledge
of the grave. 
Chapter End Notes
     Happy Holidays!!!
***** Chapter 21 *****
Chapter Notes
     Hello everyone! I hope you all had a lovely Holiday!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
"Long time no see!" the skull said without moving its jaw. Barton was shining
his light on it now, and Dean had to stare at it for another moment to realize
that it was a helmet....
The person slid into the grave with the two men and used both hands to remove
the helmet.
She shook out her black and pink hair and grinned a toothy grin at them.
"Hello, love!" Wendy said brightly to Barton before he wrapped her in a tight
embrace.
When they parted, she looked at Dean with those bright eyes,  pouncing on him,
wrapping her legs around his waist and kissing him on the mouth, taking him
so much by surprise that they both fell back against the earth wall.
She released him, her boots coming back to the ground with a thud.
"So, are we salting and burning a sinister...horse spirit?" she asked
doubtfully, surveying the corpse with interest. If she was affected by the
smell of the rotting body, she showed no indication of it. "I thought we were
looking for a Tomte."
"We were, but this was all that was under its mound," Barton said, letting the
glow of the flashlight fall on the body.
"Someone must have moved the remains," Wendy said thoughtfully.
Dean looked at the body on the ground and had to fight the urge to punch the
wall. He had left Sam behind...they had been so close to finding this
thing...so close to saving Sam, and now they were looking at a, quite
literally, dead end.
And Sam's all alone....
He told you not to go.
The voice in his head chastised.
Dean could feel the guilt, sadness and longing to be close to Sam rise up
inside of him and it took everything he had to control himself. All he wanted
to do at that moment was jump out of this nasty pit and go back to Sam.
I'm already here. I have to finish this.
"Dean, we need to investigate the house," Wendy said, pulling him out of his
thoughts.
"What?"
"Come, we'll break in and take a look round."
"Someone might be in there," Barton said.
Wendy rolled her eyes.
"We'll cross that bridge when we get there, princess. Let's go!"
One by one, they climbed out of the grave and made their way to the house. On
the way they passed the tall dead tree that Dean had seen from the road. It
gave him the creeps, so much so that he tried not to look at it as he passed.
They stood outside of the front door of the house for a moment, staring at it.
It was huge...mansion status, and Dean wondered vaguely why Candice would ever
work at a coffee shop when she was so obviously well-to-do.
"Do you think they have an alarm system?" Dean asked in a hushed voice.
Wendy looked around her feet and knelt down.
"We're about to find out."
She picked up a large stone and went to the window.
"Wendy!" Dean hissed, but it was too late, she had already smashed the window
and had reached her hand in to unlock it.
The shrill call of the alarm system was filling the night and Dean had to fight
his instinct, which was begging him to run.
Barton, on the other hand, stood by the front door expectantly, looking calm as
ever.
Wendy slipped in through the now open window.
Lights went on in the upstairs window and Dean's stomach sank.
He could not be arrested right now. He needed to save Sam.
The front door opened and Wendy stepped aside, gesturing with her hand that
they enter as naturally as if it was her house.
Barton went in first and Dean shut the door behind him.
It was stiflingly hot inside. Despite its large size, the house was fully
heated, so much so that Dean was considering removing his jacket.
Wendy was at the alarm keypad, using a pocket knife to pop it out, exposing the
wires behind it, and began fiddling with them.
In another five seconds the alarm had stopped, but Dean's ears were still
ringing.
"I'M CALLING THE COPS!" a husky voice cried from upstairs.
"Let's go," Wendy said, sounding bored, making her way up the stairs.
Barton followed her without question and Dean just stared for a moment, trying
to let it all sink in.
Suddenly, he heard a loud CRASH, and then a scream.
Dean was running up the stairs now, all thoughts gone from his mind as he ran
down a long hallway towards the light that was spilling out onto the red and
gold rug that covered the hardwood floor. If his heart hadn't been beating
frantically, and if he wasn't in pure combat mode, he might have noticed how
nice the interior of the house was.
He turned into the room, where the light nearly blinded him after spending
hours in the darkness.  
Once his eyes had adjusted, he took in the scene before him.
Candice was sitting on her bed wearing a large t-shirt over a pair of polka dot
pajama pants. She looked calm, her hair an attractive mess, no makeup to mask
her flawless skin. She looked exhausted, but otherwise unaffected by the
breaking and entering of strangers.
Dean looked her over for a minute from the doorway...something
was...different....
Wendy was leaning against a large wooden vanity that looked like a pristine,
preserved antique.  
Barton was sitting beside Candice on her bed, her phone in his hand.
"Now, when they call, you tell them that it was your relatives from out of town
that didn't know what the code was," he said softly. She shrugged like she
didn't care one way or the other and he handed the phone to her.
The moment the phone touched her skin it began to ring.
"Hello," she said, "Yes. Everything's alright here. I have some relatives
staying with me from out of town and I forgot to give them the code."
There was some talking on the other end.
"Thank you so much. Bye."
Candice placed the phone on its cradle, she looked a little confused, like she
wasn't sure why she was taking orders form these people that had broken into
her house. Quite frankly, Dean wasn't sure why either....
Dean looked from Barton to Candice.
This was some weird, Jedi shit.
"What the Hell is going on?" Dean asked.
"Candice was just going to tell us all about her little Tomte friend," Wendy
chirped. 
"Candice, did something bite you?" Barton asked gently.
Candice shook her head slowly, looking a little annoyed. She squeezed the
bridge of her nose as though she had a headache and all of this was just one
big annoyance.
"Where did you put the body?"
Candice's brow furrowed and she shook her head again.
"I don't remember," she sighed petulantly.
Barton nodded in understanding.
"I would like you to close your eyes," he began.
"What are you doing?" Dean asked. This shit was just too bazaar.
"Be quiet and let him work!" Wendy hissed.
Candice closed her eyes, as though she hadn't heard anything.
Barton leaned in and brushed her hair away from her ear with grace and then
began to whisper things into it.
Dean had the uncomfortable image of Barton doing this very thing with Sam,
close and intimate. He felt hot anger rise in his chest when his mind fetched
the memory of Barton's lips pressed against Sam's in Iowa. He had to remind
himself that the last person that had tasted Sam, and the only person allowed
to touch him was himself.
