Far Away Part Six

[grianchloch]

In the morning, Sam stuck a pot of coffee on and wandered back out to the barn. He rooted around, deciding what he was going to use in the house, which turned out to be most things, and thinking it would be easier now that he had Dean’s help to move the heavier pieces. When he emerged again, Dean was walking down the porch steps towards him, freshly shaven, and his hair still damp from the shower.

Sam smiled, trying his best not to grab a hold of him and kiss him senseless.

“So,” Dean asked. “Where do we start?”

They started in the studio. All it needed was a fresh coat of white paint, and Sam’s art supplies and canvases moved back in. He'd chosen a pale golden sand color for most of the rest of the house and had even picked out a color for the outside, but that was another job for another time. Ellen was right; he needed to make the house into a home again, a home for him and Dean.

Dean asked constant questions as they worked, and Sam was happy to answer most, and fluffed the truth on the others. He didn’t want to jump straight in with ‘monsters are real and you hunt them for a living’ just yet. Sam found it was easier than he’d expected, talking about Beth and how Dean had almost lived in the house part time for most of his life.

He told Dean about the house and how it had been in his family for generations, how he could feel the roots of the place tangled with his heritage, digging deep into the earth around it. And he introduced him to the tree when they broke for a lunch of leftover pizza and beer.

Sam left out everything about hunting. He told Dean little about his history and concentrated on his own. He needed to keep him safe until they’d come up with a way to kill the demon once and for all and for the moment, not trying to restore his memories seemed like the best plan to Sam.


John arrived the next day.

“Dean? Son?”

Dean eyed John and looked to Sam for final confirmation. Sam nodded and Dean took a step closer.

“That’s what he tells me.”

John glanced at Sam too then back to Dean.

“You don’t remember anything?”

“Nope, sorry.”

“Well, it’s good to see you, son.” John pulled Dean into what Sam guessed must have been the most awkward hug ever. They both looked relieved when they pulled apart.

“I’d like to take you home, Dean.”

Sam bristled and Dean looked confused.

“We have a home? Sam told me you mostly live at Bobby’s in South Dakota and the rest of the time in motels.”

John glared at Sam and Sam shrugged. It was the truth, after all.

“That’s right.”

“Well, if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather stay here.”

John turned abruptly to Sam.

“Can I see you outside for a moment?”

“Sure.” Sam followed him out into the yard and Dean watched out of the window as they argued.

Finally, John threw his arms in the air and stormed back into the house.

“Well, son, you know where I am if you need me.” John squeezed his shoulder, and walked towards the door.

“John, at least stay for something to eat?” Sam offered.

“No thanks, Sam, I have somewhere I need to be. Take good care of my boy.” He slammed the door behind him.

“That’s my dad?” Dean asked, seriously.

“Yep, that’s your dad.” Sam smiled. “Just remember he loves you.”


The second week after Dean arrived, they were sitting side by side on the couch watching a movie. They'd ended up leaning against one another as they often did, but this time when Dean stretched, Sam bent his head down and kissed him. It had been such a natural thing to do, not something he'd thought about or thought about the consequences, so they stared at each other, eyes wide, neither wanting to move away. Dean slipped his hand onto Sammy's neck and kissed him back, softly at first, then with growing hunger as Sammy returned the kiss with equal passion.

Their hands were everywhere, pulling at clothes, tangling in hair, touching, wanting more. Noses bumped and they snickered together, smiling. Laughter turned into more kisses and kisses became heated and Sam couldn’t help but push Dean down until he was almost lying flat with Sam pressed against him.

Sam slowly became aware that Dean had stopped kissing him back and he pulled away enough to be able to look at Dean’s face.

“You okay? Do you want me to stop?”

“I’m fine, it’s just …”

Sam eased back until he was sitting up and Dean did the same. Sam touched his hand, and Dean looked down at it and twined their fingers together.

“Did we ... were we together like this before?”

Sam nodded, the longing in his eyes plain.

“Yeah, we were.”

