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justinedelargeTitle: Sure Got a Dirty Mouth Chapter 48: Silent Night
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
justinedelarge
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Warning: Wincest
Word Count: 3630
Disclaimer: I don't own what I don't own.But I do own what I do own, such as my original characters.
Summary: Sam and Dean leave the sanctuary, and are followed. They realize what the date is. Sam does something special for Dean.
Dean lay on his side, nose smashed into his pillow. Sam was curled up around him, top leg thrown over him like the bossy puppy of the litter that always has to be on the top of the pile. Their breathing, peaceful and slow, was perfectly synchronized.
Suddenly Dean made a loud snore.
“What?” Sam roused, blinking blearily.
Dean rolled onto his back as Sam sat up. When he saw Sam, he grinned.
“Nice sex hair.”
“Shut up.” Sam ran his fingers through his hair, smoothing it back. “’S your fault, anyway.”
Dean’s grin widened. “I could mess it up some more.”
Sam slapped Dean’s hand lightly as it wormed its way under the sheets. “Dean. There’s no fluid left in my body.”
Dean crossed his arms behind his head with an eminently satisfied smirk and lay back, smacking his lips.
“Besides, I’m hungry. Aren’t you hungry?”
Dean blinked, as if surprised to have realized something obvious. “Yeah. Starving.”
They put clean clothes on, Dean hastily tugging on his jeans and t-shirt. Dean stepped close to Sam as he dressed, playfully unbuttoning his jeans after Sam fastened them, tugging at Sam’s shirt after he pulled it over his head and trying to take it off again.
“Come on,” Sam asked with a laugh. “After we get some food in us. You can keep me naked and at your mercy all night.”
Dean’s eyes darkened. “Promise?”
“Don’t you get tired?” Sam shook his head in amused disbelief.
“Of you? Never.”
Sam blushed, and Dean went in for a sneak attack on the sensitive patch of skin behind Sam’s ear. Sam pushed Dean back, but kept his fingers wrapped in Dean’s shirt.“Food. In the stomach. Now.”
“Ok, fine.” Dean reluctantly let Sam dress and keep his clothes on.
Sam put his hand on Dean’s forehead.“How are you feeling?”
Dean said, “Nothing a shot of cold stuff won’t fix.” He took the bottle from the bedside table and swigged a generous dose.
Sam called Juliane. “Hey, um, it’s Paul. We’d like to grab something to eat. Where’s good around here?” He listened. “Sure. You said if we wanted, we could be on lockdown? Yeah. I think we’d like that.” He listened some more. “Ok. Thanks.”
He hung up the phone. “Danny’s going to make sure the hall’s clear, and bring us up.”
Dean looked confused.
“Maybe one of the other hunters knows us. We don’t know who’s staying here.”
Dean nodded, comprehension dawning. “Right. I forgot.”
Sam burst out laughing.
“What?”
“I fucked you stupid.”
“Did not.” Dean’s face pinked up.
“I always knew that was possible. But I never thought I’d see it.”
Dean pushed his lower lip out slightly in the little pout he’d done ever since he was a little boy. “Don’t call me stupid.”
Sam moved in close and put his arm around Dean’s waist like he was going to slow dance. “You’re smart. Real smart.” His lips were warm against Dean’s neck. “Smarter than me. Did you know that?”
Dean snorted. “Ha ha. Dude. You’re the smart one. I’m the most bad ass.”
“I’m serious.” Sam put two fingers under Dean’s chin and tipped his face up to meet his gaze. “Dad always says ‘Sam’s the smart one, you’re the tough one,’ but that’s because… I don’t even know why. He has to keep us in these little boxes. But I know how smart you are.”
Dean didn’t sniffle. He didn’t blink. But a single tear welled up in his eye and trickled down his cheek. Sam raised his hand and brushed the tear away with his thumb.
Dean traced his fingertips along Sam’s left arm, still paler than the other one from being encased in the cast. “And I know how tough you are.”
Sam’s smile was that of a little boy staring up at the night sky in wonder, the blues and reds and greens of Fourth of July fireworks bursting in flashes across his face.
The moment was broken by a knock at the door. It was Danny, come to escort them to the common room.
~
The sound of a whistling teakettle greeted them as Juliane opened the door. Juliane took the kettle off the stove, and gestured toward the table, where she’d spread out take-out menus. “These are the places that are open tonight. But, you know, you could eat with us if you wanted to.”
Sam and Dean looked up.
“Anyone in the sanctuary who wants to can eat dinner with us here. I’m not a great cook, but I can crack open a box or a jar with the best of them.” Juliane poured hot water into a hammered silver teapot.
