Far Away Part Three

[grianchloch]

Dean continued to hunt, but he became a meticulous researcher, surpassing even John. The more he knew about a case, the less chance there was of him getting hurt, and that lessened the chances of Sam having a vision, so it was a no brainer.

In the two years since they’d started, Sam had gone through another five and each time, Dean had driven straight for Oregon, taking himself out of harm’s way after making sure the threat could still be dealt with safely by John or Caleb, and making sure, with his own eyes, that Sam was okay.

This time, he’d taken Sam’s warning into account, but gone after the spirit anyway, thinking he could use the information Sam had given him and make sure it was disposed of before he left. It had been a one-man job, John was too far away and there wasn’t another hunter he trusted in the area. It hadn’t quite gone to plan.

“Aunt Beth, it’s Dean.”

“Are you okay?” Beth could hear the pain in Dean’s voice.

“No, not really. A spirit cut my shoulder up pretty badly and a hospital would ask too many questions.” Wicked claws had torn through his skin and left him howling in agony. Fucker had gone down eventually, though, and that was the main thing.

“How close are you?”

“Thirty minutes tops.”

“Okay honey, get yourself here and I’ll take care of it.”

“Thanks.” Dean winced as he hung up.

Sam clattered down the stairs.

“That was Dean, wasn’t it? Why didn’t he call me? What’s wrong?”

“Slow down, Sam, he’s on his way. He’s hurt, but I’ll patch him up.”

“Fuck! I told him to be careful! He never fucking listens.” Sam flung his hands in the air and stormed off in the direction of the kitchen.

“Samuel Weston!” Beth bellowed and Sam stopped dead in his tracks, turning to face her. “You know that language like that is not tolerated in this house for any reason.”

“Sorry.” Sam felt genuinely ashamed.

“I know you’re worried about Dean, but house rules still stand.”

“Even the one about not adopting skunks as pets?” Sam looked at her sheepishly through his bangs, trying to diffuse the situation.

“Especially that one.” Beth rolled her eyes and walked past him, giving his arm a squeeze. “Set my larger med kit up in the downstairs bathroom, and go and wait for him.”

Glad of something to do, Sam did as she asked and then headed out onto the porch to wait for Dean. The thing he’d seen in his vision had wickedly long claws, and he’d warned Dean that the floor in the warehouse it was holed up in was rotten in the southeast corner. In his vision, he’d seen Dean step in the boards, which splintered and crumbled. Dean had fallen to the floor below and lain winded as the thing approached. It had slashed his chest open exposing ribs and tearing through tender organs. Sam had shot awake, screaming as Dean died.

Sam paced as he waited. He knew what Dean did was dangerous, but seeing him die scared Sam. His visions were always centered around Dean, and Sam felt responsible for keeping the young hunter alive. What if one day, it was too late to reach him? What if he couldn’t contact him? What if ...?

The grumble of the Impala’s engine pulled him from thoughts and Sam raced down the porch steps to where Dean was opening the door.

“Hey Sammy.” Dean winced as he levered himself out of the seat.

“Dean.” Sam slipped an arm under Dean’s and helped him towards the house. “What happened? Didn’t you listen to me?”

“I listened. I stayed out of the southeast corner, but it was stronger than I expected. Got some good digs in before it went down.”

“You killed it?”

“Yeah, it won’t be hurting anyone else.” Dean hissed through gritted teeth as Sam helped him up the steps to the porch.

“Sam, honey, why don’t you wait next door while I do this.”

“No.”

“Sammy.” Dean warned.

“Shut up, Dean. I need to stay and learn how to do it. Because I might have to do it one day.”

He glanced at his Aunt and she sighed and nodded her head. She cut Dean’s t-shirt off to get a good look at the wounds, and grimaced.

“Okay Sam, watch me do this first one, and you can sew up the other cut.”

