Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/10187690.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con,
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester, Sam_Wesson/Dean_Winchester
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester, John_Winchester, Mary_Winchester, Sam
      Wesson, Gordon_Walker, Bobby_Singer, Rufus_Turner, Ellen_Harvelle, Tyson
      Brady, Jody_Mills
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Car_Racing, Homophobic_Language, Implied/Referenced
      Alcohol_Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal_Sex, Consensual_Underage_Sex, Murder
  Series:
      Part 1 of wheels_and_asphalt!verse
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-03-09 Chapters: 12/12 Words: 72939
****** Twelve Miles from the Border ******
by alphvjensen
Summary
     Ask anyone in town who Dean Winchester is and they'll tell you that
     he’s the boy with leashed anger. He’s an enigma wrapped in an enigma
     wrapped in street racing, cheap whiskey and stale cigarettes. He’s
     got bruised skin and bloody knuckles, breathy whispers of dreams that
     would never be fulfilled and swollen lips. He’s a feral beast caged
     within that small town with a weakness for the only thing that he
     loved that could kill him. That thing was Sam Wesson.
     If you were to ask the boy with the shaggy hair wearing khaki slacks
     and an oversized hoodie draping his bony limbs, being the abnormal in
     the town of normal, he would say that Dean Winchester was nothing
     more than a boy who was too stuck to move, believing that his destiny
     was written, not made.
     It’s the story of darkened streets coated with burnt rubber. It’s the
     story of two boys who were so opposite of the norm, one the town
     outcast barely making ends meet and the other too smart for his own
     good. It’s the story of a taboo love and growing up too quick and
     falling just a little too far. It’s the story of pain and agony, of
     devotion and sacrifices. It’s the story of what you’re willing to
     give up just to keep your head above water.
Notes
     So this thing is ten months in the making. Ten months of sitting
     around and staring at a blank screen wondering just what the hell I
     was going to write. This was not my first idea for this project. Not
     even the second. In fact, it wasn't until well into the challenge
     that I came up with this story and it was one that I had to share
     with the world
     First off, I want to send out a huge thanks to ForTheLoveOfChuck
     (letstalkaboutwincest on tumblr) for being my wonderful beta. Without
     you this thing would be ridden with typos and who knows what else.
     You were there sharing my excitement when I finished the thing and
     when I changed the ending about a hundred times. You were there when
     the fic earned it's name (because if it weren't for you then it might
     still be called untitled). You dealt with my uncertainty with my own
     writing and helped me through those times when I felt like calling it
     quits. So I, from the bottom of my cold, dark heart, thank you for
     that.
     And then I also need to send out a huge thanks to hideyourdemoneyes
     (justanothersaltandburn on tumblr) for helping me through all the
     historical precedents that this fic had to deal with because that's
     one thing that I hate doing. Research. And not only that, you were a
     great person to bounce ideas off of when I needed someone to bounce
     ideas off of. And if I remember correctly, I think that I talked to
     you about this fic along with a couple others early on in the process
     when I was trying to figure out what to write and ultimately we chose
     this one and I'm glad that we did.
     Both of y'all helped me immensely through this whole project and I am
     almost certain if it weren't for y'all it wouldn't have been
     completed. Not to mention the overwhelming support that I received on
     tumblr from my followers. Y'all don't know how motivating this is and
     well, this is the product of that motivation.
     Imma shut up now so y'all can get to the fic but I truly hope you
     fall in love with it as much as I did writing it.
***** Chapter 1 *****

The smell of fuel exhaust and sweat and underneath all of that the metallic
smell of blood lingered in the air. The small circle of cars illuminated the
road, their respective owner standing out front with an arm wrapped around the
waist of whatever girl they were dating for the month.
The night would rumble with the sound of the car engines, the drivers gunning
the throttle as they shot down the darkened road but it was all covered up by
the sound of thunder that was off in the distance, slowly creeping its way
closer to town.
In a couple of hours, the road would be empty, cleared out. A couple of crushed
beer cans and stamped out cigarettes buds being the only evidence that anyone
was here. The only evidence of the illegal activity that was taking place under
the cover of the storm.
He never raced first. Always last. The big lead up to the grand finale despite
the fact that everyone knew the end result. There was a reason why he was the
king of the streets, why people respected him on the asphalt and in the school
halls.
He took another long drag from his cigarette, the smoke filling the air around
him as he watched yet again as some racer thought that they could come out here
to his road and try to beat his boys in a race that he practically owned. It
was sad, really, that people still didn’t realize their place. Their place was
on the sidelines drinking some bootleg beer, cheering on with the rest of the
crowd as he and his boys did what they did best.
Win.
The faint lights from the small town loomed in the distance, reminding everyone
out there about what laid off in the distance, the reality of the world. That
tomorrow they would all have to wake up and get ready for school, sit through
their teachers class as they lectured about logarithms and whatever happened
the night before in the outskirts of town wouldn’t matter anymore.
It would just be a couple of moments playing on a grainy polaroid film as they
waited until they could get back out there and add a few more minutes to the
movie.
But all that would happen later. When the rain came, it would wash away
everything but right now, it was nothing more than watching the sleek lines of
the cars as they raced down the road and being completely carefree, away from
the hand of the law.
He welcomed anybody on his road as long as they paid. If they wanted to race
and lose their money, well Dean was all the more willing to let them burn their
gas and take their money.
There weren’t many people that showed up new to race. Everyone around town
pretty much knew their place. They would stay off the road or decide to race
one of Dean’s lesser boys but every once in awhile, some car would roll up with
some young new racer behind the wheel with the hopes that they might be able to
turn the tides. Show the crowd that there could be more than one king of the
road.
Frankly he was itching to race. He was tired of sitting on the hood of his car,
watching the crowd and cheering on his boys. There was never a time that he
felt more alive than when he was driving, feeling the blood pumping through his
veins, thudding past his ears, the sound of his engine drowning out the sound
of the cheers from everyone behind him. But tonight there wasn’t anyone that he
saw that he thought was worthy enough to race.
The win against his boys wasn’t as fun as it used to be. He didn’t get the same
high that he used to get. They didn’t let him win but they weren’t making it
hard on him to win either. Most nights it felt like he was racing against
himself, trying to beat his own damn time. That was fine and all but it got
very boring, very quickly. He wanted the rush that he would feel when he
crossed the finish line, the person he was racing, seconds behind coming to a
stop beside him.
“You gonna race tonight?” Dean looked over at Benny who pulled him from his own
self-pity at being the best. It really was lonely at the top.
Besides him, Benny was the only other person in this town who could actually
drive worth a shit in this town and sighed. He took another long drag of his
cigarette and shrugged.
“I don’t know, man. There’s not anybody here who’s actually worth getting it up
for. People just don’t know what it means to race anymore.” He scanned the
crowd again, taking in the scene of leather and short skirts and fog from the
fuel exhaust. It was the same scene that he saw every night. The same chapter
of the same book.
Then his eyes landed on an unfamiliar sight. An unfamiliar and alluring sight.
The boy looked young, despite the fact that he was taller than nearly everyone
here. Dean could see that even from where he was sitting. The thin denim jacket
that he was wearing looked as if it barely contained the chill of the air
seeping in his bones and Dean knew that the collared shirt that he was wearing
underneath was doing nothing too. He cocked his head to the side, taking in the
boy.
He wasn’t from around here. Even if Dean had seen him from somewhere else, he
could tell that the boy wasn’t from here. Everything from the way that he held
himself to his damn haircut screamed that.
“Who’s that?” He asked, nodding his head toward the newcomer who was leaning
against the grill of some car that he had seen somewhere, watching the crowd
just like Dean was watching him.
He looked so out of place, almost preppy with his khaki pants and calculated
eyes.
“Don’t know exactly.” Benny replied. “He came in with Gordon. From what I’ve
picked up, he’s apparently gonna be living here for the rest of the year.
Something about his mom dying upstate and now he has to live with his
grandmother. He doesn’t talk much though.”
Dean pushed off his car, dropping his cigarette and stamping it out underneath
the toe of his shoe before making his way toward the boy, Benny close behind
him
The boy might not say much but he wasn’t oblivious to what was happening around
him. The moment that he noticed that there were two boys approaching him, he
straightened immediately, pulling himself to his full height, trying to make
himself seem bigger than he actually was against the black backdrop of the car
he was standing next too. Something close to the puffer fish effect but the
moment that Dean pulled out a needle, the kid would deflate faster than a
balloon that’s been popped.
Just as Dean had predicted, the second that Dean stepped closer to him, the kid
all but folded in on himself, trying to make himself disappear as he dropped
his gaze to the ground. He learned quick, Dean noted. Knew who was at the top
of the food chain. He had to keep from smirking.
“You smoke?” Dean asked as he settled down beside the boy on the bumper of the
car and kid shot a scared glance over at Benny who wasn’t even trying to hide
his amused smile at his discomfort. He looked back at Dean, his eyes wide as he
looked down at the cigarette that Dean was offering to him in an outstretched
hand and he didn’t say anything. Yeah, Dean wasn’t going to lie. The kid was
cute, in an innocent, ‘I don’t know what I got myself into’ kind of way. “No?
Alright. Fine by me.”
He dug his bic lighter out of his jacket pocket and lit the cigarette, looking
ahead in front of him, watching as yet again one of his boys beat the lame ass
of some preppy college student who thought that they were big.
“Those are gonna rot your teeth out!” The kid blurted out abruptly and it’s
Benny that beat him to laughing and Dean shot him a very pointed look, noticing
how the kid seemed to shrink even more next to him.
Way to make the kid feel comfortable.
Dean chuckled, it sounding a lot less accusatory than Benny’s, almost like Dean
was remembering an old joke. It sounded soft and warm. “Yeah. Well, that’s what
my old man says but the bastard has smoked everyday for the past thirty years
and he still has all of his teeth. Don’t believe everything that you hear on
the TV, kid.” Dean nudged him lightly in the arm and the kid forced a small
smile on his face. “You know, you don’t have to be so scared. I don’t
bite...unless you want me too.”
The kid looked over at Benny and then back to Dean. A couple minutes had passed
already and nothing bad happened yet. Yeah, the kid was scared but Dean didn’t
think that they were that intimidating.
I mean, sure, Dean had broken the fingers of a couple of scumbags who thought
that they could cheat him out of his dues in the past but the kid hadn’t done
anything and as far as he knew, just watching the races were free.
“I’m...I’m Sam.” The kid finally answered, sticking out his hand in a formal
greeting.
Benny started to laugh again and this time when Dean shot him a look, Benny
finally took the queue to shut the hell up and just turn invisible. He was
doing nothing but making the kid more nervous than he had to be.
Both Dean and the boy watched as Benny turned around and walked to some girl
that was wearing this tight little jean skirt (that if Dean wasn’t already so
interested in the boy, he would totally try to get well acquainted with her),
leaving the pair alone.
“I’m Dean.” Dean replied after a moment, pulling Sam’s attention back to him.
Sam’s eyes widen for a split second before he turned his head and searched the
crowd, his body tensing as if he saw who he was looking for he was going to
tuck tail and run from Dean. But whoever he was looking for, he didn’t find but
Sam didn’t relax. He was still tense.
“Told ya, kid, I don’t bite. You don’t have to be so nervous.”
Sam looked back at Dean. “Yeah, it’s just… never mind.” He trailed off.
They stood there, leaning up against the bummer in an uncomfortable silence,
watching as another pair of cars took off down the road, the red glow of brake
lights racing along each other.
“You ever seen a real race before?” Dean asked, breaking the silence. He hated
the silence. It always seemed to make his skin crawl. He needed sound; he
needed conversation. That’s where he felt safe, in the midst of all the noise.
Sam looked over at him confused, his brow furrowed. “I thought that’s what I
was watching.”
Dean scoffed. “Hell no. Those guys, they only wish that they could be a real
racer.” Dean pushed off the grill of the car. “Tell you what, watch me and I’ll
show you what a real race is.”
Sam nodded like it was the only thing he knew how to do.
He pulled Benny away from the girl he was talking too, tossing her a wink
before telling Benny to gear up. It turned out that he was going to race that
night. Benny shot a look over his shoulder toward Sam who was looking at the
pair, his eyes shining bright with interest and looked back at Dean with a
smile on his face.
“You’re wanting to race to impress him?” Benny laughed, teasing Dean in every
way he knew.
“Shut up. Just get in your car.”
The energy was always different when people knew that Dean was going to race.
Everyone, no matter who you were or who you thought you were, respected him.
Respected what he had done, what he had achieved out there on the road. They
paid attention to him because they knew that they were watching someone who had
made history and someone who was about to make history again. It didn’t matter
who he was racing.
There was an eerie silence that seemed to have fallen over the crowd of people.
They all watched as Dean climbed into his car, getting comfortable behind the
wheel before closing his door and then there was nothing else.
It was only him and the leather seats and the open road in front of him.
He stared ahead, waiting. He could hear his heartbeat in his chest. If he
looked out the rearview mirror, he would be able to see the boy in his khaki
pants and shaggy brown hair, watching the taillights of his car, eyes wide in
wonderment.
The girl that signaled the race came up between the two cars, blowing a kiss to
both him and Benny in good luck before taking her spot ahead of them, right in
the middle. She was holding the checkered flags and Dean held onto the wheel
tighter.
Seconds. It was mere seconds before the race would begin and everything else
would be gone.
It was a flash of movement, just the barest glimpse of the checkered flag
waving through the darkness and he lurched forward, his foot pressing down on
the pedal as far as it would go and he drove off into the night.
He learned it some time ago that it only takes a car going a hundred and twenty
miles per hour to make him really feel alive. It wakes him up from this sleep
that it feels like he’s constantly in. There’s nothing but him and the road and
the car on the road next to him.
There’s only two things certain in streetcar racing and that’s life and death.
Going this fast down an unlit road is nothing but dangerous. All it takes is a
single twitch of his wrist and his car could spin out of control, flipping
along the asphalt, his body trapped inside the metal cage that gives him life.
But that’s what he craves. It’s what he needs.
For those few seconds that he’s behind the wheel, the gas pedal pressed all the
way down to the floorboard, he’s untethered. He’s free. He’s flying at a speed
that would surely kill him.
It makes him forget everything. He forgets about the garage and his father
who’s at home probably passed out from drinking another bottle. He forgets
about the bills that keep piling up and how in the world is he going to pay for
all of them.
He readjusts his grip, his knuckles white against the black steering wheel.
Benny is not going easy on him today and he’s grateful for that. He needs the
distraction of the road and winning.
Dean doesn’t like thinking.
He could still remember back when he was still in school when teachers would
ask him to analyze a certain passage from the book they were supposed to read.
They would ask him why the author wrote that passage or why they wrote the
book. What does this mean? How does it contribute to the overall theme of the
novel? They made him think. They made him analyze every little word. They made
him work and they pushed him into thinking so much that he just stopped.
Even worse than analyzing what he read, he hates thinking about why things are
the way they are. He doesn’t like to think about what could have been if his
life was different. If he had both parents as opposed to one. He doesn’t like
to think about the things that could have happened if he had stayed in school.
He doesn’t like to think about the things that he can’t control.
However, when you give him something that he can control, things tend to
change.
When you give him a fast car, a car that’s as dark at the night and as fast as
light, things change. He’s literally controlling life in his hands. It’s
completely up to him whether or not he continues to fight it out. It’s all up
to him as to where he goes, how fast he goes, how crazy he drives. He likes it.
Dean thrives for him. The danger makes his heart race in a way that he has yet
to find a replacement for. The tension builds in the pit of his stomach and it
isn’t until that the car comes to a stop and the world stops spinning and
everything comes back into existence, when he finds that his fingers are
shaking.
It’s not the way that he should cope. It’s fucked up and illegal and he’s got a
lot more at stake than just his life here but it’s his way of dealing with
things. At night, when he’s back at home in his bed, his fingers still stinging
from the adrenaline, he’ll realize how much it truly terrifies him how much he
craves this. How much he needs this.
The lights from the small town keep growing closer and closer and the old ‘67
Mustang that Benny drives keep trailing behind him. He doesn’t relax. His
fingers tighten around the wheel. Just a little bit further. Once he crosses
the town line, he won. The gas gauge on his dashboard his dipping closer to the
red; he’s nearly running on empty and he doesn’t know if he’s going to make it
there or not. He forgot to fill up but he has faith in his car.
She’ll take him there.
She’ll give him the relief that he needed.
The small green sign, reading off the town is nothing but a blur of color as he
drove past it; his foot switched pedals and slammed down onto the break. He
could smell burning rubber as the wheels squealed to a stop. And then there was
nothing.
Everything rushes back to him all too fast, all too soon. Color and sounds and
the awareness that he wasn’t moving rushed over him. He was still holding onto
the steering wheel, his head hanging between his shoulders when he heard Benny
calling him name from outside the car.
Letting go of the wheel is nearly painful. He wanted to do nothing more than
speed down that road until he ran out of gas or crashed because he couldn’t see
past the blood rushing behind his eyes. But he climbed out and Benny slapped
him on the back, screaming out something that Dean couldn’t make out.
Slowly the crowd started to swarm around him. They were all saying something,
the sounds spilling out of their mouth sounded like his name but he wasn’t
sure. He never was after the race.
His senses were always gone once he climbed out of the car, his body high from
the adrenaline.
“Dean!” An excited scream pulled him from his trance and he found Sam almost
immediately. His face was pulled into a huge smile, his eyes brighter than the
headlights that were boring down on them. “That was crazy!”
Sam looked as if he could barely contain his excitement.
Dean returned the smile because how could he not. Seeing Sam like this made him
want to smile. It was almost as good as being behind the wheel.
“You were going so fast! How were you not scared? God, I would have been
terrified. I would have been so scared that I was going to flip or…”
“I thought you didn’t talk much, kid.” Dean cut him off and Sam snapped his
mouth shut, looking down to the ground, red creeping up along the top of his
ears. Dean wrapped an arm around his bony shoulders and pulled him away from
the crowd.
That was another thing that Dean wasn’t good with. Crowds. Large gatherings of
people. They suffocated him, trapped him to the point that he felt like they
were sucking all of the oxygen out of his lungs.
Dean was about to say something, answer one of the questions that Sam asked,
maybe say something to have the kid blushing a little more. Maybe describe how
it feels to be behind the wheel when someone calls out Sam’s name. Sam tensed
for a second before ducking underneath Dean’s arm, putting more distance
between the two of them.
“Sam! What did I tell you about hanging out with him?” Dean could hear the
venom that was in his voice. He didn’t even have to turn around to know who it
was calling Sam’s name.
“He wasn’t doing anything, Gordon. He’s actually quite nice.” Sam whined,
sounding so much like a small child.
Gordon shot Dean look, which Dean returned. He had to keep himself from
growling in annoyance as Gordon grabbing hold of Sam’s shoulder and started to
steer him away. Sam struggled briefly for a second; turning to look at Dean
before he gave up and willingly went along with Gordon.
“I told you, Sam, what he’s after and you’re not going to give it to him. Now
go get in the car. It was a bad idea to bring you out here anyway.”
“But Gordon…”
“Just go get in the car, Sam!” Gordon snapped and Sam ducked his head.
“Hey kid,” Dean called out, causing Sam to stop and turn back towards him. He
ignores the daggers that were sent his way. “Tomorrow night there’s a party out
at the old farm house. Anybody who’s anybody is going to be there. It’s just
slightly more legal than showing up at an illegal car race. Better see you
there.” Sam smiled and nodded once before he turned back around and headed off
towards the car.
Dean took a small step back, ready to turn around and celebrate just a little
bit with Benny before he went home with the girl he was chatting up before he
raced when Gordon grabbed his shoulder.
“He’s a kid, Dean. He’s doesn’t have anything to do with you. Stay away from
him.” Gordon growled, leaning in close.
Dean looked down at the hand on his shoulder and shoved Gordon away. “Man, get
off me. I wasn’t doing anything. Just trying to get to know the kid.”
“Yeah, well don’t. He’s my responsibility and I won’t have you messing him up.”
Dean scoffed, not finding any reason why he needed to explain himself further
to Gordon. Benny was standing by his car, leaning up against it with his arms
crossed against his chest, waiting for Dean to return.
He didn’t say much to Benny, not wanting to have a conversation with anybody at
this point. He stuck around the race for just a little longer on principle
alone. It wouldn’t be right if he won the race and then ran home. But his mood
had taken a turn for the worse. Sam and Gordon had already left, Dean had
scanned the crowd several times to see if he could spot the car that Sam was
originally standing by but he wasn’t able to find it if they were still there.
However Dean doubted that they were. Gordon made it real fucking clear that he
didn’t want to keep Sam there any longer.
He wasn’t really sure why but that thought, that Gordon thought that Dean was
going to fuck up Sam’s future just by talking to him, made Dean feel uneasy.
Sure, he might have done some pretty shady things in the past; some of them
would have landed him behind bars. It wasn’t a secret but people in this town
seemed to crave that. They wanted to be around him because maybe they thought
that they would finally have some adventure in their life. Dean wasn’t the
Sunday morning, church going fellow like everyone else. He was the abnormal in
the town of normal and as much as people didn’t want to admit it, they wanted
to be abnormal, at least for just a little bit.
Benny found the girl that he was talking to before they decided to race and she
quickly found interest in Dean. Something about those green eyes and leather
jackets seemed to draw girls in like a dog to meat. She made it real clear that
she wanted to go home with him. She kept getting closer and closer to Dean,
ignoring the fact that Dean would take a step back anytime she got closer than
a normal distance and when he couldn’t take it anymore. When he felt like he
was just going to snap, told her to go bother some other guy. He wasn’t
interested.
She sulked off; her red painted lips turned downward as she went back to her
small group of friends and tried not to cry. At some point, maybe tomorrow,
maybe a week from now, Dean would feel guilty for snapping at the girl like
that. She didn’t deserve it but at the moment he didn’t care. He was happy for
the ability to breathe air that didn’t smell so strongly of the perfume that
she had bought on sale at Forever 21.
He called it a night sooner than anyone else. His limbs were no longer shaking
when he got back behind the wheel, the needle on the speedometer barely
reaching fifty as he drove away from the circle of cars and the other way of
life and back towards the town that he grew up in and the town that he was
going to die in.
He barely made it to the gas station; his knuckles were white for an entirely
different reason now. The last thing that he wanted to do was call his father,
saying that he had once again ran out of gas and that he needed a ride. However
he made it, pulling up next to the pump with a relieved sigh. He filled her up
with forty dollars worth of gas. A portion of the money that he got that night.
It barely got him half a tank but the rest of the money was going to go towards
paying some bills.
His dad was passed out in his armchair with a bottle still hanging loosely from
his fingers. He ran a hand through his hair, sighing and dropping the keys down
on the end table before shrugging out of his jacket and hanging it up on the
hook.
He turned his attention back to his father and considered leaving him there,
letting him sleep off his hangover in the oversized chair but he decided
against it, not wanting to deal with him yelling at him in the morning,
complaining about the fact that his son cared so little about his father to
just leave him there like that.
Dean walked over to him, bending down a little bit and tapped John on the face,
trying to make him stir a little bit so he wasn’t lifting dead weight.
“Come on, Dad, let’s get you to bed. It’ll be more comfortable.” Dean muttered,
draping John’s arm over his shoulder.
John mumbled something intelligible as Dean pulled him up from his chair but he
was awake just enough that Dean was carrying all of his weight across the house
and into his room.
“Yeah, that’s right, Dad. We’re almost there.”
Dean laid John down on the bed and John’s light snores filled the room nearly
the second that his head touched the pillow. Dean unlaced his father’s work
boots, taking off his socks and placing them both at the edge of his bed. He
worked John up underneath the blankets making sure that he was comfortable.
Before taking a hot shower himself, he grabbed a couple of pills and a glass of
water and put in on his bedside table. He stood in the doorway for a second,
looking at the passed out form of his father before sighing and shaking his
head, wondering what the hell happened to get them to this point.
His father, John, was not a bad man. There was once a point many years ago when
they still had that house and there were three people in the house as opposed
to two. A father with a loving heart. A mother with blonde hair like a halo.
And a little boy with green eyes who still believed in dreams. But somewhere
that all got lost and here he was now, looking after his father, barely making
rent.
The water was cold when he stepped into the shower. He didn’t have enough to
fix up the hot water tank but that was okay. He was going to fix it up with the
money that he got that night.
Dean stayed awake for a long time, staring at the ceiling. His body wasn’t
trembling in fear anymore, and the angry, worried thoughts started to worm
their way back into his brain like they always did. The black hole in his chest
is there again, sucking up every possibility of feeling good tonight. He had
thought that maybe, if he gave in to the race, he'd feel better, at least until
the morning.
He thought that maybe it would be able to chase everything away until he could
get up and distract his mind, cover up those thoughts with grease and car oil.
This craving for speed, for danger had become an addiction and he’s become so
immune to its effect that he’s already itching for another hit. When he’s not
behind the wheel, pressing the pedal down to the floor, he feels like he’s
drowning. Everything slowed down and it crushed him.
His father hadn’t woken when Dean woke the next morning. He went into his room
and checked on him, checked to see if he was still breathing and wiped the
sweat off his brow. Sometime during the night, John had kicked the blankets off
his body and they ended up around his feet.
“I’ll see you after work, Dad.”
For breakfast it was a stale piece of toast. There never was much in their
cabinets, just whatever Dean could buy marked down at the grocery store and
whatever canned goods he could get for cheap.
He could see his breath in the air when he pulled the front door closed behind
him. It was starting to cool down. Before long the trees would be bare of their
leafs and Dean was going to start worrying about how he was going to be able to
afford to keep the heat on. In the summer it was easier. He didn’t have to pay
as much. There was a little fan that he had hooked up in the living room and
that kept the house relativity cool. Sure, at night he wouldn’t be able to
sleep with the blankets but the heat he could deal with. However the cold, the
threadbare blankets on his bed did little to keep the cold out.
But that was going to be a problem for another day. Right now all he had to
focus on was getting to the garage, working his shift and making it to the bank
to deposit the checks, pay the bills and then making it to that party later on
that night.
Whenever he thought about it, he was actually looking forward to seeing Sam
again and not just because it was going to annoy the fuck out of Gordon. The
kid was cute in that shy, innocent kind of way.
Once he got to the garage, he didn’t have much time thinking about paying bills
or his father or the party that night or Sam. It was just him and whatever
machine he was working on. He could hardly remember the first car he worked on.
It was back when he was barely old enough to hold a pencil and everything was
still okay.
His father worked at the garage back when he was in high school. It was his
summer job and it was only right for Dean to work there when it was his time to
work. Dean didn’t think twice about it. About leaning over the hood of a car
and putting things back together so that they worked right again.
There was something soothing about that kind of work. There was always a right
answer and a wrong answer. Either something worked or it didn’t work. There
wasn’t a maybe. There wasn’t a loophole. It helped him clear his mind.
He normally didn’t talk much when he was at the garage. He would talk to the
customers, find out what was wrong with their vehicle, say something kind and
endearing and then he would get to work, coating his hands in grease and oil,
staining whatever shirt he was wearing. His boss didn’t mind it too much. An
employee who takes too much is an employee who loses money.
Even though he didn’t speak much, there honestly wasn’t enough time to truly
think about things and so he worked.
He would show up in the morning, always before everyone else and stay later
than he had too and then sometimes he would return home, find his father passed
out in his chair yet again and help him back to bed. Or sometimes, when there
was a storm, he would go drive out to the outskirts of town, collect the money
that he was owed from racing and smell the fuel exhaust that would cling to him
and everyone else there.
People didn’t know much about him other than the fact that he was a hard worker
who held himself to a much higher standard than almost anyone and that he never
wanted to cause trouble.
He didn’t ask for much, just grateful for the work. There weren’t many places
that would take a high school dropout like him but there was no denying,
despite the fact that his academic education lacked, he was good with his hands
and knew more about cars than he would ever know about history or math.
The day seemed to move by fast, faster than what Dean was used too. They were
booked all throughout the day with people coming in for oil changes and a brake
check. There was even a call that he had received sometime around noon from
someone who needed a tow because they had run out of gas. It was honestly good
work that kept Dean busy, kept his mind from going back to the race and the boy
that he was going to met in a few hours if he actually showed up at the party.
When he actually got a second to think about it, he didn’t like the way that
his stomach flopped at the thought that he might go to the party and not see
Sam anywhere. That was usually when he would bury himself elbows deep into some
engine of some car.
There were places on his face that were smeared with oil and grease from where
he had run the back of his hand across his forehead to wipe away the sweat and
he wiped it away with an old rag that he had in his back pocket.
When the last car was either safely locked up in the garage or picked up by
their respective owner and Dean swept the floor of the little waiting room that
they had, he grabbed his shirt by the collar that had been soaked with sweat
from the day and pulled it off his body, changing into a cleaner one that he
had stuffed in the backseat of his own car.
He made one last sweep of the place, making sure that everything was where it
was supposed to be and that everything was properly locked up before he finally
shut the door to the place and got into his car and drove towards the old
farmhouse.
The place wasn’t exactly a secret or at least not as much of a secret that
people, teenagers, wished it could be. For generations the place has been used
for parties and it was notorious for first. First drink. First kiss. First
what-have-you. Everyone in town knew where it was. It was an old house that had
long ago been abandoned but was still well kept because of the fact that nearly
every weekend there was some party of some sort going on within those walls.
Back when Dean was still in school, when all he had to worry about was grades
and getting into a good college, the farmhouse was the place to be. Anybody who
was anybody was there and even if you weren’t anybody, you were there. It was a
place that for just a couple of hours that you could relax and not let the
weight of the world weigh you down. Even at the mere age of twenty-one, Dean
still went there sometimes to see his buddies who were still in school and were
too busy to stop in and say hi to him at the garage.
He could hear the music pouring out of the front door and the windows. The sun
had just set behind the horizon and the party was already in full swing. He
took a deep breath, trying to steel his nerves. He never did well in places
that were jammed packed with people. He hated that feeling of being trapped and
not able to escape if he needed too and while he knew that there was no one in
there that wanted to hurt him, he never liked the thought of being trapped
inside a sea of people.
But Dean Winchester was always good at faking it. He was good at faking that he
was having a good time and that he wasn’t bothered by the fact that he was
surrounded by people all on sides. He could plaster on that smirk and
everything was going to be fine.
There were bodies pressed up against bodies everywhere. It was still pretty
early in the evening, relatively speaking but Dean could smell the alcohol that
clung to the air the moment that he stepped through the door. There were
couples already making out with each other in whatever corner they could find.
He recognized the faces of old classmates and they smiled at him for the
briefest moment before continuing their conversation.
He made his way to the kitchen, knowing that it was going to be just as packed
as it was in the living room but there was alcohol in there and he desperately
needed something in his system to take the edge off. His skin was already
starting to crawl at the heat and the sounds and the proximity of everyone.
Dean leaned up against the counter, a red solo cup in his hand and surveyed the
sea of people before his eyes landed on Benny who was already whispering in the
ear this cute little redhead saying things that were making her blush. Benny
caught Dean’s eye and squeezed the girl's hip once, saying something that
caused her to giggle and then he left her, making his way towards Dean.
Dean already had a drink in his hand ready for Benny to take.
“Thought you weren’t gonna show up, chief.” Benny said as he took his spot next
to Dean leaning against the island watching the crowd just as Dean was doing.
“Yeah, well what can I say? I wasn’t gonna pass up free booze.” Dean replied
trying to sound nonchalant and not make it so obvious that he was looking for
one person in particular.
Benny narrowed his eyes at Dean before he started laughing. Dean tore his
attention away from the crowd and to Benny. “What?”
“You’re looking for the kid, aren’t you?” Even though he posed it as a
question, they both knew that Benny wasn’t asking.
“What kid?”
Benny scoffed as opposed to playing into Dean’s defiance. “You know, he’s
probably not going to show up. From what I hear, Gordon’s got the kid on a
short leash. Gordon isn’t going to let him show up, at least not alone. And if
he comes with the kid, he’s not gonna let you talk to him.”
“Yeah well, I’m more optimistic than you. He’s gonna show up.”
And Dean believed that… until Sam didn’t show up. He found himself a spot near
the back of the living room, close to the kitchen and the alcohol but placed to
where he could see anyone who walked in through the door. However as the night
continued to grow older, the less faith that he had that Sam was going to
actually show up. Fewer people filtered in through the door until there was
hardly anyone coming in.
By the time that he had abandoned his spot, he finally came to the realization
that Benny was once again right and that Sam wasn’t able to escape from Gordon.
He eventually let himself get lost in the music. He had enough alcohol in his
system to numb his senses and his urge to flee from the unruly crowd. He found
some girl to dance with. She kept her body close to Dean’s, her arms up around
his neck, her breath fanning out across his face and after several seconds of
just listening to the music and feeling her move up against him, he placed his
hands on her hips, starting to move along with her.
She looked up at him, her lips pulling into a smile. Dean was well aware of the
game that she was trying to play. He was aware the feelings that she had for
him. It was probably the same for every person there. Dean was well known
around town to ruin all expectations for everyone in bed. And honestly, if this
was any other night, he would have been more than happy to lead her into a
corner and stick his tongue down her throat and his hand up her skirt but his
heart wasn’t into it.
Sure, her grinding up against him was making his dick do an interesting twitch
in his jeans but he wasn’t looking to get laid tonight.
The girl was saying something in his ear but Dean wasn’t listening, not that he
could hear her over the sound of the music screaming overhead. He moved along
to the music, letting his eyes drift over the crowd and then he just froze. He
stopped moving, his body unable to find a beat to move along too.
There, coming out of the small kitchen stood Sam, his eyes scanning the crowd
just like Dean had done. He still wearing a pair of khaki pants and another
tacky collared shirt, his fingers holding onto a red cup like it was his
lifeline.
He looked so small standing there, so out of place and Dean suddenly stepped
away from the girl, feeling like he had been caught doing something that he
shouldn’t have been doing despite the fact that Sam hadn’t even looked his way
yet.
The girl scoffed, pushing Dean hard in the chest that barely made his step
backwards before sulking off to some bleach blonde jock that seemed more than
happy to sweep her up into his arms.
Dean cleared his throat and straightened his shirt like he was some shy kid
before making his way over to the boy.
“You do not need this,” Dean said, coming up beside Sam and taking the cup out
of his hands. Sam jumped at the sound of his voice and made a move to grab his
drink back but Dean placed a hand in the middle of his chest, keeping him just
out of distance of the cup.
“That was mine.” Sam whined, a weak attempt at protesting the fact that Dean
was now drinking his drink.
Dean made a face when he took a sip, deciding to place the drink on the mantle
instead of drinking the rest or giving it back to Sam.
“Trust me, kid, you don’t want that.” Sam looked up at the glass for a second
before finally nodding and ducking his gaze, looking guilty. The kid barely
looked like he was out of high school, probably still in it and by the looks of
it, Sam obviously never tried to sneak a drink after hours when his parents had
gone to bed.
So Dean was doing the kid a favor, keeping his conscience clean. Wouldn’t want
the kid worrying about drinking on top of going against Gordon’s clear demand
of never seeing Dean again.
See Gordon, I’m watching out for the kid when you’re not. He thought smugly to
himself before he wrapped his arm around Sam’s shoulder and pulled him out of
the doorway and towards the front door of the house. He wanted out of there. He
wanted to be alone somewhere with Sam and get to know more about him. He wanted
to be away from the prying eyes of everyone else there.
It didn’t take Sam long to figure out where Dean was leading him and he ducked
underneath Dean’s arm, causing Dean to stop.
“Why are we leaving?” Sam asked. “I just got here.”
“Yeah, well, the party is a buzz kill. Booze is hot, the girls aren’t pretty.
It’s not much fun.” Dean replied, shrugging his shoulders.
Sam glanced around the room, pausing briefly on the young couples who were
dancing with each other, laughing at corny jokes, or making out like they were
the only two people in the room before returning his gaze back to Dean.
“I didn’t think that the girls looked that bad.” He said in a small voice.
“And...Uhh… I don’t have to drink. I could just have some water or something.”
“If you’re trying to convince me to stay, you’re doing an awful job at it.”
Dean chuckled. “Why do you wanna stay so bad? You see a girl that catches your
eye? I could introduce you if you would like.” Dean made a quick sweep around
the room. There were plenty of girls that he honestly wouldn’t mind going home
with.
“What? No!” Sam exclaimed. “There’s not… no… it’s just…” He looked down at the
ground, toeing at the corner of the faded carpet that blanketed the floor.
“It’s just… I’ve never been to a party before.”
“Never been to a party before?” Dean repeated. “How old are you, kid?”
“I’m seventeen!” Sam said quickly. “Just back home I was never really friends
with the kids that went to parties, you know?”
“Let me guess, you stayed with your books and your study groups?”
The blush that fanned out across his face was adorable however Dean would never
admit that out loud, even if someone forced him to say it. “Hey, well that’s
cool too, Sam. Just take it from someone who’s been to more parties than study
groups, this party is not something worth spending any time at.”
Dean turned around and Sam quickly appeared at his side. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.” Dean smirked, holding the door open for Sam.
The night air was refreshing. It cooled his skin and it was like he could
finally breathe again. Dean led Sam to the car, ducking into the driver's seat
and waited for Sam to climb into the car. He closed the door gently, like he
was scared of hurting the car and then put on his seatbelt like any other good
samaritan.
“Aren’t you going to put on your seatbelt?” Sam asked when Dean had turned over
the engine and the car lurched forward.
Dean looked over the passenger seat, smirking at him and then turned back to
the road, giving Sam all the answer that he was going to get.
Sam mumbled something to himself before he shoved his hands into the pockets of
his jacket, having suddenly fallen completely silent. His leg bobbed up and
down in his seat as he kept his eyes on the road ahead of him, his brow pulled
together in concentration like he was trying to memorize where he was. Dean
wondered, just for a moment, what Gordon had told Sam about him and how much of
it was a lie.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Dean and Gordon didn’t get along. Haven’t for the longest time. There was once
a point when they were only kids running around on the playground together and
everything was good in the world but that changed when Dean had discovered
street racing and Gordon thought that he was going to save Dean’s soul or
something like that and ended up screwing up his own life.
The streets were quiet, empty, silent; the only thing that could be heard was
the roar of Dean’s engine as he drove to the little diner that was just on the
outskirts of town, at the edge of the interstate.
He parked in front of small building that was in desperate need of a face-lift
but honestly if the owners ever did decide to update the place, Dean was going
to miss the old place. It had a certain character that most places didn’t have.
It felt like home to him. His home that was soaked in trans fat.
Dean watched as Sam climbed out of the car slowly, his movements careful. He
pulled out a cigarette from the front pocket on his jacket, the little orange
flame lighting up his face for a moment as he lit the cigarette. He took a long
drag of it, noticing how the neon lights from the diner created shadows that
cast down onto Sam that seemed to highlight the contour of his face.
The bell rang overhead as Dean entered the diner with Sam in tow and made a
beeline to the back booth, the one he always got when he came here. There was
only one other person in the diner, some greasy haired trucker who had dark
circles under his eyes. Ellen, the waitress that had been working there for
about how long Dean was alive, smiled as she poured the trucker his cup of
coffee before setting it back down on the coffee maker and then made her way
over to where Dean was sitting.
“I see that you still haven’t kicked the habit.” She greeted Dean, gesturing to
the cigarette that was hanging loosely in between his fingers and Dean just
shrugged.
“Well, what can I say, the girls dig the whole bad boy vibe.” Dean smirked in
reply and Ellen just rolled her eyes.
“Yeah and then they mature and find a responsible man with a well paying job.
Anyway, what can I get for you boys?” She asked, pulling out a pad out of the
front of her apron, her pen poised over the paper, waiting for the boys to
place their order.
“I’ll get my usual,” Dean said, not even looking over at the menu. “And then
whatever he’s having.”
All eyes were pointed towards Sam now and he quickly reached out for a menu
that was shoved between the ketchup and napkin dispenser. He read over what
they had. He chewed on his bottom lip for a moment before looking up at Ellen’s
waiting, patient face.
“I’ll… uhh… I’ll take a chocolate milkshake, I guess.” He finally answered
making a move to put the menu back where he got it from but Dean snatched it
out of his hands.
“Nope. He doesn’t want that. Make it a vanilla shake with the chocolate syrup
all mixed together.” Ellen smiled as she jotted the edited order down like she
had heard Dean request the same thing a million times. “And Ellen, be sure to
tell Jerry not to skimp on the chocolate syrup. Gotta treat my boy right.”
“You got it, sugar. It’ll be out in a moment.” And with that Ellen turned and
disappeared into the kitchen.
When Dean turned his gaze away from the woman in the yellow uniform that he
practically considered his mother, he saw that Sam was just staring at him.
Staring at him in a way that made Dean nervous.
But instead of questioning Sam’s gaze, he leaned back in his seat, trying to
look nonchalant about the whole thing, taking another long drag of his
cigarette and then blowing out the smoke, away from Sam. He turned his head to
look out the window, at the interstate that was just within reach of him,
watching all the headlights grow and disappear, chase after the car in front of
it. The streetlights that were placed along the sidewalk barely illuminated the
gray cement.
“You know, those are going to rot your teeth out.” Sam said after a long moment
of silence and Dean turned to look back at Sam, the corner of his mouth pulling
into a smile.
“You might have mentioned that.” However he jammed the rest of his cigarette
into the ashtray that was sitting on the table and leaned back in his seat,
throwing his arm over the back of the booth. He looked the boy that was sitting
in front of him up and down.