Barton pulled away from Candice, who opened her eyes slowly.
"The...tree...."Candice said slowly. "I buried it under the tree....."
"She moved the whole thing by herself?" Dean mumbled.
"You're going to have to be a bit more specific, dear, you live in the middle
of a fucking forest," Wendy said to Candice.
Candice rolled her eyed to look at her, looking tired and a little pissed.
"I don't even know why I'm talking to you people in the first place. Be
grateful," Candice snapped back.
"Which tree?" Barton asked, his voice smooth yet demanding.
"The marked tree," Candice said, gesturing with one arm to the closed window
that faced the forest.
Wendy snorted, crossing her arms. "Well, that's helpful."
Wait...
She looks...different somehow....
He had noticed it when he had seen the picture of Candice.
That tree...that big ugly tree...it HAS to be the big ugly tree...
Something's missing....
"The big ugly tree?" Dean asked in mid thought.
Barton and Wendy both looked at him, an identical look of confusion written on
both of their faces.
But surprisingly, Candice began nodding.
"Yeah. That one."
"What tree, Dean?" Barton asked, the slightest bit of urgency in his voice.
"I'll show you, let's go-"
"He's not there right now," Candice said casually, looking at her nails with
interest.
Dean also looked at her nails...her arms...

Something's missing.... 
Her tone sent chills up his spine, and the wiser part of him told him that he
didn't want to know what she meant by that.
"Who?" Barton asked coaxingly.
"Stamfar..."
The word meant nothing to Dean, but Barton's eyes seemed to sharpen.
"Where is he?"
"With Sam."
It was like someone had slapped Dean in the face and he groped around his
pockets for his phone.
Barton rose slowly, looking calm enough, but Dean could see fire in his cold
blue eyes.
Wendy, on the other hand, was already out the door, always ready for action.
"Wait for us, darling," Barton called taking tall strides to catch up with her.
But Dean was not satisfied. If this thing was already with Sam, they needed to
lure him away...and they had to do it now.
He followed Barton out of the room and dialed Sam's number as he walked.
After three rings, it stopped and Dean could feel relief wash over him that was
quickly extinguished when he heard the voice on the other line.
"Dean, where are you?"
It was Bobby.
Dean could feel tears stinging his eyes, unbidden as he made his way down the
stairs.
"Where's Sam, Bobby?"
"Did you find Candice?" Bobby replied.
Dean was at the bottom of the stairs now where identical sets of bright blue
eyes were staring at him, Wendy's hand was on the doorknob and Barton was right
behind her. They both seemed frozen in their tracks at hearing the dismay in
Dean's voice.
"He's unconscious...I can't wake him up...."
It's just like Mo...I should have NEVER left Sam!
Dean clamped his jaw shut to dam the river of obscenities that wanted to flow
from his mouth.
He tried to take control of his breathing, but he knew his body was shaking.
"Dean?" Bobby's voice was tentative on the other line.
"Bobby, listen to me. We know where it is, we're going to kill it..." Dean's
voice was shaking. "Do not let him die, Bobby. Keep him alive."
Before Bobby could say anything else, Dean ended the call.
He stared at the name on the phone, the aching so deep in his chest he thought
it would tear him apart.
His mind, which had been gnawing on a puzzle ever since he had seen Candice
tonight suddenly brought him the memory of when Candice and he had first met.
And then he remembered.
He looked up at Barton and Wendy.
"The tree is across from the house over there," Dean said, pointing left. "It's
the tallest tree and it's black, and it's ugly as sin, you'll know it when you
see it. Dig it up. Burn it. I'll stay here."
Wendy opened the door and disappeared into the night, but Barton hung back.
"What are you doing?" Barton asked, as though he and Wendy were going out for a
milk run and he wanted to know what Dean was going to be up to in the meantime.
"I'm going to distract it."
"How do you intend on doing that?"
"What did you do to her?" Dean asked, ignoring Barton's question.  
 
Barton blinked. "Just a mild form of Hypnosis. She's completely conscious, but
currently unable to resist answering questions or following orders...within
reason of course."
"You can do that?"
Dean couldn't help but feel impressed.
Barton shrugged.
"It's effectiveness varies on the individual, and at times doesn't work at
all, but it is a skill that I've acquired while living this lifestyle, yes."
Dean couldn't stop himself from asking the next question.
"Have you ever put Sam under?"
"Yes," Barton responded without hesitation.
Dean was suddenly reminded of why he constantly wanted to punch the tall
redhead in the face.
We have more important things to worry about!
"To be continued," Dean said, pointing an accusatory finger at the younger man
before turning and heading up the stairs, hearing the front door shut as Barton
went to join his sister.
Chapter End Notes
     Almost finished with Part 3! My hope is that this will be concluded
     before the new year, so wish me luck!
***** Chapter 22 *****
Chapter Notes
     Coming close to the end here! I hope that the ride has been good for
     you all!
     Trigger Warning: references to past physical abuse.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
 
Dean approached the bedroom door carefully, not sure whether or not his
presence would upset Candice. When he did enter, though, she seemed entirely
unfazed.
"Hey there," he said awkwardly, making his way slowly to her bed where she was
sitting.
She looked at him, looking mildly interested.
"May I, uh, sit next to you?" Dean asked, clearing his throat.
He knew he couldn't rush this.
She shrugged and scooched over to give him more space to sit beside her.
He sat down slowly, turned to face her, keeping a healthy distance between
them.
He looked at her arms.
The first time that they had met, they had been covered in an intricate tattoo
that looked like lace. Where the tattoo had been that night, there were
now carvings in her skin...deep grooves that looked like there was invisible
lace leaving its imprint in her perfect, pale skin.
"Why do your markings look different from the ones on the others?" Dean asked,
wondering if she even knew.
"I'm his favorite. So he marked me differently from the others. He's making my
life better...protecting me..." she replied.
She looked into nothingness for a second, looking thoughtful, and a little sad,
but then she turned to him and nodded once in affirmation.
"So, Mo?" Dean inquired.