“I know it’s stupid and god, that felt good, but I can’t remember anything from before. My first kiss, my first time. Our first time. I feel like a virgin who has no idea what to expect and its freaking me out.”

Sam sat back down on the couch and smiled.

“We can take it as slow as you like.”

Dean rolled his eyes.

“I’m not a girl, Sam.”

He moved closer again, and Sam grinned and pulled him against his side.

“The Terminator starts on TNT in a few. Wanna watch it?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Sam smiled. It was a start.


After Dean had gone to bed that night, and as he’d been doing for most night since Dean had gone missing, Sam quietly unlocked the door to Beth’s workroom, slipped inside and locked it behind him.

He sat cross-legged inside a devil’s trap he’d drawn on the floor, not wanting to take any chances. He brought his breathing under control, slowing it, breathing deeply, and slowly, he reached inside himself and found the remnant of his visions of Azazel. He pushed his mind inside it, slowly, carefully. Over the weeks, he’d sought out every tiny flaw, every weakness, cataloguing it and storing it away, and every night he went deeper. He could feel the power, even now, and there was a temptation to try to harness it too soon, but Sam was careful.

He was doing this for Dean, and for everyone the demon had killed along the way. He’d promised himself that he would do it right and not lose himself in it like he had with the vision of the vampires.

He was getting closer to knowing what made the demon tick and if he could unlock that secret, he could take it apart.

Two hours later, sweaty and exhausted, Sam let himself out of the room and dragged himself to bed, collapsing on top of it fully clothed and straight into a dreamless sleep.


Dean sat in the yard, a half empty bottle of water dangling from his fingers.

He stared at the house, taking in the newly painted walls and the clean bright curtains hanging at the windows. It had taken weeks and a little help to paint the exterior, but it was done, finished, and the only thing left was to move the porch swing out onto the porch where it belonged.

Dean wished he felt the same about himself. He still remembered nothing of his life before. And he knew Sam and the others were holding something back from him. When Bobby and John visited, which was at least once a week, they all seemed a little too bright around him, and he couldn’t help the feeling they were hiding something from him.

And although he didn’t particularly want to be prodded and poked by doctors, he found it strange that Sam had never once suggested seeing one about getting his memories back. It wasn’t that Dean didn’t trust Sam. Out of all the people he’d met so far that had been in his life before, Sam was the one he was drawn to, that same bone deep pull that had brought him across the country in the first place. So he left it, for now, but sooner or later, he was going to start demanding answers.

Sam’s truck pulled up in the yard and Sam got out, bounding towards Dean and throwing himself down beside his friend. He plucked the water bottle from his fingers and took a greedy gulp.

He followed Dean’s gaze as he gulped the water down, cold and refreshing.

“Looks good.”

Dean nodded in agreement.

“Wanna help me move the porch swing out of the barn before we eat?”

“Sure.”


After Chinese food and a movie, they’d headed to bed, Sam to his room and Dean to his. It was all freshly painted, with an old brass bedstead and rugs on the polished wood floor. Sam had insisted on doing all the work on it himself as a gift for Dean.

After several make-out sessions on the couch or on the platform in the tree, Dean had done as Sam asked. He’d thought about it, mused on whether he wanted what Sam wanted, whether he wanted what they’d had before.

Dean stood in front of the mirror in his room and slowly unbuttoned his shirt. He slipped it off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor at his feet. He tilted his head to one side and ran his fingers down his throat, noting the heavy pulse under his skin. His hand moved lower, over a nipple that hardened when he touched it. Dean stared into the mirror, stared into his own eyes and closed them, letting his hands roam his body.

He shivered at his own touch and imagined that his hands belonged to someone else. First, one for the girls that worked with Sam and Ellen. Pleasant thought, but it wasn’t doing much for him. Then he thought about the blond mechanic at the garage in town, who always had streaks of oil on his face and wore his overalls a little tight. His cock gave an interested twitch and Dean blushed at himself.