He wasn’t what he was used to seeing around here. Khakis and button downs and
that shaggy little hair cut. Most of the people around here wore jeans that had
holes in the knees and threadbare t-shirts. He was different. For once, Dean
wasn’t the abnormal in the normal. Now Sam was too. “Alright so, Sam, tell me,
why here? Out of all the small towns in America, why the hell did you pick this
place? What’s your story?”
Sam looked down at the checkered cloth table, picking at the frayed end and
shrugged his shoulders. “There isn’t much to tell. My parents died when I was
little and ever since then, I’ve been bouncing around from family to family.
Gordon’s family just took me in, told me that I could stay with them until I
finish high school and then it’s off to college, I guess.”
“Well, shit kid.” Dean breathed. And he thought that he had it bad. He would
take his drunk father and broken but stationary home over having been moving
around his whole life any day.
“It’s not too bad. I got to see the largest ball of yarn twice.” Sam said,
trying to lighten the mood a little.
Dean leaned forward placing his elbows on the table, getting closer to Sam.
“Tell you what, I’ll make sure that…”
But Dean wasn’t able to complete his sentence before a plate that was filled
with fries and a huge burger was placed down in front of him and a milkshake
was placed in front of Sam. You could still see the chocolate syrup sticking to
the glass.
“Dean Winchester! What have I told you about laying on my tables?” Ellen
exclaimed, hitting Dean on the shoulder, making Dean sit back in his seat like
a proper human being. “You come in here smoking those god awful things and now
you’re sprawling out on the furniture like you own the damn place. One more
strike and I’m sending you out of here, son. You understand me?” Ellen warned
as Dean looked up at her with this sheepish grin, sneaking a bite of one of his
fries.
“Yeah, okay,” Dean mumbled, reaching out across the table to stick his half
eaten fry in Sam’s milkshake and then taking a bite of it. Ellen scoffed,
slapping him on the back of his hand.
“And I thought that I taught you to have better table manners than that!” She
turned to look towards Sam. “I’ll bring ya another milkshake, honey and if he
causes you any trouble, just let me know. I’ll tan his ass ‘til kingdom come.”
Dean couldn’t keep from laughing. Ellen shot him one more look before
disappearing back into the kitchen with a disgruntled sigh, muttering about
disrespectful boys and where did she go wrong in the world. When she was no
longer in sight, Dean reached across the table and grabbed a hold of Sam’s
milkshake, pulling it towards him. Sam looked between the drink and Dean with
wide eyes, his mouth slightly agape.
“Don’t worry, she’s bringing you another one.” Dean said, shoving another fry
into the milkshake and then ate it. “So… what are your plans for the future,
Sam?” Dean asked taking a bite of another fry.
Sam watched him for a moment, trying to decide to say something about how
improper it was for him to eat with his mouth full and Dean almost wanted Sam
to say something but he didn’t. Instead he looked back down at the frayed
tablecloth.
“I’ve got one more year left of school and then I plan on going west, maybe go
to Stanford. I don’t really know yet.” He mumbled. “What about you?”
“Me?” Dean echoed. “Well, I can tell ya one thing, I sure as hell ain’t going
to college. Not that any would take me in the first place.”
“Why?”
“Never heard of one takin’ a high school drop out but it’s all good. I got a
job down at the garage and I work part time as a bartender. Maybe if I could
make a little more money, I might try out racing professionally, you know,
since I’m pretty good at it but who knows. Might just stick to the streets.”
“What about your family?”
“It’s just me and my dad. My mom died when I was young.” Dean replied shortly,
breaking his gaze with Sam to look down at his burger and pick it up to take a
bite out of it.
“Oh,” Sam said softly, noticing the way that the air around them suddenly grew
thick with tension that was created by his question.
Ellen brought another milkshake out and placed it down in front of Sam, the
chocolate still stuck to the inside of the glass and warned Dean that if he ate
the boys milkshake again that she wouldn’t let him come back inside the diner.
He just smirked at her, promising to be on his best behavior for the rest of
the night.
They didn’t say much. Dean ate his burger, stuffing his mouth with fries and
milkshake between bites and Sam sipped on his own milkshake, looking in the
direction of Dean but not really at him.
The easy conversational atmosphere that they previously had was gone.
“You done?” Sam asked when Dean finished his last bite of his burger, watching
him as he pushed away his empty plate and the way that he stretched out in the
seat.
It was only the two of them there now. The trucker had left a little while ago.
The only thing that could be heard was the faint voice of some country singer
singing about his woes over the crackly speaker and the light that was above
them that buzzed with electricity.
“You already trying to get rid of me?” Dean asked, a teasing lilt to his words.
However despite the fact that he was teasing, there was some truth behind that
statement that he hoped not the be the truth. He tried to keep his uncertainty
out of his voice but failed. The end of his question trailed off with his voice
an octave higher than he wanted. The night didn’t go the way that he wanted it
too. Sam looked more annoyed with him than entranced and the last thing that
Dean wanted was for this to be the last conversation they ever had.
This wasn’t exactly a date. I mean, two guys could go to a diner and have a
milkshake as platonic friends, right? But Dean couldn’t help but think that he
failed at making it a good date. Sam hadn’t said much after Dean had snapped at
him about his family and it was stupid for him to get so defensive about such a
small detail of his life. But Dean didn’t tell many people what happened to his
mom or the fact that his father wasn’t really around anymore. He hated the
looks of pity that he got when people learned the truth.
“I could… uhh… take you home.” Dean offered rubbing the back of his neck as
they stepped outside.
Sam looked over towards the Impala that was parked and then back towards Dean
before shaking his head. “I don’t have to go home yet.”
“Alright.” Dean said through a small smile.
He stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets, trying to keep his fingertips
warm and started walking away from the car with Sam beside him, his own head
bent and his hands pushed into his pants pockets.
They walked in a comfortable sort of silence for some time, just listening to
each other’s footfalls on the pavement.
“Was that really the first party that you’ve ever been too?” Dean finally asked
after a little while.
Sam nodded. “I never stayed in a place long enough to really to go to parties.”
“Well, trust me, kid, you didn’t miss much.”
Sam nodded again, however Dean could see the way that Sam’s face fell at the
mention of the party. There really was no substitute in experiencing a party
for yourself and finding out that they aren’t as great as the movies portray
them to be.
“I’ll take you to a party before you graduate, if you still want to go.” Dean
promised and Sam’s eyes lit up like a fucking Christmas tree.
“Really?”
“‘Course. I’ll take you one, let you drink all the cheap booze there is and
then hold your hair back when you puke up your guts. It’ll be great.” Dean
joked and Sam nudged him lightly with his shoulder in retaliation to Dean’s
unnecessary hair insult. Sam liked his hair longer, thank you very much.
“You ever kissed a boy before?” Dean asked after another few months of silence,
watching Sam closely, gauging his reaction to his question.
Sam’s eyes widen as he cast his gaze downward and shook his head.
“You ever kissed a girl before?” Dean pressed, teasing, leaning in closer to
Sam.
“Of course I have, jerk!” Sam popped his head up, glaring at Dean through the
night, trying to earn back some of his dignity. He sighed heavily before
dropping his arms and turning away from Dean.
“Kid.” Dean called out, reaching out to grab a hold of Sam’s shirt but Sam was
already too far ahead of him. “Sam. Sam! Dammit,” he muttered under his breath
as he ran out in front of Sam, stopping him from walking in a straight line any
further. “Sam, I was just kidding, alright? I’m sorry.”
Dean Winchester never apologized and yet here he was, standing in front of this
boy that he just met and he couldn’t keep the desperation out of his voice as
he apologized.
Sam wasn’t like anyone else he ever met and it wasn’t just because of his
clothes or his hair or even the way he talked. It had something to do with the
way that Sam looked at him, addressed him. To Sam, Dean wasn’t just some flirt
that was able to give you the best lay in your life. To Sam, Dean was a mystery
created by Gordon and he wanted to figure out what Dean did that was so bad for
Gordon to ban all contact with him. To Sam, Dean was some guy who wore leather
jackets and raced his cars and while he had a playboy attitude, yet ever since
Sam met him, he was nothing like the stereotype that he had painted for
himself.
And to Dean, Sam was the only person who didn’t know every single detail of his
life (although he knew that if Sam stuck around much longer he would) and
didn’t judge him for all of his mistakes. Dean wanted to keep it like that,
keep Sam oblivious to what the whole town thought they knew. Keep Sam oblivious
to his past and his father and the fact that he was barely making ends meet.
He was about to say something else when they were both illuminated by the
lights of a car speeding towards them. Some guy, probably someone who did even
know the name of the town that he was racing through, came towards them. The
wheels of his car hit a puddle of run off water that had yet to evaporate from
the last storm.
Dean grabbed Sam by his shoulders, pulling him into his body, shielding him
from the spray of water. The icy cold water splashed up over the curb, hitting
Dean’s back, soaking him through his clothes. Goosebumps rose on his skin
almost immediately at the feeling of the water and his fingers dug into Sam’s
shoulders as he shivered.
Sam, though, had remained completely dry, the palms of his hands flat against
Dean’s chest to where Dean held them together on the curb.
Dean didn’t let go of Sam, even long after the car had disappeared and the
water puddle had stilled.
They were so fucking close. Dean could almost feel Sam’s heart beating through
his chest. He glanced down to Sam’s mouth. Sam had pulled his bottom lip in
between his teeth and Dean’s breathing hitched.
“Dean…” Sam breathed and Dean pulled his eyes back up to meet Sam’s. He pulled
away just far enough that he could look at his face. The shadows on his face
seemed deeper and his eyes shined brighter than they should have at the end of
the poorly lit sidewalk. He reached out and pushed a stray piece of hair that
had fallen on Sam’s forehead, ignoring the little voice in the back of his head
that this was like a scene right out of a chick flick.
“Hey, just relax.” Dean whispered, his breath fanning out across Sam’s face,
hoping that Sam was wanting the same thing that he wanted. Sam shuddered, his
fingers tightening around Dean’s jacket, pulling his body closer to Dean’s.
Sam stared up at him, his eyes wide and open in anticipation. Dean backed them
up until Sam hit his back on the brick wall, their bodies hidden by the shadows
and a surprised yelp left Sam’s mouth.
“You’re gonna be fine, fine kid.” Dean whispered, ducking his head down closer
towards Sam. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want too.”
But please god, let him want this.
However Sam nodded. He nodded once that he wanted to and it felt like there was
some kind of weight that was lifted off of Dean’s chest. At least there was
some kind of mutual feeling between the two of them. All he wanted was this
kid’s approval. Dean kissed him, his lips on top of Sam’s. If Sam had relaxed
at all, he immediately grabbed Dean’s jacket tighter. His knuckles turning
white.
Dean chuckled into the kiss and Sam let go of Dean’s jacket, his hands finding
their place on Dean’s hips.
It was awkward as hell at first. Dean didn’t feel as smooth, as confident in
what he was doing and it was a bit ridiculous. He had kissed his fair share of
girls (and if he was completely honest, his fair share of guys). He knew how to
kiss and yet here he felt like he was standing on the kid’s front porch with
sweaty palms and butterflies in his stomach. He forgot what butterflies even
felt like.
Sam was stiff underneath Dean’s lips, letting Dean kiss him as he tried to
follow along. It was hardly enough for Dean. All he wanted to do was press Sam
hard up against the wall, his hands finding their way up Sam’s shirt, stealing
all the warmth that he had to offer.
Dean broke away for a moment, his lips hovering over Sam’s, giving Sam the
opportunity to stop Dean from continuing but Sam stayed where he was, looking
at Dean expectant, nervousness in his eyes. “Relax.” Dean repeated. “It’s
alright. We’ll go…” But he was cut off when Sam hooked his fingers into the
belt loops of Dean’s jeans, pulling their bodies flush up against each other.
Dean could feel the long, hard line of Sam’s body running against his.
Dean made a soft noise, somewhere between a small moan and a surprised yelp
when Sam slipped his fingers underneath the hem of Dean’s shirt, his cold
fingertips resting on the bare skin of his hips. Dean’s flesh burned where Sam
touched him and he was already starting to crave it.
He took a half step forward, pressing Sam even further up against the wall. He
slid his hand up Sam’s body, feeling him underneath the pads of his fingertips.
He carded his hand through Sam’s hair, pulling on it slightly, standing up on
his toes and angling Sam’s head down so that he could kiss Sam deeper.
Sam still had one hand on Dean’s waist, his other hand was wrapped around the
base of Dean’s neck, blunt nails scraping along the short hairs there.
Dean pulled away, just a fraction of an inch, lungs burning with the want of
oxygen, chest heaving with heavy pants and Sam let Dean get in a swallow of air
before he was pulling Dean back to him, mouth hungry against Dean’s.
They stayed like that, tangled at the mouth, hands grabbing at whatever they
could until they pulled away, still breathing against each other’s lips.
“Shit kid, where’d ya learn how to kiss like that?” Dean asked with a small
chuckle, rubbing at his bottom lip.
And lord help him, Sam started to blush and it took everything in Dean not to
reach out and kiss Sam once again. No one should look that adorable with blush
fanning out across his face after kissing him like that. Sam knew what he was
doing.
“Just because I don’t have a lot of experience doesn’t mean that I’m
inexperienced.” Sam muttered and yeah, fuck not kissing him again.
“Come on, kid. Let’s get you home.” Dean said through a smile, pulling Sam from
the wall and wrapping his arm around his shoulders.
By the time that Dean got back home, his clothes were now sticking to him,
still damp from the water that he had shielded Sam from. His dad wasn’t asleep
in his chair like Dean had expected him to be. He checked his room, sighing in
relief when he saw him laying out on his stomach, snoring loudly.
He undressed his father, untying his shoes and placing them at the foot of the
bed. Pulling back the blankets and pulling them up around his shoulders before,
once again, filling up a glass of water and placing it on his bedside table. He
knew, despite the fact that his father never explicitly told him, he was
grateful for the fact that Dean made sure that he stayed hydrated. If anything,
Dean knew that his father noticed that Dean did that small thing for him. There
were only a couple of times that he had forgotten (because he was bone tired
and fell asleep still fully clothed on his bed) and his father had yelled at
him the next morning for not having any water for him.
Once he made sure that his father was cared for, he striped out of his clothes,
the wet material falling to the ground with a wet plop and shivered under the
cold stream. He was going to have to get that water tank fixed or he and his
father weren’t going to be able to survive the winter.
He woke before his alarm went off, sleep still pulling at the corner of his
eyes but he got up anyway. He had too. He rubbed the heel of his hand into his
eyes as he walked into the kitchen with the means of making a pot of coffee
before he left for the garage. However he stopped cold in his tracks when he
crossed the threshold, seeing that his father was up and awake, his hair pushed
up on one side of his head from where he had been sleeping, a cup of freshly
brewed coffee in his hand.
Dean dropped his hand from his eyes, clearing his throat as he continued to
walk into the kitchen, trying ignore the fact that his father’s eyes were
trailing him. It was unusual for him to be up this early, aware and sober.
He grabbed a cup from the cupboard, filling it nearly to the brim of the
strong, bitter liquid before turning around and meeting his father’s gaze.
“Good morning.” Dean finally spoke after a long moment.
“Where were you last night?” John asked, his voice completely void of any kind
of emotion. He watched Dean, his eyes narrowed just ever so slightly,
calculating.
Didn’t think that you noticed that I was gone. “I was out.”
The fingers that were holding onto the coffee cup tightened. “Don’t get smart
with me, boy. Where were you?”
Dean swallowed as he looked down at his cup, unable to return John’s gaze. “I
went to the old farm house. There was a party last night.”
John growled in annoyance. “Thought I told you not to go to anymore of those
parties. Hell, thought you would have learned your lesson after what happened
the last time you were at one of those parties. But you were always the child
who would stick his hand back into the hole even after you got bit. Always were
a bit dull.” John mumbled as he took a sip of his coffee.
Dean blinked once, biting back the way that his throat seemed to tighten at his
father’s words. But then he bit down, clenching his jaw and stood just a little
taller, pulling up the blocks that would protect him.
“You go home with anyone last night?” John asked as he set the cup back down.
This time Dean hesitated before answering. His father was understanding when it
came to many different things and he didn’t necessarily complain when Dean came
home from his shift at the bar with a few extra dollars and didn’t ask
questions because John knew that women could tip well but they wouldn’t tip
that well. But Dean wasn’t sure how understanding his father would be if he
knew that he practically took Sam on a date.
“No.” He said with a locked jaw.
John scoffed. “Sure. Did you at least get her number or did she leave you like
the last one?” But his interest in his son was already gone. The sports section
in the paper that Dean still managed to pay grabbing his attention.
“I didn’t.” Dean mumbled, drinking the rest of his coffee, savoring the burn as
it went down his throat. It distracted him from the knifes that were being
stabbed into his heart. Great way to start the morning. He put the empty cup in
the sink, slinking past his dad with a mumbled ‘I’ll see you after work’.
That received a weak grunt from John and that was it.
He didn’t talk much when he got to the garage. He grabbed his coveralls from
where they hung on his hook in the back and slipped into them, checking the
work log for the day, satisfied to see that it was nearly full.
It was good mindless work.
He was under some car, repairing the break lines when someone grabbed ahold of
his ankle, pulling him out from underneath the car. He clinched his jaw in
annoyance, ready to tear a new one in the person who thought that they needed
to yank him out from underneath the car. Hadn’t they ever heard of just calling
his name? However when he pushed up off the ground, someone hovered over him,
their feet on either side of his body, forcing him to stay in the vulnerable
position on his back. Dean’s body immediately went on the defense, ready to
fight if he had too.
His knuckles were thirsty for blood.
“Thought I told you to stay away from him, Winchester.” Gordon sneered,
gathering a fist full of Dean’s shirt, pulling him up from the ground just a
bit and Dean’s blood boiled in his veins.
The last person that he wanted to deal with at the moment was Gordon
“What the hell are you talking about?” Dean spit back, yanking Gordon’s hand
away from his shirt and shoving him back so that Dean could climb to his feet.
“Don’t act so dumb. I’m talking about Sam.” Gordon replied, stepping up to Dean
that their chest nearly touched, trying to make himself seem bigger than he
actually was. “He comes home late last night smelling like booze and cigarette
smoke with this dazed look in his eye and he won’t keep from smiling and
mumbling about you. I’m not stupid, Winchester. You took him to that party, you
got him drunk and then you slept with him. Kinda illegal being that he’s only
seventeen.”
Sometime later when Dean was alone in his room and the events from today would
replay in his head, there would be a giddy little skip to his heart at the
thought that Sam was thinking about him. But that moment wasn’t now.
“Woah, hey now, I don’t know where you’re getting the idea that he got drunk
and that I slept with him but that’s not what happened.”
“Really? Because that’s not what I hear. I get to work today after dropping Sam
off at school and all I hear from my co-workers is how ‘Wesson left with Dean
at the party last night’. And I thought to myself ‘surely they don’t mean Sam
because he never went to any party’ and yet it makes sense.”
“You know, maybe you should ask him what really happened before you come into
my garage and start making accusations. Whatever you think I am Gordon, I’m
not. I don’t take advantage of people. In fact, I’m the whole reason why he
didn’t drink last night. He showed up, had some party punch and I took it away
from him. Then I took him to a diner and he had a milkshake. Alright? I didn’t
do nothing to Sam.”
Gordon looked at him for a long second, mouth pressed into a thin line.
“Alright, you might not have done anything this time but you’re the reason why
he showed up at the party in the first place.” Gordon growled out. “If it
weren’t for you planting that dumb ass idea into his head, he wouldn’t have
needed you to so heroically save him.” The venom wasn't hard to miss.
“Fuck off, Gordon.” Dean spit. “I’ve got work to do and none of it has to deal
with explaining myself to you. Sam can do whatever the hell he wants and if he
wants to go to some party then you can’t keep him from doing that.”
Gordon took a step forward, grabbing another fist full of Dean’s shirt. “You
better stay away from that kid, Winchester. He doesn’t need to be dragged into
your mess. He’s got a future and a bright one at that. In a year, he’ll be done
with school and then he’ll be out of here and he doesn’t need you screwing that
up for him.”
“You already threatened me with that once.” Dean placed his hands in the middle
of Gordon’s chest and shoved him away causing Gordon to stumble backwards a
couple of steps. “Now unless you have a problem with your car, you need to get
out of here.”
Gordon looked at Dean one last time before glancing over at the table where
Dean had all of his tools laid out. As he turned to leave, he grabbed the edge
of the table and flipped it over, all the tools clattering to the ground.
“Have a nice day, Winchester.” Gordon said with a tight smile and then
disappeared out the door.
Dean ran a tired hand across his forehead, trying to collect himself and not
run after Gordon and put his fist through his face on principle alone. It was a
bitch ass move on Gordon’s part to flip all his tools like that but it had
successfully pissed Dean off for the rest of the day. The customers had noticed
it. The other guys at the garage noticed it when they came in for their shift
and while Dean was good at trying to act like nothing was bothering him, he
couldn’t keep the sharp tone out of his words.
They don’t bother him much throughout the day. They left him to his work,
leaving the methodical process of taking apart machines and putting them back
together calm him down.
He looked down at his watch sometime later, sighing to himself as he wiped his
hands on his rag. The shift at the garage was over, all he needed to do was
close up and in a couple of hours his shift down at the bar on the corner of
the interstate would start.
Little pro tip: if you want good tips, flirt just a little with the customers.
Don’t matter what they got between their legs. If they got money, they’re fair
game and Dean used that to his advantage more than once. Anybody would be a
fool not to return his flirting with those apple green eyes and freckles that
you could get lost in.
He had half the mind to head home, maybe catch a couple of minutes of sleep
before he worked for another solid eight hours but he was too wired. His body
would never calm enough for him to actually drift off.
Working two jobs was hard; it wore him out. In between that and racing whenever
he got the chance, he hardly felt like he had anytime to breathe but just
working under the hoods of cars didn’t exactly pay all the bills and put gas in
his car. However if he wanted to keep that fact that he was still racing a
secret from his dad, he needed an extra stream of revenue.
He locked up the shop, pocketing the keys before he headed down the road,
further into town. Most of the shops were closed at this hour. Nothing in this
small town seemed to be open much later than six. Everyone wanted to be back at
home in their living rooms all huddled around the TV watching Wheel of Fortune,
seeing if they could solve those words puzzles before the contestants did. Dean
didn’t mind it much, quite frankly. He liked it when he had a couple of hours
to kill between shifts. It was just him and the empty street ahead of him. It
sure beat having to answer all those questions about how he was doing, how his
father was holding up, if he was still doing well.
Before he knew it, he was on the edge of town, walking past the little diner
that he was in the night before. He expected to see the road wary truck drivers
sitting inside, eager to have a little bit of human interaction before they had
to get back out on the road.
But what he didn’t expect to see was the shaggy hair from the boy who was
mindlessly sipping from a milkshake (vanilla ice cream with the chocolate
syrup), flipping through what looked like to be a textbook sitting in the same
booth they sat in the night before.
Dean smiled to himself, not able to keep himself from smiling and pushed the
door open to the diner.
***** Chapter 3 *****
Sam didn’t look up from where he was however Ellen, who was working that night,
looked up at the door, smiling when she saw him. Dean returned the smile and
she returned to the conversation with the reasonably attractive truck driver
that was leaning on the counter, a half eaten slice of pie in front of him.
“Well, are you a sentimental one.” Dean teased as he slid into the other side
of the booth.
Sam seemed to jump a mile high when he heard Dean’s voice, the straw falling
from his mouth. There was a little bit of chocolate syrup in the corner of his
lips and Dean wanted to do nothing more than to lick it up for himself. Sam’s
eyes widen like he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jaw, looking
down at the traitorous milkshake and the booth that he had picked out.
Surely it was a coincidence.
“I… uh…” He licked at the corner of his lip, licking up the chocolate, running
his tongue along his bottom lip as he ran a nervous hand through his hair. He
was really all too adorable.
And he decided then that he was never going to take Sam home to met his father.
He would do nothing but tear Sam apart, making him run from Dean as fast as he
could with his tail tucked between his legs. His father tended to do that to
people.
“It was the only table that was open when I came in.” Sam stuttered out.
“Yeah?” Dean smiled, leaning back in the seat, throwing his arm over the back
of the seat. “And what about the milkshake?”
Sam’s eyes widened even more and there was a light color of red that pained his
cheeks and the top of his ears.
“Uh… Ellen, she remembered that I liked it and she… she got it for me.”
The fond smile didn’t leave Dean’s face. Never mind the fact that he had
memorized Ellen’s schedule. It hadn’t changed for the last ten years that he
had been coming here. She usually didn’t work Tuesday nights and he highly
doubted that after so long of working the same schedule that she would suddenly
change it. But he didn’t call Sam out.
Instead he stole one of the fries that was sitting on a plate that looked like
Sam had abandoned it sometime ago and made a face when he realized that it was
rather cold and was no longer the delicious deep fried potato that he thought
it was. He looked around the table, taking all the books that were in various
states. Some were opened. Some were closed, stacked on top of each other. All
of them with post it notes sticking out of them. He picked up one of the books
that had to weigh a ton, flipping it over to the title and read it out to
himself. Advanced Business Calculus. Another quick glance around the table and
there was no doubt in Dean’s mind that all of them were AP textbooks.
“Shit kid.” Dean whistled, haphazardly throwing the calculus book down, earning
an annoyed look from Sam.” “Just how smart are you?”
If it was possible, Sam blushed even harder, reaching out across the table,
picking up the book that Dean had thrown and placed it on top of one of the
stacks that he had going in the corner.
“I told you. Plan on going out west for college. I have to do well in school,
get some scholarships.” He shrugged, holding up the notebook that he was
writing in as if for emphasis.  “It’s the only way that I’ll be able to afford
to go.”
“Well then, by all means, keep studying.”
“Keep studying?” Sam repeated, the phrase a question in his mouth. “No, I
couldn’t do that. That would be rude.” He started closing his notebook. “I
could order you a milkshake, if you would like or… or something else.”
“Kid…” Dean reached out and stopped Sam from packing up completely. “It’s fine.
Read your nerd books. I’ll be here for conversation if you want.”
Sam frowned before reluctantly opening back open his notebook and picking back
up from where he left off from reading. Dean watched him, the way that his brow
furrowed just a little while he was reading, his fingers tapping along the
table every so often. The bones under his skin would ripple, pulling tight
across his flesh.
Every few minutes Sam would pause from his reading and look up across the
table. The bones under his skin would ripple, pulling tight across his flesh.
Every few minutes Sam would pause from his reading and look up across the table
towards Dean and Dean would raise his eyebrows, silently asking if Sam wanted
to talk and Sam would shake his head and return to his reading. Dean wasn’t
sure how long he sat there watching Sam read, pause to look up at him only to
return to reading.
He kept an eye on his watch, stealing a couple of cold fries every now and then
and remained silent.
Finally, after about an hour, Sam dropped his pen, chewing on his bottom lip
and looked up at Dean.
“I’ve gotta… Dean, I’ve gotta ask you something.” Sam said, his voice small,
sounding timid and uncertain.
Dean moved from his position from leaning back against the seat to sitting up,
placing his forearms on the table, leaning towards Sam, giving his undivided
attention to the younger boy who had yet to stop chewing on his bottom lip.
“Yeah, I bet.” Sam shot him another nervous look and the smile faltered on
Dean’s face for a moment. “Alright, so what do you want to know?”
“It’s just…” He looked down at the table. “Last night… that wasn’t… I don’t
know. That wasn’t just a… you know… a one time thing.” Sam pushed around one of
the fries on his plate.
When Dean didn’t answer immediately, Sam stopped messing with the fry, blush
fanning out across his face.
“I’m not trying to guilt you into anything. It’s just… I heard things around
school today. Heard things about you and they all said that you don’t just
ditch someone but they’ve also never said if you’ve been with a guy before and
I don’t want to weird you out or anything, it’s just… I enjoy your company and
I don’t want you to ignore me because you think that I’m going to be clingy or
weird that I kissed you or…” Sam trailed off, realizing that he was rambling,
only making a bigger fool of himself than he already was.
Dean leaned further onto the table, closer to Sam. “Look at me kid.” Sam raised
his gaze but he didn’t directly look into Dean’s eyes. There was so fear and
uncertainty in those hazel eyes. Uncertainty that Dean had created with his
reputation. “You seem to forget that I kissed you back.”
Sam was now looking at him.
“Just because you hear the town talking about me, doesn’t mean that it’s all
true. I’ve dipped my toes in both sides of the pool so to speak. You’re not
going to scare me off with just one kiss.”
Sam relaxed after that, opening back open his notebook and he seemed to read
with ease now.
Dean could have sat there and watched Sam for however long Sam was going to
stay there but unfortunately he had to leave, his shift at the bar down the
street calling his name.
“Where are you going?” Sam asked when Dean stood from his seat, straightening
out the leather jacket he was wearing.
“I gotta punch the clock for a few hours down the street.” Dean replied,
ruffling a hand through Sam’s hair. Sam pulled away, his nose bunched up,
looking like a small child. “But don’t worry, kid, this isn’t the last that
you’ll see of me.”
And it wasn’t. The next night, when Dean was trying to kill sometime between
shifts again, he walked down the same sidewalk, past the diner and Sam was
sitting in the same booth, a plate of forgotten fries and an empty glass at the
edge of his table while he flipped through the pages of his book of the night.
Dean didn’t say anything as he walked into the diner (Jo was still working the
night shift) and slid into the booth across from Sam. Sam looked up from his
book, his lips pulled up at the corners in a greeting before he turned back to
his book. Dean watched the kid read, take random notes and every so often, Dean
would reach across the table to steal one of the cold fries, no matter how much
he hated them.
The third night, Sam was sitting at that booth and once again Dean didn’t say
anything as he took his respective place across from the younger boy. However
the only thing that was different about this night was that instead of the
fries being cold, they were hot. Almost like Sam had just ordered them.
Of course, Sam denied it but there was an adorable blush that fanned out across
his face when Dean asked.
They didn’t talk about much. They never did. Sam was too busy with his school
work and Dean was fine with just sitting there and watching him. It was
relaxing. He didn’t have to do anything for a little while, let his body calm
before he worked another busy shift down at the bar.
It started to become a regular occurrence. Sam would study for a little bit and
when the words were doing nothing more than swimming on the page, he would
close the books and they would talk.
There was one night they were talking about Sam’s life. About how how he’s
moved around, never really staying with a family for very long. He’s had so
many Thanksgivings and Christmases with so many different families that they
all start to blend together.
It was times like these, when the sun had finally settled behind the horizon
and was shining on some other part of the world, and it was only the two of
them in the small booth that Dean would recall memories of a time that
everything was still bright, when he still had a future in front of him.
He would tell Sam about the number of Christmas’s that he could count on a
single hand. He would tell him about how his father would wake him up early in
the morning the day before Christmas, often times before the sun was even up
and they would go down into the woods where the pines trees grew tall and they
would pick one to cut down and bring back to their home. His mother would be
awake by the time they got back, breakfast on the table, a fresh pot of coffee
brewing. There would be Bing Crosby playing through the house and all three of
them would decorate the tree with little glass balls and ceramic ornaments of
angels playing the harp. Once all the ornaments were played up on the tree, his
mother would hand him the star that would be placed on top and John would pick
Dean up, place him atop of his shoulders and Dean would put the star on the top
of the tree.
He never really looked at Sam when he would recall these memories of a time
when he was still so innocent of the world and the problems that were brewing
within that household and Sam would look at Dean, a certain kind of fondness in
his eyes.
Sometimes when all the right cards would fall into all the right places, Dean
would open up a little more, just a little and tell Sam about his father and
how he lost his mother at the mere age of four. He would tell Sam about how his
father did nothing more than drink now, drowning in the weight of the world and
how he was doing the best that he could to support the two of them but there
were nights when John would drink himself into a oblivion.
He tried, he really did but he had been to war one to many times. One for the
U.S. army and another when he had to bury his wife while he had a small child
clinging to him for comfort.
That would break the strongest of men. And John was just about two shakes from
crumbling.
Sam never asked much about Dean’s childhood or his father or what he remembered
of his mother. He would sit there and listen, let Dean tell him these little
pieces of his life.
Dean’s not sure how they get on the topic of Gordon one night but the moment
that Sam said his name, his fingers tightened around the glass that he was
holding.
It had been days since he had his run in with Gordon but whenever he thought
about him and the ideal threat that he threw Dean’s way, his blood started to
boil.
Sam glanced down at Dean’s hand, the way that his knuckles were white.
He took a deep breath, pushing his own glass away. “Hey, Dean, can I… can I ask
you about something?”
Dean met Sam’s gaze, knowing what he was going to ask about but he nodded
nonetheless. Sam deserved to know the reason why Gordon was so dead set on
keeping him away from him. At least just a little bit of the story.
“What happened between you and…” He trailed off.
“Between me and Gordon?” And Sam nodded. The grip on Dean’s glass didn’t
loosen. “It’s a long story, kid.”
Sam frowned, wanting to know more but he didn’t ask anything else and Dean was
grateful for it. Maybe there would be a time when Dean would tell him the whole
story. There might come a day when he told Sam all the secrets that those roads
that he raced on held. However, right now, Dean wasn’t ready to open up that
can of worms.
After that night, they didn’t have deep, soul searching conversations but they
sat there, happy and content listening to each other’s voices. Sam would
usually call it a night whenever Dean had to go off to work. Sam would walk
with Dean to the bar, his bag up on his shoulder. And while Dean would never
actually admit it, he started to look forward to the couple of hours that he
got to spend with this boy.
Nights when they were feeling a little more bold, Dean would pull Sam into the
shadows and press him up against the side of the bar and kiss him until he
couldn’t breathe.
There weren’t many days when Dean decided to call in sick to work, hell he
wasn’t sure that there was actually ever a day that he didn’t call in, deciding
that he just wasn’t going to show up. That’s one thing that his employers
always seemed to appreciate about Dean. It was his punctuality, despite his…
alternative lifestyle. As long as they didn’t see him sticking his tongue down
the throat of some guy in the bathroom, and he still brought in those customers
like he did, they could ignore those less favorable aspects of his life.
He sat across the booth from Sam, watching as Sam repeatedly ran a hand through
his hair, frustrated sighs falling past his lips every few minutes. It was
pretty obvious that whatever he was reading he wasn’t getting. Either that or
the person who wrote the book was a complete idiot and Sam was scoffing at the
guys idiocy. He was betting on the latter.
After several more minutes of frustrated sighs and watching how Sam’s brow
seemed to furrow more and more at what he was reading, Dean finally just
reached across the table and took the book away from him.
“Hey!” Sam exclaimed, making a move to grab the book from Dean but he held it
just outside his reach. “I was still reading that!”
“Yeah, I know and now you’re not.” Dean replied, making sure to dog ear the
page that Sam was one and closed the book, setting down on the seat next to
him. If Sam wanted the book so damn badly, he was going to have to climb across
Dean to get it and Dean would most certainly not complain about that.
“Dean…” He whined. “I have to finish reading that for school tomorrow. We might
have a quiz over it.”
“Yeah, key word there kid, you might. I got through high school always betting
on the might that we wouldn’t.” He smirked, remembering the number of times
that he flirted his way through C’s on these quizzes and the pretty good times
in the janitors closet. “Now, pack up your shit, kid. You need a break. You’re
gonna melt that big brain of yours if you keep this up.”
Instead of packing up his stuff like Dean had said, the kid wanted to make
things difficult and cross his arms across his chest instead, staring Dean
down. “I’m not going anywhere until you give me my book back and I finish the
chapter I’m supposed to be reading.”
“You know, I will carry you out of this diner if I have to.” Dean stated. And
he would. He would pick Sam up from his seat, throw him over his shoulder,
leaving all his stuff there at the table and he would carry Sam all the way to
his car.
Sam narrowed his eyes at Dean, trying to gauge whether or not Dean would
actually do something like that out in public. That was most certainly crossing
the line of regular friendly behavior. Several moments passed and Dean was just
about to move from the booth to grab Sam when Sam uncrossed his arms with a
disgruntled sigh, mumbling something about Dean being a jackass and started to
pack up the various books that he had.
Dean watched, waiting until every book and notebook was stuffed down into his
backpack before handing over the book that he had taken, placing it into Sam’s
waiting hand. At the very least, if Sam wanted to continue to study, he was
going to have to take everything back out.
But he didn’t. He shoved the final book down deep in his bag, struggling a
little with the zipper before turning back to look towards Dean.
“Where are we going?” Sam asked, sliding out of the booth following after Dean.
Instead of answering, Dean flashed Sam one of those signatures smirks at him
walking back towards the garage where his car was.
It had been weeks since the last time that he had been at the races, partly due
to the fact that there hadn’t been a ton of storms but if the weather reports
held true, there was supposed to be a big one blowing through later that night
and into early morning and for those folks back at town who didn’t know any
better, they would just think that it was the thunder off in the distance.
He had filled up her tank earlier in the day, noticing that she was running low
and luckily he had a few extra dollars in his pocket that he was able to afford
the good stuff. His baby deserved the best, not any of that cheap imported crap
that would ruin her engine faster than a sledgehammer could.
He checked her that morning too, making sure that she was running alright. It
wasn’t that he negated the car, he was just ever so slightly paranoid about
something coming loose. But she was looking to be in perfect shape, nothing
that was wrong, not that he expected there to be.
Sam kept quiet the whole time to the garage, following closely behind Dean,
shooting him another confused look before ducking into the car.
The roar of the engine echoed through the small town as Dean pulled out of the
garage and he was sure that everyone heard it. Sam, being the good little boy
he was, pulled his seatbelt across his body and snapped it into place. He
didn’t even try to tell Dean to get buckled knowing that it was going to do no
good.
They were only in the car for a couple of minutes before Sam figured out where
they were going. He turned in his seat, his eyes wide with excitement.
“Are we really going to the races?” He asked and Dean shot him a smile that
told Sam everything that he needed to know.
The road was a little more packed that what Dean was used to, people itching to
get out and burn a little rubber. As he pulled up next to one of the regulars,
he rolled down his window, shooting the guy a smile as he paid Dean the racing
fees. It was never much, just enough to put a little bit of gas in his tank.
Dean pulled out his wallet, stuffing the bills into his wallet then telling the
guy that he better find him a damn good opponent because he was planning on
having a good race.
The guy looked at Dean and then eyed Sam, his eyes narrowing and lips pulled
into a hardline before he nodded briefly, going to find someone for Dean to
race.
Dean pulled up to the starting line, putting the car into neutral, just
waiting. Sam was staring ahead, his own breathing seeming to have increased
like he was trying to keep calm. He reached across the cab, placing a
comforting hand on his thigh. Sam turned his head, giving Dean a tight smile.
“You’re gonna be alright, kid.” He said. “Just sit back and enjoy the ride.”
His own heart was pounding through his chest, so loud that he was sure that if
Sam was listening over the music that he would be able to hear it. Everything
was so much different than it was the last time he raced.
Right now, he wasn’t racing for someone, he was racing with someone. He was
racing with the boy that he saw that night at the race who looked so pure and
innocent and just like that, Dean knew that he needed to get to know him. And
he did and somehow he convinced that boy to climb into the car with him.
It was honestly too much. His senses were filled with smell of smoke and rubber
and heated metal and above all that, the smell of Sam sitting right next to
him.
Sam was clutching onto the seatbelt, lips pressed into a thin line as his eyes
were wide, staring in front of him. Dean wanted to reach across the seat, lay a
comforting hand on his shoulder, try to tell him that they were going to be
fine but his hands were stuck to the wheel. He couldn’t move. Wouldn’t move.
His eyes were focused on the road in front of him, the girl with the flag in
the corner of his vision and the other car isn’t even there. It’s just the
irregular breathing that’s falling past his lips, the base that’s pouring
through the speakers, Sam and the open road.
Deep breath in, the engine of the car next to him revved, he revved his own.
His fingers flexed around the steering wheel. Deep breath out. The flash of the
flag, foot slamming down on the gas and they’re moving, speeding through the
night.
Dean locked out his arms, trying to keep the wheel steady as the car got up to
speed. Right now it would be so easy to flip, to spin out. The car next to him
is falling just behind, their engine whining trying to keep up with Dean but
now of that matters.
He can see the edge of town up ahead and he takes a deep breath, filling his
lungs with oxygen and lets it out slowly.
He’s more centered, more present than he’s ever been behind the wheel, aware to
the body that was sitting next to him. It was no longer just him in the car. He
had Sam and Dean was all too aware of what these streets could take.
They took more than just burnt rubber and brake pads. They took the lives of
innocent bystanders and the livelihood of others.
The night raced by, Sam still hadn’t moved from his spot, too frozen to do
anything and the town limits were right there. He pressed down on the gas just
a little harder. He felt the resistance of the engine, the pull against him as
the car tried to fight.
The small green sign with white letters reading off Lebanon is nothing more
than a blur of neon colors lit up by the white light of his headlights and then
he slammed on the breaks, causing Sam to jerk forward in his seat.
He’s shaking by the time the car comes to a stop but there’s a small smile on
his face that’s growing wider with every passing moment. It’s barely noticeable
in the dark interior of the car but the headlights of the other cars outside
cast a yellow glow in the cab. He’s still clutching onto his seat belt.
“You alright there, kid?” Dean asked, turning down the radio, pulling the car
off the road and finding a spot to park in the cluster of cars.