Danny flopped down on the couch and picked up his book. “She’s being hard on herself again. She’s a good cook.”
Juliane rolled her eyes. “Anyway, I’m making spaghetti. You’re welcome to stay.”
Sam and Dean exchanged wary glances. Sam reached for Dean’s hand under the table.
Juliane pretended not to have seen it. “Sounds like you want to keep to yourselves.”
“Yeah, for now. But thank you for the offer.” Sam’s eyes were huge and earnest.
“But…I hope you’ll join us tomorrow. I’m making something special. Roast beef and gravy and all the usual stuff.”
Sam and Dean had identical quizzical expressions on their faces.
Juliana checked the contents of the teapot. “You know. For Christmas Day.”
Sam and Dean stared at each other in shock, understanding dawning. “Tomorrow’s Christmas,” Dean said in a near-whisper.
“And tonight… it’s…”
“Christmas Eve? It’s Christmas Eve.”
“Haven’t you guys looked at a newspaper recently?” Danny peeked over at them over his book.
Dean’s tone was brusque but not unfriendly. “We’ve been busy.”
Sam’s face changed, his expression showing something dark and haunted. “Yeah.”
Juliane gracefully changed the subject. “Most of those places do take out or sit-down, whatever you prefer.” The menus were typical fare, pizza and Chinese and American diner food. Sam and Dean looked through them.
“I’m so hungry I don’t even care where—“ Sam stopped. Beneath his fingers was a menu for Marie Callendar’s. “Done.” He held up the menu in front of Dean.
Dean’s eyes went wide. “Is that the…” Dean’s tongue swiped over his lower lip. “…the pie place?”
Sam’s response was a peal of laughter. Then his face changed, a flash of something Dean couldn’t read animating his features. “Hang on.”
Sam pelted down the hallway hoping no one would open their door and see him, and went back into the bedroom. He opened the bag of cash, stopped for a second to make a rapid mental calculation, and pulled out some bills.
Within three minutes, he was back in the common room, and took Dean’s hand. “Come on, baby. I’m taking you out to dinner.” Dean looked pleased and embarrassed that Sam used that term of endearment.
Juliane gave them a concerned look. “Remember. It’s safe in here. No guarantees once you go outside.”
Dean unconsciously put his hand on the hilt of the knife Reggie gave him. “We’ll be alright.”
Danny told them how to get to the restaurant, which was a fairly involved set of directions. “But I’ll draw you a map.”
“That’s ok. We got it.” Sam buttoned up his heavy coat in preparation for the blast of cold once they hit the outside air.
“Seriously, it’ll just take a second.”
Dean shot Sam an amused look. “You want to? Or should I?”
Sam gave Dean a nod. “Go ahead.” Sam watched with a proud expression on his face as Dean recited back the convoluted directions, word for word.
Danny shrugged. “You know, I’m man enough to admit when I’m impressed.” He settled back down on the couch. “And I’m impressed.”
Juliane buttoned up the top button of Sam’s coat. “You two be safe.”
~
Dean rolled carefully over the salt speed bump and pulled out onto the road. “What else do they have?”
Sam read to him from the menu he’d brought with him at Dean’s insistence. “Chicken pot pie.”
“Oh god.”
“Mozzarella sticks. Country fried steak. Knife and fork chili burger.”
Dean’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “It’s like porn.”
Sam ran his hand up Dean’s thigh. “I haven’t even started reading off the pie menu yet.”
The car wavered slightly as Sam began reciting in a slightly husky voice, “Lemon meringue…pecan…chocolate satin…banana cream…”
“Keep going, Sammy.”
“Coconut cream…blueberry…German chocolate…French apple…”
Behind them, car headlights flicked on as a dark sedan pulled out onto the road and followed them at a discreet distance.
~
The hostess, a tiny thing with dyed red hair, greeted them. “Two?” Sam gave her his best smile. “Yes, but could we have a really large table?” He stepped closer. “My legs are too long for the little tables and booths and stuff.” She looked all the way up at him, tall and lean and lovely, and blushed, flustered under the heat of Sam Winchester’s attention. “Of course. Absolutely. This way.”
She brought them to a large round table with eight chairs around it. “Is this good?”
Sam sat down and stretched his legs out. “This is perfect. Thank you.”
Dean sat down next to Sam, grabbed his menu and began poring over it. “I can’t even choose. How can a man be expected to choose?”
Sam’s mouth twitched slightly.
The hostess escorted a dark-haired man in a grey suit to a two-top across from them.