"He was bad for me. We were each other's biggest trigger. I'd been to rehab at
least three times, but every time I got out, he was waiting for me, ready to
party. If it wasn't for Stamfar, I don't think I would have been able to resist
him. Mo got sick, and stayed away for the most part...from time to time he'd
come bother me at work, but, I didn't want him anymore...."
Dean nodded, trying to think of a way....
"How do you...get a hold of him?" Dean asked carefully. "Do you call to him or
burn sage or something?"
"He can always hear me," Candice said pensively, as though pondering the notion
herself. "Usually he comes when he's trying get something for me...something I
won't take for myself, but what he wants me to have...sometimes he comes when
it's something he wants."
"That's awful nice of him," Dean said slowly, choosing his words with care.
"We help each other," Candice said fondly, nodding her head again.
She looked so tired. Dark bags under her eyes were accentuated by her pallor.
Takes care of her, my ass.
Dean thought bitterly.
"Do you remember the night we met at the bar?" Dean asked quietly.
Candice regarded him warily, her tired eyes looking him over.
"Vaguely. Whenever he takes over, I'm pretty much there, but I don't remember
much after."
Dean nodded, trying to think of a way to bring this up without being creepy.
"Why did he pick me?" Dean asked.
"BecauseI picked you," Candice said flatly. "I was lonely, so he took me to a
bar."
WORE you is more like it.
"And then I saw you with those old guys and I thought you
were...are...gor-...attractive..."
Dean didn't know how to process this information, so kept nodding
encouragingly.
She suddenly looked annoyed again.
"This is really none of your business. I don't know why I'm so fucking chatty
tonight-"
Dean moved without preamble, taking Candice's face in his hands and kissing her
on the lips.
Her body tensed up, and she didn't move at first.
Oh shit, she's pissed.
Good, hopefully we can coax him out...
She shifted and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him on top of her.
She began kissing him more ardently now, and he kept up, calculating every
touch of his lips, letting his hands roam over her body, carefully monitoring
every touch and squeeze, knowing from experience the places girls liked it
best.
As Dean played her like a well practiced instrument, he thought how strange it
was that he used to find this kind of thing exciting...how easy it used to be
to get lost in the embrace of a stranger and forget who he was or what he did
for a whole night. Now the feeling of someone new made Dean want Sam more than
ever...wanted to taste his familiar skin, his lips, wanted to smell him, feel
him body pressed up against his own. 
If you fail, you'll never have that again.
He waited until she was rutting against him, her legs wrapped around him, then
he pulled away suddenly, raising himself upright and straightening his jacket.
Bitches hate this.
Candice lay on the bed, staring at him, panting and looking confused.
"What the fuck?" she protested.
"Thanks, but no thanks," Dean said grinning. "I've got someplace I have to be-"
Dean stopped and watched as the markings in Candice's arms started to become
darker, as though filling up with ink.
She laid back on her pillows and covered her face with her hands. Then she
arched her back and stretched as though waking from a long nap. She opened her
eyes and looked at Dean, her eyes looked like cat eyes.
"Dean. How lovely to see you," she said with a smirk. She gracefully sat up,
the bags having disappeared from under her eyes, her cheeks flushed with color.
Her hair looked glossier and healthier and her lips were a rosy pink when she
smiled at him.
"Where do you have to go, Dean?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow.
Dean looked the woman over, black lace tattooed in her creamy skin.
"What did you do to Sam?"
"Nothing that can't be undone," other Candice replied silkily.
"What did he ever do to you?" Dean demanded, reminding himself that the Tomte
was wearing an innocent girl, and that strangling this thing for answers might
result in hurting her.
Candice cocked her head, the light reflecting from her eyes.
"Why, I'm not the on hurting him, Dean. You are," she said, tossing her hair
out of her eyes and looking at him through narrowed eyes.
Dean shook his head.
"You killed Candice's boyfriend. He wasn't perfect, but he didn't deserve to
die!"
"Oh, he didn't, did he? A ship sinking to the bottom of the ocean, and he
wasn't brave enough to go at it alone, he dragged my little Candice along with
him. She was strung out and malnourished and he was fine with that! I helped
her. I gave her this house."
"Oh yeah, have your own realtor on call?"
"No, I took it from her disgusting daddy."
Dean fell silent. This thing had been on a rampage.
"Do you know what I had to pull this poor girl from, Dean?"
Keep it busy!
"No worse than what you've put her in!" 
Her eyes were piercing now.
"Her disgraceful father would get drunk and beat her senseless. When I bit
him, he used the cord of a curling iron. She fainted from pain and was
bedridden for almost a week. Her atrocious mother, who looked the other way,
got this bite. That damn horse she loved so much kicked her so hard in the
chest that if I wasn't there, her heart would have stopped. So, tell me again
that she had it better before."
Dean could think of nothing to say, but simply gaped at her, chills running up
his spine.
Poor Candice....
"Dean, I'm not the bad guy here."
Candice put her hands up to her chest, palms flat over her heart.
"All of her life, this lovely girl has been victimized. She had no one to turn
to. When they would visit this estate she would come to the graveyard and cry
at my mound. She would tell me of the terrible things that they've done to her.
She struggled so much. She is my favorite, Dean. I had to protect her. So I
gave her the estate, which her father left to her when he died. I gave Candice
her mother's money, now that she's dying. I took that wretched Mo out of her
life and gave her health again. She's clean now. And now, I'm going to give her
a man who's worthwhile. Someone who can protect her, someone healthy and strong
and beautiful!"
"A doctor?" Dean replied weakly.
"You, Dean."
"I'm...flattered," Dean cleared his throat. "But I'm with someone else."
Why do monsters dig me so much?
Candice's expression turned sympathetic.
"You don't even know, do you?"
Keep her talking!
But Dean didn't want to know...monsters were liars, but what made their lies so
terrible was the truth sprinkled in from time to time.
"What don't I know?"
"I've been visiting Sam, Dean...he's attracted to someone else."
She casted her eyes down.
Dean shook his head in spite of himself.
She looked back up at him, her eyes looking sorry.
"Yes. He's interested in the tall redhead. The one you call Barton...just the
other morning, Sam was laying in his arms while you were away...."
Dean kept his face bored, but privately filed the information away in his mind
under "Things to ask Sam."