He turned in his seat facing Dean, that smile still plastered on his face.
“That was awesome.” His voice was shaky.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Sam replied, moving to undo his seatbelt. The little goodie two shoes,
wanting to follow the law even when he’s partaking in some illegal activity.
Dean turned off the engine, silence wrapping around them suddenly. If they
listened hard enough, they could hear the bass of some song pouring out of
someone’s upgraded sound system. The air that hang around them was nearly
electric.
“I’ve never been in a car going that fast.” Sam breathed out.
“Gonna turn you into a little road junkie.” Sam smirked, opening up his car
door and ducked out. Sam followed close behind, coming to stand next to Dean in
front of the car. “Wouldn’t mind…”
“Winchester!” His name was called out across the crowd and Dean turned to see
Benny approaching him, a beet in either hand. “Didn’t think that you were gonna
come out tonight.”
“Yeah well, the streets were calling my name.” Dean replied, grabbing the can
that Benny was holding out for him, popping the tab with one hand before taking
a rather large sip.
Benny glanced around Dean, his eyes widening for a brief moment before a cheeky
grin broke out. “Yeah and it had nothin’ to do with your boy there?”
Dean turned, seeing that Sam had hoisted himself up on the cooling hood of the
car. His feet were dangling off the edge, a droopy little smile still planted
on his face. One that Dean never wanted to see disappear.
“Shut up, Benny.” Dean shot back.
“Whatever you say, chief.” Benny grinned, looking back at Sam once more. “I’ll
leave you and your boy.” And with that Benny turned and left the pair alone.
Dean could feel heat rising on his face at the look that Benny game them. He
raised the can back up to his lips, drowning another huge sip trying to get rid
of the butterflies that were in his stomach. Which was fucking ridiculous
because Dean Winchester didn’t get fucking butterflies. But they wouldn’t
leave.
This was the first time that he’s actually been out in public with Sam. The
diner was one thing. It was on the outskirts of town where mainly drifters and
people looking for conversation stopped for a cup of coffee. Even though they
were at the races, a place that wasn’t really in the public’s eye, Dean knew
these people. He went to school with these people. He works with these people
and while he knew that they knew that sometimes he swung for the other team, he
was never actually seen out in public with another guy.
Yeah, these people might be a little more progressive than some of the people
that he knew, he wasn’t sure how they were going to react to seeing him driving
around with this boy.
However with all that being said, he was more than willing to break a couple of
noses to solidify the fact that Sam was the guy that he was with and that they
didn’t have to like it and Dean didn’t care.
But Sam. He wasn’t sure how Sam was going to react to the whole thing. He
seemed a little more reserved when it came to the whole dating thing and Dean
was pretty certain that he was probably the first guy that he was with. Or at
least the first guy that he was trying to build a relationship with and it
wasn’t something you experimented with at a party.
Also it was always pretty obvious when you came out here with someone, you were
a little more than just a friend. One look at Sam sitting on the top of Dean’s
car, everyone would know what was going between the two of them.
Dean leaned out against the grill of the car, Sam’s leg nearly touching his
hip. They didn’t really say anything, opting to watch the races. Every now and
then, someone Dean would know would walk past the two of them, looking between
the two and send Dean a provocative look that Dean was really hoping that Sam
didn’t see. There were also a couple of people that Sam went to school with
that he noticed and they would talk for a moment. Sometimes about schoolwork,
other times asking if he was going to so and so’s party. Dean hated the way
that his blood seemed boil when someone would ask Sam if he wanted to hang out
sometime later in the week. They talked to Sam almost as if Dean wasn’t sitting
right there next to him.
They would finally leave when Dean would sigh, a little more loudly than what
was necessary and shift his body weight, making his presence know (as if they
didn’t already know that he was there) and they would end the conversation and
go else where looking like a deflated balloon.
He could practically feel Sam staring into the back of his head but he didn’t
say anything.
Sam shifted on the the hood, his leg lightly bumping against Dean’s hip before
he settled again. “Does it… embarrass you to be out here with me?” Sam asked
after a moment, his voice barely breaking through the night and it made Dean’s
stomach twist. He almost sounded like he was scared for the answer.
Dean turned around, moving to position himself in between Sam’s leg, his hands
resting on his thighs. Sam stared back at him, his eyes searching Dean’s face
for something and he wasn’t sure what he was looking for.
“What makes you say that?”
Sam shrugged, ducking his gaze. “I don’t know. It’s just… whenever people talk
to me, you get all defensive and annoyed. And… you haven’t really looked at me
tonight and I… we can leave if you want. Go back to the diner or something. Or
if you want to stay, I could find a ride. I’m sure that someone could take me
home.”
Dean ran his hands up Sam’s legs, grabbing a hold of his hips and pulled him to
the edge of the hood. There was a small squeak of surprise that escaped from
Sam as he reached out to hold onto Dean at the sudden movement.
“Does it embarrass you to be out here with me?” Dean flipped the question. He
hadn’t missed the way that the kids would blush whenever Dean would glance over
at him.
“Of course not!” Sam exclaimed. “I like being out here with you.”
“Yeah well… I like being out here with you too.” Dean admitted. And he did. He
liked spending time with someone that actually wanted to be there with him. Not
because of what he could give but because he just wanted to be there. the light
from the other cars created some kind of glow around Sam that almost turned his
hair golden.
And fuck, he wished that Sam was just a little bit older, just a year older and
then it would be okay for them to be together, to actually be together.
And maybe, just maybe, he would have the chance to follow Sam to California.
Get a job up there working at a garage or something. Pay for an apartment so
they could live together, off campus. Sam would go to school, fill that brain
of his with more knowledge and Dean would work and it would be good. Better
than what he was currently living through.
He could see it happen too. He could see the two of them living somewhere away
from this town, from everything that people thought he was. He would be away
from the memories and the nightmares. He would be away from his…
Sam surprised him, pulling him away from his thoughts of the could be’s that
would never happen and kissed him.
His fingers fanned out across his face, fingers splayed along his jaw and Dean
kissed him back, his hands holding onto Sam’s bony hips underneath his khakis
slacks. He nearly had to stand on the tips of his toes to kiss Sam back because
the fucker, even sitting on top of his car, was nearly taller than him. Which
was completely unfair if you asked Dean cause Sam was younger than him. He was
supposed to be smaller than him.
However it did make Dean imagine just how big Sam actually was.
Sam was flushed when he pulled away. Even now, after many heated make-out
sessions in that old booth and that kiss that they shared while Dean was
soaking to the bone after keeping him dry, Sam still blushed like it was the
first time that he ever kissed him.
And he never seemed to get enough of it, always holding onto Dean like he was
starved for affection. Dean knew that he was.
Sam pulled Dean back down, mouth hungry and wanting against Dean’s.
Dean ran one of his hands down Sam’s thigh. He grabbed the bend of his knee,
pulling it up around his body, settling his leg around his hip and pulled Sam
even closer to his body. They were pressed up against each other, the only that
on each other’s mind was echoer mouth and body and nothing else mattered.
Sam’s hands were holding onto Dean’s face then he was sliding them down his
body, briefly resting on his waist before his fingers dipped under the hem of
his shirt, grazing the warm skin that was below the soft cotton.
“Fuck Sam…” Dean groaned as Sam broke away, pressing wet, open mouth kisses
down his neck, pulling down the collar of his shirt only to suck on a spot
where his neck met his shoulder. Dean wanted to stay there, pressed against Sam
but he could feel Sam’s arousal pressing hard against his stomach and Dean
would admit that his own jeans were starting to grow a little uncomfortable.
But he couldn’t go through with it. He didn’t know just how innocent Sam was
and he wasn’t about to take something away from Sam before he was a consenting
adult in the eyes of the law.
No matter how much he wanted it.
Sam’s mouth, his hands, his body started to move insistent against Dean’s and
while every part of him screamed for it to continue, he dropped Sam’s legs,
breaking the kiss that he so desperately wanted to continue.
However he didn’t step back. He didn’t sever the physical connection of their
bodies and yet Sam still whined. He fucking whined and dug his fingertips
deeper into the soft flesh of his waist and looked at him with those wide doe
eyes of his that were looking all too innocent for what he was whining for.
“Sam… I can’t do this to you.” He whispered. “Not right now.”
He expected that Sam would look away, looking bashful but instead he held his
gaze, looking into Dean’s, unmoving. Sam swallowed thickly before nodding his
head, just once and he ducked his gaze, recapturing Dean’s lips but this time
he was less insistent, calmer.
“Oh yeah, Winchester, get some.” Someone called off in the distance. They both
pulled away, nearly at the same time.
Dean groaned internally, hating the way that people had to ruin something that
was supposed to be exclusively between him and Sam. But then again, that’s what
he got for taking Sam to the races and basically sticking his tongue down his
throat on the hood of his car where literally everyone could see him.
Dean licked his lips, running a hand on the back of his neck. “Sorry, Sam, I
didn’t…” He wasn’t exactly sure what he was apologizing for.
Sam leaned forward, closing the small distance between them, kissing him once
more. Dean could feel the heat coming off his face. “You’re fine, Dean.” Sam
whispered against him.
And there was that mutual understanding between the two of them, that Dean
wanted to be seen with Sam and Sam didn’t mind if they were called out by his
peers about making out with this beautiful boy on the hood of his car.
There wasn’t much more said between the pair. Dean moved out from between Sam’s
legs and made himself comfortable sitting next to him on the hood, their thighs
touching and for the moment, that was enough for the both of them. Feeling the
presence of each other, the heat from each other’s body. They watched as other
cars raced down the road, their headlights growing bigger and bigger until it
came to a complete stop and there were various cheers and grunts from the crowd
around them.
Dean had long ago finished the beer that Benny had given him, the can somewhere
on the ground, forgotten about just like the others that littered the ground.
The buzz from the race and the thrill about kissing Sam out in public and the
warm feeling he got from drinking was starting to wear off. He liked sitting
there, watching the people around him but his muscles were itching to do
something, to move.
“Hey…” Dean nudged Sam with his leg and Sam tore his attention away from the
driver who had just parked after winning his race. “I’m gonna find Benny and
get another beer, alright. Don’t move.” He said hopping off the hood.
Sam sighed, rolling his eyes. “I’m not five, Dean. I’m not just gonna wander
off. Just bring me back one.”
“Yeah, right kid.” Dean scoffed. “Don’t move.”
Dean turned on his heel, heading towards the crowd of people. He wasn’t sure if
Benny was still around. Knowing him, he probably found some reason to escape
into the backseat of his car with some girl and Dean wasn’t going to walk in on
that scene again. However it wouldn’t be too hard for him to find a drink.
Someone, somewhere would have a cooler with an open door policy and share one
with him.
He walked past people, saying hey to those that addressed him, not staying long
enough to actually hold a conversation. He just wanted to get his beer and head
back to Sam. Maybe escape into the backseat with him.
He spotted Benny’s head over the crowd of people talking to a couple of their
friends that they went to highschool with. He could almost hear his hearty
laughter over the noise of everything. It was always kind of comforting to him,
in a way.
With a clear destination set in mind, he held his head up high, eyes focusing
on the person that he considered to be one of his only true friends when he
felt someone grab the collar of his jacket, yanking him backwards in between a
couple of cars. Whoever it was pressed him up against one of the cars, their
forearm pressed securely against his chest. There wasn’t much light filtering
down where he was being held and he could barely make out the features of the
person that was holding him and the two figures that stood behind him but it
was clear that they weren’t Gordon. They weren’t tall enough.
He tried to push them away, get the upper hand but the kid put all his weight
into keeping Dean against the car and the awkward position that he was standing
in, he didn’t have a ton of leverage to move much.
“Always knew you were a fag, Winchester.” The kid snarled. “Takes guts though
to show up here with that boy.”
Dean growled, trying to push away again but it only ended him getting pressed
into the car even harder. “It’s not exactly anything new.” He spit out.
The kid considered that for a moment before replying. “Yeah, but it’s one thing
to talk about sticking your tongue down the throat of another fag but it’s
completely another thing to actually do it out in public.”
The voice sounded familiar. Like a sound from a distant memory and Dean raked
his brain trying to place where it came from. Then it struck him all at once,
that condescending tone that lined his words. The pompous attitude. It was
something that came from all the kids who lived in that house up there on that
grand hill and were destined to go to some ivy league college.
Of course Brady would be the one to be making a big deal out of nothing. There
were enough rumors flying around about him and where he liked to stick it.
“Thought the town was a pretty progressive town, Brady. Didn’t think that
someone like you would mind. Not with what I’ve heard you doing.”
In return, Brady used his free hand to punch Dean across the face. It hurt, his
face stung where Brady’s fist connected with his fist but it wasn’t hard enough
to draw any blood. Kid needed to learn how to actually punch.
“What do you want, Brady? You wanna try to punch me straight?”
“I’m not gonna do anything to you. You know how to take a punch but your boy
toy over there, it would kinda hard to write with his skull crushed in, don’t
cha think? He could say good-bye to that dream of being some big shot lawyer.”
Dean once again tried to push forward but Brady wasn’t moving. “Poor little
orphan boy like him, no one would care. He would die in some alley somewhere.”
Dean growled, the sound coming somewhere deep within his throat as he planted
his feet into the ground, hands pressed firmly in the middle of Brady’s chest
and finally pushed him off of him, spinning the two of them around and now it
was Brady that was pressed up against the car.
Brady’s two friends took a step forward, as if they were going to pull Dean
away but Dean shot them a look that froze them to their spot.
“Don’t you dare touch him, Brady.” Dean growled, his face mere inches away from
Brady’s.
Brady just laughed, making the blood boil within Dean’s body.
“The races are a dangerous place. People could get hurt. It’s dark and the kid
just ran out in front of the car and it all happened so fast. I couldn’t stop.”
Brady teased with a twisting smile and Dean resisted the urge to break a rib…
or maybe two. “You know how dangerous these streets are, Dean.” He taunted.
The blood in his veins ran cold and Dean suddenly released Brady from the car
and Brady’s laugh echoed around him. “You better stay away from him.”
“Then he better stay away from the races and you better stay away from him.”
Brady echoed back.
Brady gave Dean one last hard push before he disappeared in the crowd of
people. Dean turned back, looking at the car and he lets out a sigh of relief
when he saw that Sam was still seated on top of the hood, a light breeze
blowing his hair along his forehead.
He wiped the palms of his hands on his jacket, trying to get his heart rate
back to a somewhat normal rate and pretend that he hadn’t just heard someone
make a threat on Sam’s life. If this was any other day at any other time, he
would have ripped out Brady’s throat just on principal for even suggesting
harming Sam but there was something in his eyes, something dark, something evil
that made Dean want to wrap Sam up in the arms of safety.
“Thought you were gonna get a beer.” Sam said when Dean came into view,
noticing Dean’s empty hands.
“Yeah and what kind of responsible boyfriend would I be if I got behind the
wheel drunk.” Dean answered, coming up to stand in front of Sam and Sam froze.
His eyes widened as he stared at Dean, his body rigid. And the easy smile that
Dean had on his face started to slip. He could feel it as started to fall and
he suddenly wished that he could take those words back. Either that or sink
back into the crowd and grab that beer that he needed.
Dean started to apologize for what he said the same time that Sam started to
ask Dean if he was actually serious. They both fell quiet at the same time,
just looking at each other.
“You actually mean that?” Sam asked. “That you want that… with me?” He sounded
almost surprised.
Dean Winchester was never good with words. He felt like words were often times
just thrown around, never really thought out. Noises to fill in the void. And
ever since he was young, he was always told to never talk unless spoken too. A
good kid was one seen, not heard. It had come from a lifetime of being told to
not speak and so he didn’t.
Instead he spoke through his actions.
He grabbed Sam’s face, not caring if Brady and whoever was with him was staring
at him and Sam. If they wanted to hurt him, then they could but all that
mattered was that Sam knew how he really felt.
If Sam knew that, then everything else would fall into place.
Except it could never be that easy, could it?
***** Chapter 4 *****
“We should probably get you home.” Dean whispered, pushing Sam’s hair back from
his forehead. “You’ve got school tomorrow.”
Sam grumbled something out in reply but reluctantly nodded and slid off the
car.
It was easy to be with Sam. Dean wasn’t sure when he realized that but there
was a moment when he was sitting at the booth, sipping on his milkshake lips
pulled into a smile as he listened to Sam tell a story about what happened in
his AP Language Composition class and he realized that it was easy to be around
him. It was easy to smile and laugh and joke and tease. He didn’t have to keep
up this macho facade around Sam. It didn’t feel like it was a burden to be
around him.
And the thing that was the most concerning but most exciting was the fact that
he would find himself counting down the minutes until he got to see the kid
again. He felt like some love struck puppy.
Dean couldn’t remember the last time he had it this bad.
Days started to turn into weeks and then the weeks turned into a month and at
some point Dean stopped sitting on the other side of the booth, rather sliding
in next to Sam, an arm resting around the back of the booth, around his
shoulders.
Dean would help when he could, offering pieces of advice to his essays or going
over the math that he was working on despite the fact that he wasn’t really
sure if he was right but Sam seemed to appreciate it. Dean was always hyper
aware of the way that Sam would study him while he would read something that
Sam wrote. And the way that he would have the biggest smile on his face when
Dean would tell him that it was good and he had done a good job.
Sam was leaning up against Dean, reading through his AP Comparative Gov. book,
when he sighed, finally closing the book. He shifted against Dean, moving to
where he could look at his face better, chewing on his bottom lip, staring at
the profile of Dean’s face.
“You know, if you take a picture, it’ll last longer.”
Sam elbowed Dean in the ribs, muttering out jerk before he turned to look at
the back wall. There was no one in the diner. There had been a little family
that looked like they only stopped because they were tired of being on the road
but they left a little while ago.
The comfortable silence that they were previously sitting in seemed to
disappear the longer that Sam sat there, chewing on his bottom lip.
“Have you ever been in a relationship?” Sam finally spit out, the words
spilling from his lips like if he didn’t say them fast he wasn’t going to say
them at all.
The moment that word fell past Sam’s lips, his body went cold. And he couldn’t
exactly tell you why. Days ago, he had called himself Sam’s boyfriend. Almost
an innocent gesture except it wasn’t. But now Sam was asking about
relationships. Just asking, mind you but Dean knew the motive behind it.
He tried to still his racing heart but with no avail. Even when he would think
back on it, he couldn’t tell you why he froze up like he did. He had opened
that can of worms at the races and Sam was just asking about them.
But the thing was, Dean Winchester didn’t do relationships. He did one night
stands, maybe he would come back a few days later for another but he didn’t do
relationships. He felt his heart starting to beat a little faster and there was
a hitch to his breath when he tried to speak.
It wasn’t that Dean was scared of being in a relationship it was just… he was
scared of what the possibility of being in a relationship with this boy would
bring. Sam made him happy and he wanted to be with him.
But he couldn’t handle the thought of Sam learning that what he thought Dean
was, was something that he didn’t want. Dean didn’t want to end these nightly
meetings and the easy conversations.
But the longer he stayed silent, the more his heart seemed to clench. He moved
his arm, placing it in his lap and Sam moved away from Dean, just a fraction of
an inch but it felt like miles.
“No.” He finally answered. “I haven’t.”
Sam swallowed thickly, blinking once and still not looking at Dean. “So you…
you wouldn’t want to…” He didn’t finish and Dean wanted him to because it would
have been so much easier to just answer a yes or no question than finishing his
sentence.
A couple more tense moments passed before it all became too much for Dean. He
was starting to feel trapped, feeling the heat from Sam’s body so close to his
and the thoughts, the possibilities that were swimming around in his head.
“I’ve gotta… I’ve gotta go.” Dean said, sliding out of the booth and pulling on
his jacket.
Sam turned to face him, his eyes glassy and he nodded. They didn’t say
anything. Dean looked at Sam for just a moment, wanting to say something to
make those tears disappear but he had to get away. He turned, heading to walk
out the door when he heard his name being muttered from behind him.
He turned and Sam still hadn’t moved from the booth but the way that the
yellow-white light hit his face, he could see that those tears had already
started to fall.
He waited for Sam to say something to say anything but his lips remained sealed
and Dean left.
His thoughts tormented him the entire way that he walked to the bar. The
thoughts of what he could have had with Sam because it was clear that he had
ended something before he really started it. Never mind the kisses that they
shared in the shadows and in that checkered booth. And never mind the fact that
Dean had told Sam things about himself, about his life, that he hadn’t uttered
to another soul before. Never mind the fact that he was the one that had
started this whole thing with that damn comment back at the races.
Never mind the fact that he had kissed Sam in an answer to his question.
He couldn’t remember the last time he told someone about his father, about the
way that he wasn’t doing as well as everyone thought he was. He knew that he
never told anyone that he wanted to get out, start something of his own, maybe
become race out on a real track that wasn’t illegal.
Obviously he had trusted Sam enough to tell him those things.
That was basically a relationship right there, right. Trust to tell that person
things that you wouldn’t want to utter to the darkness.
And yet he freaked and he ran because that’s what he did best. He ran.
But it was always one thing to say something but it was completely another
thing to follow through with it.
If only he were a stranger man than he wouldn’t have left that beautiful boy
alone in that diner.
The next night when he was walking from the garage to the bar and he passed by
the diner, he saw through the windows that Sam was sitting in the back booth,
two milkshakes sitting on the table.
Everything in Dean wanted to run inside, wrap Sam up in a hug and beg for
forgiveness and yet he pulled his hoodie up over his head and quickly walked
past the diner. Yeah, Sam might still want to fix things but it was clear, to
at least Dean, that all he did was screw things up.
He expected for the booth to be empty the second night that he passed it but
Sam was still there, this time not looking at the door. Instead he was bent
over a book, brows furrowed as he read.
And there, on Dean’s side of the table, was another milkshake.
For the second night, Dean walked past the diner, ignoring the pang of guilt in
his chest and started his shift early at the bar.
The third night, Sam was still there however the milkshake was not and that
hurt just a little bit more than it did the night before.
It was the sixth night that he passed the diner when he saw that the booth was
empty. He looked down at the ground, stuffing his hands into his pockets. That
was going to be that. Sam had finally gotten over him and maybe it was for the
best.
This time he didn’t hurry past the diner, he looked down at the cracked cement,
watching his worn work boots when he felt a hand close around his elbow. He
hoped, for just a moment that it was Sam but when he turned, he saw that Ellen
was holding the door open and holding onto his elbow. He stared at her in
confusion. She wasn’t… she wasn’t supposed to be working tonight.
“Dean Winchester, where the hell have you been?” She snapped, a frown on her
lips.
Dean shrugged, looking back at the booth before turning back to her.
“Oh, you don’t know?” She asked mockingly and before Dean could brace himself,
she let go of the door and reached out to slap Dean on the back of the head.
“You know that he’s been waiting for you? Sam? He’s bought you a damn milkshake
the past few days and you don’t even have the decency to show up!” Dean looked
down at ground again. “You know, I had to wipe off tears from his textbooks so
he wouldn’t stain them. What the hell happened between the two of you?”
“I don’t… I don’t know. I got scared, I guess.”
“Scared of what? A chance to finally be happy?”
“It’s just… he wanted to start something with me. Ellen, I’m not… I wouldn’t be
good for him. I mean, you’ve seen the books that he reads for school. He’s
smarter than I’ll ever be. I’m just some dropout. I’ll drag him down. I’ll ruin
him.”
“Boy, are you seriously that blind? You make him so happy. He doesn’t care that
you’re a dropout. If he did, do you really think that he would still be showing
up at the booth a month later?”
“He doesn’t…”
“He does, you idiot. You know he came by today, asking if you had stopped by
the diner at all this past week? He told me to tell you that he’s sorry. He
didn’t mean to make you mad or whatever. He just wants to pick things back up.”
Dean looked up at Ellen, looking for any trace of a lie on her face but he
didn’t find any.
“You better go find that boy and apologize to him and beg for forgiveness. He’s
the best thing that’s ever happened to you and I’ll be damned just to sit by
and watch you let him walk away.”
Dean nodded, his heart now racing in his chest. He wanted to get to Sam now. He
wanted to take him back to the diner and buy him a milkshake and apologize
until Sam got sick of it.
However he knew that he needed to do something else. Ellen released his elbow
and smacked him upside the head once again and Dean turned back towards town,
heading towards Sam.
Work be damned.
He remembered Sam’s address from the first time he dropped the kid off and he
was nearly out of breath when he stopped in front of it. He took a deep breath,
trying to get oxygen back into his lungs before he went around back.
Dean jumped over the fence leading into the backyard of Sam’s place. There
wasn’t any light bleeding in through the windows. However he kept his eyes on
the window as he picked up a decent sized rock and threw it up against Sam’s
window. It hit the glass with a soft plink and fell back to the ground. He
waited for a couple of moments, watching the curtains before he picked back up
the rock and threw it against the window again.
This time there was movement in his room. The curtains pulled open and a second
later, the window opened and a bleary eyed, surprised looking Sam peeked his
head through the window.
“Dean!” Sam hissed. “What the fuck are you doing? I was asleep.”
“Yeah and now you’re not.” Dean smirked. “Get down here.”
“Why?”
“Just get down here, Sam. I wanna make it up to you.”
Sam narrowed his eyes, looking down at the man standing in his backyard with
that fucking smirk on his face before he sighed, shaking his head. “Alright,
alright. I’ll meet you around front. Just be quiet, okay? I don’t wanna get
caught.”
“You won’t.” Dean replied but Sam had already shut his window.
Dean smiled to himself, just thinking about the prospects that the night would
bring.
True to his word, Sam met him out on the front lawn, hair still a mess from
having been woken up and he rubbed at his eyes as he came to a stop in front of
Dean. “Where are we going?” Sam asked as he followed Dean as they started down
the street.
Dean looked over at Sam, a small smile still on his lips. “Don’t you worry
about it. It’s a surprise.”
Sam sighed out in annoyance, bumping against Dean with his shoulder. “Why won’t
you tell me?”
“Because… it’s a surprise.”
Sam doesn’t say much more than that, another sigh passing his lips but he
remained otherwise silent. That was up until they walked a couple of blocks and
Sam recognized where they were going.
“We’re going to the motel?” He asked. Dean didn’t miss the exasperated sigh
that lingered on the end of his sentence.
They were going to some flea infested motel when he had a perfect comfortable
bed back at home.
“No… we’re going swimming, kid.” Dean corrected, shooting Sam a look before he
turned the corner and the motel in question was in sight.
There wasn’t much too it. Like the diner, it was at the edge of town, a place
mostly abandoned by the locals, leaving it only to the traveling business men
and tried trucks looking for a place to rest their heads for a couple of hours,
among other things. The neon red sign that had faithfully turned on every night
for the past twenty-seven years cast a glow across the parking lot,
illuminating the two boys who darted across it.
They come to a stop in front of the wrought iron fence, the water that laid on
the other side, blue and inviting. Sam turned back to Dean looking more excited
than Dean had seen him in a long time. “Are we really breaking into a pool?”
Dean gave Sam that half smirk. “Yeah. Now come here. I’ll boost ya over.” He
knelt down to the ground, cupping his hands together, his fingers laced
together. Sam stepped into Dean’s hands and Dean boosted him up and over the
fence. Sam landed on the other side, his sneakers making a muffled sound
against the concrete.
Sam was all but giggling when Dean dropped down next to him, with a grunt,
brushing his hands off on his shirt.
“Ya surprised, kid?” Dean asked as he kicked his shoes off.
“Yeah!” Sam laughed back, walking closer to the water's edge. Every few
seconds, the water would lap at the edge of the pool, ripples flickering across
the surface. Sam bent down, his fingers dipping into the water, smaller ripples
radiating out from his hands.
Dean stood back a couple of steps, watching Sam as he dragged his hand back and
forth in the water as he stripped out of his clothes. He went to the edge of
the water, diving in, feeling the water break underneath him as he dove under.
He came up a few seconds later in front of Sam, blinking the water out of his
eyes.
“Come on, kid, get undressed. Swim with me.”
Sam’s eyes dipped beneath the water’s surface, seeing that Dean was completely
bare and he blushed a little as he stood back up, toeing off his shoes. Dean
watches as Sam starts taking off all of his clothes, more and more of his skin
being exposed to the night air. He hesitated for a moment, fingers hovering
over the waistband of his underwear before he took a deep breath and pulled
them all the way off. Then he was completely bare, just like Dean was.
Sam shivers as he steps into the water. It’s probably a little too late in the
year to be swimming, the air just a little too cold but the pool’s got some
kind of heater and it feels nice against Dean’s skin. Sam then dives under the
water, swimming past Dean and coming up in the middle of the pool, his bangs
sticking to his face. He pushes them off his forehead, shaking his hair, the
tiny beads of water, hitting the pool. His mouth is stretched out into a huge
grin.
Sam’s laughing and that’s all that matters. They’re together and Sam’s happy
and he’s happy.
Then Sam’s splashing him with water, spraying Dean in the face and he’s
laughing even harder enough and Dean can’t help but join in.
“Shh…” Dean says through his laughing. “You’re gonna get us caught, kid.”
Dean pushed off the edge of the pool, swimming closer to Sam. Sam stays there
for a moment, just within reach of Dean before he splashes him again and swims
away, his laugh echoing off the water.
Dean scoffed and dove under the water, swimming after the kid that was trying
to get away from him. He reached out and  took a hold of Sam’s ankle, holding
him in place as he came up to the surface and dunked Sam under the water. Only
Sam grabbed a hold of Dean and pulled him under with him.
They staring at each other, each other’s face distorted through the water and
it was Sam who closed the distance, reaching out for Dean and kissed him.
Dean wrapped his arms around Sam’s tiny waist, holding onto the small boy and
kissed him until his lungs burned for oxygen and he had to go back up to where
he could breath. When he broke the surface, he was breathless for so many
different reasons. For the lack of oxygen in his lungs, for the feeling of
Sam’s naked body pressed up against his, for the way that he still couldn’t get
over the way that Sam kissed him.
He hadn’t stopped smiling since they got to the pool and he doesn’t think that
he ever will.
Sam started to swim backwards, towards the edge of the pool and Dean followed.
He stops when Sam hits his back against the edge and Dean swims up to him,
their chest nearly touching. He kisses Sam again, unable to keep away from Sam.
Sam reaches out and grabs a hold of Dean’s face, pulling him even closer.
He broke away so much sooner than Dean wanted him to, slipping past the pool
edge and Dean’s body and swam over to the metal ladder, hoisting himself up on
it, sitting on the top rung.
Dean dove back under the water, coming up in front of where Sam was waiting.
There were small goosebumps that were starting to break out across his skin.
“I’m sorry I freaked the other day when you asked about wanting to be in a
relationship with you.” Dean’s voice sounded so loud despite the fact that he
was speaking barely above a whisper. “It’s just…” He trailed off, not really
knowing what he was going to say.
“You didn’t think that someone could actually want you in that way?” Sam
finished for him, sounding almost as if was admitting a truth to himself as
opposed to completing Dean’s statement. And Dean’s silence was all the answer
that he needed. Sam reached out between the distance, grabbing Dean’s face,
holding him. “Dean, you’re wanted and I want this… with you.”
Sam was looking at Dean in that way that Dean’s so used to, his eyes blown wide
with want and desire but while Dean was so used to that look, he wasn’t used to
the way that his name fell past his lips. Sam muttered his name, the word
sounding like a prayer and this wasn’t like every other time. Sam wasn’t just
wanting his body, Sam was wanting him. All of him. The good parts. The bad
parts and Dean knew that Sam wasn’t going to leave him.
He was looking at him like he did when he was sitting on the hood of his car.
And yet Dean still shook his head, not allowing himself to do the one thing
that he desperately wanted to do.
“Sam… no.” Dean whispered.
“Why.” He whined, sounding so young, so childish right then.
“Because Sam, you’re not even eighteen yet. I’m not… I’m not gonna take that
away from you, kid.”
“But I…”
“Don’t you say that, kid.” Because if Sam started begging Dean wasn’t going to
be able to hold his resolve and he was going to take the one thing from Sam
that he would never be able to give back.
However Sam didn’t stop. He looked at Dean, those hazel eyes wide, staring at
Dean, begging.
“Fuck, kid.” Dean muttered, running a hand through his hair before he pulled
himself up out of the water just a little bit, spreading Sam’s legs and
settling his body between his thighs.
Sam’s shaking as Dean leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his lips before he
ducks his head, his lips trailing down his body. Sam’s skin is cold underneath
his lips as he kisses a trail down his stomach, settling right below Sam’s
navel.
Sam’s hard, his dick pressing up against Dean and he looks up at the boy just
one more time, for one more confirmation before he takes Sam into his mouth.
Dean moaned around Sam, the salty taste of Sam mixing with the harsh taste of
the chemicals in the water settling on his tongue.
Sam grabs a hold of the edge of the pool grounding himself as Dean continued to
suck Sam off. Dean started to stroke himself under the water.
It doesn’t last long, all the sensations around Sam being too much for his body
to handle and he comes down Dean’s throat with a shout of his name. Dean pulls
off of him, his hand working even faster under the water, getting himself off
and he comes in the water with a soft grunt that sounded just a little bit too
much like Sam’s name.
He rested his forehead against Sam’s chest, hearing his heart beating. He tried
to catch his breath.
The water calms around them and the faint sound of crickets is the only thing
that could be heard. Sam started to run his fingers through Dean’s hair when
the sound of a door opening pulled them both a part, lighting spilling from the
motel meters away from him.
They stare at each other for a moment before they’re both rushing out of the
pool, water dripping down their bodies as they grab their clothes and scramble
over to the fence. Dean hoisted Sam back up and over the fence and then Dean
followed after him, jumping down after Sam.
“Hey!” A man yelled after them, the sound of heavy foot falls chasing after
them. “Hey, kids! Stop! Come back here!” But they don’t stop.
They left wet footprints down the sidewalk as they ran from the motel owner who
was chasing after them. When the only thing that could be heard was the sound
of their feet, they ducked into an alley, both nearly doubled over in laughter
and redressed.
“Thanks, Dean,” Sam whispered into the darkness as Dean stood in front of Sam’s
house. Neither one of them wanted the night to end but Sam had school in the
morning and they had already been out for way too long.
“Yeah, no problem, kid.” Dean replied, kissing Sam once more. “Besides, I kinda
owed you from just walking out on you the other day. If you’ll… if you still
want to, I wouldn’t mind…” He rubbed a hand at the back of his neck, feeling
his face heat up. Why couldn’t he just say what he wanted to say? Why was he so
scared.
“Yes.” Sam answered back. “Yes, Dean. I do.”
Neither one of them moved. Dean didn’t want to move. He wanted to stand out on
the front lawn, stealing the warmth from Sam’s body. He wanted to make up for
the lost time that his damned emotions stole from him. He wanted…
“Do you… do you want to come in with me?” Sam asked, his voice being swallowed
by the night.
And god, Dean wanted to say yes. He wanted to stay with the boy. He wanted to
fall asleep to the sound of his breathing and wake with the smell of Sam
surrounding him. He wanted to keep Sam home from school and skip work and just
lay in bed with him.
And fuck, this was going into chick-flick territory way too fucking fast for
Dean’s liking but sue him.
However Dean shook his head. This was already dangerous as it was, sneaking
around with Sam in the dead of the night, spending hours with him in that diner
everyday. Actually going inside Sam’s house where Gordon could walk in at any
moment was just playing with fire.
“I… I can’t, Sam.” Dean choked out.
How was he supposed to hold his resolve when all he wanted to do was follow
Sam?
Sam looked up at the darkened windows of his house and then back towards Dean.
His hair was starting to curl around the base of his neck from where it was
drying. He wanted to run his hands through it, straighten the curls with his
fingers.
“He’s not home.” Sam said quickly. “Gordon. He doesn’t even live here. He lives
on the other side of town. It’s just his dad and even he’s not home often. It’s
just me most of the time and…”
“Kid, I can’t.” Dean cut him off. “I’ve got work in the morning and you… you’ve
got school.”
“I can skip!” Sam shouted.
“No, you can’t. You need to go to school. You can’t miss.” And that was the end
of the conversation. Sam ducked his head, already starting to look a little
guilty for even suggesting that he should skip. Dean placed a finger under
Sam’s chin, pulling his head back up and placed a kiss on his lips. “I’ll see
you tomorrow, alright?”
“Yeah.” Sam agreed, sounding just ever so slightly disappointed.
He kissed Dean one more time, a desperate attempt to convince Dean to follow
him inside but Dean swatted at Sam’s ass, telling him that he needed to get to
sleep and Sam scurried off inside.
While Dean wanted to stay with Sam, the smile didn’t leave his face the entire
way that he walked back home. He was happy. Happy that he had finally gotten a
taste of Sam. And now he wasn’t sure how he was going to keep away from the
kid. It was already hard enough.
***** Chapter 5 *****
Dean’s stomach dropped the moment that he stepped through the front door. The
lamp that was in the corner that he was sure that he had turned off was on and
there, sitting in his chair, was his father, staring after the front door.
Dean swallowed thickly, closing the door behind him, stepping further into the
house.
“Hey, dad.” Dean greeting trying to keep the nervous out of his voice.
“Where have you been?” He asked, his tone leaving no room for Dean to try to
avoid the question.
“I… uhh… I was called in for a few hours at the bar. They were slammed and
understaffed. Someone had called in sick and they needed some more help.” Dean
lied, hoping that his father would buy it.
But Dean never did have such luck.
“You know how I can’t stand lying, Dean. I thought that was the case but it
seemed that you’ve been called in a lot recently and so I called up there this
evening, asking for you and low and behold, you weren’t anywhere to be found.
So I ask again, where were you?”
Dean hesitated and John took the opportunity that was presented to him.
“You were with that boy, weren’t you? That Wesson boy?”
Dean’s eyes widen. He thought that he was doing a good enough job to keep their
relationship out of the public’s eyes and most importantly, away from his
father. “How do you… know about him?”
“Just because I’m the town drunk doesn’t mean that I don’t hear things. When I
went into town the other day, all I heard about was you dating this Wesson kid.
The golden child. Supposed to go to some ivy league school. Be some big shot
lawyer. You really do know how to pick them, don’t cha?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You really think that he’s going to give a shit about you when he moves out to
California for college. You’re going to be nothing more than a distant memory
to him. He’s going to find some girl there, settle down with her and forget all
about you. You don’t deserve him. And I don’t know why you think that you do.
He’s too good for you.”
Dean could feel the tears prickling in his eyes but he refused to let them
fall.
“I’m not even going to mention that the kid isn’t even out of high school and
that he’s a boy and if you think that’s okay in this household, you’ve got
another thing comin for ya. I’m not going to have you smear the Winchester name
with your sick, twisted, perverted love.”
“Dad…” Dean’s voice was small in his throat.
“If I find out that you’re seeing him anymore… I’ll make sure that he won’t
want to see you. Understood?”
Dean ducked his head, looking down at the worn toes of his shoes. “Yes sir.” He
muttered.
He waited until his father moved, getting up from his chair and stumbling into
his room before Dean moved himself. He felt like he was on autopilot as he
walked to his room. He had half the mind to sneak back out the window and take
Sam up on that offer of staying with him for the night but he stayed in bed,
staring up at the ceiling.
Running away never sounded so great than it did at that moment. He wanted to do
nothing more than escape back out into the darkness of the night and run back
to Sam.
Sleep that night was not peaceful and when he woke the next morning, staring at
the gray paint on his walls, he felt worse than he did the night before. His
body ached with exhaustion and as much as he hated to admit, he woke with a
headache because he had fallen asleep crying.
Just like the thirteen year old girl he was. Which only made him feel worse.
He sat up, swinging his legs off the side of the bed but still he only sat
there, thinking about everything.
John was right, just like he always was. There was a reason why Sam always had
his nose in those books reading things that Dean couldn't even imagine. He
wasn’t going to just give up all of that; his bright future to stay behind in
this small town where nothing ever happens. When the time came, he would pack
up his school books and all of his belongings and hop a ride to California.
Sure, there might be a few tears shed, on both parts but when Sam was old and
gray with a gaggle of children around him, Dean would be nothing more than a
distant memory, probably dead in a premature grave right along side his father.
He scoffed bitterly to himself. That was going to be his future, as pathetic as
it sounded, he knew that to be the truth.
Truth hurts, don’t it, Winchester? Gordon’s voice seemed to ring in his ears.
Tried to tell, ya, but you never listen. His father’s voice joined in. You
can’t live in a fantasy because when you wake up, it’ll only kill you.
Little fags don’t get happy endings. Brady sneered at him. It’s wrong and
filthy and you got everything you deserved.
You’re going to die all alone, Dean, because no one will ever love the disaster
that you are.
You should have been the one that died on the streets that night.
You’re going to end up…
Everyone leaves you. Sam is…
He’s everything you’re not.
Just forget him. He’s going to forget you.
All the voices were yelling in his head. Voices from the people that he knew.
Voices of people that he didn’t. They filled his head, making it throb and he
grabbed the side of his skull, curling up in on himself desperately trying to
get the voices to stop.
And then they did. The voices just calmed and it was his father that was
standing there, looking down on him with a scowl on his face.
You can’t give him up because you like pain. You can’t give him up and he’s
going to kill you and you’re going to love every second of that death because
only a coward dies at the hand of his lover.John whispered in his mind,
suddenly so calm, speaking as if it was the truth.
He released his head, the pounding behind his eyes starting to subside a little
and drifted back to sleep.