Sam gave the procedure his full attention. When his turn came, his hand was steady. Carefully but quickly, he pushed the needle through Dean’s skin on either side of the wound and drew it closed. He finished the final stitch and fastened it off as Beth had shown him, but his hand lingered a moment longer on Dean’s shoulder, and his fingers brushed lightly across his friend’s collar bone. Dean caught his gaze, and Sam let his hand fall away sheepishly. Dean needed his help, not his confused groping.

Beth packed them both off to bed, and the painkillers Dean had taken began to kick in. He stumbled in the hallway, and Sam was right at his side, guiding him to the familiar room.

Sam was under orders to help Dean into bed so his shoulder wasn’t jostled too much, and to give him the bigger bed, Sam’s bed, so he’d be more comfortable. He popped the button on Dean’s jeans and slid them down his legs. Dean rested his hand on Sam’s shoulder as Sam knelt down to unlace his boots. He helped Dean step out of them and his jeans.

“Thanks Sammy.” Dean murmured as he lay back against the cool cotton bed sheets, already dozing off. Sam pulled a sheet up to Dean’s waist and sat on the bed beside him, staring at the dressing over the lacerations on his shoulder. He reached out and touched Dean’s undamaged shoulder, running his fingers over the contours of Dean’s skin.

He’d been fascinated by anatomy in biology class, and he used what he’d learnt there his in art class. Putting the two together helped him develop his talent for drawing people and he was driven by a compulsion to capture the swells and dips of muscle, sinew and bone in his work.

Dean moaned in his sleep and Sam snatched his hand away, hastily making for the bed under the window. Just like every time they shared a room now, Sam lay awake for a long time watching Dean sleep.


Dean slept late the next morning and padded downstairs barefoot, following the scent of coffee and freshly baked muffins.

“Sammy?” Dean wondered if Sam had gone out on an errand.

“In here.” Sam yelled from Beth’s studio.

Dean helped himself to a mug of coffee, which he carried through to the studio and then he went back for a plate of muffins, careful not to stress his wounded shoulder. He loaded the plate high and went to join his friend.

Sam pinched one from the top of the pile and wolfed it down as if he hadn’t already eaten four that morning. Dean set them down beside his mug on the small low table in front of the old, squashy couch in the corner of the room. He’d just begun to tuck into his first muffin when he saw the painting leaning against the wall and he stopped dead.

Dean would admit to anyone who asked that he knew squat about art. He liked Beth’s pieces, which were mainly influenced by the local landscape, but he couldn’t ever say a picture had spoken to him. In fact he’d always thought it was bull, that a painting could do that, but not anymore.

“Beth didn’t paint that, did she?” Dean asked shakily.

Sam looked up from where he was cleaning brushes.

“Um, no. I did.”

Dean stared at it, mesmerized by the intensity that radiated from it.

“That’s what hurt me.”

“It’s how the vision of seeing you die felt.”

“I … I didn’t know you painted it.”

Sam shrugged.

“It helps.” He clarified at the confusion on Dean’s face. “It helps me leave it behind. That first time, for two days after, it felt like my skin didn’t fit anymore, like there was something squirming inside, and this helped. Now I do it as soon as I can afterward.”

“There’s one for each of them?”

Sam nodded.

“I want to see them.”

Sam brought each canvas out and set them overlapping against the wall. The first one was smaller than the rest, done before Beth had ordered the bigger canvases in case Sam needed to do it again.

Dean examined each one. He knew which one went with which vision before Sam told him and he sat cross-legged on the floor in front of them. Each one was different, but each one was a nightmare in paint. The most recent one was full of jagged shapes and Dean shuddered.

“What’s the white bit?”

It was the only constant in every painting. In some it was an arc through the darkness around it, in one it was a small circle huddled in the bottom corner. He answered his own question at the same time Sam answered it for him.

“It’s me.”

“It’s you.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, Dean’s eyes as wide as saucers.

“Jinx?” Sam said and reached down to help Dean to his feet.

Dean slumped on the couch, still looking at the paintings.