"How interesting," he said dryly.
What is taking them so long to find that body?
"Is that why you skipped over me? You thought that if you took Sam down, I'd
somehow end up here? With you?"
The Tomte smiled slowly with Candice's lovely lips.
"Well, it worked, didn't it?"
Dean cleared his throat.
"So, what's the deal? What can I do to get you to leave Sam alone?"
"I should be asking you the same question," Candice sighed, laying back on the
pillows and folding her hands over her stomach. "You know Dean, you're being
rather selfish."
Dean wanted to scream at her, wanted to grab a pillow from under her lovely
head and smother the bitch to death, but he kept his poise.
"Dean," Candice continued, "Sam doesn't need you...not nearly as much as you
need him. He's still so young. He'll grow out of you in time. You may have
accepted this lifestyle, but Sam is very smart. I've seen inside of his mind. I
know. He'll leave you behind, Dean. He'll go off to college one day, and you'll
be stuck with your father hunting things like me for the rest of your short and
bloody life."
She tilted her head to look at him, giving him a look of pure pity.
This was the truth part, and Dean knew it.
He had always known that the path of their future would fork, and he knew that
Sam would not continue down this road.
He'd always known it, and he had thought about it many times before.
"You don't have to be alone, Dean," Candice rose to be closer to him, resting a
hand on his shoulder that he had to fight not to shake off. "You can be with
Candice. You can protect her when I'm gone."
Dean turned to her.
"Gone?"
"My presence is very tiring for Candice. If things stay like this, she won't be
healthy anymore. I need to let her go, but I have to know that someone is
looking out for her. Dean, you'll have everything you need if you stay here.
I'll take the markings off of Sam. You'll have a home close to your Uncle
Bobby...a home in general. No more moving around...you'll have more money than
you'll know what to do with and the love of one of the most beautiful women in
the world."
Candice smiled charmingly.
Dean nodded.
To say that all of this wasn't terribly tempting would be a huge lie.
He chose his next words carefully, looking into those cat eyes.
"I know Sam will leave one day," Dean said, "I want him to."
Candice blinked and searched his face.
"He's too smart for this shit, and too good. I don't want this life for him."
Dean's voice cracked, but he meant every word.
"When the time comes for our lives to change we will deal with it the way that
we have everything else: as it comes. Be it across the country or across the
world, we'll be fine. I'll be by his side. No. Matter. What."
Candice frowned.
"I'm afraid, Dean, that perhaps Sam won't be able to make a new life with you
in it."
Dean opened his mouth to retort when suddenly the black tattoos on her arms
began to glow red.
Candice looked down at her arms, her brow furrowed and her eyes getting
wide. The tattoos looked like lava running down her arms, little flames
flickered all around her. She glared at Dean with eyes that were glowing like
fire.
Candice's lovely face was contorted in a look of ugly fury and then it went
slack. The flames disappeared and Candice flopped onto the bed unconscious.
Dean took a deep shaky breath.
All at once he hoped that Sam was okay, wondered where Wendy and Barton were
right now...and thought about what Candice had just said....
Chapter End Notes
     One of the reasons why Dean is so wonderful, in my opinion, is that
     he's really very black and white about most things. He's driven by
     the need to get things done, and I find that enviable. He is also
     incredibly perceptive, more than anyone but Sam seems to give him
     credit for, and I hoped to tap into that a little with this chapter :
     /
***** Chapter 23 *****
Chapter Notes
     Ugh! So much for me finishing this by the end of last year! I hope
     you enjoy the chapter. The next chapter will be the last before we
     move on to Part 4 :)
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
Sam sat on the motel bed and stared at the horrible carpet. God knows how long
ago, something had spilled on this floor. No one had bothered to clean it up
until long after it had settled into the threads. He didn't know what it was;
depending on the color, it could have been anything...soup, wine, soda...
Blood.
Sam focused on the spot and tried not to look at the untouched duffel beside
the vacant bed across from his own. He understood why John wanted him to do
this...understood that John had now lost half of his family and the last thing
he needed was to be sorting through his oldest son's things to see what to burn
and what to keep.
And what about me? Why would it be okay for me to do this?
Tears blurred Sam's vision as he stared resolutely at the stain on the floor.
It's not his fault...his arm's in a sling...he's on all of these pain meds....
A soft knock interrupted his train of thought and he turned in the direction of
the sound.
The person on the other end didn't bother waiting for an answer, and the
door cracked open. For a moment, Sam could see that it was a bit sunnier today
than it had been in a while, and another chip of his heart crumbled away as he
felt a surge of resentment for the giant star around which this planet orbited.
How dare it shine? What was there to be so fucking sunny about?
Barton walked in as quiet as a ghost, Wendy at his heels. Barton made his way
over to where Sam was sitting and knelt down beside the bed, giving him a weak
smile. Wendy shut the door softly and locked it, her bright eyes surrounded by
dark circles.
It was nice of them to have stayed for Sam after this tragedy.
It's not like John was any help...
After the hunter's funeral, John had drunk himself into oblivion and had slept
for twenty hours. Barton and Bobby had taken care of Sam's school situation,
explaining what had happened within reason. Sam had received a few calls on his
phone, no doubt from his schoolmates and teachers, but he couldn't bring
himself to answer.
He knew that people were worried about him...but what good was talking going to
do?
John was now at the doctor with Bobby, and had left him with only an order to
have his brother's things gone by the time he returned.
Wendy promptly checked the fridge. This time it wasn't to eat what she found.
This time it was to take inventory. Since Dean was the one who normally did the
grocery shopping, and John couldn't even walk properly on his own, Wendy had
taken the responsibility upon herself so that Sam wouldn't starve.
Sam couldn't look at Barton, but he let his eyes wander to the bag next to the
bed.
Barton turned his head to follow Sam's gaze, exposing the hideous gash along
his neck and down his chest. He seemed to register what Sam was staring at, and
looked back at Sam.
"Sam."
"What?" he croaked in reply.
"Look at me."
Reluctantly, he did.
Barton's eyes were soft, and there were lines on his tired face.
"You don't have to do this alone. If you want, Wendy and I can take the bag for
you. We'll keep it safe until you're ready to take it back and sort through
it."