It was the smell of bacon that woke him the second time. He laid there for a
moment, trying to figure out where he was, why he was smelling bacon, waiting
for the screaming match in his head to start back but the voices remained
silent and he pulled himself from his bed.
John was in the kitchen, a spatula in his hand as he bent over the stove where
the bacon that had pulled him from his sleep in the first place was cooking. On
the counter, there was a cup of coffee that Dean was sure was laced with
whiskey. The only time that John would ever cook was when he was good and
drunk.
“Have a seat, Dean.” His father demanded, his voice rough in the silence that
Dean craved but he complied anyway.
His father seemed calm which was another thing to add onto this whole situation
that was completely abnormal. Dean stared at his father’s back, watching the
way that he moved waiting for this calm to pass and for the storm to start.
John opened up one of the cabinets and pulled out a plate, holding it as he
pulled the bacon up from the skillet and placing it down before turning to
Dean. Instinctively Dean tensed, waiting for John to say something about the
way that he just sat around and did nothing all day while John had to provide
for his lazy ass. However, once again, what Dean expected didn’t happen.
Instead John sat the plate down in the middle of the table and turned back
around to walk over the counter and grabbed a coffee cup out of the cabinet.
“You still take your coffee black?” He asked, still facing the counter and Dean
narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out who had taken control of his father’s
body because Dean couldn’t remember the last time that he had been this calm.
“Y…yes sir.” He replied, body still stiff even when John handed him the cup and
took a seat at the table across from him.
John wasn’t looking at him, instead he was looking at the bacon, jaw working as
if he was trying to figure out how to speak.
“That boy, Sam, he makes you happy?” He voice was quiet, nearly inaudible.
Now Dean was on the defense, building up every wall that he could, staring at
his father, body subconsciously leaning away from him. “Y…yeah.” Dean
stuttered.
John’s shoulder’s slumped forward and he seemed to grow older in the poor
lighting of the kitchen. That was just another thing that Dean was going to
have to add to the ever growing list of what was wrong with this house. The
electrical was one step away from not working at all.
“Your mother made me happy.” He spoke softly, still staring at the bacon. “You
know, the first time I met her, she had knocked me right on my ass and ever
since then, she kept knocking me on my ass. I was always chasing after her.
That woman could never be still, always wanted to be on the go.” There was a
long stretch of silence and Dean was still leaning as far away from John as his
chair could permit, mind racing with reasons as to why his father was suddenly
talking to him about his mother.
He could still remember when he was so young and still naive to the world and
the pain of what it had to offer, he would ask his father where his mom went,
when would she return home. John would always have a bottle in his hand, heavy
circles under his eyes and he would turn to Dean with nothing but fury and
rage. He learned very early on not to ask about his mother. It would only end
in him not knowing anything and a lower self-esteem.
“You’re a lot like her, you know. She…” He trailed off, breaking the sentence
to take a large gulp of his coffee, grimacing at the taste. “She would have
been a lot more… understanding with all of this. With you and… Sam. She would
have known what to say but you know, she’s not here and I’m left trying to fill
in the blanks.” Another stretch of silence. “I know that you think that you
love Sam or whatever but there’s no such thing as love. Trust me, son, when I
tell you that the best thing to do is just to forget about him. You won’t be
able to give him what he needs.”
“He doesn’t need anything.” Dean finally snapped. “Okay, dad? He doesn’t need
anything. He told me that he wanted to be with me and I believe him. I’m sorry
that you couldn’t have the perfect marriage with mom that you wanted but Sam’s
not going to leave me like she did and I’m not going to leave him.”
John slammed his hand down on the table, making Dean jump and shrink back in
between the walls that he had built up, whatever defiance he had felt slowly
fading away.
“I am trying to help you out here, son! Why don’t you ever listen? A son that
actually cared, would listen.” The calm resolve that had come over John to make
bacon and fix him coffee had completely disappeared. “But I guess that’s
another thing you just fuck up at.” John stood up from his seat abruptly.
“Clean all of this shit up and you better get to work or you’re gonna be late.
Last thing I need is for you to be written up.”
Dean didn’t look at John as he stalked out of the kitchen, the hot coffee in
his mug burning his fingertips but he couldn’t feel it. In fact, he savored the
burn. It was better than the aching in his chest.
Silently he rose, no longer hungry and regretted the moment that he threw away
the rest of the bacon. That was probably going to come back and bite him in the
ass later. John would come in looking for it and it would no longer be there
and Dean would be called wasteful and ungrateful, always on the blunt edge of
John’s fury and he probably deserved it.
Work offered him that safe, mindless sanctuary that he craved.
It was still probably a little too early for Sam to be at the diner. He had
picked up a job at the library a week or so ago to have a little extra money
(nerd) and that usually meant that he got to the diner a little later than
normal. And Dean hated it because those damn books were stealing away precious
moments from him. Precious moments that he craved.
It surprised him to see that Sam was already in the back booth, a pen in one
hand, his head resting on his fist as he looked over some book or paperwork or
whatever. There was no telling what the kid was working on.
The little bell rung overhead as Dean walked in through the door and Sam’s head
popped up and an instant later he was grinning like a fucking mad man.
Sam was practically buzzing in his seat as Dean walked closer to him and while
the excitement made his heart flutter (because he couldn’t remember the last
time that someone looked at him like that), it still felt like a punch to the
gut. Sam was looking at Dean like he was the world, like everything revolved
around him when it was quite the opposite. Sam was the one with the magnetic
pull that made the world turn and Dean was the one that had been caught up in
those waves.
Sam reached out, grabbing a hold of Dean’s jacket, nearly pulling him across
the booth to pull him into a kiss. It was short and messy and wanting and Dean
let his mind wander to some place where he could actually have something like
this.
He had to brace himself against the table and the backrest to keep from
completely falling over into Sam’s lap.
“Shit kid, give a man a moment before you attack him.” Dean chuckled, the sound
almost foreign to his ears from the day that he had but that beautiful layer of
blush fanned out across Sam’s face.
Distantly, his father’s voice made it’s way to the front of Dean’s mind, his
voice booming through his head, threats that aren't so harmless of what he
would do if Dean kept seeing Sam but he pushed all of it away. He had to. His
father wouldn’t keep this from him. He couldn’t. Dean’s heart skipped a beat at
the blatant thought of defiance.
He’d never done that before. Sneak behind his father’s back after he made it
clear that he didn’t want Dean to do something. He was always the good and
obedient son that John always wanted and yet he ran into this boy and he was
suddenly prepared to just throw caution to the wind, completely disrespect his
father and the rules that he had implemented all for Sam. All for this siren
that wasn’t even aware of the spell that he had cast.
“You’re sure excited.” Dean teased, bumping Sam lightly with his shoulder,
reaching out across the table to pick up a fry that was still warm and is it
even possible to blush any harder? Sam’s ears were turning red,
“Well… I missed you.” Sam admitted, mumbling as he turned his gaze away from
Dean to look somewhere else. “And I’m happy to see you…” The sentence hung
there like Sam wanted to say something more.
“I’m happy to see you but I was worried that you were going to run again… like
you did last time.”
“Happy to see more or do you just want another pool date?” Dean wiggled his
eyebrows suggestively, looking at Sam’s profile.
Sam gasped, eyes widening as he suddenly looked around the diner to see if
anyone had over heard Dean because sometimes Dean was really fucking loud and
Sam was almost certain that he was loud on purpose. However there was no one in
the diner to over hear Dean, much to Sam’s relief and he turned to hit Dean on
the shoulder. “Dean!” He squealed.
And this time Dean really did laugh. A sound that started deep in his chest
that bubbled off his tongue and he couldn’t contain it. Not even if he wanted
too. The innocence that was still right underneath the surface of his skin was
too fucking adorable.
And Dean Winchester didn’t think anything was adorable, okay? He didn’t but
Sam… well Sam was the exception… because, you know, there’s always exceptions
to the rule.
“Okay, okay.” Dean said between breaths and Sam hit him again on principal
alone, dammit. “You just missed me. Got it. No innuendo in there.”
“Yeah, jerk.” Sam muttered.
“Whatever, bitch.” And at that they both fell into a heap of laughter.
The sound of them together, laughing and smiling, Dean’s arm haphazardly tossed
around Sam’s shoulders were like music to anyone’s ear if anyone were to stop
and actually listen to it.
But there was someone listening to it. Ellen stood in the doorway leading to
the kitchen, unable to keep her smile off her face.
She had seen her fair share of girls Dean had taken on dates, and not once did
she ever see him like this. That smile that lit up his entire face, laugh until
it nearly hurt. She never saw him seem completely carefree, constantly on the
defense, looking over his shoulder. She hadn’t seen him looking like a child
that didn’t carry the weight of the world since he was actually a small child
who still believed in childish things like Santa and that his mother would come
home.
Sam was the thing that she had been praying for. The thing that would come down
and give Dean the freedom that he deserved and it was about damn time. That boy
had given up so much. He had given up his education, his future, to provide for
his father. He had given up everything just to skate by and it wasn’t fair.
After the crash, nothing had ever really been the same for him and so it was
about damn time that the universe give something back.
It’s funny how the universe works sometimes. Yeah, it gave him something. It
gave him a boy with hazel eyes and shaggy brown hair with a brain that was
starved for learning. It had given him everything that he could ever want
except for the fact that people would try to keep them apart just for the
simple fact of genetics.
Ellen sighed, pushing herself off the doorframe to head back into the kitchen,
her head bent with a sad smile on her face.
Dean would never have it easy. It just wasn’t in his blood to have things easy.
He was going to have to fight and climb and struggle and crawl to keep the
things that he wanted.
Dean finally sobered up enough to stop laughing and he turned his attention to
the open notebook that was on the table, Sam’s messy handwriting covering the
white surface of the pages and squinted at it trying to figure out what Sam was
working on.
Sam was always working on something. Always, scribbling down notes or finishing
up homework except this… this didn’t look like homework. It almost looked like
a form… an application of some sorts. Maybe he was looking for a better job.
One that didn’t smell like dust and rotting ink. “Whatcha working on today?”
It was as if something had shocked Sam. He jerked forward, grabbing the open
notebook and quickly shutting it before closing a few more of his textbooks and
placing them on top of the notebook. “Nothing now.” He said almost too
cheerfully and when Dean was about to question him about the abrupt kill up,
say something along the lines of it was pretty damn obvious that Sam wasn’t
working on ‘nothing’, Sam beat him to the punch, keeping Dean silent. “I wanna
go back to the races.” He said almost breathless.
The small smile that was still on Dean’s face all but fell. He clenched his jaw
together, moving his arm from around Sam, suddenly interested in the red and
white checkered table top. “I don’t… Sam, I don’t think that’s such a great
idea.” He mumbled.
Sam frowned, hands falling away from the books. “Why?” There was a beat of
silence before Sam turned his body towards Dean, almost forcing him to been
seen. “Is it because of me? Because you don’t think that I liked it? I did like
it, Dean. I enjoyed it a lot actually!” He smiled. “I had a ton of fun and I
want to go…”
“Sam!” Dean exclaimed and Sam shrieked back against the seat. “It’s not that,
alright.” He flicked off a piece of salt that was on top of the table. “It’s
just… it’s a dangerous place and I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I’ll watch out for myself. I won’t go onto the road when there’s cars racing.
I mean, I didn’t get hurt the last time you took me and if you don’t want me to
be in the car with you, I could… I could wait with… um… I could wait with,
Benny!”
Oh, yeah, because that would be a grand idea. Leave the kid with someone who
would love to embarrass the shit out of Dean with all the foolish stories that
he had. That was real smart.
“Sam, no.” He took a deep breath. “It has nothing to do with you, alright. It’s
just… accidents can happen and I don’t… I’m not going to let you get hurt.
Alright?” Then Dean frowned, looking back at Sam’s closed notebook. “Now, what
were you working on before you tried to change subject?”
“It’s nothing.” Sam said with a tight smile. “I promise.”
“Yeah, okay.”
Sam leaned back in the seat, acting like he was relaxed now that Dean seemed to
drop the subject but the kid should really know better. A couple moments passed
before Dean reached out and grabbed ahold of the notebook. Before Sam really
had time to react, Dean already had the notebook in his hands, opening it up to
what Sam was working on.
Almost immediately, Dean’s face fell and his heart started to thud against his
ribcage, threatening to explode.
“I can… I can explain, Dean.” Sam whispered, looking down at the open notebook
and then back up at Dean. “It’s not a promise that I’m going anywhere, it’s
just… my teachers thought that it was a good idea for me to start applying, you
know? The earlier I can get my name out there… the better chance I have.”
College applications. That’s what Sam was filling out. College applications.
Dean swallowed around the lump in his throat and yet it didn’t go away. Sam was
applying for college, to Stanford it looked like, and of course he would get
accepted because anyone would be stupid not to take Sam.
Sam was smart and bright and absolutely perfect and he was going to go to
college.
“Will you… will you say something, Dean?” Sam begged, his voice nearly
swallowed in the silence that had fallen over the two of them and Dean finally
tore his eyes away from the paper to look at Sam who was staring down at his
lap, wringing his fingers together.
He shouldn’t… he shouldn’t look like that, scared, guilty, nervous. God, Dean
was the one that was causing this, wasn’t he? He was making Sam think that he
was…
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Dean asked, the lump still in his throat but
it was smaller now. It wasn’t constricting his airways and he could actually
breathe.
“I didn’t want you to be mad at me.” Sam whispered.
“Mad at you?” Dean echoed. “Sam, I could never be mad at you for something like
this.” Sam looked up at Dean and Dean put the notebook back down on the table,
grabbing Sam by the hips to pull him even closer. “Sam, this is awesome.”
“Really?”
“Of course!” Dean beamed and it really was. It was awesome because Sam was
going to get out of this town. He had a chance, he had the opportunity to do
something with his life and he was going to get out. Sam deserved this. He
needed to go somewhere where he could fit in, where he wasn’t so different. He
needed to go somewhere where he could thrive. “I would never be mad at you for
applying to college.”
Sam was looking at him with tears in his eyes now and the lump in Dean’s throat
only seemed to grow. Yeah, Sam was going to get out of this town and leave Dean
behind stuck in the mud and it would be just as his father had predicted.
Dean was a sucker for pain.
“I love you!” Sam blurted out as he jumped forward, hands grabbing at Dean,
pulling Dean down to him to kiss him. It was full of desperation and
thankfulness and Sam was muttering out thank you every few seconds against
Dean’s lips.
Sam kept grabbing handfuls of Dean’s jacket, trying to pull Dean even closer to
him. Their teeth bumped up against each other, their mouths wide and wanting.
Sam’s hands were in Dean’s hair, grabbing and pulling at it. Dean had his hands
on Sam’s hips, fingers pressing in hard enough that he was sure that he was
going to leave marks behind.
After struggling to get closer, Sam decided that he was going to throw his leg
over Dean’s waist, wiggling his body in between Dean and the table. There was
barely any room but Sam was so goddamn skinny that he fit. Now the two boys
were pressed up against each other, so impossibly close. Sam’s hands were still
in Dean’s hair, getting buried and Dean was now sliding his hands up Sam’s
back, slipping underneath his shirt.
He could feel Sam’s spine as Sam arched closer to him, moving his hips,
creating some kind of friction.
And fuck, Dean couldn’t help from repeating the movement. Sam was intoxicating
and he could forget, for just a moment, that they were in a goddamn diner where
literally anyone could walk in through those doors and see them.
“You two better not be having sex in my restaurant. I’m sure as hell ain’t
cleaning that up.” Ellen’s annoyed voice jerked the two boys apart.
Sam quickly untangled himself from Dean and plopped back down in his seat next
to Dean.
Dean blushed, actually blushed as he pulled his shirt out from his body, trying
to cover up his lap, hoping that Ellen didn’t see it.
“We’re… we’re not.” Dean squeaked out.
“Mhmm… sure.” Then she placed the two milkshakes that she was holding down on
the table, careful to avoid the mess that Sam had made. “Just don’t let me
catch you again, alright?”
“Yes ma’am.” Sam replied, still looking down at his lap.
They both waited until Ellen disappeared back into the kitchen before either
one of them dared to move towards the milkshakes. The rest of the evening
passed rather uneventfully. They sat in a comfortable (and somewhat awkward)
silence, sipping on what Ellen had brought out. Sam worked a little more on the
application that he was in the process of filling out, sighing every now and
then.
Dean was still hard when they had left the diner, finally deciding to call it a
night. They kissed briefly outside and Dean had to pull away before it turned
into something so much more.
That night, Dean took care of what he wasn’t to take care of in the diner to
the thoughts of Sam, not knowing that across town, Sam was doing the same
thing.
The next morning, he was able to slip out of the house before his father caught
him, ruining the good mood that he was in. He couldn’t wait for the work day to
end, to get back to the diner, to see Sam again, minus the fucking intense
making out because he wasn’t sure if he would be able to control himself if Sam
went after him like that again.
He would be the only one working at the garage today. The owner, Bobby Singer,
seemed to believe that Dean was competent enough to run the place (even though
Dean had been running the place pretty much alone for nearly a year now) and
honestly Dean craved the silence. The not so isolation that he put himself in
when he was working under the hood of a car.
He was on his back, laying under some truck, checking the brake lines, when
there was a body that all of the sudden block the light. Dean groaned, leaning
his head back for a moment before pulling himself out, fully prepared to tell
Bobby that he was okay, everything was going fine, he didn’t have to freak out
so much, when the words were sucked out of his mouth.
“Sam! What are you doing here?” Dean hissed, putting down the wrench that he
had in his hand, all the while looking around the garage to make sure that no
one was in there even though he knew fully well that there wasn’t. “Aren’t you
supposed to be in school?”
The tips of Sam’s ears turned red. “Yeah but it’s lunchtime and they won’t know
that I’m gone.”
“Sam…” Dean muttered, hating the way that he sounded like a scowled parent but
dammit. Sam couldn’t just sneak off campus to come see him. No matter how happy
that made him. “If you get caught…”
If they got caught, if someone saw them, reported it back to Gordon, if it got
back to his father… he shuddered.
“I’m not going to get caught!” Sam exclaimed. “I’ve got someone covering for
me. They won’t find out and besides, if they do, it won’t matter. My teachers
won’t care. I know the stuff anyway.”
“But… you can’t sneak out.” Why was he fighting this?
“I just wanted to see you.”
“And you would have. This evening. At the diner. Just like every other night.”
Dean reasoned. Yeah, they would have seen each other that evening and it would
have given Dean enough time to prepare himself for another night sitting that
close to Sam while he had to keep his hands to himself.
But now, with the knowledge that no one was going to oversee them, his fingers
itched to touch Sam.
“I know.” Sam was blushing hard now. “I just couldn’t wait. I really wanted to
see you.”
“I missed you too, Sam but you…” Sam finally cut him off, closing the small gap
between the two of them. Dean melted against Sam’s body, every argument that he
had just flying out of his head.
There was a short gasp of surprise from Dean as Sam suddenly shoved Dean up
against the truck that he was working on, a lot stronger than Dean would have
pegged him for.  Sam was powerful, underneath those bony limbs was nothing but
strength and it kept Dean there, pinned up against the truck.
Sam was still kissing him, taking control of Dean’s mouth, doing absolutely
sinful things with his tongue and Dean briefly wondered what happened to that
shy little boy who blushed at the thought of kissing him and where this one was
saved. He loved that Sam but this one, it was going to be the absolute death of
him.
Sam pulled away, chest heaving, lips swollen with the kiss that he just stole
from Dean, nothing but lust and want burning in his eyes. Dean’s legs shook.
Dean was about to open his mouth, ask what had suddenly come over Sam. Why he
skipped school to come and kiss him like that (not that he was complaining, it
was just, he wanted to know, so you know, he could have it happen again) when
Sam stepped in between his legs, sinking to his knees, not even caring about
the oil and grease that stained the floor.
Dean’s breathing hitched.
Sam wasn’t… he wasn’t about to do what he thought Sam was about to do. But then
Sam mouthed at his crotch, fingers fumbling with his belt. And God, Sam was
staring right up at him. Somewhere, distantly, in the back of Dean’s mind he
knew that he needed to push Sam away but with Sam looking at him like that,
eyes wide with an innocence that he didn’t have, Dean kept Sam there on his
knees in front of him.
Sam slowly popped open the button, pulling the zipper down, his fingers hooked
in the waistband as he pulled Dean’s jeans down to rest around his ankles.
Sam’s tongue darted out to wet his lips as he pulled down Dean’s boxers, eyes
widening in approval. Yeah, he’d seen Dean’s cock back at that pool nights ago
but still, it was here right in front of him, wide and long and hard for him.
Dean bucked forward, his stomach muscles clenching as Sam wrapped his bony hand
around him, pumping him a few times before pressing his lips against the head
of his cock, smearing the pre-cum along his tongue. Dean sounded like he had
been punched.
“Shit… fuck, Sammy.” Dean rasped, open hand in Sam’s hair, another spread
against the side of the truck, trying to keep him grounded.
Sam wrapped his lips around Dean before hollowing his cheeks, taking Dean in as
far as his mouth would allow, Dean’s cock hitting the back of his throat. He
ignored his gag reflex as he swallowed around Dean and Dean threw his head
back.
This was dangerous. So incredibly dangerous. The front door wasn’t locked.
Anyone could walk in with car trouble and they would walk in and see his dick
shoved into the mouth of some minor and that would be it for Dean. But it sent
a thrill through his body knowing just how dangerous this was.
Things are always better when you’re not supposed to have them, right?
Sam wasn’t experienced. He was sloppy and while he had his hand wrapped around
what he couldn’t take in his mouth, it was still messy but fuck, it was all
that Dean could take.
It was the determination in Sam’s eyes and the way that he wouldn’t dare look
anywhere else that had Dean coming down his throat much faster than he carried
to admit and Sam lapped it down, keeping Dean in his mouth until he went soft.
When Dean could actually think of something other than the fact that Sam looked
absolutely delicious on his knees with streaks of grease on his face from
Dean’s hands, he pulled Sam up to his feet, pulling him in for another, hard
kiss, more than willing to repay the favor except when Dean reached out to palm
Sam through his jeans, he felt that Sam was no longer hard and there was a wet
spot on the front of his khaki’s.
Dean groaned again at the thought that Sam had come by just having Dean down
his throat.
Except Sam didn’t seem to be sated enough. He was still attacking Dean’s mouth
with a feverish passion, just barely rutting up against his bare thigh and
fuck, the kid was already starting to get hard again.
Dean had to physically push Sam away from his body, get some air to breath that
didn’t smell like Sam and he thought that Sam would take the hint and just slow
down for a moment but Sam took it up as a challenge. He took another step
towards Dean, kissing him hard again and Dean’s hands slipped from Sam’s body.
“I want you, Dean.” Sam muttered in between kisses. “Please.” He begged. “I
want… I need…”
“Sam…” Dean hands were back up around Sam’s shoulders. “Sam, you’ve gotta… Man,
you’ve gotta stop.” And with the little strength that he had left, he pushed
away away just a fraction of an inch again and kept him there. “Not right now,
Sam.”
Sam whined. “Please… I just…”
“I know, kid, I do too but not right now. I told you. Eighteen. You’ve gotta be
eighteen.” Dean wasn’t going to be able to last until Sam turned eighteen, not
if Sam kept surprising him like this.
“But I’m almost eighteen!” Sam whined.
Dean locked his jaw and shook his head. “Not right now, Sam. When you’re older,
I promise, but not right now.”
Sam frowned, crossing his arms across his bony chest, looking at Dean through
those eyes that could cut steel. “You better. You better keep your promise,
Winchester.” And suddenly Dean felt like he was the younger one.
Then Sam kissed him once more and turned on his heels to walk out of garage but
Dean pulled up his jeans and closed his hand around Sam’s upper arm.
“You can’t go back to school like that.” Dean said, pointing to Sam's pants and
how there were now black stains on the knees and not to mention the wet spot.
Dean dragged Sam towards the back room where Dean kept a spare set of clothes.
He had a pair of black sweatpants shoved into the back of his locker and he
handed those towards Sam.
He kissed Sam on the top of his head, holding him against his body for the
briefest of seconds before releasing him. “Thank you, for that. I’ll see you
tonight.” And then he walked out of the room, leaving Sam to his own devices
and got back to work underneath the truck, considerably happier than he was
before Sam’s unexpected visit.
***** Chapter 6 *****
When he got to the diner that evening, Sam was once again in the booth,
practically glowing and well, what can Dean say. He was practically glowing
too.
“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” Dean greeted as he slid in next to Sam.
Sam looked up from the application that he was still working on, this time not
rushing to hide it. “I got off early.” He replied. “But… uhh… tomorrow I work
late. So, I probably won’t be here tomorrow.”
Dean gasped dramatically. “What will I ever do without seeing your pretty
face?” He teased and Sam just rolled his eyes.
“Whatever.” Sam mumbled, turning his attention back to what he was working on.
Ellen brought out the two milkshakes and a plate nearly overflowing with fries
and Dean didn’t realize how hungry he was until he smelled the deep fried
carbohydrates and nearly inhaled them. Sam watched him in half disgust, half
amusement, his face pulled up into a grimace as Dean stuffed his face, drinking
from the milkshake every couple bites.
“You’re acting like you haven’t eaten anything all day.” Sam finally said when
Dean wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, leaning back in the seat.
“That’s cause I haven’t.” Dean answered back truthfully.
He usually didn’t eat during the day and it wasn’t because of lack of wanting.
It’s just he didn’t have any extra food to spare. They barely had enough as it
was and that’s with Dean only eating breakfast a couple of days a week and John
eating barely anything at each meal. Back when Jo was still in high school,
Ellen would have her drop off food at the garage for Dean to have something for
lunch but ever since she went to Vegas, those meals had come to a stop.
“Oh.” Sam replied in a small voice, his embarrassment turning the tip of his
ears red. “I didn’t…”
“It’s fine, kid.” Dean cut Sam off, not wanting to hear his sympathy and
besides, it was fine. He ate what he could, when he could and it was fine.
Sam nodded once before ducking his head again. There was a small frown on his
face and he was chewing on his bottom lip. Dean sighed as he relaxed deeper
into the seat. There was no doubt that Sam was trying to think up of some way
to make up for his seemingly insensitive comment and he wasn’t just going to
drop it like Dean wanted.
He didn’t need pity and he most certainly didn’t need sympathy. Lord knows he
gets enough of that from the people who stop by the garage. At least, those who
don’t blame him for the wreck.
Sam slowly sipped on his milkshake, his lips wrapped loosely around the straw
as he worked now on homework, the application in Dean’s hands as he reads
through it. Checking for what he could, underlining things that didn’t exactly
flow nicely with the next sentence.
And honestly, Dean couldn’t find anything wrong with the essays that Sam had
written. If he were the college admission board, he would choose Sam in a
heartbeat. The kid was damn near perfect.
Sam blushed when Dean had said that, taking the application and essay back,
shoving it into his notebook, muttering that Dean probably said that to
everyone.
When sleep was pulling at the corner of Sam’s eyes, threatening to take him
under, Dean called it a night, pulling Sam in for a small kiss and then turned
to help Ellen with the dishes.
Sam was waiting by the door, his backpack slung up over his shoulder, clinging
onto the strap. He was looking down at his worn converse, face still a light
shade of pink.
“Something on your mind, kid?” Dean asked as he threw an arm of Sam’s
shoulders, leading them out of the diner.
Sam looked up at Dean before he quickly turned his gaze elsewhere. “It’s… uhhh…
I was just… I was wondering if you wanted…” He stumbled over his words, trying
to piece together a sentence. “I just… wanted you to come over tonight.” Sam
spit out quickly before he could convince himself that it was a bad idea to
offer up the invitation.
That’s not what Dean was expecting Sam to ask him about but he wouldn’t deny
the fact that his heart did skip a beat when Sam asked.
“I mean just to sleep, you know.” He paused and then groaned. “Like sleep sleep
not ‘sleep’ sleep. I just…”
Dean cut him off with a kiss. “You talk too much, kid.” And despite that it was
probably an awful idea to say yes, he found himself nodding his head. He was
full of good food and Sam was still wearing his sweatpants (which completely
swallowed Sam’s small frame, by the way) and his day had started off pretty
good so why not end it the same.
“Really?” Sam was beaming, the red neon lights that were casting a red glow on
his skin only made him seem to shine even brighter.
“Yeah.” Dean replied with a cheeky smile and lead Sam over to the Impala where
it was parked out front.
It wasn’t a long drive to Sam’s house and when he pulled up front, all the
lights were shut off, the house dark and barren and offering Dean a secret
refuge. Dean wanted to park somewhere else, somewhere down the street to where
it wasn’t so obvious that he was parked out front of Sam Wesson’s house but Sam
wasn’t having any of it. He was tired and didn’t want to walk anymore and all
he wanted to do was sleep knowing that Dean was pressed up against him.
Dean felt like a stranger in the house, the front porch much too large for him
to be on, the lights that didn’t flicker when Sam turned them on. The fact that
it was actually warm inside and he didn’t have to sleep under seven blankets to
keep from freezing to death.
Dean allowed himself to be pulled by Sam, let the kid show him where everything
was (even offered him something to eat when they stopped by the kitchen but
Dean politely denied) and then Dean followed Sam up the stairs to his room.
There wasn’t much talking between the two boys, Dean felt like it wasn’t his
place to speak inside this place that he didn’t belong and Sam felt as if he
spoke, he would spook Dean and Dean would suddenly run.
It was awkward at first. Dean didn’t want to shed anything more than his boots
and jacket, not wanting to make Sam uncomfortable but when Sam slipped out of
everything but those sweatpants and looked at Dean with an eyebrow raised at
what he was still wearing, Dean decided to strip down to his boxers.
Sam got into bed first and once again, Dean stood at the edge looking down at
the mattress uncertain.
“Will you hurry up and get in bed please?” Sam finally spoke, irritation
evident and he grabbed Dean by the wrist to pull him down. After that Dean
climbed into bed willingly.
Sam immediately pressed himself flush against Dean’s side, arms wrapped around
his bare stomach, head resting on his chest and he nearly fell asleep the
moment he closed his head.
Dean, on the other hand, didn’t get much sleep that night, too wrapped up in
the thought that this was Sam next to him and he was in a house that he knew
his father wasn’t in and if he wanted something to eat, he could go to the
fridge and get something. It was warm and the bed wasn’t lumpy and he had this
beautiful boy latched onto him.
It was all so much and it was all so perfect and while he didn’t get much sleep
that night, he felt like he had the best sleep he’s ever had when they had to
get up the next morning.
The morning was somewhat of a rush. They had slept through the alarm and when
Sam jerked awake, he was nearly all the way on top of Dean, limbs spread out
all over him, covering him like a blanket and that’s how Dean got woken up by
an elbow to the chest.
Sam was a ball of energy in the morning. He didn’t settle anywhere for long,
rushing from this side of the room to pick up this book and then to the other
side of the room to pick up another book. Dean sniffed as he sat up, rubbing
his eyes with the palm of his hands as he sat on the edge of the bed watching
Sam.
When Sam stopped for just a second, he ran a hand through his hair before
sighing. “I’ve gotta take a quick shower. Don’t leave… alright. I promise I
won’t take long.”
“Okay.” Dean smiled back and then Sam grabbed a fresh pair of clothes, rushing
down the hall to the bathroom.
In all honesty, it would have been best if Dean had just left then. If he had
left a note saying that he had to get to the garage and just left. The less
time that he spent in this house, the better. There was a nagging thought in
the back of his head that he shouldn’t have left the Impala parked out front.
It was even more dangerous for it to be out there now that it was the morning.
Any number of Sam’s friends could drive by, or anyone for that matter, and one
look at the car and they would know who it was. Dean was the only one in town
that drove a car like that.
Except he pushed that fear away. No one was going to find him. He was going to
be alright and he pulled himself from the bed, making his way downstairs to the
kitchen. His stomach growled with the prospect of food.
There was a fleeting moment of guilt as he opened up the cabinets, trying to
take stock of what exactly Sam had but Sam had offered it to him. And besides,
it wasn’t really stealing if he was going to make pancakes for the both of
them.
Sam came rushing into the kitchen not ten minutes after Dean started breakfast,
his hair still wet from the shower, looking panicked.
“I thought you left.” He said in a rushed whisper.
“Nope.” Dean replied, popping the ‘p’ as he turned back to the stove to flip
the last few pancakes. “I thought that I would make you some breakfast. I don’t
know about you but I’m starving. Help yourself.” Dean said, pointing to the
plate that was on the counter already filled.
And Sam did. He grabbed another plate, grabbing several pancakes before
covering it in butter and syrup, sitting down at the breakfast island in the
middle of the kitchen. He moaned around the fork after the first bite, sending
his compliments to the chef before completely digging into the breakfast.
Dean cleaned up the skillet that he was cooking out of before fixing himself a
plate and joined Sam, sitting right next to him.
“These are so good, Dean.” Sam said around a mouthful of food.
“Yeah?” Dean questioned.
“Yeah.” Sam repeated with a smile. “I haven’t had pancakes in forever.”
Somewhere in the background, a grandfather clock chimed and Sam dropped his
fork, checking the clock on the far wall. “Shit.” He muttered. “Your damn
pancakes are going to make me late for class.”
He already was late but Dean wasn’t going to mention that.
“Do you need a ride to school?” Dean asked as he took the now empty plate that
was in front of Sam, walking it over to the sink, turning the tap on.
“I usually walk but… uhhh… I wouldn’t mind a ride.”
“Alright. Just give me a moment to clean up.”
Sam ran back upstairs to his room to grab his backpack and when he came back
down to the kitchen, Dean was still hunched over the sink, scrubbing at the
plate. His mind was racing through the last few hours, how he actually ended up
at Sam’s house, what went right in the universe to get this to happen.
He’s only going to leave you, Dean. That nagging voice in the back of his head
whispered. Dean scrubbed harder at the plate. Once he learns about you, see all
the dirty little crevices, he’s going to hate you, be disgusted with you.
Shut up. He yelled back at those voices. Just shut up.
And for once they did. They fell silent and while he welcomed the silence, it
left a bitter taste in his mouth.
He was wrapped up in his thoughts, the feeling of an actually full stomach and
food that was made with milk that wasn’t slightly soured and he didn’t hear Sam
coming up behind him.
Sam reached out, wrapping his hand around Dean’s shoulder and Dean immediately
dropped the plate that was in his hand, jerking around, heart thudding through
his chest, already on the defense. Sam had taken a step back, his hands now up
in the air to show that he was completely defenseless, that he was of no threat
to Dean.
“Shit, Sam, you scared me.” Dean breathed, dropping his shoulders, trying to
get rid of the memory that was trying to surface in his brain of the number of
times that he felt rough fingers on his shoulder coming out of nowhere.
The look on Sam’s face told Dean that Sam didn’t quite believe what he was
saying. That reaction was more than just a simple scare but he didn’t push it.
Dean turned back to the sink just for the simple excuse of not having to look
at Sam’s questioning stare and finished washing the plate that he was working
on, purposely going slow to calm his racing heart and after several tense
moments and the only thing that he could hear was the blood rushing past his
ears, Dean turned back to Sam, who was still standing in the same spot that he
was, waiting for Dean to move before he moved himself.
“You ready?” Dean’s voice was tight.
“Yeah.” Sam smiled, trying to keep the mood light around them but it was tight.
Dean still looked so tense, so on edge and all he did was touch his shoulder.
He took a tentative step forward, watching how Dean was going the react. He
didn’t flinch this time, which Sam took for a good sign but he also didn’t move
until Sam was past him.
Dean followed Sam out of the house and Sam ducked into the front seat. All the
hair on his body still seemed to be standing up on end. He was waiting for
something, bracing his body against an attack that he was sure to come.
By the time that he started the car, his heart still hadn’t slowed, beating
behind his rib cage like a caged bird. His hands were on the steering wheel and
yet he couldn’t seem to move them, couldn’t seem to be able to start the car.
Couldn’t seem to be able to anything than breathe.
Sam turned in his seat, turning to face Dean, watching him with worried eyes.
He’s slow this time when he reaches out to touch Dean. Slow and cautious almost
as if he were approaching a wild animal. But that’s what Dean was, wasn’t he? A
beautiful, wild caged animal who was fighting for every lungful of air? Sam
called out Dean’s name softly before he placed his hand on his knee.
Dean flinched again, just barely this time, before snapping out of whatever he
was in.
Dean turned to look at Sam, jaw tight, eyes wide but he looked aware now. More
aware than he was just moments ago. He looked like he was actually seeing and
not just going through the motions. “I’m fine.” He muttered as he started the
car. “I’m fine.” He repeated.
They both knew it was a lie.
Sam didn’t once peel his eyes from Dean, wanting to catch every tick of his
jaw, wanting to watch the moment that the anxiousness left his body however it
never did. His knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel, eyes
trained solely on the road and while he was seeing, he looked moments from
death. He looked to be moments from just jerking the wheel to the side, sending
the car spiraling out of control.
And the thought of that should have scared Sam, should have fucking terrified
him. Except the thing that terrified him wasn’t the thought that Dean could end
it all right here, it was the fact that he found that somewhat comforting.
For all his life he never thought that he would find someone he would love,
much less someone that would love him back. He was always that kid that bounced
around schools, around the country, always with the smart brain but never the
one with a stable home. And then by pure chance, by nothing but luck he
stumbled upon this man that was so much more than his looks and the leather and
the cigarettes. He was a man that was haunted, had ghost stories playing the
back of his head, struggled everyday for a breath of air and yet he could still
somehow manage a smile. He still woke up in the morning and faced whatever
demon he had to face head on and never complained when it cut him down.
Sam found it comforting that if Dean were to just suddenly jerk the wheel on
his way to school that he would die next to a warrior that had finally be shot
down in battle.
He found it comforting that he would die next to the man that he loved.
Dean pulled up to the front of the school, still holding on tightly to the
wheel and turned to meet Sam’s waiting gaze.
“I’m fine.” He mumbled again and Sam reached out across the seat, his hands
nothing but a feather of a touch on Dean’s jaw as he leaned over to kiss him,
short and brief and everything that Dean needed in that moment.
“I know.” Sam replied, smiling as he pulled away because Dean was speaking the
truth. He was as fine as he was ever going to be. The he grabbed his bag that
was by his feet and opened the car door.
“I would say I’ll see you tonight but since you’ve got a shift at the library,
I guess, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Dean said through a plastered on smile and Sam
wished that he had the right kind of tools to break through that fake smile.
But Sam knew that his fingers would bleed before he got through that wall.
“I’ll see what I can do.” And with that, with one more fleeting touch, Sam
disappeared into the building where Dean not only realized his dreams but also
where they were crushed.
Dean watched Sam hoist his backpack higher up on his shoulder, sitting there
for just a moment before taking a shaky breath, letting his body have just one
short second before he had to close himself up again for work.
Bobby was already at the garage by the time that Dean pulled around back.
However, when Dean took inventory of what had to be done for the day, Bobby
didn’t scold him for being late like Dean thought he was going to. Instead,
Bobby told him what had to be finished first and then went back to whatever
task he was working on before Dean showed up.
You see, Bobby was like that. He wasn’t afraid to tan your ass for any stupid
mistake that you do, he’ll call you out on it quicker than anyone but he also
knew when to just leave things be. Besides, it wasn’t really like Dean to show
up late.
As Dean in front of the car that needed something in the transmission fixed, he
shook out his hands, trying to loosen the muscles in his body, get them to
relax. except they never did. Every small sound seemed to make him flinch. He
was on edge, forgot to do the simple things that he knew how to do.
It was sometime around lunch that Bobby called Dean into his office. Dean sat
down in the chair on the other side of Bobby’s desk, his leg bouncing up and
down, physically unable to calm his nerves.
“You on drugs, boy?” Bobby asked after several long moments of just studying
Dean’s face and that got Dean to stop bouncing his leg.
“What? No, of course not. Why would you thin…”
Bobby cut him off. “I’m asking the questions here. You know that I can’t keep
you employed here if you are on drugs, right?” Dean nodded, still wondering
what he could have done that made Bobby believe that he was on something. “I’ve
just been worried about you. You’ve seemed to be strung out lately. I know that
everything isn’t peachy with John…”
“Bobby. I’m fine.” Dean snapped. “There’s nothing going on at home and I’m not
on drugs. Everything is fine. I’m fine.” Dean made a move to stand up.
“Boy, sit your ass back down. I’m not done talking with you.” Dean settled back
down into the chair. “I only ask this because you haven’t been acting like
yourself lately. You’re jumpy, on edge. You hardly look like you’ve been
sleeping.”
“Bobby, I promise, I’m not on drugs.”
“Okay, if it’s not drugs then what is it? You seeing someone? Some girl that
you’ve managed to swoon.”
“It’s not a girl.” Dean muttered.
Bobby got silent then, really silent and Dean dropped his eyes to the dirt and
grease that were caked underneath his fingernails. He wanted to shrink, escape
Bobby’s gaze.
“Oh.” Bobby said. His chair creaked as he leaned back in it. Still Dean didn’t
look up at him. “Does your dad know about this… about him?”
“Please, Bobby, please don’t tell him!” Dean blurted out as he looked back up
at Bobby.
Everything seemed to click into place for Bobby. “So that’s why you’ve been…”
Bobby nodded once to himself. Yeah, it all seemed to make sense to him now. The
way that Dean had been acting lately. The way that he was always looking over
his shoulder. Showing up to work hours before his shift actually starts. It was
all an attempt to keep whatever he had hidden from his father. “Does anyone
else know?”