“No more hunting.” He stated.

“What?? Hunting’s your life. You can’t give it up.”

“I do this to you! I put myself out there in the way of danger and you go through … this. I can’t do it anymore, Sam, can’t hurt you like this anymore.”

“Dean, no. You can’t give your life up because of me.”

“Not my life, Sam, just hunting.”

“Hunting is your life.”

“I’ll find something else to do, become a mechanic, join a circus, anything that stops this from happening to you.”

“I don’t get a say in this?”

“No, no way.”

Sam sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Okay, as soon as I turn eighteen, I’m going to start hunting.”

“What?”

“You’re good at what you do, you save a lot of lives, and if you’re going to walk away, someone else has to do your job.”

“You are not hunting.” Dean stared him down.

“You can’t stop me.”

“Wanna bet, sasquatch?” Dean stood up and Sam pointedly stared at the dressing on his shoulder.

“What are you going to do, Dean, tie me up for the rest of my life?”

“If I have to!” Dean poked Sam in the chest. Sam took a hold of his hand and held it firmly. Dean looked at him, eyes blazing, still not over the fact that at sixteen, Sam was already fractionally taller than him.

“I’m not asking you to stop hunting, I don’t want you to. I can live with this.”

All the anger fell away from Dean, and the soreness he felt from the fight the day before settled on him.

“I hate what it does to you.”

“I know, but it’s part of who I am, just like hunting is part of who you are.”

Dean didn’t agree, but slumped wearily back down on the couch and they sat in silence for a while.

“I do want to come hunting with you.”

“Sammy …”

“Hear me out, Dean. The summer I turn eighteen, before I go to college, I want to hunt with you.”

“So you still want to go to college? This isn’t some plan to ditch that?”

“No, I still want to go, but I want to know what it’s like. It might help handle the visions.”

Dean quirked an eyebrow, knowing a line of bull crap when he heard it. This decision, however, wasn’t down to him, and he figured he could count on either John or Aunt Beth to veto Sam’s plans.

“Okay Sam, we’ll see.”

Sam grinned and went back to his chore of cleaning brushes while Dean sat and sipped lukewarm coffee and eyed the disturbing paintings.


“Sam can’t come hunting, Dean.”

Dean left it until two weeks before the Christmas of Sam’s seventeenth birthday to broach the subject with John. Didn’t matter how much Sam had nagged him in the meantime, Dean knew strategy, knew when to pick his battles and as he’d slowly come round to Sam’s idea of being allowed to hunt for a few months, he’d also identified the perfect time to bring it up.

“Why not?”

“Well for starters, Beth would skin me alive. Maybe literally.”

“You’re scared of Aunt Beth?” Dean hid a smirk.

“Damn straight!” John glowered at Dean.

“Even if he can’t come hunting,” Dean decided to fight that battle another day. “He needs to know how to protect himself.”

“I thought you’d been teaching him how to take care of himself in a fight.”

“I have, but there’s all the other stuff.”

John eyed his son.

“You mean handling weapons?”

“Yeah. I didn’t think Aunt Beth would like it if I started showing him how to handle a blade with her kitchen knives.”

Now it was John’s turn to smirk.

“Guess I’m not the only one who’s scared.”

Dean ignored him.

“So will you talk to her?”

“I’ll talk to her. Just ... let me pick my moment, okay?”

“Thanks.” Dean was sincerely grateful.


Christmas came round, and Beth and Sam made the journey to South Dakota to stay with Bobby and the Winchesters for the holidays. The day after Christmas day, when the boys were still in bed and Bobby had taken himself off for a walk to try and clear a hangover, John put the idea to Beth. It went about as well as he’d expected.

“Out of the question.”

“The boys think he’s going to need to know how to take care of himself. And he wants to hunt.”