He popped the button on his jeans and eased them down over his hips, fingers brushing sensitive skin. He finally let his mind roam to where it really wanted to be. He imagined Sam standing behind him, touching him with confident touches, one hand on his chest as he teased a nipple, the other dipping below the waistband of his jeans.

Dean shuddered and groaned, lust slamming into him. His body craved touch. Sam’s touch and he knew in his heart that he wanted Sam as more than a friend.

Doing no more than hitch his jeans back onto his hips, Dean walked out into the hallway and along to Sam’s door. He knocked brusquely and pushed it open, needing Sam more than anything.

Sam looked up as Dean walked in and crawled up the bed. Dean looked determined, as if was about to face down a werewolf and Sam’s heart beat faster. Dean reached forward and took one of Sam’s hands.

“Touch me.” He put the hand on his waist and Sam curled his fingers to fit firmly against Dean’s side.

“You sure?” Sam asked.

Dean nodded. “It’s the only thing I am sure of.”

Sam’s hand slipped round onto Dean’s back as he moved closer. He could see how Dean trembled at his touch but not from fear. From want, need, lust, even, and he didn’t tease, didn’t make him wait.

He pressed his lips against Dean’s and kissed him. Dean opened his mouth to groan and Sam slid his tongue inside, moaning at the familiar taste, so long denied.

With the kiss, whatever was holding Dean’s emotions in check shattered and he surged towards Sam, devouring his mouth.

Sam didn’t stop him, didn’t try to get him to hold back, instinctively knowing that Dean needed this first, this breaking down of barriers. Sam slipped a hand between them, and wrapped his hand around Dean’s exposed cock.

Dean gasped with surprise, his eyes wide, and he tried to pull back from Sam.

“No, Sammy, I can’t ... if you touch me there, I won’t be able to hold back.”

Sam kept his hand where it was, stroking and petting. “I know.” He growled against Dean’s lips and kissed him roughly.

“God, oh God ...” Words spilled from Dean’s mouth and his whole body clenched insanely tight, from his toes to the top of his head, and then he came.

His body bucked in Sam’s arms as his head fell back, his cock pumping come over them both, over Sam’s hand, which kept working on him until his whole body stopped spasming and became boneless in Sam’s grasp.

Sam shifted them so he could lie Dean down, and joined him, lying by his side.

Dean stared up at the ceiling, chest heaving, still wrapped up in the sensations that had ripped him into shreds and making little whimpering noises as Sam stroked his skin, putting him back together again.

He blinked and turned his head to look at Sam who was smiling at him.

“That was ...” Dean grinned, not sure he would ever find the words. “You ...” His grin widened and he began to laugh.

Sam watched him and Dean reached out to touch his lover’s face.

“That was ...” He tried again, but instead burst into fits of laughter, joyful, happy, a release he needed as much as the one Sam had given him and he wrapped himself around Sam as Sam began to laugh too. They rolled together on the bed, the laughter turning into moans of pleasure as Sam licked every inch of Dean’s skin, losing count of his freckles early on. He licked every ridge of muscle, slowly making his way down to his prize. He nuzzled and lapped at Dean’s cock until Dean was breathless, panting and finally begging.

“Please Sam, please touch me, need to ...” He cried out as Sam engulfed his swollen dick with his hot mouth and Dean squirmed and came down his throat.

Sam crawled back up his body, stiff cock in hand, and worked himself slowly, displaying himself for Dean to see.

“You do this to me, Dean, you make me so hard.”

As Sam sat back on his heels, Dean sat up, and kissed him hungrily, his hands wandering over Sam’s body, playing with his nipples and cupping his balls.

Sam dug the fingers of his free hand into Dean’s hair and mauled his mouth as he came, hot spunk coating Dean’s stomach.

It was Dean’s turn to ease Sam down to lie on the bed and he cleaned him off with a discarded T- shirt, closing his eyes as Sam pulled him close. They were asleep within minutes, curled around each other as they’d done so many times before.


The next morning, Sam called Ellen to let her know he was taking the day off.