Dean slinked back against the chair, his limbs feeling like they weighed a
million pounds. He didn’t know how many people actually knew. His mind raced
over the past few months that he had been with Sam and he wasn’t sure who all
had seen them and who hadn’t.
“I don’t really know.” Dean shrugged. “I mean, people at the races kinda know,
I guess and… uhhh… Ellen knows but I’m not sure about anyone else.”
Bobby was quiet for another minute and Dean hated to be on the other end of his
scrutinizing gaze. “Do you think that anyone would try to tell John about your
relationship with that boy?”
“No, I mean… Dad already has a faint idea that I’ve been with Sam but ever
since he’s told me to stay away from Sam, I’ve been careful.” Yeah, so fucking
careful that you actually spent the night at his house. “But… “ His stomach
dropped once more. “Gordon… He… I wouldn’t put it past him to do something like
that.”
“Gordon? You’re still running around with that boy? After what he accused you
of?”
“I’m not still running around with him. No! It’s just that he happens to be
Sam’s legal guardian until Sam turns eighteen.”
Bobby laughed. A loud, unamused sound that had Dean wanting to just disappear.
“His guardian? You really want Gordon to hate you even more than he already
does? Is this all to get back at him or something?”
“Of course not! If I had it my way, I would steer clear of Sam but…” He trailed
off.
“But what?”
Yeah, Winchester. But what? Why can’t you just realize that he’s so fucking bad
for you and all you’re doing is giving Gordon more ammunition to shoot your
way.
“I can’t.” Because Sam had his own magnetic pull and Dean had gotten stuck in
it and there was no way that he was ever going to be able to escape now. Not
even with a million demons breathing down his back.
Bobby didn’t say much after that declaration. He looked Dean over once more
before saying that he needed to be careful and then sent him back to work
because those cars won’t fix themselves.
The meeting with Bobby did nothing to calm his nerves. It was just another name
to add to the ever growing list of people that knew about him and Sam. Another
drop of water into the already overflowing glass. He needed to talk to Sam
about this. Spending the night at Sam’s was great because he was able to sleep
next to the thing that he craved but in the morning it did nothing but add
stress to his already stressful life. He needed… he desperately needed to wait
until Sam was eighteen and then this relationship would be okay. Sam would be
an adult. Gordon wouldn’t have any hold over him. Dean might actually leave
town. Leave this place where nothing ever happens. Leave his father.
He needed to stop this sneaking around, the always looking over his shoulder,
the being paranoid that something was going to happen to Sam.
He needed to get out. He needed to get away. The moment that it was dark enough
and Bobby had left the garage, Dean got into the front seat of the Impala and
didn’t even think twice as he sped out to the track. He needed to get out
there.
He needed to race, needed to drive down that darkened highway pushing a
hundred. His skin itched, his blood boiled, everything in him felt like his
body was being pulled apart.
The uneasiness that had settled in the pit of his stomach only seemed to grow
as he pulled up to the road, taking note of all the cars that were already
there. People were lingering around their cars, laughing, smiling, handing onto
each other. Everything seemed like it was supposed to be but there was
something in the air that didn’t sit well with him.
Someone directed him over to the beginning of the track, waving briefly through
the window which Dean didn’t return. The girl took her spot in between the two
cars, her long tan legs standing out in stark contrast to the darkened night.
The radio seemed to be extra noise, something else to distract his already
distracted mind.
He almost missed the movement of the flag, his foot laying on the gas pedal
just a fraction of a second later than the car next to him. His heart was
beating out of his chest in a way that felt unhealthy. It’s almost as if it was
desperately trying to get a last couple of beats before it gave out.
He wasn’t sure if he could keep a straight mind, his arms felt unsteady. His
mind was hazy, drugged, fogged over despite the fact that he hadn’t had an
ounce of alcohol that day. But he trusted his car. He trusted that she would
carry him to where he needed to go.
Across that finish line.
The gas pedal was to the floorboard, the speedometer maxing out. He pulled out
in front of the other car and he continued to drive the gas pedal further to
the ground despite the fact that it wouldn’t go anymore.
He was so close. He could taste metal in his mouth and long after he came to a
stop, he would realize that he had bitten down on his tongue to the point that
it started to bleed.
Closer and closer and he pushed her harder.
Seconds, it took seconds but she carried him across the finish line like she
always did.
She took care of him.
Dean glanced across the cab, looking for another body to celebrate this victory
with. The last two races had spoiled him. it had spoiled him for searching for
that smile that came with a win but the other seat remained empty. Sam was
probably at home now. Or maybe he was still at the library. Either way, he was
safe. He wasn’t with him. He wasn’t with this grenade that was on a short fuse.
He thought, for just a moment, if he went off. There could be another accident
on these roads. An accident that involved him and burnt rubber and crushed
metal. Just gun the car to a hundred once again and end up in some ditch
somewhere, body wrapped around the metal frame.
Then maybe, just maybe, he would fulfill that destiny that everyone had set out
for him.
But the thought of the boy who sat beside him just a few days ago kept him from
driving down that road into eternal darkness.
Dean raced to relax. It found out years ago that racing allowed him to reach
that state of mind where nothing bothered him. When it was just him and nothing
else except he felt even more on edge now. Knots twisted in his stomach as he
pulled off the road. There were people milling about, so completely as ease
with the world. Yet he was sitting in the cab of his car feeling like he was
about to be sick.
It happened too fast, faster than what he could have anticipated for. Someone
opened his car door, dragging him out of the car. He tried to grab at the
person, get free from whoever was pulling him along the ground. He could hear
boots scuffle along the gravel, two of three pairs if he guessed right.
Dean twisted along the ground, desperately kicking to get free but they held
onto him.
Then they suddenly stopped, dropping him to the ground before hauling him up to
his feet, grabbing him roughly by his hair. Two pairs of hands grabbed at his
arms, keeping him bound in a fleshy prison against his will. Before he could
het some sort of snarky comment out or even see who had attacked him, the
person that was just just barely to the side of him, punched him hard in the
gut.
Dean would have fallen forward, curling in on himself if it weren’t for the
fact that someone was holding him. He could see stars, little white dots danced
across his vision as he coughed.
“You just don’t learn, do ya, Winchester?” Dean swallowed thickly, resisting
the urge to growl. Of course it was him. What did he expect? Gordon punched him
again and he was sure that he could taste bile on the back of his tongue.
“Always looking for a little beating.”
“Fuck you.” Dean spit.
Gordon punched him again, this time catching the side of his face and Dean
could taste the blood in his mouth. He spit the blood out, it landing by
Gordon’s shoes.
“I gave you the chance to stay away from him and yet you don’t seem to take a
fucking hint. Don’t think that I haven’t heard all the little rumors floating
around. Everyone seeing you with him. The fact that you were here at the races
with him a couple nights ago and not only that but you were sticking your
tongue down his throat.” Gordon looked at the pathetic man that was at his
feet. “You know, I could have forgiven you for that. Brady said he took care of
you that evening but then I get a call from the school saying that Sam had left
campus and I thought to myself ‘that’s not like Sam. Unless someone like you
convinced Sam to skip’.” Gordon shook his head. “I tried to be civil with you,
Dean, I really did but I guess that I gotta just beat it into you. Straighten
you out a little.”
“You don’t hafta do anything. You could just let me go. Call it a day.” Dean
tried because begging never killed someone.
Gordon paused, he actually paused like he was considering what Dean was
proposing. “Yeah, you know, I could but I gotta admit this is more fun.”
Dean tried to brace himself for the next hit but it still caught him off guard.
Dean tried to double over, arms reflexively moving to protect his stomach, his
ribs but the two boys held him back, keeping him from being able to. Dean was
silent as Gordon continued to hit him. He hung there, head bent, grunts falling
from his mouth. He took every hit that Gordon offered him.
Gordon paused, grabbing Dean by his hair, pulling it hard enough that tears
started to prickle in the corner of his eyes. “Such a good boy, Dean.” Gordon
cooed. “Taking your beating like a good little bitch.”
Dean growled, blood coating his teeth as he tried to yank himself free again.
Blood was running from his nose. “Go to hell.”
Gordon hit him again, knuckles connecting with ribs and Dean was almost certain
that he felt something crack under the punch. “Little bitches don’t speak.”
“Go… to… hell.” Dean repeated.
Gordon sighed almost as if he was sorry that Dean was bringing this beating
upon himself. Gordon hit him wherever he could reach. Across his face, high up
on his cheekbone. A couple more hits to his stomach, to his ribs and then
Gordon ordered his boys to release him.
Dean slumped to the ground, instinct causing him to curl in on himself to keep
his body protected from anymore harm, to keep his internal organs safe from
anymore damage. Gordon’s knees cracked as he crouched down beside Dean, pulling
him back up by his hair. Dean tried to fight against him, tried to get away.
“I’m only gonna say this once, Winchester, so you better get it through your
thick skull, I am responsible for Sam. I have to make sure that Sam gets to
school and graduates and then he’s out of here. Forever. He doesn’t need the
distraction of you. If you don’t leave him alone, a lot worse thing are going
to happen to you than just a little beating.”
“Then let them happen.” Dean growled.
Gordon laughed. “Okay, keep getting hurt and I’ll make sure that he doesn’t
ever see you again.”
“You can’t control his life, Gordon. He’s a stronger of a person than you’ll
ever be.”
“Okay, I might not be able to control his life but I sure as hell can control
you. My fist can be more than persuasive. You better leave him, break his
heart, do whatever but get out of his life before you end up getting him
killed.”
“I’m not doing that to him.” Dean glared at Gordon.
Gordon growled, frustration tearing through his chest. He shoved Dean’s head
back down into the dirt as he stood up.
“You know what to do.” Gordon said to the two people who had held him up. “Just
don’t kill him. Not yet.” Dean could head Gordon’s footfalls on the gravel
start to walk way and then they paused. “Oh and keep him quiet. We don’t want
any noisy bodies poking around.”
Dean once again tried to get away. He tried to scramble away from the people
who were about to beat him within an inch of his life, get to the crowds of
people just meters away but he was too slow and the other guys were too fast.
Someone stepped into his field of vision holding a dirty rag in his hand and
stuffed it into Dean’s mouth. Dean wanted to scream out, get the attention of
someone, escaped this beating with most of his bones still intact but the only
sounds that came out of his mouth were muffled yells.
They took turns beating him, whoever they were. They hit him, kicked him where
they wanted, where they could reach. It was everywhere. Again in the ribs, the
stomach, the chest, his back. Along with the taste of the dirty rag that was in
his mouth, he could taste blood and he was sure that he was going to throw up
any second now.
Then they just left. It stopped and they left without saying a word and Dean
half expected them to come back with a baseball bat or something like that and
beat him a little more but long moments turned into long minutes and there was
nothing. Just like that, it was over.
He hurt. In fact that was an understatement. His whole body felt broken and he
wanted to do nothing more than to just lie there and not move until someone
found his broken and battered body. Maybe the vultures that circled the sky
overhead.
Slowly he uncurled from his vulnerable position, wincing as he moved.
Everything ached. It felt like his insides were turned and twisted and we hit
upon until they were black and blue which probably wasn’t too far from the
truth.
He moved slowly because he simply couldn’t move fast. Anytime he stepped, pain
ripped through his chest. There was a dull throbbing underneath his eye despite
the fact that it had gone numb a while ago.
The keys were still in the ignition and he was grateful for it. Dean groaned as
he closed the door to the car. Ellen should be working tonight. Hell it seemed
like she was working the night shift every evening now and he was hoping for
it. He couldn’t go home, not looking like this, not at the moment. His father
was probably still awake, waiting for Dean to walk through the door being that
he hadn’t seen him in a couple of days now. He was probably sitting in that
damn chair, mouth full of ammunition to fire his way until Dean managed to
slink away to his room.
His vision blurred around the edges as he drove. His head felt heavy, almost to
the point that he wasn’t sure if he could keep it up.
The drive to the diner felt like it took hours despite the fact that the
streets were clear at this time of night. In reality it only took a couple of
minutes. Dean haphazardly parked the Impala, having just each sense to stuff
the keys into his pocket and stumble into the diner.
The bright white fluorescent lights made his head pound even more, making his
eyes sting. Everything smelled fake, chemical, deep fried  and soaked in fat
making his stomach churn. It was all too much, to overwhelming for his senses
that were on a hairline trigger. In the back of his mind he was sure that he
had a concussion and several broken ribs and he really probably should have
gone to a doctor but he trusted Ellen more than he trusted some guy with the
only experience being from a textbook.
Only it wasn’t Ellen that rushed toward him when he bell overhead rang, it was
Sam. He was sitting in the back booth, head bent over some textbook.
Sam caught him just in time to keep Dean from cracking his knees on the hard
linoleum. He grabbed Dean’s face, forcing Dean’s unfocused eyes to look at him.
“Heya Sam.” Dean slurred before he fell forward, eyes closing as the sweet
painless oblivion took him over.
 
 
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when Dean woke back up other than the
fact that he knew it couldn’t have been long. He had been moved out from in
front of the door but he was still on the floor with Sam’s hoodie shoved
underneath his head to form a makeshift pillow.
The blurry figures in his vision started to form a clearer picture and now Sam
wasn’t the only one hovering over him. Ellen was now there too, arms crossed
across her chest and her lips pressed into a thin line.
“If you weren’t already so beat to hell, Dean, I would beat you myself.” Ellen
said as soon as she saw that Dean had regained consciousness enough to be
responsive.
Dean sighed. “That’s good to know.” He groaned as he tried to sit up but Ellen
pressed her hand flat against Dean’s chest and pushed him back down to the
floor.
“Stay down, Dean.” She demanded with an annoyed look.
“What happened?” Sam blurted out like he couldn’t contain the question any
longer, bringing attention to himself.
Dean opened his mouth to answer but Ellen beat him to the punch. “He’s a
dumbass.” She said, shooting Dean a very pointed look to keep his mouth shut
and Dean, for once, compiled this time. Sam sighed, not happy with that answer
because it didn’t tell him  anything . “I’ve told you to stay away from those
races, boy They’re gonna kill you.  Those people  are going to kill you if the
car doesn’t.”
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Ellen. The fight wasn’t even about racing.” Dean
scoffed, brushing off Ellen’s hand as she tried to push him back down when he
sat up for the second time. “Besides, I know how to hold my own.”
“Yeah, looks like it. Explains why you’re beat to a bloody pulp.”
“I’m fine.” Dean insisted. He tried to stand up, move away from the prying
eyes, from Sam but he winced. His lungs felt like they were being pinched, his
breath knocked out of him.
“Mhmm.” Ellen said through pursed lips and this time Dean didn’t fight when
Ellen pushed him back down. “You’re just like your daddy, you know that? Not
even gonna admit that you need help when you’re dying on your deathbed.”
“Well, if I’m on my deathbed, won’t it be a little too late to ask for help?”
Dean shot back.
“You know what I mean!”
“Does someone want to explain to me why the hell you are all beat up?” Sam
nearly screamed this time, sounding even more irritated than he did before.
“It was because he was hanging around those damn races again and just like his
daddy, has to pick fights with anything that moves.”
“That not…” But Ellen slapped Dean in the middle of his chest lightly, a scowl
on her face. “Ow!” Dean exclaimed. “I thought you said that you weren’t going
to hit me.”
“No, I said that I wasn’t going to beat you but you keep lying to me and you
know that I don’t tolerate that.”
“But it wasn’t about racing! Okay! It had nothing to do with racing. It had to
do with…” But he trailed off, settling to look at the chalk board with the
daily specials written up on it instead of looking at Ellen. Instead of looking
at Sam.
“Me?” Sam finished, sounding so much more guilty than he should sound. “It was
because of me, wasn’t it?”
Dean’s silence was all the answer that Sam needed and Sam visibly moved away
from Dean, looking at him with that broken look on his face. It hurt Dean more
than any fist or boot could do.
“I didn’t… I didn’t think that he would actually do anything.” Sam whispered.
“I didn’t…”
Dean sat up, much faster than he should have and much to Ellen’s dismay and he
reached out towards Sam. He wanted to touch Sam, hold him, let Sam know through
physical touch that he didn’t do this to him but Sam looked so disgusted with
himself that Dean was afraid that it would only make matters worse. “Kid, it’s
not your fault.”
“But he did it because of me, because we are… dating.”
That word. That one word that used to be so absent in his vocabulary and
hearing it now, in this context, seeing Sam mutter the word, it shocked him.
His heart did this flutter jump when the word was repeated in his brain. Even
now, when it was so evident that they were together it still knocked the breath
out of him. Almost as if he couldn’t believe that someone still, after all this
time, wanted to be with him.
Ellen looked between Sam and then back up at Dean. “Who exactly did this to
you?” She asked.
“Gordon.” Sam answered in place of Dean because Sam knew. There was no question
as to who did this.
There was a brief moment where Ellen sat there, thinking and then the
realization crossed her face. She snapped her eyes to Dean’s face. “You don’t
mean…” And Dean nodded. Both boys swore that they heard her growl deep in the
back of her throat. “That boy is still trying to pin shit on you? The next time
that he walks in here, I’m gonna…”
“Don’t.” Dean muttered, cutting her off. “Don’t want you getting tied up in
defending a fag.”
Ellen slapped him once more. “Don’t you dare say that. You know that I don’t
care and neither should anyone else. What you do with Sam is your own damn
business and ain’t nobody should be concerning themselves with it.”
“You, well, I don’t want you getting hurt because of me.”
“Boy, you aren’t responsible for me. I can take care of myself. The moment that
he steps foot in here…”
“Ellen… please, just don’t.”
There was a tense moment that passed. Ellen pursed her lips like she wanted to
argue the point a little more, argue to Dean that she was going to take care of
her boy but ultimately Dean’s silent begging won out.
Dean could take a punch. In fact he would welcome it but the moment that
someone took a punch for him…
Ellen finally just sighed.
“Alright, fine then, take you shirt off. Let me see the damage.”
Dean couldn’t remember how long he had come to Ellen, seeking out the comfort
that her hand could provide, seeking out much needed help. Back when he still
cared about school, when he had dreams that didn’t even with asphalt, he would
spend his afternoons in some booth, slaving away at whatever information
teachers were trying to cram inside his head. He would come seeking out help
from Ellen whenever he would get a little too handsy with someone else’s girl
and they split his lip. He’s always come here, seeking the affection from
someone who cared.
He grunted as he grabbed the back of his shirt, pulling it over his head. Yep,
most definitely broken ribs and possibly a punctured lung. Just another day.
All along his chest, bruises were already starting to form. Deep blue and
purple fanned out across his tanned skin and Sam had to look away.
It was bad. Didn’t take a doctor to figure that little part out. Part of the
reason why he didn’t trust them. They only said the things that were already
known but he needed one. Both Ellen and Dean knew that. He needed a doctor and
an x-ray and pain pills. He needed everything that he couldn’t have.
Ellen poked at a spot along his ribcage that looked to be the worse of all of
them and Dean whined, pulling away from her and her prodding fingers.
“Oh suck it up you big baby.” Ellen muttered, reaching towards the table that
she had laid gauze and cloth and everything that she might need to stitch
wounds up. Dean shot her a look and Ellen just smiled back. “You’ve had worse.”
Dean couldn’t remember the last time that he had gotten beat this badly. Sure,
dad knew how to throw a punch and had done it a couple of times but he didn’t
look like this. Ellen wrapped his chest with the gauze, running her fingers
over the spots that were bleeding and would probably need stitches. Ellen had
long ago perfected her craft of wrapping ribs thanks to Dean.
“Alright.” She said when she was finished with his ribs, turning to his face,
taking a wet washcloth to wash away the blood that had started to dry. His eye
was already swollen shut and it still didn’t have any feeling. “I don’t think
that you have a broken nose, luckily, but your eye is most certainly going to
be swollen shut for a little while.”
The diner got quiet then. Every once in awhile, there would be a small intake
of breath on Dean’s part but otherwise he remained silence. Sam somehow removed
himself even farther from the group. He was behind Ellen, sitting in some
booth, watching Dean with wide eyes, his arm wrapped tightly around his body.
His jaw was clenched together, looking as if he was hardly keeping it together.
The bowl that was full of clear water had long ago turned red and Dean wished
that he knew what Sam was thinking. He needed to know what was going through
that brain of his.
“You better stay away from those races, Dean. They’ve already nearly destroyed
your life, don’t give them the chance to do it again.” Ellen said, putting the
rag into the bowl, her knees cracking as she climbed to her feet. She placed a
comforting hand on Sam’s shoulder as she passed by him. Sam looked up at her,
his eyes glassy. “He’s going to alright, Sam. He’s a fighter. This isn’t on
you, okay? You didn’t do anything to cause this. It was his own damn
stupidity.” And with that, she disappeared into the kitchen.
Dean was slow as he got up from the floor, moving towards Sam, trying to hide
the grimace that was fighting to be seen. Sam wordlessly moved over in the
booth, giving Dean room to sit down. The air was tense between the two of them
and Dean wished that he was good with words so he could just say something.
Anything.
“Do you… do you hate me?” Sam choked out, his voice breaking at the end.
“What? No. Of course not, Sam.” Dean fumbled over his words, not able to say
them fast enough. “What makes you say that?”
“Gordon.” Sam stated, like that would explain everything. “He did this because
of me. He hurt you because of me and you shouldn’t…”
Dean grabbed a hold of Sam’s face, silencing him. “Sam, I can promise you that
you didn’t cause this. He’s had it out for me for a while now. He would jump at
any reason to hurt me.”
“But why?” He sounded so close to actually crying.
Dean’s hands dropped from Sam’s face. “Because he blames me for killing his
sister.”
***** Chapter 7 *****
The moment that the confession was past his lips, Dean regretted ever saying
them. Sam recoiled. He visibly recoiled from Dean and everything was finally
coming to light. This was going to be the end all, be all.
So much for that fairytale ending. Guys like him, guys like Dean, don't get the
happy endings.
“He didn’t…” Sam started at the same time that Dean removed himself from the
booth, head held high as he forced himself to keep from breaking in front of
Sam. It was only right for Sam to move away from him like that. Dean was a
monster and there was no way around that little fact.
Sam wrapped his hand around Dean’s arm and pulled Dean back towards him. “Fuck,
Dean. Stop, would you.” And Sam shoved Dean back into the booth. “Stop running
and let me talk to you.”
“I’m not running.” Dean mumbled.
“Like hell you aren’t! You drop a bomb on me and barely give me to fucking
process what you said before you’re up and running out of here.” Sam shouted
and now Ellen emerged from the kitchen, standing cautiously in the doorway.
Dean sat there, staring up at Sam, not sure what to think anymore.
“Talk to me.” Sam begged. “Just talk to me.”
“What do you want to know? Huh, Sam? What possibly do you want to know about
me?” Suddenly there was anger in his veins, making Dean shake. “You wanna know
how my mom died when I was four? Or about the way that my old man beats me
because I am never good enough for him? Or how about the way that I drown
myself in work and alcohol and fast cars because I can’t fucking focus on
anything when I’m not? Or do you want to know about Gordon and what I did to
him?”
His chest was heaving with every intake of breath and it hurt. Breathing hurt
like a bitch. “He says that I was driving that night and honestly I don’t know
what to believe anymore because the lies has been said so many times that it’s
the truth. She was a black blob. We didn’t see her until it was too late. I
wanted to stop, I wanted to call the police but Gordon was so fucking worried
about his curfew that he kept driving. They found her the next day and Gordon
didn’t even hesitate to turn me into the police that morning, saying that I was
drunk and was the one that hit her. It couldn’t be proven, my word against his
and eventually the police turned me free but not before Gordon dragged my name,
along with his name through the mud.”
Once again Sam remained motionless and this time Dean didn’t stop when he felt
Sam touch his shoulder as he climbed out of the booth.
“Just let him go, Sam.” Dean heard Ellen mutter to Sam and then he was thrown
back out into the cool night.
Stupid . He muttered to himself as he climbed into the Impala.  Stupid. Stupid.
Stupid.  He just had to go off and open his mouth, say something that would
finally show Sam the monster that he was. And he was a monster, hiding behind
an illusion of being the sheep.
But then again, a love like the love that they shared was never meant to last.
Dean lived on the fringe of society and that’s where their relationship stayed.
It stayed there being pulled and strained until it finally fell through.
He slammed his hands down on the steering wheel, the horn going off under his
closed fist. The light from the diner poured in through his windows but he
never felt more in the dark than he did now.
Dean jumped when the passenger door opened and suddenly he wasn’t alone
anymore.
“Sam, what the fuck are you doing?” Dean hissed.
“Well, if you’re going to run then I’m going to run with you.” Sam answered
matter of factly, closing the door. He grabbed the seat belt and buckled
himself in. “So… where we going?”
Dean stared at Sam, at the halo of hair that was sitting upon his head, the way
that he was so willing to follow Dean through the depths of hell. He scoffed in
disbelief as he shook his head. “Why do you keep coming back to me?”
“Why do you keep pushing me away?” Sam flipped the question back on him.
Dean growled in frustration, throwing his hands up in the air before running a
hand through his hair. Fuck teenagers with their over zealous confidence.
“Because Sam, you shouldn’t… I’m not good for you. I… I hurt everyone I touch
and you… you need to run before I hurt you too.”
“What if I don’t want to run?”
“Then you’re stupid.” Dean spit back, looking back out the windshield.
“Or maybe you’re the one that’s stupid, Dean.” Sam hesitated before continuing.
“You haven’t hurt me and I you won’t. You are a good person, Dean.”
Dean scoffed.
“Okay then… why do you think you’re bad for me?” Silence. “Is it because of
what happened to Gordon’s sister?” A slight twitch to Dean’s jaw but he
otherwise remained motionless. Maybe, just maybe if he didn’t acknowledge Sam
in any way then he would just leave. Like he should have done forever ago.
“Dean, I’ve already known about that. Gordon told me after that first day that
I met you.”
Fuck the silent resolve. “What?”
“I’ve known for months now, Dean. He tried to scare me away from you.”
“And yet you kept coming back to me.”
“Yeah, because I didn’t believe him. I don’t know, you didn’t seem like the
kind of guy who would do something like that.”
“Well, there’s a lot of things that you don’t know about me, Sam.”
“And I want learn all those things but I can’t do that if you keep running from
me. I want to learn everything there is to learn about you, Dean Winchester.”
Dean didn’t ignore the shiver that ran up and down his spine, hearing Sam say
his full name like that.
“There’s a lot of bad.” Dean muttered, one last ditch effort to get Sam to run.
“Yeah… well I bet there’s a lot more good.” Sam whispered back.
There were many things that Dean would do. Many things that put his character
in question but making out in the front seat of his car after Sam made the
declaration that he just made like this was some fucking chick flick was one
thing that he  wasn't  going to do, alright.
“So, where do you want me to take you?” Dean said, trying to desperately
deflect the conversation back to Sam.
Sam turned back around, sat in his seat properly and sighed happily as he
nodded. “Home, Dean. And I want you to come with me.”
“I can't, Sam.” Dean slumped against the seat. This kid, this fucking kid was
pulling him every which way and his body didn't stretch like that.
“I'm not asking, Dean.” Sam's arms were crossed across his chest. “This is not
up for debate.”
Dean looked across the cab to see that Sam was watching him with his lips
pursed in a thin line, looking as if he wasn't going to take no for an answer.
Besides, maybe this was honestly better for Dean anyway. Postpone the fight
that was bound to happen between him and his dad until he was healed a little
bit more. It had been days since he's been home. Days since he's talked to John
and at some point that grenade was going to go off but Dean still had in
gripped right in his hand. For the moment, he was still calling the shots.
This time he parked a couple of blocks away from Sam’s house, pulled somewhere
off the road and covered the car with a canopy of leaves. You wouldn't have
noticed the car unless you were specifically looking for it.
Dean knew that if Ellen figured out that Dean was walking in the condition that
he was in, she would kill him. The last thing he needed was to put more strain
on his ribs, his lungs, his heart but Sam didn't say anything as he ducked
himself underneath Dean’s arm and helped him walk towards the house. And  this
time Dean didn't even put up a fight.
In fact, Sam took control of the situation once they got out of the car. He
carried Dean to his house, helping him walk and when they got inside, he lead
Dean directly to the bathroom where he promptly told Dean to strip.
Dean made some backhanded comment about he didn't normally do this until the
second date but Sam shut him up real quick when he reminded Dean that he had
already not only saw him naked, but sucked his dick too.
Not like Dean had forgotten but he still felt the tip of his ears heat up at
the memory, at how incredibly stupid and how dangerous this was getting.
Sam carefully removed the bandages that Ellen had wrapped around his ribs and
set them in the sink as he ushered Dean into the shower and then he proceeded
to strip down to nothing and join Dean in the shower.
It was a tight fit. Sam was growing taller by the day and Dean naturally had a
little more muscle on him from the manual labor that he grew up doing but they
managed. Sam was tedious as he cleaned Dean, careful as he skated around the
cracked ribs and washed the dirt and grime and sweat from Dean’s body.
Dean wanted to return the favor, dig his fingers into the muscle of Sam’s back
like Sam had done to him but Sam pushed his hands away, briefly scowling Dean
for straining his already strained body.
They stayed underneath the stream of hot water until it turned cold and  dammit
Sam, I can fucking dress myself.
Dean pulled on the pair of sweatpants that he had left from the previous night
and followed Sam back into his bedroom, dropping his shoes and discarded
clothes on the floor next to the door.
When Dean laid back on the bed, flat on his back because he knew from
experience that laying on his side would put too much stress on his body, on
his ribs that he wouldn’t be able to sleep and he expected for Sam to crawl up
next to him, like he had done the night before except Sam didn’t.
Instead, he was careful as he positioned himself on the top of Dean’s thighs,
sitting back on his legs rather than straddling Dean’s waist.
“What… what are you doing, Sam?” Dean asked, trying to sit up but Sam placed
his hands square against Dean’s shoulders and pushed him back down on the bed.
“Just relax.” Sam answered, leaning down to draw his body along the line of
Dean’s, his arms boxing in on either side of Dean’s head.
Dean laid motionless underneath Sam, staring up at him, waiting, just waiting
to see what Sam was going to do.
Sam kissed him, slow and so damn sweet that Dean’s chest hurt for an entirely
different reason. He could feel everything that Sam was trying to say, what he
was trying to make Dean feel. The love. The devotion. The fear of seeing
someone you care about covered in their own blood, eyes rolling back in their
head as they collapsed to the floor.
“I’m sorry.” Dean whispered because he wanted Sam to know that he was. He
wanted him to know that he never meant for any of this to happen. For him to
run into Sam, to fall in love with him, to make him actually care about someone
like him. He was sorry for it all.
“Shut up.” Sam said without missing a beat as he continued to kiss down Dean’s
body, slow, like he was trying to memorize Dean’s body with his lips.
And even Dean couldn’t find it in him to cringe at how ‘romance novelly’ that
sounded. Not in this moment at least.
They stayed like that, Sam sitting on top of Dean’s thighs, kissing all along
his chest and stomach, kissing and touching every last piece of skin that he
could reach well into the night. And the longer they stayed like that, the more
that Dean relaxed, sinking into the bed. He fell asleep with the reassuring
weight of Sam’s body on top of his and the love that Sam poured into each kiss.
It was so damn sweet and so damn good and Dean craved it like he’s never craved
anything else.
If it was possible, things were starting to get better of which Dean was
apprehensive to actually believe because there was never a moment in his life
when things actually were going along pretty good.
After that night with Sam, he forced himself to go back to his own house, to
face his father who seemed entirely unimpressed at the fact that Dean was gone
for a couple of nights. And what was even more shocking was the fact that John
didn’t even question him about the limp in his step, or the way that he was
holding his side gingerly, or the way that his face was painted with all the
colors of deep blues, purples and blacks. He took one look at Dean’s face and
frowned, shaking his head to himself before berating Dean for not taking good
care of the car. It needed a good wash and could stand for another wax coat.
Dean took care of that the next day at the garage.
Days slowly turned into weeks with nothing major happening. There would be
nights when Sam wasn’t working late at the library that the two of them would
forgo the diner all together (much to Ellen’s dismay because she actually
enjoyed their company) and they would lie together on Sam’s bed, becoming well
acquainted with each other’s body.
More than once Sam tried to take it further than fleeting touches and blow jobs
and more than once Dean was tested on his impulse control and pushed Sam away,
saying that he wasn’t going to do that. Not now. Not until he turned eighteen.
Of course that would result in a pout from Sam which made him look younger than
he should have and Dean made up for it with his expert mouth but he held true
to his promise.
As soon as Sam turned eighteen, as soon as he was an adult, he would deliver on
everything that Sam wanted.
Dean stayed away from the races. Even those nights when his hands were itching
to get out on the road, to race someone, when it felt like he was crawling out
of his skin, he kept himself from going.
At first it was under the excuse that he didn’t think that he could take
another beating while his ribs were still healing. And then it turned into
something more of if he went, it would be in the dead of night when all things
were silent and he could drop those walls that he hid behind and it meant that
he would have to leave the comfort of Sam’s arms and his bed and honestly he
couldn’t bring himself to do it.
Even when Sam said that he could go back out there if he wanted to. He wasn’t
keeping Dean bound, keeping him from the one thing that kept him sane.
Racing was his vice and he needed it to survive.
But instead of going back out to that abandoned stretch of road, he would get
into the car and just drive with the windows rolled down, music blasting
through the speakers. It wasn't the same as racing. You can replace the feel of
having another car next to you, pushing you to go faster than what should be
allowed but it tamed the beast inside of him.
Some nights he would drive for hours, pushing a hundred, corn stalks becoming
nothing more than blackened streaks against an even blacker night. He would
drive until his hands cramped and arms screamed for rest.
There would be times when Sam would be with him, when he actually had a moment
to breathe air that wasn't filled with books (his teachers stressed the
importance of doing good these last couple of months of school) and he would
pile in with Dean and they would drive with no destination in particular.
Countless times Dean considered just driving and never stopping with Sam
sitting right next to him. He's sure, almost certain in fact, that Sam wouldn't
object. He would follow Dean blindly anywhere but Dean never did leave. He
couldn't. He had an obligation to Sam, to his father, to this goddamn town.
While things were getting better, his father was calm and he hadn't seen
Gordon, but he also didn't see Sam as often as he wanted.
Dean never did graduate from high school. He dropped out, got his G.E.D. and
said adios to school forever, not like he cared about it in the first place but
Sam, god Sam was so wrapped up in school, trying desperately to finish as good
as he could. And it meant that he never saw Sam.
He saw him late at night, when they shared Sam’s bed and Dean made sure to make
Sam a good breakfast in the morning and that was about it.
However the closer that they got to March, the closer they got to the day of
finding out if Sam go accepted, the more anxious not only Sam got but also Dean
got.
Anytime that he saw Sam, he asked if he's heard anything yet and Sam would
shake his head, remind Dean that it wouldn't be until later in the month that
he would find out but it still didn't defer Dean from asking. He wanted to
know. He needed to know.
March 17 wasn't anything special really. The weather was nice, work at the
garage was slow. John had actually gotten up that morning, shrugged on his coat
and said that he needed to go to Wichita for something and he probably wasn't
going to be back until later that evening.  Dean didn't ask for what reason he
was going. Learned from an early age that you don't ever ask him for motives
behind his actions. You just let him go.
So John loaded himself up into his truck and headed off to Wichita, a seed of
unease settling in his stomach.
John seemed to be leaving more and more lately, heading up to Wichita nearly
once a week it seemed and he's heard rumors around town, about what John’s been
doing. You can't leave a town like this as often as he does and don't raise
some suspicion. But Dean’s heard the rumors, that there's some girl that he's
going to see.
Dean just pretended not to hear them.
Bobby let Dean go home early. Said business was slow and their ain't no reason
to stay open when they're just gonna waste electricity. However Dean knew the
old man and knew that his legs were bothering him more than usual and while he
trusted Dean to run the shop, he hated to feel like he was old, inadequate. He
would call it quits when he wanted to.
Besides it was a pretty day outside and he might have overheard Bobby talking
to the sheriff, Jody, on the phone to maybe go out to the lake later this
afternoon, sip a beer, do something.
He kept the smirk off his face when Bobby barked at him “whatcha lookin at,
boy?” when he hung up.
Sam was still at school. They didn't get out until close to four and then he
had to work down at the library anyway. It would be later this evening that he
would head on over to Sam’s, parking a few blocks away from his house.
There wasn't much to do at home, not with John not around at least. There
wasn't much on TV unless you count infomercials. He tried to read one of those
books on the bookshelf with spines that hadn't even been cracked yet but he
couldn't ever get into it.
He ended up getting a beer out of the fridge, making himself comfortable on the
couch, staring up at the weird stain on the ceiling after a while. The liquid
was cold and condensation ran down the bottle, creating a wet ring where it sat
on his stomach. Moments like this were rare. Moments where he was completely
alone, able to do what he wanted with the fear of it coming back on him. He was
perfectly content with just waiting until he would go to Sam’s and start the
day all over again.
He was drifting off to sleep when he was jostled awake by a frantic knock on
the door. Still groggy from nearly being asleep, he haphazardly placed his
bottle on the coffee table and pulled himself towards the door.
He wasn’t sure who would be visiting him this early in the afternoon. Benny
learned a while ago not to come around the house for any reason and usually
Bobby would call the house before he came over and then… no one he worked with
at the bar would come over. They didn’t care about him enough to make a social
visit and then Dad… he would have heard Dad’s truck.
It ended up being Sam, standing there on the faded door mat, face wide with a
smile, hand poised like he was going to knock again and in the other hand was
an envelope.
“Dean!” Sam exclaimed, the smile bleeding over in his voice.
“How’d you find me?” Dean replied back, pulling Sam inside and shutting the
door behind him. He wasn’t expecting Dad to get back for another few hours but
still… best not look a gift horse in the mouth.
“I asked Ellen.” Sam sounded breathless and then he held the envelope up in
front of Dean’s face, way to close for him to actually read anything. “Guess
what came today!”
And all at once, the apprehension that he felt about having Sam within the
walls of his house disappeared as he grabbed the heavy envelop out of Sam’s
hand and turning it over, his suspions confirmed. Printed in black ink,
Stanford was printed on the front of it.
“Did you get in?”
Sam shrugged, grabbing it back. “I don’t know. I haven’t opened it yet.”
“Then open it!” Dean was nervous, actually nervous for the boy that was
standing in front of him. His future, his whole life was written on that sheet
of paper within that envelope. Dean lead them over to the couch.
Sam was shaking as he tore at the seal, fingers not as nimble as they usual are
as he pulled out the paper. His eyes skimmed the sheet, face not revealing
anything and Dean sat back, his own hands shaking as he watched Sam, waiting,
just waiting.
A minute passed and then two and then… “Well?” Dean pushed.
And Sam looked up at him with tears in his eyes and for a split second he
thought the worse, that those pompous snobs didn’t think that Sam was good
enough for their school and then Sam smiled, so wide that it was sure to hurt.
“I got in!” He whispered, almost in disbelief. “I actually got in!”
“Of course you did!” Dean said, reaching for the letter. He wanted to read it
himself. Needed to read those words, his boy, Sam, he got into Stanford.
It was there. Samuel Wesson was accepted.
“Yeah, of course you did, Sam.” Dean repeated because it was stupid to believe
that Sam wouldn’t.
Before he had time to brace himself, Sam lunged forward, grabbing Dean’s face
and pulling him in for a hard, desperate kiss. “You did it, Sammy.” Dean gasped
against Sam. “You did it.”
***** Chapter 8 *****
Sam was smiling through the kiss as he crawled to get closer to Dean, to get on
top of him. Dean turned his body, repositioning himself on the couch so that he
wasn’t kissing Sam sideways rather head on now, the letter fallen to the floor,
forgotten for the moment. Sam was straddling Dean’s waist, pushing Dean against
the side of the couch and yet it still wasn’t close enough for him.
“Dean…” Sam moaned into Dean’s mouth. His hips were rutting up against Dean’s,
seeking some kind of friction, something to ease the burning want in the pit of
his stomach. Dean had his hand up Sam’s shirt, feeling the muscles in his
stomach, bunch and tighten underneath his touch. “Please...Dean.”
Dean broke away, his hand still pressed flat against Sam’s stomach and looked
at him.
“Are you sure?” He asked because fuck, Sam still wasn’t eighteen yet. His
birthday was in two months but he couldn’t deny how badly he wanted this,
wanted Sam, wanted to watch him come apart underneath him and honestly, getting
accepted into college seemed as good of a reason as turning eighteen seemed.
“More than anything.” Sam exclaimed, kissing Dean again. “Please.”
“Okay.” Dean gasped, his mouth moving along Sam’s jaw, down his neck. “Okay.
Not here though. Not having you lose your virginity on a dirty couch, Sam.”
“Aw, such the romantic.” Sam teased and Dean bit down into his shoulder, hard.
Dean shifted, moving to stand up and Sam wrapped his legs tighter around Dean’s
waist, his arms around his neck and Dean carried Sam into his room, kicking the
door closed just in case.
Sam squeaked when Dean threw him down on the bed, honest to god squeaked and
Dean couldn’t keep the giddy grin from his face. The kid was fucking adorable,
face flushed, hair a mess, eyes blown wide. Sam crawled up backwards on the
bed, settling himself against Dean’s pillow as Dean pulled out the bottle of
lube that he kept in his bedside table (not that he was anxiously waiting for
this moment. Not at all.)