“The boys? He wants? You want to leave the decision-making on this to them? And don’t you think they’ve both seen enough of darkness and violence in their lives already without adding to it? The visions hurt him enough, John, and now you want to show him how to kill things? He can already fight. Dean’s seen to that.” It came out harsher than she intended. “And now you want to stick a gun in his hand?” Beth shook her head.

“You’ve seen how close they are. In a few years, what’s to stop him taking off if he thinks Dean’s in danger? You know how kids are. All I’m saying is that I’d feel happier knowing that Sam can look after himself in as many ways as possible.”

Beth slumped back in the chair. She saw the logic in that, even if she didn’t want to, and had harbored fears of Sam taking off after Dean already. She sipped her coffee while acting as if John wasn’t even in the room, and once she’d finished she walked stiffly from the room and packed her things.

The door to the boy’s room was open a crack, and she quietly slipped in and sat on Sam’s bed. Dean was missing from his, which made what she had to say easier. She stroked the hair back from Sam’s face and he woke up slowly.

“I’m going home, honey. You can stay here for another week if you want, spend time with Dean.”

“Okay.” Sam was still only half awake. “Why aren’t you staying?”

“John tells me you want to hunt with them this summer. If you do, you’ll need some training so you can handle yourself, and I can’t … I can guide you through your visions and show you how to use herbs and teach you spell work, but I can’t watch you pick up a gun. I’m sorry, Sam, I just can’t. And I know I can’t stop you because you’ve got your mother’s stubborn streak. If I forbid you, you’ll find another way and I can’t lose you too. I ...” She shook her head, and looked away and when she looked back, she was smiling sadly.

“Aunt Beth, I …”

“Dean will bring you home next week.”

“But …”

“Take care, Sammy.” She kissed the top of his head and left.

Dean was coming out of the bathroom as she passed.

“Are you leaving?” He eyed her bag.

“Yes. You can bring Sam home next week. Take care of him, Dean.”

“Okay.” Dean wasn’t awake enough to deal with sudden changes of plan and he headed back to the bedroom, hearing Sam cursing and banging around as he got dressed.

Beth passed John by the front door.

“Keep him safe, John.”

“As if he were my own.”

Beth nodded, gave John a one armed hug and left.

By the time the boys clattered downstairs, she’d already driven off, and Sam stood on the porch feeling abandoned. He went back in and closed the door behind him.

“She left.”

Dean pulled him through to the kitchen, sat him down and poured him a cup of coffee.

“I thought she’d be mad when she found out, that she’d yell. But she didn’t. How could she just leave?”

John joined them and stared sternly at Sam.

“You serious about hunting, son?”

Sam nodded.

“Well, consider that your first lesson. It isn’t a game. There’s a real chance of you getting hurt if you don’t know what you’re doing, hell, even if you do, and she’s the one who’d have to put the pieces back together again. You remember that.”

“Yes sir,” Sam answered, feeling small and selfish. He’d never considered that side of it.

“After breakfast, I’ll go through some basic knife work with you, see how you pick it up and we’ll take it from there.”

“Yes sir,” he replied again, steeling himself. If he was going to do this, he was going to make sure he did it right.

It turned out that Sam was a natural at working with knives and not a bad shot. The three hunters taught him how to fill shells with rock salt, some sneaker fight moves and how to research a case.

“Just like Hunting 101.” Dean said with a smirk.

At the end of the week, Dean drove Sam home, but for once, he didn’t stay, didn’t even get out of the car. He knew he’d always be welcome, but this time he felt that Sam and his aunt would need some time together to patch things up between them, and he didn’t want to get in the way of that. He promised Sam he’d swing by soon, and drove away, leaving them to it.

Sam opened the front door with trepidation, but he was welcomed by the smell of cookies cooling and Aunt Beth smiling at him and hugging him tight.

“Where’s Dean?”

“He’s going to stop by in a few weeks.”

Beth nodded. Dean always had been a shrewd boy.

“How did it go?”

“Okay. Good.” Sam nodded awkwardly.

“Good.” She smiled. “You can help me set the table for dinner.”