“Sure, honey. Are the Mason files on your desk?”

“Yeah.” Sam tried not to pant or moan as Dean kissed his way down his back. “In the top tray.”

“You sound out of breath.” Ellen said with concern in her voice.

“No, no, I’m fine.”

“How’s Dean?”

“Dean is ...” Sam’s eyes crossed as Dean’s wandering hands cupped his balls, and he could feel him smirking against his shoulder. “Dean’s fine.”

“Good to hear!” Now Ellen was smirking as Sam struggled to keep his voice steady. “And he likes his room?” Ellen had helped Sam pick out the bed linen for Dean’s bedroom.

“He likes it fine.” It came out in a rush.

“But he likes yours better?” Ellen couldn’t help herself.

“What?” Sam blushed.

“Don’t wear the boy out, Sam. Bring him for breakfast tomorrow and we’ll talk. Bye honey, give Dean my love.” She rang off.

“How did she know?” Sam sounded genuinely puzzled and Dean grinned at him.


The next day when Sam got in from work, he looked very pleased with himself.

“Ellen has some errands she needs doing.”

“So?”

“She needs me to go to Seattle and meet with a potential new artist for the gallery, and I thought you could come along. We could take the Impala.”

Dean perked right up.

“Could I drive?”

“She’s your car, Dean.” Sam smiled.


Dean looked so natural behind the wheel of his girl that Sam found it hard to think that he couldn’t remember driving her before. It was good for both of them, to get away for a few days, and Sam booked them into a reasonably nice hotel rather than Dean’s usual.

As they walked away from the Impala, all safely parked in the hotel parking garage, a man stopped them.

“That is one sweet ride.”

“Thanks!” Dean beamed with pride. She was his, Sam kept telling him, so naturally, he felt proud.

“Where did you pick her up?”

“Oh, he rebuilt her himself.” Sam answered for him.

“Really? Do you take on commissions?”

They both stared at him for a moment, then Sam answered.

“He’s been thinking about it.”

The man pulled a card from his wallet and handed it to Dean.

“If you decide to, give me a call.” He smiled and walked away.

The boys shrugged at each other and went to check in.


They arranged to meet up after Sam had seen the artist. Dean wandered down to Pike Place market and wandered round the stalls.


Down in Louisiana, John had followed a trail that started with Dean’s amulet being offered for sale to known collectors and ended with a hoodoo priestess on her knees. There wasn’t time to plan anything. She’d gotten wind of someone looking for her and when he found her, she was getting ready to leave town. John didn’t want to risk her slipping away, so he confronted her there and then.

“Give him back what you took from him.”

“He did it willingly.”

“I don’t care. Do it now.” John pulled out a wicked knife and she screamed at him with rage and struggled in his grasp. “Do it now, and I’ll leave you alive and leave you alone.” His hand tightened in her hair.

“Swear?”

“I swear on the grave of my dead wife. Now do it!”

She inched towards a shelf, John still holding on tight to her hair, and pointed to a box.

“Break what is inside it.”

One handed, John opened the box and tipped the contents out. A delicate witches ball filled with bright blue light fell to the floor and shattered, and the light glowed brighter and disappeared.

John pushed the woman away and strode from the house, cell in his hand.

“Bobby? We’ve got trouble.”


The last memory he’d lost hit Dean first.

“Do you understand what this means, hunter? You will be changed and alone, no going back.”

“I understand. Now get on with it.” He stripped his shirt off and knelt in the circle on the floor.

“First things first. Do you have the payment I asked for?”

Dean nodded and rummaged in his jeans pocket. He brought out his amulet, hanging on the cord John had strung it on after Sam had been stabbed, and hesitated.

“If you have any doubts, walk away now.”

“No, no doubts.” Dean set his jaw and held it out. Long slender fingers took it from him and she started intoning an incantation.