Sam considered this for a moment.
That was probably for the best.
No matter how much Sam had tried to build himself up to it, he hadn't managed
more than a few painful glances at the last earthly possessions of the person
who had taught him the difference between right and wrong...the person who had
whispered to him after his nightmares and patched up his cuts and bruises...the
only person that Sam could ever really trust...the only one he ever
really loved.   
If they took it for awhile...gave him some time to heal....
A disconcerting thought dropped into his mind like an anvil.
If they took his bag, would it still smell like Dean when they returned it?
If Sam let them take it, would he ever want to unzip it and be overcome by the
scent of leather, gunpowder and cheap fabric softener?
Because when that time came, how could he ever bring himself to get rid of it?
Sam took a shaky breath as two large tears rolled from his eyes.
He shook his head.
"I don't know," he whispered.
Barton nodded.
"I'm going to the store," Wendy announced. "I'll be back in a bit. Barton, they
need to pay for another day."
And with that, she disappeared out the door.
Sam's heart ached for Wendy and Barton.
They had lost two of their own siblings...another one as alive
as Schrödinger's cat. They had watched as their circle had dissipated from five
to two...
And here they were, reliving their loss with Sam...there at his side to guide
him, so he wouldn't be alone.
They were practically strangers, but they were here when no one else was,
besides Bobby. But Bobby had his hands full with John, who, thanks to his
broken leg and arm sling, had been unable to help with his own son's funeral.
"Why don't you think about it for a minute while I go to the manager's office,"
Barton said quietly.
Sam nodded wordlessly and Barton rose. He gave Sam one final glance before
opening the door and leaving.
Sam sighed.
He looked back at the bag and was considering opening it, just to look, when
the door swung open again abruptly.
Sam looked at the figure in the doorway.
At first Sam thought that Barton had forgotten something. The person was the
same height and had the same lean frame, and Sam could see that this person had
the same red hair. But when the door shut behind them, Sam recognized the tall
redhead he had seen before, out in the parking lot. She was wearing the same
yellow dress, a hemp bag slung over her shoulder, a pair of furry ears sticking
out of it.
She smiled at him...a dazed smile. She was wearing headphones like before.
Sam stood up and backed toward his pillow where he had put Dean's gun.
"Who are you?"
The girl looked at the pillow that Sam was headed for, and cocked an eyebrow.
She held a finger to her lips and turned her body towards the door. Her eyes
never left Sam's and she placed her hand palm down in the center of the motel
door, sliding her palm and fingers over the wood as though looking for a weak
spot. Suddenly, her hand stopped and she gave him a conspiring grin...one
that looked all too familiar.
What the fuck?
She then pressed a headphoned ear against the door and began knocking.
Sam looked around the room, absolutely speechless, having no idea what to do
now that this crazy girl had invited herself in.
She kept knocking, as though trying to reach someone on the other side, and Sam
was starting to think that she might really be some escaped mental patient,
when he realized that it didn't sound like someone knocking on a door....it
sounded like someone coming up the stairs.
The light on the other side of the door was getting brighter, the cracks were
being filled with nearly blinding light.
She grabbed the handle and flung the door open.
Light flooded into the room, blinding Sam who struggled to keep his eyes open.
He blinked over and over again.
 
As his eyes adjusted, he realized he was looking at a ceiling...
His body was aching, but it wasn't that bad....
He blinked a few more times and heard voices.
"Sammy...."
"Sam?"
"That's right, kid, open your eyes."
"Is he waking up?"
"I think so...."
"Could everyone just back the Hell up for a second and let him breathe?"
Sam recognized Dean's irritated tone and he felt his heart flood with emotion.
He blinked away blurriness, the tears welling up in his eyes....
And there was Dean, his face screwed up in concern and concentration, green
eyes looking over Sam's face and Sam felt like he was melting.
"Dean?"
"Yeah, Sammy, it's me," Dean said with a watery smile.
"What happened?" Sam murmured.
"That thing had you for awhile," Dean said, looking into Sam's eyes. He smiled
the smile of a man whose troubles were gone. "We got you back."
Sam blinked at Dean as the memories began reconvening in his mind...as though
they had wandered off somewhere for awhile.
"You're safe," Dean whispered, more to himself than to Sam.
And then the last memories came flittering back in as frantic as a white
rabbit.  
The ones of him begging Dean not to leave.
And the one of Dean leaving.
Chapter End Notes
     I combed this thing over a dozed times, so if there are any errors,
     I'm sorry!!
***** Chapter 24 *****
Chapter Notes
     We've come to the end of Part 3...I hope you enjoy it and don't hate
     me too much....
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Dean looked over at Sam who was staring out the Impala window in the
passenger's seat. It had been a few days since Sam had woken up, and he was
near full recovery. The markings on his body had almost disappeared, nothing
left but a few indentations where purple and black grooves had once been.
Barton and Wendy were sticking around for awhile...something Dean had no idea
how to feel about. He was grateful for everything that they had done. If it
hadn't been for their help, Dean reflected, Sam would probably be dead right
now.
He still hadn't  finished that conversation that he had with Barton back at the
mansion....
Wendy was her normal, chipper self, running a myriad of errands for Bobby, and
helping Caleb with his hunt nearby.
And then there was Sam, who for some reason was refusing to speak more than a
few syllables to Dean.
Dean didn't know what to think of this either. At first he chalked it up to
Sam's recovery, thinking that perhaps he had been too exhausted after this
whole ordeal to talk. But then after the first night that Sam had woken up, he
had moved back to his own bed, refusing to tell Dean what was wrong.
Dean hated when Sam clammed up like this. Yeah, it was a pain in the ass when
Sam was being all "Let's hug and talk about it," but it was way better than
this stony, brooding silence thing he was doing now. He couldn't help but feel
heartbroken at this whole situation. He had come so close to losing Sam, so
close to having the one person in his life who made everything worth while
taken from him, and now that he had him back, now that he was safe, he wouldn't
talk to him.
He was ecstatic that Sam was safe, but now he was worried. He didn't know if
Sam was still seeing and hearing things...wasn't sure if he was still
hurting....