And that was that. All she needed to know was that Sam was back home in one piece. She’d face what came next when it came and not before.


Sam spent several weekends at Bobby’s learning everything he could until finally, it was time. It was a simple salt and burn, a straightforward hunt with minimum risk, and one John had deemed safe for Sam to tag along. He’d arranged to meet the boys at a motel on the edge of the small mid western town, but a blown tire on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere had delayed him and by the time he got there, all hell had broken loose.

When he arrived at the motel to find the boys gone, fear had crawled its way down his spine and he headed towards the cemetery on the edge of town, hoping he was wrong, hoping that they’d gone out for pizza or found a movie theatre, but it was 2am. John cursed his truck, cursed Dean for being reckless and cursed Sam for most likely insisting they could get it done without waiting for John.

Which is exactly what happened.

Halfway through digging up Mr. Collinson, the former owner of the now haunted ice cream parlour in town, Dean became aware that they weren’t the only ones in the graveyard. When he pushed the shovel into the ground for the next lot of dirt, he whispered to Sam.

“We have to get out of here. If that’s Mr. Collinson, he’s brought his friends with him. When I say, take off towards the gap in the trees to your left, okay? I’ll head them off and see you back at the car.”

“But, Dean ...”

“No buts; do as I say.”

Sam reluctantly nodded. He hadn’t seen this, hadn’t seen Dean getting hurt, so maybe it would be okay.

Dean’s concern was that ghosts didn’t usually make that much noise, so he was guessing they were human. The last thing he wanted was for Sammy to get beaten six ways from Sunday by a bunch of pissed off locals for digging up one of their own.

“Now!” Dean hissed, and Sam took off at a sprint, his long legs covering ground at a fast rate.

Two kids of around eighteen stumbled towards Dean, drunk or high or both, Dean thought, and probably looking for a quiet spot in the graveyard. He relaxed his guard just a fraction as they approached him. The girl’s eyes widened as she saw he mound of earth by the side of the disturbed grave.

“You’re not supposed to do that!” She exclaimed.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, I’m a professional.”

“A professional what, Dean?” Her eyes flicked to black and the boy grabbed him, twisting his arm up his back before he could move away.

“Dean, Dean, Dean.” The girl taunted him with a cruel smile. She took out a knife and used the tip to lift up his amulet. “Now we know why you’re so hard to find. Did you get this from the witch or her brat or did daddy dearest work a little magic of his own? Clever of your father to hide you away like that.” With a jerk of the knife, she cut the cord and the amulet fell into the dirt.

“Do I know you?” Despite the loss of his talisman, Dean didn’t take his eyes from her for a second as he tested the boy’s hold.

“My daddy and your daddy go way back. He knew your mommy too, until he barbecued her.” Dean snarled and began to fight. He kicked back at his captor and flung his head back, crashing the back of his skull with the demon’s. It’s hold loosened momentarily and Den made the most of it, launching himself at the girl and tackling her to the ground.

“I’m gonna kill you!” He screamed in her face, but the other demon snarled behind him and pulled him off.

“You’re the one that’s going to die.” The girl got to her feet and picked up the knife

“No!!” Sam hurtled into the middle of the group, his own knife slashing, and wielding a flask of holy water in his other hand. Both demons screamed as it splashed onto their skin and the boy fell to his knees as a stream of black smoke poured from his mouth. The blonde girl screamed fury at Dean, and in the chaos, grabbed Sam, and thrust the knife hard into his back. He stiffened, shock on his face then wavered on his feet.

“No!!” Dean ran forward as the demon pulled out the knife and winked at him.

“Be seeing you, Dean.”

Dean fell to his knees and caught Sam before he hit the ground. From far away, he thought he could hear his father’s voice shouting for him and Sam, but he was too busy holding Sam up to do anything about it.

Sam slumped onto him, his eyes dazed, mouth hanging open. Dean’s heart beat wildly in his chest as a trickle of blood ran from the corner of Sam’s mouth.