Whatever she was burning made him lightheaded and he swayed on his knees. Fear gripped him at what he was about to do, but it was too late. He felt a tug deep in his chest, which became an ache, then a crushing pain and he fought for breath. In front of his eyes, something beautiful and fragile moved in the air, attached to his chest by a silken cord and for a moment he was transfixed by it. Then the knife sliced down, grazing his chest, cutting the cord, and he blacked out.


Somewhere in the ether, there was a triumphant scream, and a dark force streaked towards Seattle.


Other memories crowded in, childhood ones mixing with hunts and fights and Sam and Bobby and his dad. He gripped his head and stumbled away from the market, past a small park and further on, into a quieter alley way along the harbor. He tripped, fell forward, and never saw the man come up behind him.


When Dean came to an hour later, it was dark.

“Son of a bitch!” His head hurt like hell, and he gingerly touched the lump on his skull, wincing when his fingers came away bloody.

He got to his feet slowly, assessing his surroundings, making sure that there was nothing lurking in the shadows ready to finish the job. He searched his pockets. No wallet, no money, no phone, no holy water and no gun. Two quarters stuffed on one pocket of his jeans was all he had. But it was enough.

“Ah crap.” He muttered to himself and dusted himself down.

First things first. He needed a payphone so he could call Sam, and he needed to find out exactly where he was. North of the big market, that he knew, but he was disorientated and couldn’t remember the way back to the motel.

He walked out of the alley, spying a payphone on the next corner. He tried not to hurry towards it but he ended up running the last few steps, heart racing as he called Sam. No answer.

“What the fuck, Sammy?” Dean grumbled as he tried Bobby, praying that he was home.

“Dean?” Bobby’s barked. “Where the hell are you?”

“I’m in Seattle.”

“I know that, you idjit. Whereabouts?

“Near the market. I think I was mugged.” He sounded sheepish.

“Where are you exactly?” Dean looked around for street signs and gave Bobby his location.

“Okay, I’m going to give you the address of someone I trust. I’ll call her and let her know you’re coming. Sam’s frantic with worry.”

“I can usually look after myself, Bobby.” Dean grumbled.

“Look, Dean, trust me on this. Go straight to Bela’s and stay there. I’ll let Sam know where you are.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Now git going so I can call Bela and let her know you’re on your way.”

“Okay Bobby. I’ll see you soon, and thanks, man.”

Bobby grunted an acknowledgement and Dean hung up.


Bobby made the call, and left Bela with thanks and a promise that Sam would be there as soon as possible, and a warning that in the meantime, she should batten down the hatches and prepare for incoming.

He finally got through to Sam and gave him Dean’s location.

“Hurry, son, it can’t be far behind him.”


Bela Talbot was brusquely efficient, which Dean supposed matched her profession. She answered the door as soon as he knocked and led him through to a small, neat kitchen. She went back and salted the door. Dean raised his eyebrows.

“Coffee?”

Dean nodded and she poured him out a cup. He moaned as he sipped it down, still almost too hot to drink and she smiled at him.

“This could have been much worse.” She commented as she cleaned it the small head wound thoroughly and put in a couple of stitches. She moved round to stand in front of him and pushed his hair back from his face. “What’s the story behind this one?” She asked, running her fingers over the healed scar on his forehead.

“Injured in the line of duty.” He grinned.

“How macho.” She rolled her eyes.

As she was finishing up, Bobby called again.

Bela handed the phone to Dean and made herself scarce.

“Sam’s on his way. Dean, listen, the demon, it knows where you are.”

Dean paled.


Bela didn’t have time to scream before her body was invaded by a thick stream of black smoke. Then her eyes flashed a baleful yellow, and a cruel smile blossomed on her face.

Azazel looked down at the broken salt line across the window.

“You really need to be more careful than that. Never know who might drop by.”


Dean paced, impatient for Sam to arrive. He picked up the phone to call him, felt a crunch against the back of his head, and his world went dark.

When he came too, he was tied to the kitchen counter, bent back and his chest was bare.

Bela stood over him with a knife and slowly drew it across his chest.