 
Barton was about as glum as Sam was. He was polite as ever, and helped John
with things in "Robert's battle station" as Barton liked to call it. When he
wasn't needed, though, he was sitting on his own in the library frantically
looking through Bobby's collection, reading heavy books and making phone calls.
In the past few days, Dean had seen Wendy staring at her brother with the cold
intensity of a cat.
On this particular day, Wendy and Bobby were at Mimi's, helping the poor woman
to pack up Mo's things, and Barton was nose deep in some ancient hardcover of
Bobby's. This left only Dean to take Sam to the hospital for one final checkup
before he could get a clean bill of health to go back to school. 
After the doctor had given Sam the thumbs up, Dean offered to take Sam to
lunch, which Sam had quickly refused with a terse "No thanks."
...Which left them here, quietly driving back to Bobby's, Sam staring out at
the long stretch of abandoned road, silence dwelling between them like a rubber
band ready to snap. It was so palpable that Dean pulled the car over and parked
on the side of the road. Sam looked at him, his brows furrowed.
"You need to talk to me," Dean demanded.
Sam shook his head.
"What's wrong? What are you not telling me?"
"What difference does it make? You don't listen anyway," Sam muttered, crossing
his arms over his body and giving Dean a perfected bitch face, which Dean found
disturbingly sexy.
Dean clenched his jaw.
"Try me," Dean said with as much patience as he could muster.
Sam didn't say anything for a moment, but Dean could see his dark eyes soften
and Dean had the same urge he had been having since Sam woke up: to kiss
him...to reach over to the other side of the car and wrap Sam in his arms, tilt
his head back and part his lips with his tongue. Sam seemed to be thinking the
same thing, because his eyes were resting on Dean's lips.
They met in the middle, both leaning over their sides of car. Dean slipped his
hands in Sam's hair and brushed his lips against Sam's, his heart ready to
explode with relief. Sam slid his hands up Dean's chest and let them rest on
Dean's shoulders, opening his mouth to let their tongues meet. When Dean
realized that Sam wasn't hurting from his touch, he deepened his kiss, tasting
him, bringing Sam closer and letting his thumb trace his jaw. Sam moaned into
Dean's mouth, and Dean could feel his cock harden in his jeans. Only Sam could
make him feel this kind of longing.... 
"Fine," Dean whispered, nipping at his brother's bottom lip. "Don't talk."
He slipped his hand down to see if Sam was feeling the same way, and found an
affirmative bulge straining against his jeans. Sam let out a more desperate
sound when Dean's hand began rubbing him over his pants.
Dean was just starting to attack Sam's belt buckle, kissing him fervently when
he heard his (fucking) phone ring.
It jingled cheerfully in his pocket, but Dean ignored it, snapping Sam's buckle
open and tugging at the belt to loosen it.
The ringing continued, until it went to voicemail.
Dean was now unbuttoning Sam's pants while Sam panted into his mouth, pawing at
Dean's erection with his own nimble hands.
The jingling happened again, and this time, Sam pulled away, his lips red and
his face flushed.
"You should see who it is," he managed to say before Dean captured his mouth
with his own again.
But the ringing persisted and Sam pulled away, slipping his hand into Dean's
pocket and pulling out the phone. Dean paid no mind and moved his mouth to
Sam's neck, listening to Sam's breath hitch in response.
"It's Wendy," Sam said in a half groan as his body responded to Dean's urgent
touch.
"I don't give a fuck who it is, I'm busy," Dean whispered into Sam's ear,
knowing damn well how sensitive he was there.
Sam shivered and gave out a small, needy sound of anticipation when Dean
unzipped his pants. Dean grinned and latched his mouth onto Sam's again,
letting his thumb run teasingly down Sam's happy trail.
The phone started ringing again. As Sam was about to pull away, Dean dipped his
hand into Sam's pants and took his hot, hard member in his hand, stroking it
lovingly, relishing how soft its skin was and the sexy, needy,
involuntary whimpers that were coming out of Sam's hot, wet mouth and straight
into his own.
It was the knocking on the car window that made them separate. Sam blushed as
he looked behind Dean at the car window and pulled away to his side, tucking
himself in with some difficulty and straightening his hair and clothes. As Sam
was tidying himself, Dean realized that they had managed to fog the car windows
and he grinned wolfishly at Sam who blushed an even darker crimson in return.
The knocking and the ringing persisted.
Dean sighed and rolled down the window.
Wendy was standing outside of the car door, smiling at him, her phone against
her ear. She bent down so she could talk to them.
"So, looks like you two are fine. Hi, Sam!"
"Hi," Sam replied weakly from his side of the car, looking embarrassed.
"You're lucky Robert sent me on an errand while he stayed with the mother. Then
you'd have to explain this to him!"
Wendy looked positively giddy at the prospect, her eyes that bright blue,
looking wild as ever.
"Did you need something?" Dean asked, not hiding his displeasure at seeing her.
She pouted.
"Well you're not very grateful. I saw your car here and I thought you might
need some help or something. I didn't think you'd find shagging on the side of
the road a good idea-"
"We weren't-"
There as a small thunk as Sam rested his forehead against the window, hiding
his face in exasperated embarrassment. 
"Well I hope you had a good snog, because we're almost done, and we're headed
back to Robert's as soon as it's over."
She looked between the two of them, the smile gone from her face.
"You really ought to be more careful."
Dean couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed...he had acted like the horny
teenager that he was and hadn't stopped to think of what would have happened
had it been someone else on this road...like a cop.
How would I have explained that to dad?
Dean watched as Wendy stocked away in her tight black jeans, her black leather
boots and her heavy leather jacket finishing her ensemble. If it had been
anyone else, he would have thought that she'd be freezing, but at this point,
Dean highly suspected that Wendy wasn't even human. She mounted her bike and
slipped on her motorcycle helmet, started her bike up, and without waiting for
them, sped off onto the empty road.
Dean turned to Sam, whose head was still resting against the window,
then followed Wendy's example and headed back out onto the road.
 
It was quiet when the two of them walked into the house. Sam darted around Dean
the moment the door was open, disappearing from view. Dean made no attempt to
go after him. He had been silent the whole way home, looking thoughtful. Dean
headed to the kitchen to see how John fared. When he walked inside without
warning, he stopped in his tracks. John was staring at his papers in front of
him, holding his head up with one hand, eyes bloodshot, looking like he was
ready to cry.