“Sammy, come on, it’s okay, it’ll be okay. Sammy, please!” Dean held him tight, terrified and cried to the heavens. “Sam!!”


Dean stood in the bedroom doorway, looking down at Sam lying on the bed. He’d been so sure that he’d gotten Sammy killed by letting him tag along, by not paying enough attention once they’d got to the graveyard, hell, by just being in Sam’s life. If he didn’t know him, Sam wouldn’t be lying there now, freshly out of hospital with a wound in his back that could have killed him.

The first days after the run in with the demon were the worst of Dean’s life.

When Beth arrived at the hospital, after she’d checked on Sam’s status with the nursing staff, she’d made a bee-line for Dean, ignoring John completely. She’d held his face as she’d visually checked him over for damage.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry …” He repeated over and over as tears streamed down his face, and she hugged him tight and let him cry it out, not shedding one tear herself. She sat him down and only then walked back to where John was standing alone.

Dean watched them, fearful that there’d be shouting and accusations, and by the murderous look on her face, he thought that Beth was about to slap his father. Instead she took a ragged breath and her face crumpled. Dean was on his feet, not willing to let her suffer alone, but John got there first, wrapping her up in his arms and stroking her hair as she sobbed.

After the surgery, they were told that if the knife had entered his back an inch to the left, it would have severed Sam’s spinal cord. As it was, it had caused plenty of damage, and he’d been in surgery for long torturous hours while a team of surgeons worked on him.

Dean visited as often as he was allowed while Sam was in hospital. The first days, Sam was in intensive care, hooked up to monitors and drips and all kinds of machines that beeped and freaked Dean out.

John stopped by every day, and on the second day, he pressed Dean’s amulet into his hand. It had been cleaned and strung on a new cord.

“Found it in the dirt. Didn’t want you to lose it.” John said brusquely and Dean smiled and nodded his thanks.

And at first, Sam had slept through most visiting times, face pale, shadows under his eyes, lying on his stomach while the wound healed. Dean sat by his bedside, sometimes holding onto Sam’s hand, just in case he thought he was alone while he was sleeping.

Once he was home, Sam was subdued and sore and resigned to the fact that he wouldn’t be able to start college until the following year.

It was a while before Sam was up and about, and Dean stayed with them, helping where needed and doing Sam’s chores for Beth. He even did a regular afternoon shift at the small garage in town as Sam became more mobile. Dean often woke to find Sam sketching on one of his sketchpads. Sam wouldn’t show him what he was drawing, but Dean didn’t mind. He knew Sam would show him when he was ready.

It was almost like their summers had been years ago, when Dean had stayed for long weeks over the holidays. Almost, but for Dean, the fact that Sam had almost died in his arms haunted his nights and days. Sam was a cheerful patient, but every time he winced at a sudden movement, or took his time walking through the yard where he would usually have run, Dean felt guilt stab at him, as sure as the knife that had stabbed Sam.

But Dean couldn’t stay forever. Sam was well on the way to a full recovery, according to his docs, and by the way he could now carefully climb onto the lower platform in the tree again. Dean also had an obligation to his father, and he had a demon to find and dispose of as painfully as possible.


One afternoon, John called to speak to Dean, and Sam wandered out into the field to sit in the tree. Dean found him half an hour later, staring across the open fields.

“Hey.” Dean flopped down on the grass in front of Sam and held his bottle of soda out towards him.

“Hey.” Sam replied with a forced smile and took the bottle, gulping half of it straight down then passing it back to Dean. He’d heard Dean talking to John on the phone and could guess what it meant. “How’s your dad?”

“He’s good, and he’s coming by tomorrow to meet me. There’s a haunting down in Texas he wants to check out.”

“You’re going?” Sam huffed.

“Sorry, man, but I gotta go.”

“I know.” Sam leant his head back against the tree trunk. “When this is healed, will you come back for me?”