“You thought you were so smart, hiding yourself away like that for good. Pity your daddy didn’t think ahead before he released the missing piece.”

Dean bit back a scream as the knife was dragged across his stomach.

“That boy of yours, though, he’s smarter than the average art student.”

“Course he is. Smarter than the average demon too.”

“We’ll see about that. No doubt he’s about to charge in here any minute, your knight in shining armor, Dean.” The demon smirked.

The knife in Bela’s hand skittered down Dean’s side, making him cry out.

“Not sure whether to gut you now, or wait until he arrives for the floor show. Decisions, decisions.” Azazel tapped the knife against Dean’s nipple and he cursed.

The door burst open and Sam stood there, eyes blazing with fury

Dean’s head whipped around.

“Sammy! Get out of here!!”

Sam ignored him and looked at the demon. It shivered with delight.

“Two to play with. Must be my lucky night, and then dessert.”

It ran a hand down Bela’s body and licked her lips provocatively.

“The only thing on the menu is demon barbecue.”

“Sure of yourself, aren’t you, Sammy? Let’s see what you’ve got.”

It twisted Bela’s hand and Sam flew through the air, hitting the wall with a crunch and hanging there, glaring at the demon.

“Sammy!” Dean yelled, and the demon slashed at him again. Blood oozed down his sides, and Dean looked over at Sam.

The demon’s hand tightened, but then it faltered. Instead of squirming with pain as his insides were turned to jelly, Sam smiled grimly and slid down the wall. Azazel frowned and tried to push Sam back up, but Sam’s feet touched the ground and he stared at the demon, holding his hand out towards it. He tightened his own fist, and the demon gasped, rage in its eyes.

“You’ll only harm the host, Sammy boy.”

“Not if I kill you first.”

“Kill me?” It barked out a laugh, but it’s face fell.

“What? Can’t get away?” Sam strained to keep the thing from escaping. He could feel it writhing and fluttering.

“You can’t …” It fought back, and blood seeped from Sam’s nose as he stayed focused. If he let go now, they were all dead.

Dean looked over at them, straining at his own bonds, not wanting to distract Sam in any way.

Beads of sweat ran down the side Sam’s face and the demon took a step closer to him. Sam growled and it came to a halt.

Now, it had to be now. With renewed effort, he reached out and began to pull the demon from Bela. Inch by inch at first, while it struggled and fought him, spitting and clawing at the air. Desperately, it tried to aim the knife it it’s hand at Bela’s chest, but it was too late. Sam pulled one last time, and held it in the air above her as she crumpled to the floor.

Sam sank to one knee, teeth gritted, determined to end it, no matter what the toll to himself. The smoke began to sizzle and burn, and he pushed whatever he had left towards it with a roar, and it burned up into nothing and winked out.

“Sammy!!” Dean cried out as Sam slowly sank to the floor and lay still.

He struggled, cursing and pulling, but he was held fast. He heard a groan from the floor beside him.

“Bela?”

She eased herself up, and stared at Dean before shaking her head and finding something to cut him free with. He slithered to the ground his back aching at being bent backwards for so long, but he crawled towards Sam, and to where Bela was already looking him over.

“Sammy?” Dean cradled his head in his lap.

“He’s breathing, but he needs to get to a hospital.”

Dean nodded and she went to make the call, surveying the wreck of her apartment. “No more favors for Bobby Singer.” She muttered to herself.

“Sam, come on, wake up.” Dean pleaded.

Sam’s eyes cracked open.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine, but you’re not.” Dean chided softly.

“Is it gone? Did I kill it?”

“Yes, I think you did. How did you do that?”

“I’ve been practicing.” Sam passed out again before Dean could reply.


Sam was kept in hospital for a night for observation, and they ran a bunch of tests, but the ultimate diagnosis was exhaustion. They stayed at the hotel a few more days, and Sam slept for over two of them. On the third morning, they ate breakfast together in the hotel room.

“Two months?”

Sam nodded.

“I lived with you for two months at the farmhouse?”