The bed squeaked underneath Dean’s weight as he put a knee down on it, crawling
over to where Sam was lying. Sam lifted himself up to his elbows, pulling Dean
in for a kiss as he pulled at the hem of his shirt, pulling it over Dean’s head
and dropping it to the floor.
For several moments they kissed, fingers brushing over skin as they stripped
each other bare and then Sam was completely naked underneath Sam, the
definition of sin.
It wasn’t the first time that Dean’s seen Sam naked but everything felt so
different, so new and Dean couldn’t deny the way that his heart was beating
frantically. Dean grabbed a hold of Sam’s hand, kissing the tips of his fingers
before placing it on his chest, over his heart.
“You feel this?” Dean whispered, words suddenly to loud. Sam nodded. “It beats
for you. Only for you.”
Sam opened his mouth to say something, to release the building pressure in the
room but Dean leaned down and kissed him again, effectively cutting him off.
Dean grabbed Sam’s leg, hiking it up around his hip as he flipped them around,
Sam now sitting on top of him.
“You trust me?” Dean asked as he reached across the bed and grabbed the bottle
of lube that was momentarily forgotten.
Sam’s lips fell open as he nodded.
The cap to the bottle clicked open with a loud pop and Dean poured a generous
amount over his fingers. Sam shifted on top of Dean, moving a little further up
his body.
Dean reached behind Sam, fingers brushing over the soft skin of Sam’s back as
he pulled Sam open for him. Sam’s breathing hitched when Dean placed a finger
over his hole, just barely pressing in. Dean waited a couple of seconds,
rubbing his finger over his hole, Sam’s breathing hitching with every pass of
the pad of his finger before he finally pushes in, just barely.
Sam gasped surprised and fell forward, hands braced against Dean’s chest.
Dean pushed his finger in a little further, up to the first knuckle before he
pulled out only to push back in, farther this time. Sam is so unbelievably
tight that it feels like he’s never going to be able to stretch the kid out
enough to take him. That if he tries to fuck Sam the way that his body needs
him to then he’ll split Sam wide open.
But Sam rocked backwards, back onto Dean’s finger, begging for more.
He pushes his finger inside Sam a few more times before coating them in even
more lube (you can never truly have enough) and this time he presses two
fingers inside of Sam.
It’s slow and tedious and Dean wants to make sure that this is good for Sam and
Sam is making these sounds that are tearing Dean apart inside.
“My fingers feel good?” Dean asked, looking up at Sam who was biting his bottom
lip. Sam nodded his head, rocking back the tiniest bit, trying to get Dean
deeper inside of him. “Gonna feel even better when I fuck you, kid.”
Sam made a choked noise.
“You think my fingers feel good? Just wait ‘til you’ve got my dick inside you.”
The words fall from his lips and it’s not like he can help it. Talking dirty
like that. He’s been told before from countless girls (and even Sam himself)
that he’s got a real dirty mouth. There’s some girls who just aren’t into that
but Sam… beautiful, innocent Sam, he eats that shit up. He takes those words
and bury them somewhere deep inside his brain.
Sam can’t decide if he wants to kiss Dean or have his mouth everywhere on his
at once. With every push of Dean’s fingers, his lips end up somewhere else, his
hot breath marking Dean’s skin. Every breath is a stutter.
“It might burn a little, alright?” Sam’s looking at him. “But I promise, I’ll
take care of you. I’ll make it feel so good that it won’t hurt, okay? I’m
always gonna take care of you, baby boy.”
Sam tightened his legs around Dean’s hips. His cock is hard, a heavy weight
against Dean’s stomach that’s trapped by muscle. Sam is leaking everywhere, so
very close to coming and the thought that he might come on his cock, untouched
makes Dean hiccup.
“Are you ready for me, Sam?” Dean whispered, words searing the space between
them.
Sam nodded.
“Need to hear you say it, kid.”
“Yeah.” A breath. “M’ready.” He’s quiet, barely a sound but it sounds like a
shout to Dean.
“Yeah.” Dean pushed his fingers in deep before pulling them out again. Sam
whined at the loss of contact. “Yeah. Okay.” One hand gripped tight onto Sam’s
hip, Dean flipped them over again, Sam’s hair billowing out around his head
like some damn halo. Dean quickly rolled on a condom before he trapped Sam in
between his arms.
Sam is completely silent as Dean pushed into him. Sam is so tight around Dean,
squeezing like a vice and Sam’s eyes are wide, mouth open and Dean can’t help
himself. He recaptured Sam’s lips with his own, kissing him softer than he’s
probably ever kissed anyone in his life.
Then Sam’s rolling up against him, hips rocking against Dean’s, urging Dean to
move because he hasn’t moved at all since he’s bottomed out and Sam’s sure that
if Dean doesn’t do something, ease the burning feeling that’s deep within his
stomach then he’s going to burst.
Dean went slow until he couldn’t anymore. He went slow until Sam’s fingers dug
crescent shaped scars into his shoulders and begged for  more more more.
Sam was going to kill Dean. He was sure of it.
Their bodies were covered in sweat before long. Sam had his hair in his face
and Dean hold thrust into Sam harder because the kid kept begging for more than
Dean was worried that he wasn’t going to be able to last.
More. Harder. Fast. Please, Dean… please.
“You’re doing so good, kid.” Dean was breathless. “So fucking good, Sammy. Feel
so good. You gonna come for me? Huh? You gonna paint your stomach white for
me?”
“Yes, Dean. Yes… please.” Sam moaned.
The moment that Dean wrapped his hand around Sam’s hard cock, Sam barely last
more than three seconds. He  grabbed Dean’s shoulders even harder as he comes.
Dean can hardly breathe as he watches Sam fall apart. Pink lips parted in the
most obscene way, pupils blown wide, legs wrapped even tighter around Dean’s
waist, the tight heat of his body clutching even tighter around his cock.
Dean comes with a muffled shout in the dip of Sam’s shoulder, biting down on a
spot that will most definitely bruise in the morning. One that he’ll run his
fingers over until it fades.
He rode out his high, hips faltering until he pulled out of Sam, rolling off of
him and laying down on the bed next to him.
Sam immediately latches his body around Dean’s, face buried in the crook of
Dean’s neck, pressing soft kisses there. “Shoulda know that you would be a
cuddler.” Dean muttered as he lifted his arm so Sam could nestle up closer to
him.
“Thank you, Dean.” Sam muttered. And the kid sounded happier about this than
the fact that he got into Stanford and Dean wasn’t sure how to feel about that.
He could have stayed like this, in this blissed out state with Sam curled up
next to him, periodically pressing soft kisses to his chest, his neck, his face
but the rumble of an engine jerked Dean up right and he stared in the direction
of the front door though his wall, his heart thumping loudly in his chest for
an entirely different reason now.
Dad. Dad was back and Dean had this boy in his bed, sweat still cooling on his
body and if Dad found out…
Dean scurried out of bed, picking up his clothes that were scattered around the
room. Sam sat up, looking at Dean for a moment before he turned his head to the
sound of a car door being slammed shut.
“Shit.” Dean muttered, yanking up his jeans. “Shit.” He and Sam locked gazes.
“Stay here and stay quiet… please.” Dean begged, answering the silent question
that Sam was asking him and Sam nodded, pulling his knees up to his chest, the
mood in the air taking a huge turn for the worse. “Lock the door behind me.”
Dean ran a hand through his hair quickly before stepping out of the room, the
door closing behind him and moments later, the faint sound of a lock clicking
in place filling the small house.
Moments later the front door opened and John walked through the door looking
worse than what Dean’s seen him for a long time. His eyes were bloodshot, hair
a mess as if he’s run his hand through it to many times.
And he reeks of alcohol.
“What are you standing there for, boy?” John hissed, taking another step into
the house, slamming the door behind him. Dean flinched.
“How was Wichita, Dad?” Dean asked, moving away from the door and the secret
that he was hiding in there.
“How do you think it was?”
Dean didn’t know but he wasn’t going to say anything else, not when he was in
this agitated state like this. All he needed to do was keep John away from his
room and then he would be able to sneak Sam out of the house and back to his
own under the guise that he had a shift down at the bar.
“What are you doing home so early? Shouldn’t you be down at the garage?” John
asked, dropping the keys on the small coffee table and on the floor, Dean saw
the edge of the letter that had been dropped to the floor.
His blood ran cold.
“Um… Bobby closed up early today.” He tried not to stutter.
John looked at him weird, as if he didn’t quite believe what Dean was saying.
Dean glanced back over at the letter before he looked back at John, a shaky
smile on his lips. His palms were sweaty.
John narrowed his eyes at his son and stupidly Dean glanced over at the letter
again. He needed to get over there and hide it before John saw it. But John was
always perceptive and he read each one of Dean’s nervous ticks like a book and
the moment that he turned his head to look at the letter, Dean was already
moving towards it but even drunk, John was faster than what Dean anticipated.
“Dad, I can explain.” Dean begged.
But it was as if John hadn’t heard him. “ You  got into Stanford?” John spit.
He tore his eyes away from the letter, looking at his son who was now frozen in
his spot looking even more confused.
“What?” Dean whispered.
“Stanford?  You  got into Stanford?” The letter was crumpled in John’s giant
hand. The laugh that escaped past John’s lips left Dean cold. “You honestly
thought that you could get away from me by going to  college .” John laughed
again. A sound that was completely void of humor.
Dean was still frozen to his spot, brain trying to piece these things together.
John thought, he thought that  he  had gotten into college. That it was him,
not Sam. In fact, it was as if he had completely overread Sam’s name on the
letter. Dean’s eyes widened at that prospect, that Sam was still relatively
safe tucked away in his room. The only good thing about this whole situation
was that John thought that he had gotten into college. Dean almost felt like
laughing.
But then John was tearing up the letter, piece after piece torn apart and it
felt like a knife through Dean’s heart.
“Dad!” Dean exclaimed, jumping from his spot, trying to keep him from tearing
up the letter anymore but John just dropped the torn up pieces and grabbed a
hold of Dean.
“You’re never going to get out of this town, Dean. Never going to be able to
leave me. They don’t want you. Not when they realize just how much of a fuck up
you are.” Dean heard none of it. He was only looking at the torn letter on the
ground. “Are you even listening to me, son?”
And Dean snapped. He pushed John away from him. “You had no right to do that.”
Dean spit. “And I am leaving you. I’ve put up with your shit for long enough
and I’m going… I’m going…”
“Going where, Dean? To college? How are you going to pay for it, huh? Sure as
hell ain’t using my money and I know for certain you don’t have a hundred grand
laying around from fixing up old radiators and serving alcohol.” John took a
step towards Dean. “You wanna go, fine. Go. The door’s right there. But leave
my  car here. And leave every single thing that I’ve ever bought you here. You
think that you can take care of yourself, then go. Just see how long you last
without me there.”
“I’ve survived my whole life without you, Dad!” Dean screamed. “My whole life!”
“And yet you keep driving my car and you keep coming back to sleep under my
roof and you keep disrespecting me like the little punk ass kid that you are.
You wouldn’t know what to do on your own.”
Rage was boiling over because John was calm, bored even and Dean couldn’t
fathom how John could be this calm when it felt like Dean’s body was on fire
with unkempt rage.
It happened too fast and Dean didn’t really know what he was doing until his
father staggered backwards a step...two… trying to keep his balance before he
tripped over his alcohol lazy feet and fell backwards, head cracking with the
edge of the coffee table and a house that was previously filled with shouting
was sudden deadly silent.
Dean stood there looking down at the fallen form of his father, hands shaking.
He didn’t mean to push him. At least not that hard. He just wanted to get his
father angry, see real emotion coming from him. He hadn’t meant to do… this.
“Dad?” Dean questioned, his voice sounding like a child who was suddenly very
scared of the dark. “Dad?” John remained motionless on the ground and Dean knew
that his dad wasn’t going to respond.
The door to Dean’s room opened behind him. “Dean?” A voice squeaked and Dean
barely heard it. He couldn’t hear anything over the pounding in his ears, the
fear that was running through his head, the slowly dawning realization that his
dad, that John was… “Dean.” Feather like touches to the small of his back and
Dean still flinched.
Sam was standing next to him, not caring about the body on the floor, only eyes
for Dean.
“Dean.” Sam asked again, this time louder, pulling Dean away from Dad.
Dean allowed himself to be lead into the kitchen and sat down at the dinner
table, a comforting hand on his back the whole time. Dean didn’t feel any of
it. He didn’t feel anything. Numb. That’s how he felt. Completely numb.
Something was placed in his hand and he looked down at it and then back up at
Sam. A glass of water.
“Drink.” Sam urged, arms crossed against his chest, watching.
Dean looked back down at the glass before taking a sip of it because that’s
what Sam wanted, right? For him to drink something? I mean, it made sense. But
why? Why would Sam care enough for him to drink something?
That didn’t make sense.
“Dean!” The name rattled his brain and he slowly turned his head to look up at
Sam. He had a frown on his lips. “Are you alright, Dean?”
Dean shrugged. Alright? Probably not. Numb. Yes. Sam glanced back towards the
living room and when Dean tried to turn to look at what Sam was looking at, Sam
directed him back to look at him.
“Listen, Dean…” Sam crouched down in front of Dean, holding his face in between
his hands. “I’m going to go to the store, okay?” Dean nodded because that’s
what he felt he needed to do in this situation. “I want you to stay here. Don’t
move, okay? I shouldn’t take long.” Dean nodded again. Again just because he
felt like he needed too. “What do I need you do?” Sam questioned.
Dean furrowed his brow. What did Sam need him to do? He looked around the
kitchen as if something would give him the answer. “Umm…”
“I need you to stay here. Don’t move until I get back. Okay?” Sam repeated.
Dean nodded.
“So tell me what I need you to do again.” Sam pressed, voice soft like he was
consoling a small child.
“Stay… stay here.” Dean repeated looking around the kitchen once more before
settling on Sam’s face. “You want me to stay here until you get back from the…
the store.”
Sam smiled. “That’s right, Dean.”
A quick kiss to the lips and then suddenly the warmth from Sam’s hands were
gone.
Dean sat there in that chair, staring up at the clock up on the wall but he
couldn’t tell you what time it was or how much time passed before awareness
washed over him like a cold wave.
John was dead. He knew that now. Thinking back to it, looking down at his
father, there was blood that was pooling around his head. He hit his head on
the edge of the coffee table be Dean had… because he had pushed him.
He was all too aware of that fact. That John was now dead and it was all
because of Dean. Haven’t John told him one time that his anger would kill
someone one day? He felt like that’s something his father told him before.
But Sam, Sam was alright. Sure the letter was torn up now but surely Stanford
could send him another one? It was only paper. He stood up from the table and
walked into the living room, expecting to see his father still laying there but
the room was empty. Which was fine because he wasn’t looking for his father. It
was the letter that he was looking for.
The scraps were scattered and Dean collected each and everyone of them, trying
to desperately piece them back together. Tape. He would tape them back together
and he would give it to Sam and…
He snapped his head up, his gaze directed towards the closed door of his room
where Sam was still hiding. Where… at least, he should be hiding. Dean dropped
the scraps of paper, them scattering around on the ground once more and all but
ran over to the closed room. He yanked the door open expecting to see Sam
sitting on the bed but it was bare. His heart started to beat faster in his
chest.
Sam.
Sam had witnessed him kill his father. Sam had witnessed him murder his own
father. He felt sick. He felt so sick. Sam had witnessed him murder his father
and now he was gone.
He left out of fear, out of disgust. It didn’t really matter what adjective you
used. Sam had left because he realized Dean to be the monster that the town
made him out to be.
Sam left and he was all alone. He didn’t even have his drunk son of a bitch
father there screaming at him, telling him that was how it was supposed to be.
Dean was supposed to be alone and that thought scared him.
But it wasn’t really a thought, was it? It was a reality that he was now
facing.
Dean held onto the door of his bedroom like it was anchoring him to this earth.
Now, with nothing left to fight for or nothing left to prove, it would be so
easy to take a bottle of sleeping pills, down a bottle of whiskey and into a
slumber that he would never wake from. Just like his mother did years before
him. John always did say that he was just like her.
The sound of a door slamming shut drew him out of his head. It was probably the
police here to arrest him. Sam probably ran and told the whole world how fucked
up he was and now they were here to collect him.
Maybe… just maybe he could pull off one of those police assisted suicide
things. John had guns, slept with them under his pillow because he was a
paranoid bastard ever since he got back from the war and the police wouldn’t
think twice about shooting him. He was armed and crazy. It would work just like
it did in that book  The Outsiders  that he read years ago in school.
What he didn’t expect though was for Sam to walk in through the door, a frown
on his lips, ears red from the chill in the air (the temperature seemed to drop
quickly at night. Was it really night already?) holding a couple bags in his
hands.
Sam’s frown grew even deeper at the disheveled sight of Dean clutching onto his
bedroom door. Sam wasn’t sure what he expected to see when he got back but
seeing Dean looking absolutely terrified and actually standing up wasn’t one of
those things. He kinda expected to see Dean still sitting at the dinner table,
looking as if he weren’t actually there.
He didn’t have time to brace himself before he was nearly knocked backwards by
one hundred and eighty-five pounds of a broken man, the bag crushed between the
two of them.
“Don’t leave me again.” Dean mumbled. He begged.
“But, Dean, I told you, I was going to the store. I was going to be…”
“Please Sam. Don’t leave me.” And it was all Sam could but nod.
“I won’t leave you, Dean.” Sam promised, now pushing Dean away from him because
as much as he wished that he could just have Dean hold him like that, there
were more pressing matters at hand. Like the fact that Dean’s dad, John was
dead and they needed to get rid of the body. “Hey, Dean, we’ve gotta bury your
dad? Okay? We’ve gotta…”
“No.” Dean said suddenly. “No. We don’t… we don’t bury, Winchesters.”
And you don’t. For however long Dean could remember, every single Winchester
was burned. It was a tradition that Dean never really understood and he’s not
sure that he ever will understand but it’s something that they did. They burned
his grandfather. They burned his mother.
And now he was going to burn his father.
“Um… okay.” Sam looked to be at a loss. There weren’t many people around so it
wasn’t that Sam was concerned about drawing a crowd. Dean lived out in the
middle of nowhere but he was fully prepared to bury John… not burn him.
“You don’t have to help if you don’t want to. I can do it…” Sam shook his head.
“No, I’ll help you. I don’t mind. What do you need me to do?”
Dean explained everything that they would need and when Dean went off to look
for it all, Sam grabbed a hold of Dean’s forearm, telling him that he would
collect everything. Dean didn’t need to do anything. So Dean lingered behind
Sam, telling him where the fire accelerant would be and matches and everything
else.
Sam bent down underneath the counter of the sink where Dean said that they kept
the canisters of salt and when he straightened, Dean was no longer behind him.
He was about to call out Dean’s name when he reappeared in the kitchen, holding
the paper scraps in his hand.
“He tore it up.” Dean said, once again sounding like a child. “I tried to stop
him but he… umm… I’ll get you another one, Sam. I’m sorry.”
Sam set down the canister on the counter before walking over to Dean and
covered Dean’s hands with his own. “It’s okay, Dean. It was just a piece of
paper. It’s fine.”
“But it’s your acceptance letter.” Dean replied. That meant something. This
paper meant something.
Sam took the paper from Dean and threw it away. Dean had his head cocked to the
side, watching Sam move, watched him throw away what meant the world to the
both of them hours ago. “It’s nothing more than dead trees and ink, Dean. It’s
not important.”
It takes Sam kissing Dean to make him drop the fact that he didn’t need another
letter and then after that, they went outside, arms full of everything that
they had collected.
Earlier that evening, before Sam left to the store to buy a shovel and lyme, he
had removed the small coffee table and carried John outside, covering him with
an old bedsheet. Dean helped Sam move his father on top of the coffee table,
setting him on top of it like it was some kind of pyre and then Dean doused his
father in the fire accelerant.
Dean’s fingers shook as he struck the match and the held the match, looking at
the flame until it nearly burned all the way down to the tips of his fingers
and then Dean threw it down on the covered form of his father.
He went up into a blaze.
Dean stepped back to where Sam was standing and just watched as the sheet and
his dad and the coffee table turned into embers in the night sky.
Sam nestled up closer to Dean, seeking warmth from Dean’s body that the fire in
front of him couldn’t provide.
Dean barely felt Sam press up closer to him and he hardly heard Sam ask him if
he was going to be alright. He didn’t know. How was he supposed to know?
But Sam knew that Dean’s fingers were cold as they dug into the flesh right
above his hip as Dean pulled him closer. He was almost like a corpse himself.
It’s shock. At least that's what Sam thinks it is. It's the only thing that
makes sense now. Ever since they burned John, Dean has been on what could be
called autopilot. For five days now, it's been half finished conversations and
bringing Dean back to the present and out of his mind. The one place where Sam
couldn't  protect him.
The few times that Dean would speak, it would to brush Sam off, tell him that
he was fine and that he needed to stop his nagging because there was  nothing
wrong. Everything was alright. Really.
Of course, Sam didn’t believe a word that Dean said because Dean’s body spoke
louder than his words ever could.
There would be times that he would wake in the morning, expecting to feel the
warmth of Dean’s body beside him only to find the bed empty. A little ways down
from the house, a short jog really, there’s a river. Well, more like a creek
and more often than not, Sam will find Dean there. The first morning that we
woke and Dean wasn’t there and there wasn’t anything left behind telling Sam
where Dean might have disappeared off too, it scared Sam more than he cared to
admit.
Because Dean wasn’t well. No matter how much he tried to act like everything
was fine, pretend that his father’s death wasn’t affecting him, it was clear to
anyone that it was all just a front. A front to hide the fact that Dean all of
the sudden felt like a very small child seeking the guiding hand of a parent
that was no longer there.
Now waking up to an empty bed was something that was more of a regular
occurrence. What’s not so regular though is where Dean might be. There’s times
where he’s gone down to the creek, feet in the freezing cold water that still
hadn’t warmed up yet. Winter was still in air despite the fact that it was
March. But then there would be other times when Sam would find Dean wearing the
same thing that he had gone to bed in the night before, standing in front of
the place where they burned his father, eyes void of emotion as he stared off
into space.
It’s cold outside. That’s the first thing that Sam thinks of when he wakes up.
It’s cold and the bed is empty and Dean… he’s probably outside, still in his
sweatpants that he went to sleep in, oblivious to the fact that it’s nearly
cold enough to freeze water.
He throws the blankets off his body, a sense of urgency in his movements
because there’s no telling how long Dean has been outside. He hardly ever
sleeps anymore.
Shrugging on a jacket and a pair of Dean’s boots, he runs outside, hoping that
Dean’s standing there where they burned his father but he’s not. Dread settles
in his stomach as he runs toward the creek.
It’s so quiet out this early in the morning. The sun had just broken the
horizon and even the birds hadn’t started chirping. Sam can hear the water
rushing over the rocks and limbs and he trips as his foot catches in a tree
root. He falls hard, landing in a pile of old leaves and moss, wet from the
morning dew. His hands and knees are muddy when he stands up.
Sam’s already calling Dean’s name on the off chance that he might actually
reply. So far, every morning he hasn’t. He clears the tree line that Dean told
him that marks the edge of their property and he comes up short, hovering on
stepping out and staying hidden within the trees.
Dean’s there, sitting in the middle of the creek, legs stretched out in front
of him, toes submerged beneath the water, arms braced out behind him, leaning
on his hands casually. Just as Sam guessed, he’s only wearing a pair of
sweatpants.
Sam’s freezing, all huddled in his clothes and yet Dean is acting like none of
it is affecting him. Like he can’t feel the cold.
He probably can’t.
“Dean?” Sam calls, waiting to see if Dean is going to respond this time, if he
cognizant of his surroundings or if he was in that place, stuck in his head.
But at the sound of his name, Dean turned his head and a bright, childish smile
broke out across his face.
“Heya, Sammy.” Dean said, waving his hand towards Sam. “Wondering when you
would get here. I was starting to think that you had forgotten.”
Sam swallowed thickly as he crossed his arms across his chest and walked
towards the water's edge. His skinny arms did nothing to keep the chill out of
his chest and he wished that he could protect Dean from this, from whatever was
driving him to do this.
“Naw, I didn’t forget.” Sam replied. He learned that it was best to just play
along. The last time that he tried to disagree with Dean, say that they hadn’t
planned to meet up at the river, he got so confused almost to the point that he
lashed out violently. Dean smiled wider, turning his attention back to the
water, eyes focused on something that probably wasn’t even there.
Sam’s given up trying to look for what Dean was looking at.
“But… uhh… Dean, maybe do you think we could go back to the house? I was just
about to make breakfast and I would hate for it to get cold. And besides, it’s
kinda…” But Sam trailed off. Dean wasn’t even listening to him.
“I was wanting to go swimming.” Dean said, pulling his hand out of the water
and looking at the droplets drop back into the creek. “But I forgot that you
can’t really swim in this creek. It’s too shallow… but it feels nice.”
That’s a lie. The water does not feel nice. It chills Sam straight to the bone
when he steps into the water and towards Dean. They’re small, tentative steps,
cautious, waiting for this quiet resolve to burst and for Dean to lash out in
some way. Sam tries to ignore the way that Dean has gone pale. Way too pale,
blues veins popping out through his skin along his arms and chest. His lips are
nearly purple from the cold.
Too much like the corpse they burned days ago.
There’s bile working its way up Sam’s throat but he swallows around it.
“Dean…” Sam calls out again but this time Dean just ignores him, eyes still
fixed on that imaginary thing that he was looking at. And just like that, Dean
was gone again. “Come on, Dean. Please.” He was begging now, his voice shaking
because he couldn’t keep from shivering. The hand that he outstretched to pull
Dean up remained ignored.
Sam walked further into the creek, coming to a stop in front of Dean.
Dean blinked. Once, twice and then he shook his head, a grin appearing back on
his lips.
“Heya, Sammy.” He said like this was the first time that he’s seen Sam this
morning.
Sam managed to smile back, a fake thing that feels hollow against his lips but
he smiles back and it’s good enough for Dean because he’s still looking at Sam,
holding his gaze. There’s tears threatening to fall but Sam blinks them away,
walking around Dean to hook his arms underneath his armpits and he hauled Dean
to his feet.
It was clumsy and they both nearly fell back into the water and Dean cursed as
he tried to get his feet underneath him.
Sam draped Dean’s arm around his shoulder, getting as close to his body that he
possibly could. Dean leaned into him, seeking the little bit of warmth that Sam
was now offering him and Sam helped him back to the shore, out of the water and
back through the little forest. Dean’s feet slipped through the mud and leaves
and the morning dew.
When they get back to the house, Sam directs Dean to the bathroom and strips
him out of his sweatpants before stepping out of his own soaked clothes and
stepped into the shower.
Dean’s skin is cold and discolored and when he presses himself against Dean’s
body, so that they both are under the stream of water, Dean’s body is stiff.
Almost as if he were already dead.
By noon, Dean is almost back to normal. He’s skin is still pale and every now
and then he gets this full body shiver but he’s back to acting like how he
should be acting. It gives Sam whiplash how quickly this happens and he doesn’t
understand why. How Dean can go from not even being on the planet to the most
normal human being.
For lunch, Dean makes them a grilled cheese.
 Dean doesn’t eat his.
***** Chapter 9 *****
Sam had more or less moved in with Dean now that the fear of being discovered
by Dean’s father is no longer hanging over their heads. Sam hasn’t been to the
library since the incident, calling in telling the staff there that something’s
come up with school and he can’t come in. They’re more than understanding.
Nevermind the fact that he hasn’t stepped foot inside the school in just as
long.
Dean’s too skittish, to unstable to leave by himself and whenever Sam’s gone
for more than a few minutes, Dean freaks out, the thought that Sam had finally
had enough plaguing his mind and that Sam left.
Sometimes they’ll lay in bed for hours, Dean nuzzled up underneath Sam’s chin,
not moving, just drawing random symbols on his chest.
One time Sam asked Dean what he was drawing and Dean replied back that he was
drawing sigils to protect Sam from the evil in the world. Sam didn’t question
it.
And then one day, Dean’s back. Actually back to himself. There’s recognition in
his eyes, he’s dressed in clean clothes, actually realizing that it was fucking
cold outside and was wearing something more than a threadbare t-shirt and a
pair of sweatpants.
And it’s this fact that Dean is acting completely normal that scares him more
than when he finds him half frozen in that damn creek. When he woke that
morning, Dean is in the kitchen, making some eggs and bacon, a fresh pot of
coffee brewing and Sam eats it all (Dean, once again, doesn’t).
Sam thinks that it’s some fluke, that Dean was going to revert back to that
person he was who wasn’t aware of his surroundings and this time, he was going
to fall so hard that Sam wasn’t going to pick him up but it never happens.
Then Dean declares that he’s going to go back to work. Bobby has been calling
him non-stop (more than once Sam’s answered the phone and told the old man that
Dean was sick, really sick and he wasn’t sure when he was going to get better)
and that he needs to get to work. Besides, he couldn’t stay cooped up in the
house forever. So Sam lets Dean go. He lets Dean drive off in that Impala
towards the center of town, ready to spend a day underneath the hood of some
car.
Sam called Bobby halfway through the day, checking up on Dean, asking if Dean
seemed different than normal. Bobby said no, that Dean was his same old self.
It seemed to get better, slowly it got better. There weren’t many times where
Dean would disappear in his mind for hours (however Sam can’t forget about the
number of times that he’ll wake in the middle of the night to an empty bed only
to find Dean sitting on the couch, staring at the place where the coffee table
used to be). Dean was cooking again, smiling again, laughing again.
He’ll join Sam in the shower and make Sam forget for just a moment that there
was ever anything wrong. He’ll tickle him until Sam is begging for mercy before
they go to bed. He’ll ask Dean about work and Dean will tell him about the
different cars that he worked on that day. Everything almost seems normal.
It all seems too good to be true.
 
 
Dean sighed as he looked into the empty fridge. There wasn’t any more food in
the house other than an old can of canned peaches in the back of the cabinet.
Sam hadn’t been to the store in the last few days (and Dean’s been meaning to
but he keeps forgetting) because he’s been looking after his incompetent ass
for weeks now, looking at him with those shielded eyes as if Sam looked at him
wrong then he would shatter.
No matter how many times he told Sam that he was fine, Sam wouldn’t believe
him.
It drove Dean crazy but that was Sam. Always worried about everyone around him.
However, the cabinets were empty and it was dinner time and Sam had neglected
to go to the store and still Dean didn’t like Sam leaving on his own (Dean
desperately tried to forget about the time that he woke up one morning to find
that Sam wasn’t lying next to him. Those demons laughed at him, saying that Sam
had finally wised up and left like he should have months ago only to find that
Sam was in the living room reading one of his nerd books).
But they had finally eaten the last piece of stale bread and Sam was a growing
boy and as much as he hated the prospect of going out into public, he needed to
feed Sam. I mean, the garage was one thing but going down to the diner early in
the evening, surrounded by people that he didn’t know, that made his skin crawl
for whatever reason.
Sam needed to get out though and for more than just to get food. He needed to
stretch those long legs of his, get some air, have a conversation with someone
else. Sam hadn’t left the house since the incident, always at home, waiting for
Dean to return.
Sam’s eyes lit up when Dean told him that they were going out and he pretended
that he didn’t see the look of apprehension looming behind the excitement.
When the got to the diner, Sam ordered for them, much to Dean’s dismay. It was
a salad for Sam with a chocolate milkshake ( vanilla ice cream with… Chocolate
syrup  Ellen finished for Sam.  Yeah, I got it, Sam. ) And then he ordered a
double cheeseburger with bacon, extra cheese, extra onions for Dean.
Dean’s smile faltered for just a second. Not long enough for Sam to notice
because he was too busy talking with Ellen but it did falter.
While they waited for their food, Sam wouldn’t stop talking about everything.
It was amazing that something as small as eating out would turn Sam into an
excited five year old boy who had to say everything that he thought of. Sam
talked about the stuff that he was reading to get ready for college. He would
be leaving for California in a couple of months and he couldn’t help but to
read every little bit of information that there was to read. And then his
little nerdy self couldn’t help but talk about it.
Dean wasn’t sure where Sam got the time to read all that stuff when he was
watching Dean like a hawk but Dean sat there and listened to him ramble on.
It was refreshing, really, to see Sam like this. All animated and happy. For
days, weeks, Sam did nothing but sit there and watch over Dean, the ghost of a
frown permanent on his lips. Dean missed this. Missed seeing Sam as he should
be. Young and happy and carefree. Not having to watch over a fucked up guy like
himself. Lord knows why Sam actually put up with it.
Why he stayed.
He stopped talking for a second to take a bite of his salad and sip at the
milkshake when Ellen brought them their food, her hand lingering on Dean’s
shoulder for a moment before disappearing into the kitchen.
Sam nearly finished all of his salad when he stopped talking and set down his
fork. He furrowed his brow for just a second before he met Dean’s gaze.
“Aren’t you hungry?” Sam asked, gesturing toward Dean’s burger.
Dean looked down at his plate and other than a half eaten fry, he hadn’t
touched his food. Dean shrugged his shoulders and ducked his gaze, feeling like
he had failed Sam somehow. “I guess not.” He replied.
Sam felt like he had been punched in the gut and he could feel the salad coming
back up. From the moment that he met Dean, he always wanted to eat. He was
never one to deny food.
There was a teacher that Sam had one time that said you knew when a dog was
sick when they didn’t want to eat.
Sam looked down at the red checkered table cloth for just a moment before
taking a deep breath. Dean already knew what Sam was going to ask and he didn’t
have an answer. “When was the last time you ate, Dean?”
Dean shifted in his seat as he picked at a stray thread on the sleeve of his
jacket. “I ate this morning. With you. Had the last piece of toast, remember?
That’s why we’re here.”
He was lying. He knew it. Sam knew it. He didn’t eat with Sam that morning. He
gave it all to Sam. Told him to eat up and not waste away. When he stopped and
actually thought about it, he couldn’t remember the last time he ate a decent
amount of food. But it wasn’t like he was avoiding eating, he just wasn’t
hungry.
There was a difference.
Sam didn’t call him out on his lie but he didn’t drop the subject. “You have to
eat, Dean. You can’t starve yourself.”
Dean hated the way that Sam was looking at him now, talking to him like he was
going to break. Dean was fine. He was okay and he didn’t need to be handled
like he was about to shatter!
“I know that, Sam, I’m just not hungry.” Dean snapped, trying his hardest to
keep his voice steady.
“You haven’t eaten since we…” Sam stopped short, avoiding bringing back up the
topic of burning his father. They hadn’t talked about it since it happened.
Dean was biting down on his teeth, his jaw working.
“Sam, I don’t want to talk about this right now. I am not hungry. Now finish up
your salad and drink your damn milkshake.”
But Sam was defiant as ever. He crossed his arms across his chest and leaned
back in the booth. Dean fought off the way of irritation. Sam was acting like a
child so set in his ways that he wouldn’t do anything Dean asked unless Dean
did what he wanted him to do. Of which Dean wasn’t going to fold and make Sam
happy.
“I’m not going to eat anything until you start eating.” Sam said simply.
“Sam, you’re being ridiculous.”
“No, Dean, I’m not. I’m being quite reasonable here. You need to eat something.
I mean, look at yourself. I don’t know how I didn’t notice it before but Dean,
you’ve lost so much weight. You don’t look healthy anymore.”
Dean knew it was the truth, that Sam wasn’t just making it up to fit his story.
He noticed it himself. His clothes didn’t quite fit anymore. They seemed to
hang off his frame more now than they ever did. He wasn’t as bulky as he used
to be.
He knew that his body was starved for food but he just wasn’t  hungry.  He had
no desire to eat.
“So, you’re my health coach now? Gonna make me start counting my calories?”
“If that’s what I have to do, then yes. I just want you to be healthy, Dean. I
just want you to eat something.”
Dean scoffed, shaking his head as he pushed away the plate. “Yeah, well, fuck
you, Sam. You’re making it sound like I’m purposely starving myself. Just stay
out of my damn business.”
“Just eat the damn burger, Dean!” Sam finally snapped.
And then just like that, Dean was a small boy again, back to when he had just
lost his mother. He was so young but his soul had aged.
He was sitting at the dining room table back in the old house, the one they
still had before Dad lost it and moved them out to the middle of nowhere. Dad
lost his job and he had to sell it to settle the debt that had slowly been
growing.
There was a plate of mac and cheese in from of him but Dean made no move to
eat. John sat at the head of the table, just watching his son. He had long
given up begging and now he was sitting there, watching his son that looked so
small who was starving himself.
They sat there for hours, the mac and cheese had long grown cold and John’s
patience had all but disappeared.
“Dammit, Dean…” John’s fist landed hard on the table, making the silverware
clatter. “Just eat the fucking food.”
Much like he did that evening in his old house, he bent his head and eat his
meal without much protest. Sam sat on the other side of the booth, appetite
suddenly gone as he watched Dean eat the whole burger and then all the fries on
his plate.
When Dean finished, he wiped his hands and mouth on a napkin, before throwing
it down on his plate. “You ready?” Dean asked.
Sam nodded his head, his milkshake now melted.
Later that night, Sam gets woken up to the sound of someone throwing up and he
dragged himself into the bathroom to find Dean bent over the toilet, emptying
the contents of his stomach, food that needed to stay down but couldn’t because
he had eaten too much in too little of a time and it was all Sam’s fault. He
forced Dean to eat it all when he couldn’t handle it. It would only make him
sick.
When Dean was sound asleep back in bed, out cold, thanks to the sleeping pill
that Sam had crushed and put in the water that Sam gave Dean, Sam took the
Impala and went to the little twenty four hour grocery store and filled up the
cart with food with the intent of weaning Dean back onto food.
Dean would protest whenever Sam tried to get him something to eat but it was
never with much force. He ultimately ate what Sam gave him.
And with the reintroduction of food, Dean actually seemed to get better.
Everything started to fall into rhythm. Dean continued to work at the garage
and Sam was able to go back to school and started back at the library.
 
 
Sam was due to work late that evening and Dean got off work early, Bobby once
again deciding to close up early. The house was quiet when Dean got home, void
of the one person that he got used to being around. It was the third night this
week that Sam had to work late and Dean couldn’t help but feel like Sam was
working more to collect as much money as he could before something bad
happened.
He shook the thought off.
But the thought of sitting at home alone, drinking ‘til Sam got back didn’t
have any kind of appeal to it, so Dean wrote out a quick note saying that he
was at the bar if Sam happened to get home before him and he shrugged himself
back into his jacket and he was headed back into town.
He hadn’t been at the bar in a while, both for work and just social
appearances. An old man named Rufus Turner owned the place and he was a tough
son of a bitch that took nothing from anyone.
Good friends with Bobby (that’s how he got the job in the first place, Bobby
referred him when he needed some extra cash) however those two bickered like an
old married couple when they were around each other.
Rufus let Dean work whenever he needed, put him on the payroll for a few hours
and he never did ask many questions.
When Dean stepped through the threshold of the small bar, Rufus spotted him
immediately and proceeded to scold Dean for telling him that he was going to be
able to work for a few hours and then never showing up for his shift, causing
him to work double. And then he proceeded to pour Dean a glass of beer fresh
from the tap and told him to have a seat because he looked like shit.
Dean can’t help but laugh to himself as he sat down at the bar, taking a sip of
the frothy liquid.
It was good to be back out in public, out like this. Some of his buddies at the
garage who worked a few days out of the week were all there, made small talk
with him before they moved on somewhere else. Rufus made sure that Dean’s glass
was full and it was good until Rufus rested in front of Dean and tried to catch
up what’s happened over the past few weeks to make him disappear.
“Oh you know, the same old shit.” Dean said with hopefully a convincing smile.
“Working down at the garage and trying to pay the bills.”
Rufus narrowed his eyes but he brushed it off with a smile.
“Yeah, and what about your daddy? How’s he doing?” Rufus asked.
The blood in Dean’s veins ran cold to the point that he was sure that they were
frozen. Rufus stood there, looking at Dean for an answer and Dean couldn’t
answer because certainly that meant that Rufus knew. No one asked him about his
father. He couldn’t hear anything above the roaring in his ears.
“He’s… uhh… he’s fine.” Dean lied into the bottom of his glass, trying to keep
his voice even. He couldn’t swallow.
“Really?” Rufus pressed or at least it felt like he was pressing. It felt like
he was digging his thumbs into Dean’s brain, trying to get him to confess. “I
haven’t seen him around town for a while and it’s not like him to miss his
weekly Thursday night poker game with the boys.” It was true. Every Thursday
John went out to play poker with some of the other vets that settled down in
this godforsaken town.
“Yeah, no, he’s fine. He’s just… he came down with a pretty bad cold.” More
lies. More lies for Rufus to call him out on. He needed to get out of here. He
needed to get home and leave before the lies buried him alive. “Listen, Rufus,
it was great talking to you and all but I’ve… I’ve really got to get home.”
Dean said abruptly and before Rufus can say much more, Dean’s already pulled
out a twenty and threw it down on the bartop, out the bar in the blink of an
eye.
His hands were shaking as he walked towards the Impala, every second or so he
looked over his shoulder towards the door of the bar, certain that someone was
going to follow him out.
They knew. Each and every guy in there knew and they were just waiting for the
right moment to take him away.
To take Sam away.
Sam who was going to go to California, go to college, save himself from
becoming just another small town nobody. They were going to take Sam away and
ruin all the dreams that he had worked so hard to achieve. And it would have
been all his fault, simply because Sam had touched Dean.