“Come back for you? Sammy, I’ll always come see you, and I’ll call you and mail you. And you’ll be in college soon ...”

“But what about hunting? Even your Dad said last time wasn’t a normal hunt.”

Dean played with the soda bottle, rolling it through his fingers.

“Look, Sammy, hunting’s not for everyone ...”

“You don’t want me along, is that it? You don’t think I can handle myself. I can! They were demons, man, you know that.” Sam hated how desperate he sounded, but he wanted to go, wanted to be with Dean.

“I can’t see you hurt again. I just can’t.” Dean’s voice had dropped to a whisper, but when he looked back up at Sam, there was a determination in his eyes. “Follow your plan. Go to college and be normal, Sam, have a life that’s not full of demons and spirits and death. Maybe after that?”

“Normal? You think having visions is normal? My life is already filled with demons and death. Your death! I see you die again and again have done all my life, and you can’t stand to see me hurt just once?”

“You almost died, Sam! In my arms, you almost died and I can’t ...” Dean paused. “I have to know you’re far enough away from this not to be hurt again. You might see things, but you’re not right there, and that’s how it’s gotta stay.”

Sam stood up and stared down at him.

“You can’t make those decisions for me! You’re not my brother, Dean!”

Dean looked back at him as if he’d been slapped in the face.

Sam’s face was stricken with the realization of what he’d said. No, they weren’t brothers by blood, but they’d grown up as close as brothers would have. But as much as he knew he’d hurt Dean, he wasn’t about to take it back and he stormed back up to the house.


After an awkward dinner, Dean waited until Sam had been in bed for a full hour before heading up to his room. As much as he knew it would have been better to stay in the spare room, it was his last night there for who knew how long and he needed to be close to Sam, even if they weren’t talking.

Dean slipped inside and silently took off his boots, and socks, jeans and shirt. He stopped before pulling back the covers on his bed. It felt so wrong, knowing it would be the last time he saw Sam for maybe months and not getting to spend their last night hanging out and making the most of it like they usually did. Course, there weren’t usually harsh words hanging between them. Dean wished he could stay, but his Dad needed him, and he couldn’t stand the thought of seeing Sam hurt again.

“’night, Sammy.” He whispered to the dark room, surprised when he heard the covers rustling on Sam’s bed. He turned round, and could just make out the outline of Sam propped up on his elbow in bed.

“I’m sorry, Dean. I didn’t mean it.”

Dean sat down on the bed.

“I know you didn’t, and I’m sorry too. But I can’t ...”

“I know.” Sam pulled the covers back, a clear invitation to do what they’d always done growing up. Sleep curled around each other like a pair of kittens. Dean knew they were too old for that, but he needed this too, so he slid into bed and curled around Sam’s back, slipping an arm around him and pressing his hand over his heart.


Dean woke slowly the next morning, his face buried in a mop of unruly hair nestled against his chest. He stretched a little and pulled the warm body in his arms closer. There was a puff of hot breath on his neck and he sighed as his jaw was nuzzled. When he dipped his head, he was rewarded with a tentative kiss, lips slightly parted and welcoming and he kissed back, little cat licks giving him a taste that matched the scent he knew so well. Sam moaned softly and Dean’s eyes shot open to look straight into Sam’s.

Sam stared back at him, his fingers moving in small circles at the base of Dean’s back. Their lips were still touching, neither of them wanting to move.

Dean pulled back fractionally and Sam’s hold on him tightened.

“Is this okay?” Dean’s voice was morning husky.

“Yeah.” Sam nodded and then Dean was kissing him again, softly and slowly at first, coaxing Sam to open his mouth a little so he could explore further. Their tongues tangled lazily, both learning the taste and texture of the other’s mouth. Dean dug his fingers into Sam’s hair and Sam whimpered. Dean licked away the small noise and kissed him harder, making him moan. They feasted on each other until their lips were tender and over-sensitive and Dean pressed Sam down to the bed and kissed his neck ...