"Dad?" Dean ventured.
John's eyes snapped up to Dean's, and his expression immediately changed.
"Sorry to interrupt, sir," Dean corrected himself immediately.
"Where've you been?" John asked in a gruff voice, looking down at his cell
phone as though he didn't care one way or the other what the answer was.
"I took Sam to the doctor-"
John seemed to flinch at the sound of Sam's name.
"He's been given a clean bill of health," Dean finished, watching his father
carefully. "I'm sorry, I thought Bobby had told you before he left."
"May have..." John said distractedly.
Dean stood awkwardly, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
"Is there anything you need from me?" Dean asked.
"Grab me anything in Bobby's library about Cain and Abel," John ordered, still
not meeting his oldest's eyes.
Dean simply nodded and headed out of the kitchen reluctantly.
Dean was once again aware of how much he wished that they could be normal, just
for a few minutes, so he could ask his father what was bothering him...but then
honestly couldn't imagine what it would be like.... 
Dean went into the library to begin the search and was met with another strange
sight.
It was Barton, who had apparently fallen asleep on the desk, his face buried in
his long tattooed arms which were crossed over a large hardcover cracked open
to the middle, his glasses hanging from his elegant fingertips. It was the
first time that Dean had noticed the thin black tattoo on his ring finger...and
also the first time Dean had ever remembered actually seeing him sleep. Dean
was about to move around him and go back to what he needed to do, when he
noticed something on the corner of the desk. It was the leather calendar
book...the same one that Wendy had.
Dean remembered that each of the Arlingtons had one, and then remembered what
Barton had told him when Dean had asked what was written in those books.
The future...
Dean looked back over at Barton, whose back rose and fell silently as he slept,
his long red dreadlocks tied back so that Dean could see one closed eye, long
lashes black against his smooth, pale skin. He touched the leather cover of the
book. It looked pretty ordinary to him. He looked again at Barton and then
unclasped it silently, opening the cover.
"I will always love you."
It was written in blue ink on the cover page. 
Also inside of the cover, there was a small, thin piece of black bark...a
strange, rippling pattern seemed to have grown into it.
This must be from the tree where the Tomte was buried...
Dean turned the bark over in his hands and was about to put it back in, when he
saw a piece of paper folded up which must have been hiding underneath the bark.
Dean let his eyes flicker to the sleeping Barton before he quietly unfolded it.
It was dirty and damp.
The handwriting was a black scrawl, barely legible, but Dean was able to make
out the four words inhabiting the page.
"Stop looking for me."
Dean's eyebrows came together as he observed the note. It looked like it had
been torn out of this very ledger...it was the right size, the lines were the
right color and width....
That was when Dean felt the prickling sensation of being watched.
Dean looked over at Barton to see one, sharp blue eye watching him with
interest.
Dean froze, unsure of what to do, realizing, embarrassingly, that he had been
caught snooping.
Barton blinked slowly and curled his body up into a stretch, making no sound,
but looking at the note in Dean's hand.
Dean noticed that without the glasses, Barton's eyes looked as wild as Wendy's.
Barton put his glasses back on and weaved his fingers together, placing them on
the desk in front of him.
Dean opened his mouth to apologize, but Barton spoke first.
"I found it with the body of the Tomte," he said, nodding to the dirty piece of
paper.
"Uh, what is it?" Dean asked, at a complete loss of anything else to say.
"It's from my sister...she must have been at Candice's before we were...."
"Wendy?"
"No, my other sister..." Barton was gazing off into nothingness, deep in
thought now. "She left that for me...which means that she knew that we were
after Candice. And if she was there...then she can't have gotten that far...."
He was speaking more to himself than to Dean, as though trying to puzzle
something together in his mind.
"I've called everyone. I've asked everyone we know in this state and the
neighboring ones. I've called hotels and motels...shelters...no one has seen
her...which means that she's found another way of getting around...another
place to stay...."
There was silence for a moment while they both stared at the note, as though
trying to unlock its mysteries.
"DEAN! BOOK!" John's voice boomed from the kitchen and Dean flinched, carefully
placing the note back where he found it, and heading to the first shelf to
start his search.
"Anything I can help you find?" Barton asked, and Dean could hear the click of
the ledger being clasped back shut.
"Anything on Cain and Abel."
"Is it for a hunt?"
Dean had to stifle a surprised yelp, because the words had come from right over
his shoulder.
He hadn't heard Barton get up.
The stealthy fucker.
He turned to look at Barton, who was already pulling a thin, worn book with
a blue hardcover from the shelf.
He looked down at Dean, and seeing surprise on his face, gave him a small grin
that looked tired.
"I don't know. Probably," Dean grumbled, snatching the book, turning back
around and looking at the titles.
He grabbed a few that looked as promising as it would get, and stacked them
into his arms along with Barton's.
He had turned to leave this whole embarrassing situation behind, when he heard
Barton say "Wait, Dean."
Dean stopped and turned around slowly. Barton was in front of him now, a little
smile playing on his lips, and a large black book in his hand.
"I think you're forgetting something."
And with a heavy thump, he placed the Holy Bible on the top of Dean's pile.
 
A few hours later, while Bobby and Barton were in the kitchen preparing for
dinner and Wendy was sitting at the table, cleaning her weapons, there came a
knock on the door. Dean didn't think twice and opened it.
It took him a minute to realize who it was that stood before him. She smiled
softly at him, no makeup on, just pale, cold kissed skin.
It was Candice, and she was looking nervous...but somehow...normal.
"Hi, Dean."
It was the first time that he had ever heard her sound insecure.
After the whole fiasco had happened, Barton had returned to Candice and had
taken her out of whatever trance she had been in. She had immediately fallen
asleep, and that was how they had left her. Dean had thought it was the last
time that he'd ever see her...and he wasn't entirely wrong, because the person
who stood on Bobby's doorstep now was a Candice that he had never met before.
"Hi," Dean said.
"Mimi," her eyes softened a little at the name, "told me where to find you
guys...."