Dean’s in the middle of packing a small duffle bag when Sam comes home, arms
full of candy and a couple of movies because it was a Friday night and there
wasn’t anything better to do.
Dean doesn’t hear Sam call his name. The roaring, the laughing inside his head
is too loud and the only thing that he can think about is to get out. Get out
of this house, this town, this state. Away from everything, away from the lies
and the memories and…
“Dean!” Sam all but yells coming to stop in front of Dean.
Sam grabbed a hold of Dean’s wrist, trying to get him to stop for two minutes
but Dean struggles against Sam.
“Let me go, Sam.” Dean begged. “Please, you’ve got to let me go.”
Sam doesn’t let go. Instead he digs his fingernails deeper into the soft, pale
flesh of Dean’s wrist until he broke the skin and still he held on tighter.
Dean whined, once but then he stopped fighting completely. He stills underneath
Sam’s hold, his eyes wide and more alive than Sam’s ever seen.
“Talk to me, Dean.” Sam said in a hushed voice. “What’s wrong? Why are you
packing?”
“They know.” Dean answered back, the light in his eyes being replaced with
fear. He tried to yank his arms away, having been reminded of his task but
Sam’s grip was made of iron. Dean whined again as Sam’s nails dug even further
into his wrist.
“What do they know?”
“They just know, Sam. They know about Dad, about what I did to him. They know
and they’re taunting me with it, just waiting for me to crack and then they’re
gonna take you away and I can’t… I can’t have them do that.” Dean was
whispering. Why was he whispering? “I need to leave, Sam.”
There were so many things that Sam needed to address in Dean’s statement and he
didn’t have enough time to address them all because no matter how much sense
Sam made, Dean wouldn’t believe him. So he started with the simplest one.
“You were just going to leave without me?” Sam asked.
The fear turned to guilt and suddenly the roaring in Dean’s eyes died because
he was. He was going to leave without Sam, leave him stuck here in this town
while he tried to escaped.
“I wasn’t…”
“Thinking?” Sam finished for him. “Yeah, I know because you are stupid to think
that I would just let you go like that. It’s going to be me and you until the
end, okay?”
Dean nodded and he believed it. He really did.
Sam let go of Dean’s wrist and Dean went straight back to packing, throwing the
clothes that was on his bed haphazardly into the bag. “You need to pack a bag
too.” Dean said when he saw that Sam was just standing there, not doing
anything.
But Sam shook his head. “We’re not leaving tonight, Dean.”
“What?” Dean paused his packing.
“We can’t because it’ll look too suspicious. And besides, we can’t just pack
everything that we need into a small bag five minutes before we leave. We’re
bound to forget something.” Dean opened his mouth as if he was going to ask
something else but Sam beat him too it. “We’ll leave in a couple of days, okay?
Just let me get some things together then we’ll go.”
Dean looked down at the pair of jeans that he had in his hands and then back up
at Sam before nodding.
Dean’s restless the next couple of days, always looking over his shoulder when
he’s working at the garage because he’s certain that someone knows. He told
Bobby that day that he and Sam were going to take a trip to California, scout
out the area (per Sam’s request because you want to give probable cause for
leaving) and Bobby pretended to be annoyed at that, that now he was going to
have to work extra without Dean there or worse… leave the garage in the hands
of one of the other guys but he smiled, gave Dean the last couple weeks worth
of pay and told him to have fun.
They left at night. Sam handled everything. Everything from counting how much
money they had, to where they were going, to what they needed to pack. Dean was
grateful for it and when the final hour arrived, he was actually nervous.
Days of planning and was finally here. He was going to leave the house, this
town, everyone behind and start a life, a new life with Sam in California where
he could start his own garage and Sam could go to law school and everything
would be okay. It was a little surreal actually. Everyone in this town spends
their whole life talking about leaving and here Dean was, about to leave.
Sam packs the last of the bags into the back of the Impala (not that they had a
lot in the first place and when he comes around to the front of the car, he saw
that Dean was standing next to the place that they burned John.
The burn marks are still there on the ground, where the fire scorched the grass
but that’s the only thing that remains of his father.
Dean isn’t sure what he’s feeling. He wants to scream and shout and say ‘fuck
you’ to the old man ‘fuck you for hold me down for so long. Well it looks like
you’re the one staying and I’m the one leaving’ but he couldn’t bring himself
to do it.
For better or for worse, John was always there for him. Always and Dean could
remember a time that John wasn’t always like he was the last few years of his
life. He could remember when mom was still alive and they would be out in the
front yard, playing catch. John would lift Dean up on his shoulders and Dean
would stick his arms out like he was an airplane and they would run around the
house, Dean making these plane sounds until Mom told them to stop and they
would collapse to the ground in a fit of laughter.
John was just a man that had given up a part of his soul to the woman he loved
and when she died, that piece of him died too.
Of course, that doesn’t excuse John for his actions, the crude words and the
demoralizing but Dean understood.
This town makes everyone go crazy if they stick around long enough.
“Good riddance, Dad.” Dean finally said after a while, taking a sip of the
whiskey out of the flask that he had in his jacket pocket and then tipped it
over, allowing the liquor to seep into the ground as a final offering.
“You ready?” Dean asked as he climbed into the Impala with Sam and Sam was
bubbling with excitement.
“Yes!” Sam exclaimed.
The car roared to life, illuminating the house in a yellow light. Dean swore he
could see the shadow of his father standing just within the window, waving at
him. But maybe it was just the curtain blowing in the wind because when he
blinked, the figure was gone.
“So… where we going, Sam?” Dean asked, pulling out of the drive.
“Mexico.” Sam answered.
***** Chapter 10 *****
Dean stalled for a second, his hand stuck somewhere between reverse and drive.
“Mexico?” Dean repeated. “But I thought that we were going to California, you
know, Stanford?”
“I’m not going.” And wanna talk about a blindside, that was it.
“Not going? But, Sam, you worked so hard to get in…”
“And I know, Dean but I don’t…” Sam ran a nervous hand through his hair. He had
been so sure of this. So sure of just giving up the one chance to make a name
for himself to run away with this boy that he was hopelessly in love with but
now, with Dean questioning him like this, he wasn’t so sure anymore. “I don’t
want that anymore. I just wanna be with you.”
The words completely floored Dean. He wanted to fight it, scream and kick and
make Sam see that he needed to go to college but there was something so
incredibly endearing about the thought that someone would give up everything
just to stay with you.
So Dean swallowed around the lump in his throat, put the car in drive and took
off into the night, feeling more free than he had in years.
Even freer than he did on the streets at night racing towards nothing.
“Mexico it is.”
Rock music blared through the speakers. Dean rolled down the windows, the cool
night air rushing into the cab of the car as he drummed along to the music. Sam
hadn’t stopped smiling since they hit the highway, watching how it seemed that
the more miles of asphalt that the Impala ate up, the more Dean seemed to
relax. He seemed to grow younger, the pale moonlight softening his features.
This is what freedom felt like. The ability to go as fast as you wanted, as far
as you wanted without anyone asking anything.
They would take their time going down to Mexico. There was no reason to drive
straight through despite the fact that Dean could make it in fifteen hours,
give or take. They were going to enjoy this, enjoy each other. Stop at every
crappy diner, find out what place had the best pie before crossing the border
where they could literally be anyone.
Wake up every morning on the beach, feel the sea area.
Dean could almost taste it.
They’ve been on the road for not even thirty minutes, the town nothing more
than a distant memory in their rearview mirror, when Dean groaned inwardly.
Blue and red lights suddenly illuminated the night sky behind them. Dean knew
that he was pushing the speed limit but he honestly didn’t expect anyone to be
out patrolling the streets at this time of night. The cop car behind him proved
his theory wrong.
Dean shot Sam a smile before pulled off to the shoulder of the road and grabbed
his license from his wallet.
Both Sam and Dean had to avert their eyes from the bright light of the
flashlight that the cop pointed into the car when he came up and looked through
the window.
“Problem, officer?” Dean asked, sweet annoyance laced his voice. He just wanted
to get out of here. Leave Kansas. Leave everything that the town meant. This
cop was doing nothing more than stopping his progress. Just write the fucking
ticket and Dean’ll be on his way only to disappear forever.
“Were you aware of how fast you were going?” The cop asked lowering the
flashlight a few inches.
Dean sighed. “Yes, I’m aware that I was going a little bit over the speed
limit.”
The cop bit down on his jaw, his wide brimmed hat pulled low over his eyes, the
water from above falling down on him dripping from the rim. Dean wasn’t sure
when it started raining.
Dean watched as the man looked him over and then shifted his gaze over to the
passenger seat where Sam was sitting. Dean’s stomach flipped inside out when
the cop licked his lips, still looking at Sam.
Looking back at Dean, he asked, “May I have your licence and registration
please?”
Dean thrust it towards the cop and the cop took it, reading it over before
handing it back to Dean, looking back into the cab of the car, still eyes
focused on Sam.
“How old are you son?” The officer asked.
“I’m… uhh… seventeen.” Sam answered, looking as if he wanted to melt back into
the seat.
Then it seemed as if the cops demeanor completely changed. He seemed to pull
himself to his full height, that smile on his lips made Dean feel even sicker.
“You do realize that it is illegal to engage in sexual activities with a minor,
Mr. Winchester?” However the way that the cop said it made it clear that it was
a question of Dean’s knowledge on the subject.
Sam opened his mouth, probably trying to defuse the situation but Dean shot him
a look to keep his mouth shut.
“And the offense double when you engage with homosexual activity with a minor.
Sir, I’m gonna need you to step out of the car. You are under arrest according
to the sodomy laws that were implemented by the state of Kansas.” Dean’s
stomach was in knots now. Sam was practically shaking in his seat. The officer
then turned back to Sam, bending over at the waist to see him a little better.
“Son, Imma need you to step out too. You are also under arrest.”
Dean scoffed. “Bullshit.” He spit. “On what grounds.”
The cop stood and looked up at Dean. “On the grounds that I caught him
soliciting sex.” The cop snapped. “And on the grounds that I say so, you got
that?”
Dean stared at the cop, straightening himself to his full height. “Fuck you.
You can’t arrest him, you have no evidence.”
“Get out of the car or I’ll put a bullet in your head. And just so you know, I
am well within my rights to do so being that I am an officer of the law.” The
cop smiled at him before looking at Sam who was unbuckling himself. Dean
watched the way that the cop dragged his eyes down Sam’s body.
Dean’s fist closed around the wheel of the Impala and he briefly wondered how
solid of a hit he could get in before the cop went to grab his gun.
“Okay.” Sam says quietly beside Dean and when Dean looked over at Sam, he was
silently pleading with him to just go along with this, begging him to keep his
mouth shut and his fist to himself and all it does is make the fire in Dean’s
stomach grow even hotter.
However as he looked at Dean, he nodded once, agreeing to do this the quiet way
even though every ounce of him told him to fight.
Dean opened the door to the Impala and the cop roughly pulled him out of the
car, shoving him up against the side of it. “That’s right.” The cop sneered.
“Doing what you’re told, just like a good little boy.” The cop whispered into
Dean’s ear.
Dean clenched his jaw, trying to make his vision clear but all he can see is
red. Red and anger and rage and the overwhelming urge to crack the cop’s head
open with his fist. Every second that passed, with every breath, it only got
worse. The cop chuckled to himself before he turned away from Dean and turned
his attention to Sam who had now walked around the car to stand next to Dean.
“You certainly are pretty.” The cop breathed against Sam’s skin as he shoved
Sam up against the side of the Impala just as hard as he did with Dean. The
cops chest is flush up against Sam’s back and Sam looked over at Dean, catching
his gaze.
His eyes were wide in fear.
“Spread ‘em.” The cop demanded.
“Touch him and you’ll be dead before you hit the ground.” Dean said, not a
threat, a promise as he backed off the Impala and took a step towards the cop.
“Dean, please, don’t.” Sam warned.
However the cop seemed completely unfazed by Dean’s threat. If anything. He
seemed a little bored. “Yeah? What are you going to do?” The cop asked as he
drew his weapon and pointed it at Dean’s head. Point blank range. A single
gunshot to the head and it would be Dean that would be dead before he hit the
ground. But Dean didn’t flinch. “Get back on the car.” The cop demanded and
Dean didn’t move.
Sam looked at Dean when he didn’t move.
“Get back on the wall or I’ll paint your car with the inside of your head.”
Dean at least had it in him to nearly laugh at how cliche the cop sounded. He
kept a hold of Sam’s gaze as he turned back towards the car, his jaw locked to
the point that it hurt.
The cop turned back to Sam. “Gotta check you for weapons, sweetheart.” The cop
said as he dragged his free hand down the front of Sam’s chest. His other arm
outstretched keeping the gun on Dean. The cop’s hand keeps sliding lower and
lower until it disappeared between Sam’s spread legs.
Dean doesn’t miss the hitch in Sam’s breathing when the cop pulls at the button
of Sam’s jeans, popping it open and then pulled the zipper down. Sam shut his
eyes closed tight as the cop slipped his hand into the front of Sam’s
underwear, cold, rough fingers wrapping themselves around Sam’s soft dick.
Dean’s not even certain if he’s breathing at this point. All he wants, all he
needs is for this cop to be dead. To be on the ground begging for his life,
silent pleas for him to stop slipping from his mouth until he can no longer
think of anything else again.
Dean is going to fucking kill him.
The cop is dead.
He just doesn’t know it yet.
“You want it bad, don’t you?” The cop said. He rubbed against Sam as he dragged
his tongue from the base of Sam’s neck to his ear. “Whore.” The cop punctuated
the word with hard thrust of his hips against Sam’s ass.
“You son of a bitch,” Dean’s spited. “I’m going to kill you, I swear to God,
you’re gonna fucking die.” Dean snarled and the cop doesn’t even look up, he
just laughed.
Sam looked at Dean, warning him not to do anything stupid.
And Dean can’t understand how Sam can just stand there and take it, let this…
this  pig  touch him in that way and say absolutely nothing.
The cop pulled his hand from between Sam’s spread legs and slipped it into the
back of Sam’s jeans. He rubbed his finger against Sam’s hole, then pressed into
him dry, fast, unforgiving and pushed it in as deep as he can. Dean watched as
Sam shut his eyes tight and held his breath as the cops hand started moving. As
he finger fucks Sam, his hand begins to sag, his grip on his gun loosened.
All around them, the rain pours.
Before the cop knows what’s going on, Dean smashed his head against the cop’s.
Then the cop is  on the ground and Dean’s got blood streaming down his face.
The cop reached for his gun. Dean delivered a sharp kick to the cop’s skull,
then the cop isn’t moving anymore.
Just like that he goes completely still.
“Find the keys,” Dean growled. Sam kneeled down and searched the cop’s pockets,
coming up with the small silver key, a triumphant smile on his face. “Get me
out of these things.” Dean said as he turned around.
Sam stands as quickly as he can, unlocking Dean from the cuffs and Dean rubbed
at the already raw skin around his wrist. The metal had cut into the flesh.
The cop choked for air and spit out some blood. Dean tucked the cuffs into his
pocket and dropped down, straddling the cop’s chest. The cop makes some kind of
sound as Dean pressed all the oxygen out of his lungs. Then Dean’s fist cracked
against bone, again and again, there’s blood everywhere. He kept hitting him
until the cop went limp beneath him.
And even then, Dean kept hitting him.
Sam stood back, watching as Dean’s knuckles got split open from the cops face
and how the cop hardly even looked human anymore. There were pathetic sounds
falling from the cops mouth, gurgles of air and Dean. Kept. Going.
He stopped when he felt Sam’s hand close around his shoulder.
“Dean, stop.” Sam said quietly and Dean did.
He couldn’t feel the pain in his knuckles yet however he was sure that was to
come as he pulled himself up from the cop. Honestly, Dean wasn’t sure if the
guy was still alive. It didn’t look like he was breathing. No skin off Dean’s
back if he wasn’t.
Sam helped Dean drag the cop over the his cruiser and put him in the front
seat.
Then Dean walked back over to the Impala, reaching into the back of the trunk
to pull out a bottle of fire accelerant and he quickly dosed both the outside
and inside of the car, being sure that he got enough on the cop and over those
dirty fingers of his before he pulled out a match, struck it and dropped it on
the car.
Then they ran back to the Impala with that fire burning behind them.
Dean drives until Sam is nearly passed out in the seat next to him, body over
taken with exhaustion. They stop in a little small town with a cheap, run down
motel and Dean paid with cash so the desk attendant didn’t ask too many
questions about why Dean’s hands were cracked open and bloodied.
Dean let Sam take the first shower and Sam stayed in there, scrubbing his body
clean, trying to get rid of those fingerprints that were lining his body. He
felt dirty no matter how many times he ran the soap up and down his body.
When Sam stepped out of the shower and into the bedroom, Dean tried to duck
into the bathroom without looking at Sam.
It was all his fault that Sam got hurt, that he was touched in that way and
while Sam said that he was okay, that the cop didn’t do any real damage, the
cop had. The cop had taken Sam’s body and used it and…
Sam stepped in front of him, grabbing Dean’s hands, his skinny fingers running
over the broken skin.
“I don’t blame you, Dean.” Sam whispered and Dean didn’t look at Sam. Sam moved
his head to where it was in Dean’s line of vision. “You didn’t make that cop do
this to me, okay? You didn’t do anything.”
“I shoulda protected you.” Dean argued because that’s his job. Sam was still a
minor, a fucking child and Dean was the adult and he needed to protect Sam and
he couldn’t even do that.
“He had a gun on you, Dean. And with how questionable his morals were, I’m sure
that he would have shot you if you had tried to do something and then you
wouldn’t have been able to stop him when you did. He could have…” But Sam
shuddered, a thought crossing his mind that he didn’t want to voice and Dean
understood because there were a million of those thoughts running through his
head. The what if’s. “You did everything you could and you saved me from him.
You saved countless over people from him. Okay? I’m fine.”
Sam had used up all the hot water but that was fine. The cold water made him
feel more human, chilling him to the bone.
Dean woke Sam up early in the morning and while Sam’s body craved more sleep,
he understood the urgency in Dean’s reasoning. They were still too close to
town, to close to the cop and the burned car and the more distance that they
could put between the car and them, the better off they would be.
Dean stopped at the Kansas Oklahoma stateline. It was late into the afternoon,
somewhere in the early evening and once again Dean paid for the room with cash.
Then he gave Sam the key to the room and told Sam that he was going to go down
to the liquor store right down the road.
He needed a good, strong drink.
Sam shot him a concerned look but didn’t say anything as he let himself into
the room, probably off to take another shower and get the stench of being on
the road all day off his body. That was going to be the next thing that Dean
did when he got back to the motel. Shower, eat and then drink himself into an
alcohol induced slumber.
He brought back a burger and a salad for Sam (who was rather grateful for it)
and after Dean took his shower, he stayed up, nursing the bottle in his hand
while Sam slept soundly on the small mattress.
They stayed in that border town for several days and the longer that Dean
stayed there, the more paranoid he got that someone was going to somehow know
that he had killed a cop. He stayed in the motel room, drinking from the
bottle, listening to Sam beg him to go outside, get some fresh air but he never
did.
“You wanna go outside, you can go outside.” Dean said in an alcohol gruff
voice, turning back to the reruns on the TV.
For the third night in a row, he’s not sure when he passed out other than the
fact that he sees the cops face staring down at him, begging for his life as
Dean continued to crack his skull open over and over again.
 
 
Fuck.
He woke to a massive headache, nearly making his eyes vibrate inside his head
as he looked over to the bedside table, seeing the one thing that he was
looking for. There’s the half empty bottle of whiskey sitting underneath the
cheap lamp and he grabbed for it, bringing it to his lips to take a sip. The
alcohol hits his empty stomach and immediately he feels like he’s going to be
sick. He hasn’t eaten anything in a few days, other than that burger the only
thing he’s had was alcohol and his body was now turning against him, begging
for something else.
However he drank as much as he could until he was gasping for breath and still
it didn’t feel like enough.
Oh, there we go, get fucked up before it’s even noon. That always works out so
fucking well. Can’t handle anything on your own, just like your daddy said.
Can’t even handle your own thoughts. Fucking weak. Sam’s going to be real proud
of you when he gets back to the motel.
Sam, the one good thing that he has left. Sam. At least he still has Sam.
Yeah?  His mind taunted.  He’s only here because you dragged him away from the
safe life he could have had at Stanford. He was going to run from you because
you’re a fuck up. Run straight into the hands of the authorities. Tell them
that you fucked him. That you touched him. He’s just a kid. A fucking kid.
No. It wasn’t… it wasn’t like that.
Age of fucking consent, asshole. He’s a minor, a kid. You should have walked
away but you didn’t.  His mind laughed at him.  All you wanted to do was fuck
him up just so you wouldn’t be as broken.
I didn’t… that’s not why I did it. Just leave me alone. I didn’t know…
Don’t try to deny it. You know why you did it and you know that’s it wrong. So
wrong that everyone around you can see it except for youself. You honestly
think that just because he loves you, that he  says  that he wants you, that
it’s suddenly okay?
It’s different. Dean whined.
The voice just laughed.  Is it?
Dean brought the bottle back up to his lips, taking another long drink from it.
He wanted to go back to sleep, needed to go back to sleep, escape to a place
where his mind couldn’t get to him. He let the bottle slip to the ground,
laying back against the pillows.
How is what you did any different than what that cop did? Huh? The cop said
that Sam wanted it just like you say that he wants it so how do you know?  Dean
doesn’t even try to reply back.  What if someone has their hands on Sam right
now? What if they’re taking him hard and fast and he’s screaming your name but
you’re too fucked up, too caught up in your own damn self pity to hear him? You
say that your job is to protect him and yet you let him go out there all on his
own. What if he’s dead?
Dean shook off the thought because it was the only thing that he could do. He
wasn’t going to give into the voices. He couldn’t. That’s what he did the last
time they started screaming and Sam, he had to pull him back from the edge.
But what if…  The thought trailed off, cut off…  dead in a dit…  Dean can feel
the alcohol pulling him into sleep.
Finally… finally his thoughts disappear and he relaxes back into the bed.
When he wakes up for the second time that day, Sam is back, sitting at one of
the hard, uncomfortable chairs by the window, watching Dean with this sad,
concerned look on his face.
“Are you okay?” Sam asked when he say that Dean was awake and Dean managed not
to scoff at that. Obviously he was not okay.
“Yeah, Sam, I’m just fucking peachy.” Dean rasping, shifting to sit up on the
bed.
“Dean…” Sam says, low and soft as he stood up from the chair and walked over to
where Dean was lying. “Will you at least talk to me? I mean, you haven’t left
the room since we’ve gotten here and that was three days ago.” A soft hand
touched his hip. “You haven’t eaten anything either.” Gentle circles are rubbed
through the blanket. “You can’t keep doing this. You need to eat.”
“‘M not hungry.” Dean said and just the mere thought of food made his stomach
turn. There was bile at the back of his tongue. The bed shifts as Sam leaned
over and picked up the now empty bottle, setting it on the bedside table.
“I see you hit this while I was gone.” Sam said, sounding disappointed almost.
“I wish you would just talk to me. Let me know what you’re thinking, or at
least, let me know that you still want to live.”
Dean shifts, trying to sit up even more when he feels his stomach come up his
throat and he clamps a hand over his mouth as he scrambled off the bed and into
the bathroom. The cold tile cuts into his knees as he dry heaves into the
toilet. There is nothing to come up.
“Hey.” Sam settles down behind Dean, a soft hand petting his back. “Hey, you’re
okay.” Sam said as he ran his hand through Dean’s short hair, the hair softer
now being that he’s hadn’t have gel in it for days and he’s slept on it.
Dean heaves once more before he spits into the toilet, wishing that he could
brush his teeth. He shifts to lean up against the bathroom wall, looking at the
floor.
Sam won’t speak until Dean does.
“You know you don’t have to stay with me, right?” Dean says quietly, his blunt
fingernail digging at the grout in the tile.
“What?”
“You know you can leave.” Dean repeats. “I’m not forcing you into anything.”
And this time he brings himself to look up at sam. “You can go back to Stanford
if you wanted to. You know that, right?”
“What? I mean, yeah, of course!” Sam exclaims shifting so that he can get
closer to Dean. He’s nearly on top of Dean, hand resting on his thigh, faces so
close that Sam can count the freckles that are peppered across Dean’s skin.
“But I wouldn’t ever want to leave you. What’s this all about? Is this about
the cop thing?”
Dean ignores Sam question. “I’m not forcing you into anything. You have the
right to say no if you want to, right?” Dean breaks Sam’s gaze and looks back
down at the floor. There’s one tile that raised slightly higher than any of the
others. That’s bound to be a safety issue, Dean thinks to himself.
“Of course I know that.” Sam said,brow furrowed. “But I have no reason to say
no. I mean, I like want you all the fucking time. We shouldn’t even be having
this conversation.”
“I didn’t force you that time, did I, Sam?” Dean asked. “I mean, I wasn’t like
that…”
“Stop! Just stop, Dean!” Sam grabbed a hold of Dean’s face. “I don’t know what
brought this on but just stop. You didn’t do anything that I didn’t want you to
do. Never have. In fact, if anybody forced anyone, it would be me. You said
that you wanted to wait until I was eighteen and I pushed you to do it earlier,
okay? You have been nothing but good to me Dean Winchester.”
That night Dean went to bed with Sam tucked up underneath him.
***** Chapter 11 *****
Ellen used to say that the best medicine for anything was sleep. That and a big
old bowl of soup. When he woke up sometime later the next afternoon, Sam
stilled tucked up underneath him, he felt different, like there was something
that was lifted off his chest during the night and it left him liberated.
And for the first night since the cop, Dean actually felt rested. There weren’t
any voices screaming inside his head, battling to cut him down anymore.
The only thing he heard, felt, saw was Sam blinking awake next to him, a lazy
smile on his face.
“Mornin’.” Sam said, voice gruff with sleep. He stretched out, long limbs
pulling his body long and taunt, making the kid seem even taller before he
curled back into himself, into Dean, yawning once again.
It’s afternoon but Dean doesn’t correct him. Just like Sam doesn’t ask Dean how
he’s doing, knows that any answer will be better than how he had been just the
day before. Nor did Sam ask why all the sudden Dean seemed to be back to
himself, no longer seeking out the burn of alcohol, grabbing his head like
there was something pounding into it.
Besides, Dean killed a man. This time actually killed him. Cracked his skull
open, kicked him and punched him until he wasn’t breathing and then burned his
body. It wasn’t an accident. It’s murder in every sense of the word and if the
cops find out that it’s him, they’ll kill him. Call for the firing squad or the
electric chair, whatever comes quicker and no matter how much time passes,
that’s not something that you’ll be okay after.
Dean takes a shower as he convinced himself to get out of bed. He desperately
needed on, body covered in the stench of alcohol and three days worth of body
odor.
The hot water felt like it was cleansing him, washing away everything bad until
nothing but raw, pink skin was left.
They leave the motel sometime around dinner, stomachs dictating their
destination. There’s a diner just on the outside of town, the kind that you go
up to the window and order and they either bring food back out to your car or
one of the various picnic tables that they had scattered around.
The burgers were good; the milkshake, not so much. Both Sam and Dean were
disappointed to see that it wasn’t made the way that Ellen makes them and
instead was made with just chocolate ice cream but they drank it nonetheless,
stomachs full and nothing else left on their disposable plates.
It had been raining for the past couple of days, ever since they arrived to the
small town and for the first time the clouds faded away and let the stars shine
through making everything around them shiny. Stars twinkled above them and
stars twinkled in the puddles on the ground.
They’re sitting at one of the picnic tables toward the edge of the group where
the yellow light from the lamps and the small building doesn’t quite reach
them. They’re turned around, backs pressed up against the side of the table,
watching as families and couples come and go, filling their stomachs just as
they did. There’s no rush to go anywhere and they’re both perfectly content
staying in their own little self built form of paradise on the edge of society.
Because that’s where they were sitting. One foot in the light and two hands in
the dark.
They moved at some point, moved to where they were both sitting on top of the
wooden picnic table, Sam sitting between Dean’s legs and every time someone
looks their way, Sam gives them this look that is just asking them to come over
and say something.
They never do.
One of Dean’s hand is settled on Sam’s hip, squeezing every now and then, the
feeling comforting to Sam. His other hand is pushed up underneath Sam’s
threadbare t-shirt, rubbing and tracing at the hard muscle and soft skin that
seemed to burn at his touch. Every now and then Dean’s hand would venture
further up, fingertips just barely brushing over Sam’s nipple and Sam would
gasp, body twitching towards the touch.
Sam is leaning back up against Dean, his head resting on Dean’s shoulder as his
eyes were trained to the dark sky, looking at the stars and watching to comets.
Dean swayed a little bit, drunk on the moment and Sam moved with him.
Everything is slow and warm and they both feel like they’re floating.
Dean started kissing at the spot on the back of Sam’s neck where it met the
base of his spine and Sam rolled his head to the side, exposing his neck to
Dean’s lips, letting them wander over the skin lazily, not really memorizing
anything. Sam’s arms feel like they’re made of lead when he lifted his arm and
reached behind him, fingers settling at the base of Dean’s neck, running
through the short hair there.
Dean’s lips move around his body, hovering over his ear as he tells him to
watch the sky, see how those star shine for Sam and only Sam and Sam shivered
at Dean’s breath on his ear, at his words.
When it all gets to be too much for Sam, when touching the base of Dean’s neck
isn’t enough for him, he turned his head, just barely and met Dean’s lips.
There’s nothing special about the kiss. It’s nothing like the one that they had
outside the diner so many moons ago back in that small town of Lebanon. It’s
not like any of the other kisses that they shared. It’s something so entirely
new and yet so painstakingly familiar. It’s slow and clumsy and it has Sam
begging for more.
He always needs more with Dean.
Dean moved his hand back down Sam’s stomach, tracing small patterns across his
flesh and Dean kept going until he tucked his fingers right within the
waistband of Sam’s jeans, keeping them there as he kissed Sam.
Sam shifted against Dean, pushing up against him as he reached for Dean’s hand,
pushing it farther down into his jeans. He can feel Dean chuckles against him,
mutter ‘woah, easy tiger’ before kissing him even harder than before. No one
around them really matters anymore. It’s just the two of them on an old picnic
table, so stupidly in love.
Sam made a happy sound when Dean rubbed his fingers along the sensitive flesh
there, hidden below cheap denim, just barely skimming along the base of his
dick. Sam moaned loudly when Dean did it again, the barest of a touch and he
broke the kiss, huffing into the night air, pressing Dean’s hand against him
harder.
Dean only chuckled, pulling his hand from Sam’s jeans, lips still at his neck,
along his jaw.
“Not here, kid.” Dean said in a low voice, deep and it sent all kinds of
shivers through Sam’s body that even Dean can feel.
They leave that border town, the diner becoming nothing in their minds as they
drove out into the night, further south, farther away from Kansas and closer to
Mexico.
Dean pulled off on the side of the road a little while later. There’s nothing
around them but the crisp night air and corn fields and cicadas chirping around
them. The stars seem to shine brighter above them.
Sam pressed himself against the side of the car, laughing as Dean pressed him
against the metal frame even harder, attacking his mouth, his face, his neck
with kisses. Sam’s been waiting for this ever since they left that roadside
diner and there’s no shame when he rolled his hips against Dean’s thigh that
was pressed up between his legs. Dean smiled, kissing Sam once more before he
dropped to his knees, the wet pavement cutting through his jeans.
He pushed up the hem of Sam’s shirt just high enough that he can kiss at the
sliver of skin above Sam’s jeans. He bit his way along Sam’s body as his
fingers worked at the button of Sam’s jeans, undoing them and with one giant
hand, pushed them down Sam’s body.
Sam leaned his head back to where he was resting against the top of the Impala,
eyes wide open as he stared up at the sky. Dean mouthed at Sam’s cock through
the dark cotton fabric of his underwear before he pushed that down too. Sam
shivered, one part from the cool air and two parts from the fact that Dean
can’t seem to stop kissing him. Dean kissed everywhere he could.
He paused for just a moment and looked up at Sam who looked down at him, lips
parted as he waited. Then Dean grabbed his half hard dick, closing his fingers
around it as he peppered kisses down and back up before he pressed one to the
head. Sam is hardly breathing as he waited and then Dean just smiled. Once
again he smiled.
Sam threw his head back when Dean licked along the underside of him, just the
tip of his tongue but it was enough to make Sam groan. There was a low fire
burning in Sam’s gut and yet Dean takes his time, working Sam with small stokes
and lazy licks.
It isn’t until that Sam is hard and throbbing in the palm of Dean’s hand that
he took Sam in his mouth, nearly swallowing him in one go like Dean’s mouth was
built for this purpose. Built to make Sam lose his mind. Sam grabbed at
something, at the frame of the car, the door handle, the hair on top of Dean’s
head, anything that will ground him. Dean did something with his tongue that
caused Sam to pull at Dean’s hair a little harder and Dean made a sound in the
back of his throat that Sam felt all throughout his body.
Off in the distance, Sam thinks that he can see the headlights of a car. Two
little pinpricks on the horizon but they’re so far away and Dean is right here
and it doesn’t really matter.
Dean grabbed at Sam’s hips harder, pulling him closer to him, further into his
mouth. His nose is pressed up against Sam and Dean can hardly breathe but he
doesn’t really care.
When Sam came, it surprised him. His whole body tensed up as he grabbed a hold
of Dean’s hair even harder and he came down Dean’s throat. Dean didn’t move
until Sam stopped shaking. He stroked him through it, licking at him, taking
everything and giving himself in return.
Dean climbed to his feet and wiped his mouth on the hem of his shirt which Sam
made a face at but Dean then bent his head and kissed Sam. Hard and insistent
and Sam can taste himself on Dean’s tongue.
Dean settled himself back in between Sam’s body and Sam snaked his hands down
in between them and pulled out Dean’s hard dick, taking him in his hand and
made quick work of pulling Dean apart against them.
When they’re both sated and as happy as they both can be, Dean pulled back and
looked at the beautiful boy that he had pressed up against his car, flush
coating his face.
“What do you say we go to Mexico, now?” Dean whispered.
Sam only smiled.
That night they slept underneath a couple of blankets that were shoved in the
trunk of the Impala, curled up against each other on the backseat. It’s cramped
and neither one of them can really move but they both sleep harder than they
had in years.
The morning sun poured in through the window of the Impala and Dean woke up to
an elbow in his face. Sam immediately started apologizing, shifting in the seat
to get a better look at Dean and then Sam ended up on the floor with an muffled
grunt.
“Anyone ever tell ya that you’re fucking loud in the morning?” Dean grunted as
he stretched out in the cramped space.
Sam sighed and rolled his eyes, moving to open the door to the Impala and out.
The morning dew coated the corn stalks, making everything a sparkling good but
it all paled in comparison to the gold that was reflected off Sam’s eyes when
Dean crawled out and saw Sam stretching out, a strip of skin shown right above
the top of his jeans that Dean all of the sudden desperately wanted lick.
“Where are we going today?” Sam asked when Dean climbed into the front seat and
he followed after him.
Dean shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t know. Just drive ‘til we want to stop.”
So that’s what they do. Dean drove until the car needed to be filled up with
gas and well the town was cute enough and there was a motel that seemed to have
cheap enough rooms and they decided to spend the night. They weren’t more than
a couple hours into the state of Oklahoma and at this rate it would take them
forever to get to Mexico but they were in no rush.
It’s been five days since they left Kansas.
Sam kept an eye on the news and so far he hadn’t seen anything about the dead
cop and honestly, no news was good news.
They walked around town, shoulders brushing up against each other when they
walked together on the sidewalk. Dean pulled Sam into one of those crappy
novelty tourist shops that sold all kinds of crap from China that cost barely a
buck. Then they were ushered out by a little old lady with a broom when Dean
got a little too crazy with trying on all the funky hats that they were
selling.
Sam nearly curled in on himself laughing at the look of sheer terror that was
on Dean’s face when the lady came after them.
That earned him a pretty hard hit to the shoulder but honestly it was worth it.
Lunch was pizza at ‘the best pizza shop around town’ according to some local
named Joe (and Dean would have to admit, it was pretty good) then it was back
out to walking around. When they made it to the end of the main street, they
turned around and went back the other way, choosing to go back to the motel
room.
There was a pool by the afternoon it was warm enough to swim even if the water
was a little cool at first.
Sam couldn’t help but blush when Dean managed to pin him up against the side of
the pool, water droplets sliding down his freckled skin and Sam remembered what
happened the last time they went swimming. When it was dark and they were the
only ones in the pool and they were breaking the law.
That was the most adventurous thing that Sam had ever down in his life but
being around Dean, it made him want to get in trouble. It made him want to do
things that were illegal and dangerous and so completely spontaneous that it
couldn’t possibly be planned.
The sound of the old metal gate squeaking open made Dean push away from Sam and
a boy around Sam’s age walked through the gate, throwing his stuff on one of
the pool chairs before jumping into the water at the other edge of the pool,
causing ripples to fade down to where Sam and Dean was.
Dean eventually got out when the pads of his fingers were starting to wrinkle
but Sam wanted to stay in the water.
His skin was still heated from when Dean had pinned him and the water was the
only thing keeping him from melting underneath the sun and Dean’s gaze.
The boy swam past Sam a couple of times until it got too awkward to be in the
same space without speaking and he introduced himself to Sam. Sam introduced
himself back and out of the corner of his eye he saw Dean leaning forward on
the pool chair, watching the pair intently.
Sam smirked to himself because he had seen that look in Dean’s eye before. That
fire behind his green eyes that told him that Dean was right on the verge of
being jealous. Not that he had any reason to. I mean, the boy whose name was
Nathan was good looking but he wasn’t anywhere near Dean and if Sam’s being a
hundred percent honest with himself, his voice was a little too squeaky.
But Nathan was good company and he held a decent conversation and the poor kid
flushed anytime Sam tried to flirt with him.
Dean huffed, crossing his arms across his chest as he watched, watched the way
that Sam continued to get closer to the boy and he couldn’t keep the swelling
of jealousy bubbling in his chest from expanding.
The final straw was when Sam sent Dean a small smirk and moved ever closer
towards the boy. There was barely any room between them now.
“Sam!” Dean barked, climbing to his feet, arms still crossed across his chest.
“It’s time to go. Now.”
Nathan jumped at the sound of Dean’s voice, almost like he was just noticing
that Dean was there and then he looked back to Sam and the smile on that on his
lips. In as sweet of a voice that Sam could manage he told Nathan that it was
nice meeting him and thanked him for getting him laid tonight.
Sam left Nathan floating in the pool, eyes wide and scared.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” Dean snapped when they got behind the
closed door of their motel room and Sam, the little fucking tease that he was,
striped out of his wet swimming trunks, the fabric hitting the ground with a
loud plop.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Dean.” Sam said with as much faux
innocent as he could muster and the growl that escaped Dean’s chest wasn’t even
human.
That night Dean marked and clawed and bit at every inch of Sam’s body that we
could get his mouth on and he made sure that Sam knew how he belonged too. He
had Sam begging and squirming and pleading for Dean to just hurry up already,
that he needed him. And Nathan made sure to stay away from room 27.
The shower was running when Dean woke up in the morning and he smiled to
himself. He wasn’t going to deny it, his muscle were sore from claiming Sam
last night and his back stung a little from where Sam’s sharp nails dug into
the skin but he felt good. Really good.
He rolled over onto his side and faced the bathroom where the steady sound of
water could have lulled him back to sleep if it wasn’t for the fact that he
chuckled to himself. Sam was always the one to get up early in the morning.
Back when he was still going back to school, he would often times wake before
Dean did, taking a shower and gather all of his belongings like if he didn’t
then he was going to be late for his classes (not like Dean would let him) and
even now, when they had nowhere to be, he was still waking up too goddamn
early.
That was something he was going to have to break when they got to Mexico.
Sleep. Sleep was good.
Dean yawned as he stretched, scratching absentmindedly at his stomach as he sat
up on the bed. They would be on the road again today, growing ever closer to
that final destination and while Dean loved the journey, he couldn’t wait to
see the beach every morning he woke up. And he couldn’t wait to see how
beautiful Sam would look underneath that Mexican sun.
The water shut off not too long after and then Sam opened the door, a puff of
steam following him out into the room as he towel dried his hair.
“Good morning.” Dean smiled and Sam smiled back and you know what, sue Dean for
being so goddamn cheesy but Sam’s smile seemed to light up the whole room.
“Morning.” Sam replied, settling down beside him, pulling his legs up onto the
bed as he curled up next to Dean.
His hair was damp as he rested his head on Dean’s chest and when Dean inhaled,
he could smell the generic motel shampoo that Sam had used.
“I’m gonna take a shower.” Dean muttered. “Gotta wash the blood from my
shoulders, Edward Scissorhands.” Dean teased and Sam gasped as he jerked away
from Dean, moving to where he could get a look at Dean’s shoulders. Sure
enough, thin lines ran along the expanse of Dean’s back.
“Shit.” Sam said, running a finger down one of the lines. “I did that?”
“Last night, yep. And I’m gonna wear them with pride.”
Sam settled back down onto the bed and rested his head back against Dean’s
chest despite the fact that Dean said that he was going to go take a shower. In
fact, several moments passed and Dean made no move towards the bathroom. There
was no need to. He had all the time in the world to stay curled up next to Sam.