“Sammy! Dean!” Aunt Beth knocked on the door and waited her customary moment in case one of them was getting dressed. Dean pulled away from Sam so fast that he slipped out of bed and landed on his ass on the floor with a thud. The door flew open and Beth looked down at him, eyebrow quirked. “You boys do know you’re getting too old for play fights, don’t you? And you?” She pointed at Sam. “Still need to take it easy. Dean, John’s here. You can grab a shower, if you like before breakfast? Sammy, I need you to fetch some eggs out of the henhouse for me.”

They stared at her as if she had been talking a foreign language. She stared back in exasperation.

“Now, boys! Time’s a wasting!”

Sam was the first to move, grabbing his jeans from the bottom of the bed while Dean picked himself up off the floor. He slipped them on over his boxers as Aunt Beth went to wait in the hall. He followed her out of the room, glancing back at Dean warily, but before he could disappear, Dean grabbed his hand, tugging him back just enough to look at him and smile hopefully. Sam’s face lit up, and he nodded. Dean grinned and squeezed Sam’s fingers again before he let go of his hand and Sam reluctantly sprinted down the hall after Aunt Beth.

“And pick some of that marjoram too, and four of those nice fat tomatoes.”

Dean closed the door on any further instructions for Sam and stood with his back against it, breathing hard, still processing what had happened in the last half hour. He’d been kissing Sam. Sam -- his friend. Sam -- the person he was so close to it felt like they were brothers, so maybe this was okay? Although he realized that bit of logic didn’t exactly work, but it felt good, felt right, felt like them being them. Sam had been kissing him back, after all, and very enthusiastically.

Dean wandered over to the bed and sat down on it with a groan. Sam’s sketchpad, which had been lying across the corner of the bed, slipped towards the floor and Dean reached out to catch it. As he put it back on the bed, closing the pages, he couldn’t help but see what Sam had drawn. It was him. Despite not being able to see a face on the first one of a curved sweep of a back and broad shoulders, He knew it was of him. The next one, he was asleep on his stomach, face mostly buried in his arms, the blanket resting low over his hips. At least now Dean knew what Sam had been drawing all those mornings he’d been laid up in bed.



Dean’s head was so full of unexpected revelations, he didn’t know how he was going to get through breakfast with his father and Aunt Beth there too, but somehow he managed it. He stole the odd glance across the table at Sammy, who was doing the same thing back with a wide smile on his face.

Then it was time for him to go. Aunt Beth was cheery, trying to keep Sam’s spirits up and his dad was pleasantly brusque, keen to be on the road and heading for Texas. Dean’s bag was already in the car and Beth and John were standing by the Impala discussing which herbs would be best at repelling a certain kind of spirit and Sam was almost vibrating out of his shoes with tension.

“Sammy! Where the hell is my amulet?” Dean bellowed from the hallway, through the open door.

“What?” Sam yelled back.

“My amulet. I had it last night and now I can’t find it.” There were noises of Dean rummaging about.

“I’ll go help him look.” Sam jogged back to the house, pretty sure Dean had been wearing it when they’d been making out and he could have sworn that he’d seen the cord round Dean’s neck over breakfast.

Sam ran down the hall to where he could hear Dean in the kitchen but before he could get a word out, Dean had pushed him back against the wall kissing him soundly. Sam squeaked and Dean pulled away with a snicker, holding up his amulet, dangling from its cord.

Sam’s eyes widened and he grinned, slipping his fingers into Dean’s short hair and pulling him closer to return the kiss. It was messy and urgent, neither wanting to let the other go, but knowing it was inevitable.

“Dean!” John barked from outside.

“I gotta go.” Dean breathed into Sam’s mouth. “I’ll be back, soon as I can.”

“Swear.” Sam held him tight.

“I swear, Sammy.” Dean hugged him tight and headed out to the car, wishing he could stay.



Chapter Four