"Okay...."
"I just wanted to say thank you..." she said, looking at the ground.
"Do you want to come in? It's really cold out here-"
She immediately shook her head and looked back up at him.
"No...no. I've got a lot to do...now...with everything...."
Dean nodded in understanding.
"Is Sam okay?" she asked, looking worried.
"Yeah. He's fine...ready for everything to go back to normal now...."
"That's good," she said, and she looked like she meant it.
"Are you okay?" Dean asked.
She looked at him for a second, as though deciding herself if she was okay.
"Yeah..." she said finally. "A little freaked out and sad...about Mo...he
wasn't the greatest guy, but I never wanted anything like this for him. In the
end, though, I think I should be fine...."
Dean smiled in spite of himself. He was so used to leaving a scene gruesome and
ugly, no matter how Monster free....
He didn't find this situation any different, but it was nice to see someone on
the doorstep of the mend for once.
"Tell the others that I said thank you," Candice said.
"Okay."
Candice nodded and gave him a tiny smile before turning and walking away.
 
Sam and John were quiet all through dinner while Bobby and Wendy were having a
loud conversation about the existence of mermaids.
"They're Sirens," Bobby was saying.
"There's a difference! One has one fin while the other has two!" Wendy argued
between chewing. "I'll bet one has a better temperament than the other as
well," she added, pointing her fork a him as she spoke.
Barton and Dean just sat and listened, while Sam and John had identical looks
of misery on their faces.
Dean couldn't help but notice that John hadn't interacted once with Sam since
this whole thing started, and from time to time he caught
John stealing suspicious glances as his youngest son...like he was someone that
he had never met before.
Dean couldn't help but feel protective of his brother. Dean didn't know why,
but he wanted to grab his father, shake him and yell "Don't fucking look at him
like that!"
"Well perhaps it's a regional thing!" Wendy argued, and Dean was snapped back
into the present.
"Mermaids are a myth," Bobby said with a definitive tone in his voice, "Sirens
are real and a bitch to hunt!"
Wendy looked pensive for a moment, staring at Bobby, as though trying to read
his mind.
The she nodded, as though her mind was made up.
"I'll find you a mermaid, Robert," she declared, stabbing a few more carrots
onto her fork. "And when I do, I'm going to bring it here and she can live in
your bathtub."
"How considerate."
"You're welcome."
 
Dean waited for Sam to come back from brushing his teeth.
This had to end.
When Sam came into the room, he took Dean by surprise by sitting on his own bed
across from Dean, facing him, ready to talk.
"Sammy-"
"Dean, why didn't you stay with me?"
Dean stared at him, caught off guard by the interruption.
"I had to save you."
Sam shook his head.
"The moment you left me, I became vulnerable. It was waiting for you to leave,
Dean...."
Dean winced internally. He had suspected as much, but had hoped with all of his
might that he had been wrong.
"I told you to stay, Dean..."
"If I had stayed, you'd be dead. I was the one who distracted the thing while
Barton and Wendy were burning its bones. I was the one who knew where to find
them!"
"And they could have done it without you!"
"I didn't have time! You were dying!"
"If you had stayed, there would have been time!"
"I couldn't watch you suffer!"
"So you left so you wouldn't have to watch?" Sam cried incredulously.
"Of course not!" Dean retorted. "You know that's bullshit!"
"I don't Dean! I told you to stay with me!"
"I couldn't just sit around Sam. I need you. Okay? Not want, need! And if you
had died-" Dean shook his head, his eyes stinging. He didn't want to think
about what would have happened if Sam had died.
I wouldn't have been far behind, Sammy....
Sam was shaking his head, his dark eyes were shining as he took a shaky breath.
"Why don't you trust me?" Sam asked in a pleading voice.
"I do trust you!"
"Why didn't you trust me to know what was best?"
"Because, Sam, I couldn't, okay! I just had to do what I felt was right!"
"Just had to do it your way! Dean, if it had killed me, it could have gone for
other people...God knows who else it would have hurt before you could finally
hunt it down..."
"That's why we had to kill it right then!"
"No! It was distracted, Dean! You had all the time in the world as long as I
stayed alive, and I would have been fine as long as you were there! It just
wanted me...."
There was silence for what seemed like a lifetime.
"I'm tired of fighting about this, Dean," Sam said, breaking the silence. "You
and Dad, you're both always shutting me out...neither of you trusts me. I can't
deal with this...it's not supposed to be this way...."
Dean's stomach dropped and tears filled his throat.
"What are you suggesting?" Dean asked, giving his brother a hard look, his jaw
set, masking his pain with anger...but he knew he could never hide from
Sammy...could never lie to him....
Tears suddenly started to stream down Sam's face.
"I just....I just think we need some...time. Y'know?"
Dean's breath began trembling as he fought against his own tears.
"Time?" he croaked.
Sam nodded.
He looked so sad that Dean wanted to reach over and touch him...kiss him and
hold him and tell him everything was okay.
But I'm not allowed to do that now....
"Time...apart." Dean clarified, willing his voice not to crack.
Sam nodded.
"Just until...we can figure this out...."
Dean stood up and Sam's eyes suddenly went wide with panic.
"Dean-"
"I've gotta go," Dean said, grabbing his jacket and his keys, leaving Sam and
his heart in the bedroom.
 
Dean drove aimlessly, giving no explanation to anyone as to where he was headed
(not like anyone had asked). He found himself passing fields. Snow was drifting
in front of his headlights, and his windshield wipers whisked the
feathery snowflakes away. As he passed Candice's house, hidden by the trees, he
slowed down and silently watched. In the cold, winter darkness, he saw
the great gnarled tree that towered over the others, the old black tree where
Candice had buried the Tomte's body.
It was engulfed in flames.
And while others may have worried, Dean knew that Candice had somehow set flame
to it.
He knew that she was standing outside in the snow, watching it burn.
 
To Be Continued....
Chapter End Notes
     Thanks everyone for your encouragement so far! I'm posting part 4:
     Destiny's Daphne literally RIGHT AFTER I'm done posting this so you
     can move right along :)
End Notes
     This series is very long and there will be stormy times, but it DOES
     have a happy ending! Comments are GOLD!
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!