It was only the sixth day of freedom and he was already drunk from it.
“Thought you were gonna take a shower.” Sam muttered but he stayed pressed up
against Dean.
Seemed like Dean was the only one drunk from each other.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Dean finally managed to pull himself from Sam who still
seemed reluctant to leave the warmth of Dean’s body but Dean needed to have a
shower. There was a difference between living on the road and smelling like you
lived on the road.
Sam had turned the TV on while Dean was in the shower. He could hear the
garbled noise of people talking through the thin bathroom walls.
He washed the previous night from his skin.
“Hey, Sam. I was thinking…” Dean started as he stepped out of the bathroom but
his sentence was sucked out of his lungs when he saw his face plastered to the
small box TV screen.
Sam scrambled after the remote with the intent to change the channel but Dean
barked at him to leave it.
It wasn’t the local news station. In fact it looked like the same channel that
Dean got back at home which was odd in of itself, why exactly he would be
getting Kansas news in Oklahoma but that was all white noise to him. Across the
bottom of the screen, below his picture, it was captioned with  Dean Winchester
wanted for questioning due to theory that he might be involved with the brutal
killing of Junior Deputy William Smith.  Dean felt his stomach flip. They found
the cop and they already suspected him.
Sam sat on the bed watching Dean’s reaction, waiting for the blow up that was
about to happen.
But what really got Dean’s blood boiling was when the picture changed from
himself to an interview done with Gordon. He was standing there with a
microphone stuck up against his mouth, wearing that same damn fake expression
of fear and sadness and disbelief that everyone came to believe.
“I always thought he would do something like this.” Gordon said into the
camera. “I mean, we all knew that he was unstable, especially after he killed
my sister but this…” A fake shake of the head, a fake tear. Fake this. Fake
that. Sell it for the cameras. Make Dean the bad guy. “But he took my foster
brother, touched him in ways that little boys shouldn’t be touched and when Mr.
Smith tried to stop him, save Sam, Dean killed him.” Pause for dramatic effect
and Dean could hardly hear anything. “Please, you all have to stop him before
he hurts Sam too.”
Then silence. The screen went black and Sam dropped the remote back to the bed
and that’s when everything inside of Dean snapped. That happy feeling inside
his chest was gone.
He screamed, loud and animalistic and somehow his fist ended up in the dry
wall, knuckles split and bleeding and he still felt like screaming, like
breaking something.
Sam pulled himself to the middle of the bed and watched as Dean tore apart the
room, the chair splintering into a million pieces when he broke it against the
ground and when he stopped and stood in the middle of the room looking suddenly
lost and scared, Sam crawled off the bed and walked towards Dean.
“You’ve gotta calm down, Dean.” Sam reasoned. “We can’t bring the manager in
here.”
Dean’s chest heaved with heavy breaths .  “I can’t, Sam. They found the police
officer, they know, Sam. They know.” They knew it all. They knew about him and
Sam and his father and every single other thing.
“No they don’t, Dean.” Sam was speaking so low, so soft, voice calm despite the
fact that his heart was racing. “They don’t know anything other than the fact
that some police officer died. You torched the car. They’re not gonna find you.
They’re not gonna find us.”
“But you saw the news story!” Dean shouted, pointing towards the TV. “You saw,
they want to arrest me.”
“What I saw was speculation. What I saw was a man who is so hellbent on revenge
that he’ll say anything in front of a camera. They have no evidence.
Questioning. That’s all they said. They wanted to question you.”
“But what if I fucked up, huh? What if something was left behind and they were
able to trace it back to me. Sam, I’m a cop killer. You know what they do to
cop killers?” Dean was nearly hyperventilating now. “And you. Fuck, Sam. I’ve
put you in danger. They’ll… they’ll kill you too.”
“Dean…” Sam finally just closed the gap between the two of them, grabbing Dean
by the shoulders. “They’re not going to find us. We’re alright. If they ask
around town, all they’ll think is that we’re headed to California. We are going
to be fine.”
But Dean wasn’t listening. He was off in his head, trying to figure out someway
out of this, someway to protect Sam. Those voices were back, screaming loudly,
teasing and taunting and telling Dean that he had gotten Sam killed.
“I’ll just say… I’ll just say that I kidnapped you.” Dean finally spoke,
actually looking somewhat calmer. “Then they won’t do anything to you then.
I’ll say that the cop pulled me over and you called for help and I killed the
cop. Yeah. That’ll work.”
Sam was shaking his head. “Do you even hear yourself right now, Dean?”
“Yeah, I do, Sam.”
“Then why are you saying these things?”
“Because I’m trying to protect you! Sam, this wasn’t supposed to happen. You
weren’t supposed to run away with me. So that’s what I’ll say. I’ll say that I
kidnapped you and you’ll be fine.”
“And I just deny it, dumbass!” Sam nearly shouted back. His hands were shaking.
“Yeah well I’ll say that it’s Stockholm syndrome or whatever. Sam, I’m not
dragging you down with me. If I get caught, you’re going to get off. They’ll
believe me because I’m older and I’m crazy and I already killed my dad so why
not. And you’ll… you’ll go reapply for Stanford and graduate and you’ll live
your life and maybe, if it’s not too much to ask, you’ll show up to when they
stick the needle in my arm. It’ll all work out.”
Sam didn’t mean too. He honestly didn’t but he felt so small with Dean saying
these things and it just happened. The room seemed to vibrate after Sam slapped
Dean and Dean stood there, eyes wide, a red welt already appearing on the side
of his face.
“Listen to me, Dean.” Sam demanded. “They aren’t going to find us. They think
that we’re going to California so they’ll search through California. And even
if they do find us, it’s all hearsay. It’s Gordon’s word against yours. There
is no evidence. None. Fire destroys evidence. Alright? We…” Sam gestured in
between the two of them. “Are going to be okay but you can’t start tearing up
hotel rooms.”
Dean swallowed thickly.
“So please, calm down. Trust me.” And now Sam was begging. “Please.”
And Dean stopped, his body completely freezing. His hands were still shaking
and his mind was still reeling from the slap and he wanted to hit something
else but he wasn’t sure if he could. He was shaking to bad. His breathing was
ragged as he looked down at Sam, seeing him almost as if it was the first time
and it felt like something reached out and clutched his heart.
Sam was standing in front of him with his eyes wide, arms held out in front of
him as if he was trying to protect himself. As if he were protecting himself
from Dean.
Sam looked so young, so small standing there. So vulnerable. Dean oftentimes
forgot just how Sam was. He was just a kid, just barely graduated high school
and yet here he was, helping Dean escape that town that he was stuck in. The
reason why he’s here in this motel in the first place was all because of Sam.
Sam planned it all out.
And if it weren’t for Sam, Dean wasn’t sure where he would be. Probably back at
home working two jobs with his old man still alive, belittling him until the
alcohol or liver cancer took him and then he would be alone. Either that or he
would end up out on the street corner selling his body like the whore people
often thinks he is, resulting to nothing just like all his teachers said. That
was the future that Dean had if it weren’t for Sam.
But Sam, he wasn’t even eighteen. A kid. A fucking kid that was smart and
beautiful and so young and Dean didn’t deserve him.
“Fuck Sam,” Dean breathed running a shaky hand through his hair. “You need too…
you need to leave me. I’m not…” He tried to swallow the words but they were
caught in his throat. “I’m not good for you.”
He didn’t care about the plan, about the fact that the cops didn’t really know
anything, this was about Sam now, about his safety, about protecting himself
from Dean.
Sam shook his head, dropping his hands, noting the drastic change in Dean’s
behavior. He stepped over the broken chair (noting that they weren’t going to
be getting the deposit back on this room) and closed the distance between him
and Dean. Dean watched him like a wounded animal, too frightened and hurt to
move.
“What are you talking about, Dean?” Sam asked when he had finally stopped in
front of him.
Dean couldn’t look into his eyes. He couldn’t see the mislaid trust and
devotion that Sam had for him. Everyone was right.
Dad was right.
Brady was right.
Everything that Dean touches, he breaks. He had taken this boy who was too
innocent for his own good and he had broken him. He had broken him into tiny
little pieces that would never be repaired. Never be fixed.
Dean Winchester had fucked up Sam just like he fucked up everything else.
“You shouldn’t be around me.” Dean finally whispered still not looking at Sam
in the eyes.
And what was Sam supposed to say to that?
He couldn’t say anything. So instead he grabbed Dean’s face and pulled him in
for a kiss because that’s the only thing that Dean seemed to understand.
“You’re a fucking idiot, Dean Winchester.” Sam muttered against Dean’s lips.
They left a few minutes later, Sam was packing up their few belongings and
stuffed them into the back of the Impala and climbed into the front seat where
Dean had a hoodie pulled lower his eyes, slouched in the front seat behind the
wheel.
Dean drove just under the speed limit, sticking to the side streets as he took
them further south. His hands gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white,
jaw clenched shut. He hadn’t said a word to Sam.
When Dean pulled off the side of the road, once again they’re surrounded by
corn fields and he climbed out of the car, fishing his phone out of his pocket.
Stupid.  Dean thought.  Fucking stupid to not call him.
He dialed the number, hands shaking as he brought the phone up to his ear.
There was a chance that he wouldn’t pick up but this was his last hope. Bobby
would know what to do. He always knew. Finally the line picked up.
Dean swallowed thickly before saying anything. “Hey, Bobby, its…”
But then Bobby cut him off. “Sorry, kid, you’ve got the wrong number.” And then
Bobby just hung up.
Dean stared at the phone in disbelief. This wasn’t happening right now. The one
person, the only person that he knew could help just ditched him. He had just…
The phone started to ring in his hand and Dean didn’t even hesitate the answer
it. Faintly in the background he could hear something running. Something that
almost sounded like a chainsaw.
“Sorry about that, kid.” Bobby said. “They’ve got the phones bugged, predicting
that you would call.”
“Bobby…” Dean breathed a sigh of relief. “Bobby, I need your help.”
“Yeah, I figured as much. Is Sam okay?” Dean looked over the hood of the Impala
where Sam was perched on the hood, watching him.
“Yeah, Sam’s fine.” He replied. “Bobby, I need to disappear.”
“Yeah, kid, I know. Listen…” There was a brief second of silence before Bobby
started speaking again. “There’s this guy, Frank Devereaux. He can help you
disappear. Paranoid son of a bitch but he’s got what you need.”
Another weight was lifted off his shoulders.
“Okay, where is he? I’m in…”
“I don’t want to know.” Bobby cut him off before Dean could say. “The less I
know, the better. He lives out in Texas. I’ll text you the address and then
destroy the message when you get it. Tell him Bobby sent you, alright.”
“And that’ll make him want to help us?”
“Either that or he’ll shoot you on sight. But the guy owes me so…” Dean
wondered what the hell Bobby did to get a man to owe him something like this.
There was another moment of silence. “How are you holding up, son?” Bobby
asked, business aside and now he sounded like someone who cared.
“Just peachy.” Dean lied because that’s the only thing he could say. He
couldn’t tell anyone that his insides were eating him alive. He couldn’t tell
Bobby that he had nearly pushed Sam away, that he had... He couldn’t say any of
that so he lied. “How’s Ellen doing? Does she really believe that I’m
innocent?”
Sam turned back on the TV because he had to see what else they were saying,
just briefly after Dean had calmed down the barest bit and Ellen was on the
screen, a frown on her face as she announced to the world that Dean couldn’t
possibly kill anyone. She believed that Dean was innocent.
“Son, she knows better than to say what she really feels. You know that. She’ll
lie in front of the media to protect you but it don’t mean that she believes
it.” A heartbeat went by. “She doesn’t blame you for it, just so you know. For
killing your daddy, killing the cop. She knows that you did it for a reason and
she suspects it has something to do with that boy. But she doesn’t blame you.
She’s worried about you.”
Dean didn’t even want to know how he knew that John was dead.
“Well tell her she’s got nothing to worry about. This is gonna end one way or
another.” He was either going to drop off the face of the earth or it was going
to end bloody.
“That’s was she’s worried about.”
Dean took a deep breath, still looking at Sam. “Bobby, will you tell her thank
you. For everything? I want her to know.”
“She already knows, son.”
“I know, just… okay.” Dean didn’t want to hang up. Not now, not ever but he
needed too. Every second that he was on the phone with Bobby was another second
that he could fuck things up even more. Get Bobby in trouble. Get Ellen in
trouble. Get Sam killed. “Bobby… thank you… for being there for me.”  Thank you
for giving me a job when no one else would. Thank you for being the father I
never really had. Thank you for still covering my ass when I did something that
I shouldn’t have done. Thank you.
“Just keep your nose clean until you get to Franks, you hear? I better not see
you on the news in some breaking story.”
Dean smiled briefly and then they both hung up. Dean looked down at the phone,
waiting for the text message and he wrote down the address that Bobby sent him
and then crushed his phone against the pavement before throwing it out into the
field just as Bobby was probably smashing his cell to pieces ready to keep
playing the oblivious surrogate dad.
“So… where we heading?” Sam asked, hopping off the hood.
“Texas.” Dean said. “And then Mexico.”
Frank would be the answer to all his problems. He just had to hope that they
would get there safe before something else went wrong.
***** Chapter 12 *****
Dean felt better about stopping in the smaller town. Usually the daily church
gossip got passed around quickly but anything else got there slow. But still,
even with the comfort of the fact that they probably weren’t going to be
discovered, Dean barely stopped. He kept driving, stayed awake, cursed anytime
he passed a cop and wished that he would just be in Mexico already.
But it was sunny outside and Dean hadn’t seen a cop for a couple of hours and
they’re still probably a day’s drive from Frank’s (because he’s not fucking
going over the speed limits and travel goes a hell of a lot slower when you’re
not on the main interstate) and there’s this cute little diner that Dean passed
and he’s hungry and honestly he just feels good.
Sam was a little more than apprehensive when Dean suddenly pulled up in front
of the diner, noting the smile that was on his face.
“What are we doing here, Dean?” Sam asked, getting out of the car.
“Pie.” Dean said with a childlike smile, pointing towards the front window, as
if that explained everything.
It didn’t.
It was a seat yourself kind of place and Dean picked them a booth, pulling out
a menu as soon as he sat down. Sam sat down on the other side of the booth,
careful as he looked at Dean’s face. There wasn’t any paranoia on his face.
None, whatsoever, like the last couple of days didn’t just happen and that Dean
didn’t almost want to shave his head cause he thought it would be harder for
the cops to spot him.
He feels sick.
“Um… Dean. I’ll be right back.” Sam said after a moment. His hands felt clammy
and Dean looked up at him from over the top of the menu.
“Alright but if you’re not here by the time the waitress comes around, I’m
ordering for you.” And with that he buried himself back into the pie selection.
Sam nodded to no one in particular and turned to the direction of the bathroom.
He peed, washed his hands and then stood in front of the mirror, staring at the
weary reflection that stared back at him. He looked tired. There were dark
circles under his eyes like he hadn’t slept in weeks and it was partly true.
Sleeping in the Impala wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world.
But he was worried. Worried for Dean and the way that he was suddenly acting.
The mood swings, the ups and downs, Sam hoped that when they got across the
border all of that would be gone and he could have the Dean that he had before
everything had happened.
When Sam turned the corner to go back and sit down, he feels sick all over
again.
Dean’s sitting at the booth, one arm thrown over the back of it and there’s
three girls sitting there with him, looking at him that he just hung the moon
and the worse thing is, Dean is looking right back at them with that same damn
look.
Dean greeted him all the same when Sam returned to the table, said that he went
ahead and ordered and Sam mumbled that was fine as the girl that was sitting on
his side of the booth moved so Sam could slide back into his seat.
Sam doesn’t feel like talking and whenever Dean addressed him, Sam completely
ignored him because he can’t comprehend any of this.
He was gone for five minutes, tops and already Dean had girls swarming around
him like flies to honey and instead of turning them away, he invited them to
stay. After running for days Dean was surrounding himself around people.
None of it felt right.
“I wanna go, Dean.” Sam finally just whined. He honest to god whined sounding
so much more like a child than the practical adult he was.
That seemed to get the attention of the three girls that had sat down beside
them, they all turned, finally noticing Sam for the first time that afternoon.
Nevermind the fact that they all stared at him when he sat down.
“Oh my gosh, Dean!” The girl sitting right next to Dean squealed. “You’re baby
brother is so cute!”
“Oh my gosh, I know!” The one sitting next to him said in agreement, reaching
out to pinch Sam on the cheek. He moved as far away as he could in the small
booth.
“He’s a handful.” Dean replied back with a chuckle and Sam felt his stomach
drop through the floor.
That wasn’t at all the response that he thought that Dean was going to say. He
didn’t deny the fact that they weren’t brothers, that they were actually in a
relationship. He just smiled and agreed with them.
The girl next to sam squealed again, a sound that echoed around in Sam’s head.
He felt trapped. He felt trapped in this booth sitting next to a girl that
smelled too sweet. It was choking him, the smell filling his throat, cutting
off his air supply.
“I wanna go, Dean.” Sam said again, this time his voice much much smaller than
it was and Dean made no move to stand up. He sat there across the booth with an
arm thrown over that blonde looking completely carefree. Sam wanted to throw
up.
“Relax, Sammy.” He said through a smile. “It’s all good.”
“Yeah, Sammy…” The girl on the very end of the booth agreed and if Sam had been
looking hard enough at Dean, he would have seen the tick of his jaw at the use
of his nickname but Sam didn’t see it. “Just relax. Just trying to invite your
brother to a party tomorrow. You’re more than welcome to come too. I’m sure
they’ll be some girls there your age.”
And that was it for Sam. He couldn’t sit there and let these girls patronize
him like he was some child. He needed to leave. He needed to get away from
their toxic smiles and sickeningly sweet smell. He needed to get away.
“Let me out.” Sam demanded turning towards the girl that was beside him. The
mood at the table drastically changed and yet the girl didn’t move. She stared
at him like he was speaking French or something. “Let me out!” He repeated and
this time she got the hint and started to move.
Only it wasn’t fast enough. He didn’t care that he basically shoved her out of
the booth, her heels clicking on the floor as she tried to keep her balance.
If Dean wanted to stay here and flirt with them then he could but he wasn’t
going to sit there and let dean have the satisfaction of calling sam his little
baby brother. One that needed to be coddled with sweet words and soft touches.
The girl scoffed, brushing her hands off on her denim skirt, watching Sam as he
left the restaurant.
“What’s his problem?” She asked, sitting back down and grabbed a fry that the
waitress brought for them to munch on while they waited for their food, looking
at it before taking a bite of it.
But whatever happy mood that Dean was in completely disappeared. He apologized
briefly to the girl for Sam’s behavior before excusing himself from the table
to chase after the kid.
“Sam!” He called and Sam was already out the door. “Sam… shit Sam, just stop
okay.” Dean said as he grabbed a hold of Sam’s arm.
Sam turned around, fist flying like he wanted to punch Dean.
Dean easily caught his wrist.
“What the fuck is wrong with you!” Sam spit, snatching his hand away from Dean
and Dean took a small step back, confused.
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t give me that crap, Dean! What’s going on with you? I mean, one second
you’re paranoid as hell, dragging me all across the godforsaken United States,
barely stopping to rest, always looking over your fucking shoulder for
something that’s not even there and then the next you’re completely fine,
passing me off as some kid that’s your brother who’s more of a burden to bare
than your fucking boyfriend!” Sam was yelling, his face red but he didn’t care.
“If you don’t want to be with me, then that’s fine but don’t fucking string me
along with this idea that we’re something.”
“I’m not stringing you along.” Dean answered and the fact that Dean wasn’t
yelling only infuriated Sam more. He wanted a fight. He wanted a fight that
started with raised words and ended with fist and blood and pain. At least then
that would feel real. At least that wouldn’t feel like this. “I’m not stringing
you along, Sam. It’s just, I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Sam scoffed, rolling his eyes not believing that Dean was going to play that
card.
“I mean it, Sam! Listen to me, you don’t know those girls like I do. They’re
all the same. Somewhere in that restaurant their boyfriends sit, watching the
whole thing just waiting for us to slip up to where they could put their fist
through our face. If those girls found out what we are, that we’re in a
relationship, together, they would have run back to their boyfriends, the words
leaving their mouths before they ever sat down and their boyfriends would take
care of us. Stomp us into the ground until we couldn’t move. I’ve seen it
happen before, Sam, and I wasn’t about to let it happen to you!”
Now Dean was yelling but there wasn’t fury or anger in his voice. He was
yelling because he was concerned, because he was honest to God scared of what
might happen to Sam. There was that fear in his eyes that kept them driving all
night, bright and shining, taking hold of everything in his body. And all at
once Sam couldn’t quite remember why he was angry.
“And I don’t know… I just thought that maybe you would have liked to go to a
party. You know, a real one. Not one thrown in some hick town. You said that
you’ve never been to one and I just thought maybe we could go to one before we
go to Mexico but...” Dean trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s
whatever. You wanna go, we can go. Where do you wanna go?”
It was all up to Sam now. “Anywhere.” He breathed after a long second. “Just
take me away from here.”
And so Dean did.
A little while later, a couple of small towns just another mile of road
underneath the wheels of the Impala, Dean pulled off into another small town
fit with another one of those diners that said it served the best pie all
across the state of Texas (they crossed the border a little while ago).
It’s late and the diner is one of those little twenty-four seven places with
stressed out waitresses and road weary truck drivers.
The sign in the front says to seat yourself just like the last diner and
they’re glad for it. Dean picked one of the back booths in the back of the
diner. He smirked to himself when he saw that there was a young couple sitting
right in front of them. They’re the kind of couple that look rigid and uptight,
the kind of couple that don’t look like they visit this kind of place often but
they heard about the pie and as Texans they have to try it just once.
It’s the perfect booth for Dean.
The guy, some dude who’s probably going to go bald before forty eyed Dean as he
looked Dean up and down and then turned his gaze towards Sam, the frown on his
face deepening. He leaned over towards the girl and whispered something in her
ear that caused her to frown too and when a couple of moments passed, she
glanced over at them, the frown moving up towards her eyes.
Dean slid into the booth first, settling himself against the wall and angling
his body to where Sam could slid up right next to him. Sam shot him a quick
look, glancing over at the couple with a question on his face but Dean only
smiles and suddenly Sam seems to understand everything perfectly. Sam returned
the smile.
Dean rested his arm along the back of the armrest as Sam climbed into the booth
and along the seat until he settled himself right on top of Dean’s lap.
Dean let out a surprised sound, not expecting Sam to take it that far but
frankly he’s not complaining. They’re facing the couple and suddenly the couple
seems all too interested in their meal that they previously seemed
disinterested in, eating without saying a word.
Their server, a young woman who looked like she was still barely in college and
stressed showed up a few moments later and handed them the menus. She looked at
them for a second and started to say something about how patrons weren’t
allowed to sit in the laps of other patrons unless they were children when she
locked her jaw shut at the look that Dean sent her way. Instead she smiled,
pulling out the little rectangle notepad, pen ready.
“So… what can I get y’all?” She asked, her voice dripping with a heavy Texan
accent.
“I’ll take a chocolate milkshake.” Sam said, handing the girl back the menu.
“With whipped cream and a cherry please.” He added with his best innocent smile
that he could muster.
She nodded, scribbling it down before turning to look at Dean. “Do you want one
too, sir?”
Dean looked over the menu like he was actually considering getting something
before he handed the menu back to her and shook his head. “Naw, we’ll take just
the one.”
The girl looked between the two of them, her eyes wide before she cleared her
throat, said that it would be out in a moment and then proceeded to turn on her
heel back towards the kitchen. When Dean straightened his gaze back to in front
of him he couldn’t keep from smiling when he saw that the couple was looking at
them again.
They flushed bright red when they realized that they were being really fucking
obvious and quickly turned back to their nearly finished meal. Sam is the one
who actually laughs, a bubble of giddy nothingness exploding through his chest.
Maybe it’s the fact that they’re so close to the border or that maybe it’s
because this is truly the first time that Dean is being affectionate towards
him in public, is letting Sam do this, sit on top of him, claim him but there’s
something that makes Sam feel like he’s floating and he can’t help it.
He laced his arm around the back of Dean’s neck and rested his forehead against
his, their noses barely touching. Dean had his hand resting just below Sam’s
knee which he slowly started to move up, thumb rubbing small circles into his
thigh.
“What’s you think they do if you fucked me on top of this table?” Sam purred
against Dean’s neck and Dean nearly choked because  fuck kid, you can’t just
fucking say that without warning a man first .
Dean swallowed around the lump that suddenly formed in his throat and pushed
away the thought of how Sam would look spread out along the table.
“Probably watch until we finished. They’ve never seen anything as hot as my boy
with a dick in him.” Dean replied back, turning the dirty talk up to nearly a
hundred. If Sam wanted to play this game, then they would play. “Couldn’t keep
their hands off themselves.” He whispered as he leaned closer towards Sam,
nearly pushing Sam back against the edge of the table, bending him in half.
“When they hear the noises you make...” Sam closed his eyes as Dean’s
continued. “Whimpering and moaning my name...” Dean’s lips hovered just above
Sam’s. “They’d sit there and watch. Then they’d call the cops,” Dean laughed
suddenly and Sam smiled up at him.
Their server returns with their milkshake topped with two straws and one
cherry. Sam picked it up and brought one of the straws to his lips.
“Mmm.” he hummed around the red plastic. “It’s really good, try some. Not as
good as Ellen’s but good.” The woman looked over as Sam held the straw out for
Dean.
“Delicious.” Dean agreed, looking at Sam and licked his lips.
Sam set the glass down and glanced at the woman who was now making no point to
hide her distaste. He picked the cherry off the top of the whipped cream and
popped the entire thing into his mouth.
She turned toward the man and said something under her breath as she kicked his
leg. He said something back and then turned to look at them.
Sam stared back at them as he laid his hand on Dean’s cheek, pulling him toward
his lips. He kissed Dean hard, dipping his tongue into his mouth as Dean kissed
back. They make a point to be as obnoxious about it as they can, moaning
loudly, breathing heavy. Dean pushed his hands up through Sam’s hair and held
tight. Sam bit onto Dean’s bottom lip and pulled as he leans back, breaking the
kiss. Keeping his eyes on the couple the whole time.
Dean reached up and pulls the cherry stem from his mouth and grinned at them.
The woman made a disgusted noise and stood up, throwing her napkin on the
table. The man shoved his empty plate away from him and followed her to the
register.
“Got the whole section to ourselves now,” Dean said with a smirk and took
another sip.
It’s not shortly after the couple leaves the they finish up the milkshake and
Dean left a couple of twenties on the table and walked out of the diner, their
waitress hovering in the corner, not sure how she felt about seeing them walk
out together, one of Dean’s arm over Sam’s shoulder and one of Sam’s hands in
Dean’s back pocket.
They found out when they looked at the map, that where Frank lived it was only
twelve miles from the border which meant that a short hop, skip and jump and
they would be away from all the worries that followed them from Kansas.
That made Dean giddy. But there’s still that lingering thought in the back of
his head that things could go wrong very quickly.
They didn’t stay around public areas for long, not sure what information got
out to what places in the United States and frankly Dean didn’t want to push
his luck but even the ever present threat of being discovered couldn’t keep him
away from the diners. With that being said though, they stayed on the fringe of
society.
Driving through the midwest, there usually wasn’t much to see, nor was there
much to do other than to drive but it was great country for bikers and people
like them to travel through. People who were unattached to anything, just
living day by day.
Most of the guys were good company.
Dean would find them by a river, sitting around a bonfire. It didn’t really
matter who you were when you were with these people and it didn’t matter what
you did. Everyone was family, bonded together by the freedom that the road
presented them.
Lukewarm beer would be passed around and crude jokes were said. Laughs were
shared and giggles erupted from the group. It was nice to hang around those
people for a couple of hours, not worrying about anything because the one good
thing about being on the road was that you were pretty much oblivious to what
was happening in the world around you for other than the stuff that was shown
on the small tv’s hidden in the corner of the roadside diners.
They usually don’t stick around long enough for things to get fucked. The
moment that someone started looking at Dean a little too hard for a little too
longer, Dean would bid everyone a good night, thank them for the beer and then
he and Sam would be back out on the road, looking for a good place to pull off
for the night to sleep. Or if someone took a particular interest in Sam, Dean
usually ended it before it got too out of hand.
But Dean’s holding his broken beer bottle that was now covered in blood, hand
held out in front of him, high over his head and Sam is the scaredest that he’s
been since he’s met Dean.
It’s bad. It’s really bad.
Sam started this little game that started back after the whole pool incident
and with Nathan where he would tease Dean relentlessly. When they would stop at
one of the bonfires, Sam would find someone to make friends with and ultimately
things would always escalate to the point where Dean would drag him away and
mark his body with his fingerprints and his mouth and his body.
It was something that Sam craved. He craved Dean on him and in him and around
him all the time and this was usually the best way to get him to do that.
The night didn’t start out any different than any other night had. There would
be a couple of pick-ups and a whole lot of bikes and everyone would treat each
other to a beer, talk and not worry about anything.
The moment that they arrived, they had eyes on them. Kinda hard not to notice
the beautiful, black muscle car pull up next to the rusted chrome and two
wheels but there was one guy in particular that seemed to take interest in Sam.
And Sam, with his teenage confidence that only grew stronger knowing that Dean
was somewhere in the crowd watching him, walked over to the guy with the pick
up and plopped himself down next to the guy on the edge of the tailgate, his
legs swinging lazily as they shared a beer back and forth.
Dean didn’t like it. In fact he hated it. He hated watching Sam talk and flirt
with other guys and he hated the way that he got so goddamn jealous about it.
Usually it’ll take Dean four or five beers before he’s aggravated enough to end
Sam’s little fun and leave. Tonight, Dean’s already started his fifth beer, the
alcohol definitely making his mind a little fuzzy around the edges, leaning up
against the side of the Impala, watching the way that Sam seemed to glow in the
moonlight.
But he was going to let the kid have his fun. They would see Frank in the
morning and he would help them disappear and then they would cross the border
with whatever money they still had stashed in the Impala and then they would
have the rest of their lives to spend with each other.
Sam seemed to be swaying a little more. Dean wasn’t sure how many beers he’s
had but it’s probably more than enough if Sam’s hooded eyes are anything to go
by. The kid’s a lightweight, probably hadn’t had a sip of alcohol before he met
Dean and something goes through Dean’s chest at  that  thought. That he’s been
the one that’s changed Sam so much, made him into the little monster that he is
now.
There’s fire in Dean’s blood, set aflame from seeing what’s his going to spend
time with another person but then it grows out of control when the guy leaned
closer to Sam, running a hand up the inside of Sam’s thigh. No one that they’ve
ever met or hung out with in the past few days ever touched Sam. No one.
Flirted yes, but touched. Those marks on Sam’s neck made it pretty damn clear
that Sam was off limits.
You may look but you cannot touch.
They’re on the edge of the circle, darkness covering them and no one sees when
Sam pushed the guys hand off of him and then the way that the guy grabbed at
Sam’s wrists, wrapping them all the way around his bony arms and pinned him to
the bed of the truck. Sam struggled underneath the guy as he shifted his weight
to keep Sam pressed against the bed of the truck, unable to move.
Dean’s not sure how he got from the Impala to the guy and pulled him off of
Sam. He’s not even really sure how the beer bottle broke in the first place, if
it was because he broke it before he got to the guy or if he broke it against
the guy’s skull but all does know is the fact that the guy is laying on the
ground, blood pooling around his head, turning the dark ground even darker.
There’s a dull throbbing on the side of Dean’s face where he’s sure that the
guy managed to punch him before Dean cut his face open with the bottle. He
didn’t even feel the punch.
Everything around them got so damn quiet so damn quick that Dean could almost
hear Sam’s heart jackrabbit behind that skinny chest of his. No one moved, no
one dared to make a sound. They all stood, frozen, watching the scene unfold in
front of them.
Dean hears screaming and it isn’t until later that he realized that it was his
own voice cracking through night air. Sam is curled in on himself on the edge
of the truck, watching Dean.
The firelight danced around Dean’s skin, making the shadows on his face jump as
the muscles in his jaw twitched.
He’s not even sure what he’s yelling or even really aware that he’s kicking the
guy, screaming out how he’ll send the guy to the worse parts of hell for even
thinking about touching  his boy  like that. Everyone around them is too
stunned to do anything, torn between helping the guy getting beat within an
inch of his life and letting Dean do what he pleased because there was a
certain level of respect that everyone was treated with in the group.
When someone pushed you away, you stop, no matter how much you want it. No
matter how pretty you think they are.
It’s not until the guy had stopped moving completely and Dean is still kicking
him in the stomach that Sam uncurled from his position, saying the first words
of the night.
“Dean, stop.” He said, moving closer towards Dean but Dean didn’t stop. It’s
almost like he can’t. “Dean, please, don’t kill him.” Sam begged, voice a
little louder, a little stronger this time.
This isn’t good and Sam knows. The guy, if he survives the night is going to
call the police and then Dean’s going to be wanted for aggravated assault which
will undoubtedly get worse because of the warrant that’s already out there for
the cop. And then it won’t take much for a jury to convict him because Dean was
a nobody with a deadbeat dad and a dead mom who was more trouble than he’s
worth.
Dean doesn’t hear a word that Sam said, blood rushing past his ears,  hurt maim
kill  the only thing that he can think of and when he felt a hand close around
his elbow and turned around, staring at Sam straight through and there’s
hellfire in Dean’s eyes and then there a white hot pain searing through the
side of Sam’s face and for a moment, nothing around them exist except for
Dean’s fist.
Sam stumbled to the ground, ears ringing from the force of the punch and Sam
can’t quite see anything straight. There’s something warm and wet pouring from
his nose and when his vision cleared, red painted his fingers.
Dean looked down at Sam, eyes wide, whole body pale and he’s suddenly so very
cold.
“Sam.” Dean whispered through the dark and reached for the boy but Sam recoiled
away from Dean’s touch, crawling through the dirt to get as far away as
possible. He managed to climb to his feet and then he’s running. Running as
fast as his legs will carry him deep into the dark.
Dean managed to grab a little bit of Sam’s shirt but the fabric slipped through
his fingers.
Dean is yelling Sam’s name and Sam is running towards nothing, face stinging,
the ghost of Dean’s fist still there. Sam doesn’t understand what he did. In
that split moment that Dean looked at him, it was like Dean was mad at  him
and Sam… a sob racked his body.
When Sam’s legs can’t carry him anymore, he collapsed to the ground, leaning up
against one of the few trees that were scattered around. His hand is curled
around his cheek, trying to protect himself from anything else.
It’s takes seconds, seconds for Dean to run after Sam and to catch up to him,
footsteps falling heavy against the earth and Sam can’t see anything through
the tears in his eyes.
“Sammy.” Dean muttered, dropping to his knees in front of Sam, pushing Sam’s
legs apart and moved as far in between them as he could. Sam grabbed a hold of
the front of Dean’s shirt, one hand pulling him closer as the other pushed Dean
away. Dean reached up, fingers brushing over the bruise already starting to
bruise and it feels like someone ripped his chest open. Sam can hardly look at
him, still crying, small whimpers falling past his bleeding lips and Dean is
sure that this is what death feels like. “I’m so sorry, Sammy. I’m sorry. I
didn’t… I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.” Dean repeated like it was a mantra,
holding Sam against him.
The he’s kissing Sam because words never do what he wants them to do. He’s
kissing him through the spit and the tears and the blood and Dean’s careful to
be gentle with Sam because the last thing that he wanted to do was hurt Sam
anymore than he already was.
“He was touching you.” Dean said. “And you were struggling and I wasn’t
thinking and…” Dean’s hardly breathing through the talking and the kissing. “I
would never hurt you, Sammy. Couldn’t hurt you.” His lips moved over the split
skin on Sam’s cheek. “Never wanna hurt you again. Love you so much, Sammy. Love
you more than anything.” Now Sam’s kissing him back, hard and wanting and the
pain only makes it better. “More than anything.”
It’s Sam that pulled away first, eyes still wet with tears but he stopped
crying and yet it looked like Dean was about to.
His beautiful green eyes shone in the moonlight with unshed tears.
“I love you.” Sam said quietly as he brushed his thumb along Dean’s bottom lip,
over the blood that he’s stained Dean with. Dean is shaking underneath his
touch. “It’s okay, Dean. It’s okay.”
When they head back to the circle, everyone makes sure to stay clear of Dean
and they hardly look at Sam and the guy that dared to touch Sam is at least
sitting up now, leaning against the side of his truck but there’s no one around
him. They don’t say anything as they left, blood still coating their lips.
That night Dean rented a motel room instead of spending the night in the Impala
and he makes love to Sam on the creaky motel bed, holding Sam in his lap,
rocking into him and a purple bruise fanned out across his face in the shape of
Dean’s fist.
The curtains to the room did very little to keep the sun from filtering in
through the windows. Dean groaned as he tried to stretch out but was stopped by
the way that Sam was clinging to him, mouth partly slightly as he snored, head
buried in the crook of Dean’s shoulder. Dean hated to wake him, to move him
when he seemed so peaceful, so at ease. It had been a while since he’s seen
that  but they needed to get to Mexico.
There was something tense in the air when they finally managed to get up and
despite the fact that they danced silently around each other, gathering all the
scattered clothes, Dean couldn’t shake the feeling.
He cursed silently when he got into the Impala and saw that the tank was nearly
empty. Sam seemed apprehensive when they pulled up in one of those ‘pay inside’
gas stations but Dean sent him a reassuring smile, turned off the car and told
Sam to go pick out some candy or something for breakfast. Kid needed it.
They kissed briefly across the seat before they both got out.
There was an older man sitting behind the register, watching the store front
with a bored expression on his face and yet Dean some how had the impression
that he wouldn’t want to give up this job for anything else.
“Morning.” Dean smiled as he walked up to him and Sam went his way to browse
the aisles for something to eat. “Uh… give me sixty bucks on pump two, please.”
The guy looked at Dean for what seemed like to be a second too long before
nodding and punching in the number on the old register.
“That all?” His voice was scratchy, old.
“Yeah, that and whatever Sam wants.” Dean replied, turning around to lean up
against the counter, watching the top of Sam’s head bob above the top of the
shelves as he decided on his poison for the morning.
The smile that was on his face faded when he heard the pump of a shotgun and
then felt the barrel press in between the middle of his shoulder blades. Dean
froze.
“Listen, I don’t want any trouble.” The old man said as Dean turned around with
his hands held up like he was surrendering. “But your face… and that boys face
has been plastered all over the news for the last week. I called the cops when
you first pulled up, okay.” He explained. “They’ll be here in a few minutes.”
Dean glanced at the barrel of the shotgun, weighing his chances of grabbing it
out of the man’s hands before the man could get off a shot. “Don’t be stupid,
boy.” He shook Dean out of his thoughts. “I really don’t want to shoot you.”
Dean was about to say something else, try to talk his way out of this when
Sam’s old converse squeaked along the linoleum floor, coming to a stop at the
end of the aisle. The man was at least smart enough to not point the gun at
Sam.
“Dean…?” Sam asked, his voice hanging in the air.
Dean turned to look at Sam. He was clutching a bag of gummi bears, eyes wide as
he looked between the gun and Dean.
“Heya, Sammy.” Dean greeted, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. This was
going to be it. He could feel it in his gut, the way that something just wasn’t
settling right. “It’s alright. It’s going to be alright.”
Lies poured from his lips and Sam knew it.
He dropped the gummi bears and suddenly ran over to Dean, wrapping his arms
around Dean as he hugged him, head buried in his side. Almost immediately he
could feel wet tears soaking through his shirt.
“This isn’t the end, is it?” Sam asked, he begged and Dean couldn’t answer
that.
But it was the lack of answer that was all the answer that Sam needed.
The sound that passed through Sam’s mouth almost wasn’t human and all at once
Sam understood what the ending was going to be, just as Dean did.
They stood there, arms wrapped around each other, turned to face the windows
with the gun pointed at Dean and waited, just waited for the cops to show up.
It didn’t take long and Dean’s heart jumped, longing for just one more beat.
“If you know what’s best for you son you would just walk out there and let them
take you. You have a chance at a fair trial and maybe this might turn out right
for you.” The old man said, voice pinched, the shotgun still pointed in the
middle of Dean’s back and Dean scoffed looking out at the police cars that
seemed to roll up out of nowhere.
“There’s no such thing as a fair trial for a cop killer, old man.” Dean spit.
Sam tensed next to him and then suddenly he reached out and grabbed Dean by the
face and pulled him down for another kiss, mouth wide and desperate, wanting to
get as much of Dean as he could.
“I love you.” Sam muttered against Dean’s lips, reluctant to pull away.
“I know.” Dean replied.
The store was surrounded, police cars with their doors wide open and the
officers hiding behind them, their guns poised on the two lovers.
Dean looked back at Sam one final time, giving him a small smile.
And Sam desperately wanted to reach out and grab a hold of his hand, feel him
before they were torn apart.
"Together?" Dean asked.
"Together." Sam agreed, nodding his head once.
Dean wrapped his arm around Sam’s small body, around his waist and pulled him
in for a kiss before he turned to face the firing squad outside, stepping
outside, squinting through the hot Texan sun.
A single black bird cawed overhead before the air was filled with the sound of
gunfire.
And when the smoke cleared, there were two boys bleeding out on the burning
asphalt, one hand outstretched for the other as if they were trying to reach
each other, all twelve miles from the border.
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