“You couldn’t remember who you were, Dean.”

“And you worked on getting stronger, worked on being able to kill demons, while I painting walls?”

“Technically, you were sleeping.” Sam saw Dean’s glare. “But yeah, pretty much.” Sam nodded glumly.

“And in all that time, it never occurred to you to tell me I was a hunter? To tell me about your visions?”

“It occurred to me, of course it did, but there didn’t seem to be much point. You didn’t remember anything else, and most people don’t react well to being told demons and vampires and ghosts are real.”

“Maybe if you’d told me, it would have helped me remember.”

“Maybe if you hadn’t paid to have your soul torn in two, I wouldn’t have had to help you remember anything. You got rid of them in the first place, and now you’re pissed at me because I didn’t help you get them back?”

Sam threw his hands in the air.

“And I couldn’t take the chance it would find you. I needed to keep you safe.”

“And you did, and don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful, but I’m having a hard time getting it straight in my head. You killed a demon, Sam, with your mind. You played around with dark magic.”

“You’re such a hypocrite, Dean. Do I have to say hoodoo priestess one more time? Look, come home, and we’ll work it out.”

“I promised Bobby I’d go and catch up with him. I’ll only be a few days.”

“So you’re going?”

“Just for a few days.” Dean repeated. “You know me, I get itchy if I stay in the same place too long.”

“Yeah, I know.” Sam said sadly.

He arranged for Ellen to pick him up and saw the relief on Dean’s face that he wouldn’t have to take Sam home. Sam hated that after everything he’d done, he still ended up alone.


Dean ended up staying at Bobby’s for two weeks, catching up on what had happened while he’d been out of the game. Bobby didn’t ask why Dean didn’t seem keen to head back to Oregon and Sam, but he supposed that it would take a while for Dean to come to terms with the fact that Sam had it in him to kill demons. And he guessed that Dean would head home when he left.

He guessed wrong.

In the weeks spent at Bobby’s, Dean took stock of his life and the question of Sam always hung heavy on his mind. Sam had killed for him, had gone pretty damned close to letting himself be swallowed up by the darkness and Dean couldn’t live with himself if that happened. Sam had already lost too much and Dean had been the cause of it. He thought that if he stayed away, Sam could have a better life without him. A normal life.

So that’s what he did.


Two months later, Dean hadn’t heard from Sam. He’d wondered if the warnings would continue but there was nothing. Then again, he hadn’t been in danger much lately. Not the kind of danger Sam had always warned him about anyway. He’d begun to assume that Sam hadn’t called because with the demon gone, so were the threats to his safety.

He missed Sam, missed talking on the phone, missed his rambling mails and missed sleeping curled up in his big bed, Sam’s long limbs wrapped around him protectively. More than once, he’d turned the Impala towards Oregon, but had chickened out long before he’d reached the state line. He’d hurt Sam by walking away, and told himself that maybe it was better for both of them that he stay gone.

Then Dean found himself in a tight spot. The spirit of a murdered slaughterhouse worker, extremely pissed off and out for vengeance on whoever crossed its path, had him cornered. It knocked him flying, sending his shotgun skittering across the floor out of reach. Winded, he looked up into the sunken eyes of the spirit, bright with glee, and wondered if this was it. It flashed through his mind that maybe Sam hadn’t called to warn him about it because he didn’t care anymore, and that thought hurt more than anything ever had.

He scrambled backwards, instinctively putting distance between himself and harm, throwing an arm over his head to ward off the blow he knew was about to fall, but it never came. A shot rang out and the spirit disintegrated into thin air. Dean stared, wide eyed, up at the shooter, at Sammy, who stood looking down at him.

“S ...Sammy? What are you doing here?”

“Saving your ass. Again.”

Sam strode past Dean and grabbed a pair of long, worn leather gloves from a hook on the wall behind them. The spirit materialized behind him, mad as hell, but Sam had already taken a lighter out and set the gloves on fire.

The spirit went up in a wail of flames as the gloves burned to ash.

“You didn’t think the visions would stop just because you didn’t want to know me anymore, did you?” Sam asked, bitterness in his voice.

He reached down and hauled Dean to his feet, dropping his hand as soon as he was standing. They looked at each other for a long moment then Sam nodded curtly at him and walked away.

“Sam?” Dean watched Sam’s fast retreating back.

Sam flipped him off without turning around. He was gone by the time Dean retrieved his gun and got outside, leaving nothing but a set of tire tracks in the dirt.

Confused, and still sore from being dumped on his ass by the spirit, Dean headed to Bobby’s place hoping the older hunter had some answers for him.


“He’s hunting?” Dean stared at Bobby.

“Only when his visions flare up.”

“He’s hunting??” Dean repeated, unable to wrap his head around Sam being out there in the dark, taking on things he had no right to, and all on his own.

“What? You thought he’d just sit on his ass and let you get hurt?” Bobby rolled his eyes and passed him a beer, cold from the fridge. “He was raised by witches and trained by Winchesters, Dean. He spent the time you didn’t know who you were keeping you safe and researching the demon, making himself strong enough to take it on. As soon as you get your memories back, you dump him.”

“I didn’t ask him to do that.” Dean said petulantly.

“You didn’t have to. It hurt him and his family as much as you and yours, if not more. Don’t know why you expected him to sit around and do nothing when he thought he could help.”

“He could have gotten himself killed! He was messing with dangerous stuff.”

“And going to see a hoodoo priestess to get part of your soul removed isn’t dangerous?”

“That’s different.”

“No, Dean, it’s not. You were both messing with powerful forces that you shouldn’t have been but at the end of the day, Sam’s way worked better than yours.” Bobby sounded tired. “Is that what you’re pissed about?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

Dean shrugged.

Bobby shook his head.

“You want to know what I think?”

“Not really.” Dean sat back and stared at the bottle in his hand.

“I think the only reason you won’t go back to Sam is that you’re scared to.”

Dean snorted and looked uncomfortable, but Bobby went on.

“You’re scared to admit that you liked being normal for a while, no supernatural nasties to deal with. Just you and Sam and a place of your own. He doesn’t want to domesticate you, Dean, he just wants you to go home.”

Dean shook his head, but Bobby wasn’t finished.

“Sam’s saved your ass more times than I can count, in one way or another, since he was a kid. You owe it to him to go see him, go home, and makes things right between you two again.”

The next morning, with a head full of jumbled thoughts, Dean got in the Impala and headed for Oregon.


Ellen blustered into the Cocoajava Cafe, grinning at Dolores, who smiled back and made her a large mug of coffee just the way she liked it. She sat down heavily opposite Sam.

"Sorry I'm late, honey. Morgan's insisting on throwing a party for me and wanted to talk guest lists."

"Morgan's good for you." Sam smiled, well aware of a whole pile of party plans that Ellen would be surprised with on Saturday.

"Morgan's temporary." Ellen grumped.

"He's been around for over a year and a half." Sam observed, sipping his coffee.


Dean had plenty of time to think on the way, really think. The only thing he knew for certain was that he wanted Sam in his life, by his side. He’d been selfish, refusing to acknowledge who Sam was, who he’d become. Sam wasn’t a kid anymore and Dean would have to accept that if they were going to work things out.

So he drove. He knew the way; he’d traveled these roads more than any others and as always, it felt like he was going home. He only hoped that was still the case.


Sam arrived home from his meeting with Ellen, and pulled up next to the Impala, his heart beating wildly. He walked up the handful of steps to the porch and caught sight of the figure on the porch swing.

Dean looked up at him almost sheepishly

"Sammy? I’ve missed you. I want to come home.”

Sam was on him in two strides, pushing him back on the swing and making it jiggle. He kissed him, and Dean kissed him back, pushing his hands into Sam’s hair.

“You never had to ask, Dean, it’s always been yours too.” Sam pulled him to his feet and towards the door. “Welcome home.”

Epilogue and Notes