After a few minutes, the waitress came to their table. She looked a little confused, looking at all the empty seats and just the two of them. “Are you waiting for anyone else?”
“Nope.” Sam’s eyes glinted mischievously.
“Ok, are you ready to order or do you need some more time?”
Dean ran his finger down the menu. “I’d like the chicken pot pie, and a Coke, and---“
Sam interrupted Dean. “And a slice of every type of pie you have.”
Both Dean and the waitress stared at Sam in shock.
Sam pulled the wad of bills out of his wallet, and handed the waitress two hundreds. “It’s not a prank. I’ll pay up front.”
The waitress set her pad down and wiped her hands down the front of her apron. “But… we have over thirty types of pie.”
Sam grinned. “Well, we’re not planning to finish all of them. But my boyfriend loves pie. It’s Christmas Eve. One of each, please.”
The waitress shrugged. “Hope neither of you is diabetic.” She scrawled PIE-ONE SLICE EACH-EVERY KIND on the bottom of the ticket and walked back to the kitchen.
Dean couldn’t stop staring at Sam.
“Dean. You ok?”
He just stared.
“Use your words.” Sam’s smile was irrepressible.
“You love me.” Dean’s voice was hushed.
“Duh.”
“No. You really love me.”
“You’re just getting this now.”
Dean shook his head in awe. “You really love me,” he repeated.
The waitress cruised back by with Dean’s coke and two glasses of water. “You want the chicken pot pie first?”
“Oh yeah.” Dean looked like he’d start eating the waitress if she didn’t bring him some kind of pie immediately.
“And can I get a glass of milk?” Sam asked.
“Ooh.” Dean looked up.
“Two? Two glasses of milk?” Sam amended his request.
“Sure thing.”
The waitress returned with two tall glasses of milk, and a massive dish filled with crusty, bubbling chicken pot pie.
“Help me with this?” Dean shoved the dish toward Sam.
“Ok.”
Dean punctured the top crust with his fork, steam escaping. “That smells so good.”
They dug in, eating gingerly at first, careful not to burn their mouths. Sam blew on a huge spoonful to cool it off.
“Mmph,” Dean said.
“Mmm hmm,” Sam agreed.
“You mind?” Dean gestured toward the pie.
Sam laughed. “Go for it.” Dean took the back of his spoon and smashed the crust down into the rich gravy, letting it soak it up.
Within minutes, the chicken pot pie had vanished and Dean’s Coke was just a thin layer of brown liquid at the bottom of a glass of ice.
The waitress approached with a giant round tray and a folding stand. Opening the stand, she lowered the tray down. One by one, she set the slices of pie on the table. “Razzleberry. Strawberry. Peach. Pumpkin. Rhubarb. Coconut cream. Chocolate cream. Kahlua cream cheese. Pecan…” Dean stared at the array of pie spread out before him.
“You two get started. I’ll be back with the rest.”
Sam peered at Dean. “Dean. You crying?”
“Damn straight.” Dean shook his head in disbelief. “This is beautiful.” He gazed at Sam, wet eyes gone dark hunter-green. “Anything you want, Sammy. For, like, ever. Or at least a week.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “Anything?”
Dean dug his fork into the pumpkin pie and took a bite. His moan was positively sexual. “Yeah. Anything.”
Sam leaned in and whispered something to Dean.
Dean froze, fork still in his mouth. He blinked once, slowly. “Hell yeah.” He lowered the fork to the table. “Hell yeah.”
Sam’s cheeks went red, not in a flush of embarrassment, but in another physical reaction altogether. He slid the cherry cheesecake to the side of the table with a quiet smile, then stabbed his fork into the slice of strawberry pie and brought it to Dean’s mouth.
Dean opened his mouth and let Sam feed him. A bit of whipped cream lodged on Dean’s upper lip and before he could lick it off, Sam’s mouth was on him, his tongue lifting the dollop of cream off and pushing it into Dean’s mouth.
Across from them, the man in the grey suit sat up straight.
Sam licked the taste of strawberry and cream from Dean’s mouth, then pulled back reluctantly. Dean made a faint whimper of protest.
“Hey, I don’t want to get us kicked out. There’s like 30 more types of pie to try.”
The waitress returned with the large tray laden with more types of pie. “OK, this is the regular apple, this is the French apple, this is the Sour Cream apple…” And she had to return a third time for the last ten types of pie. Soon the huge table was jam-packed with wedges of pie. People seated around them stared in disbelief at the two young men having a Christmas Eve pie feast. The kids elbowed each other, a new dream born within them, to pester their parents relentlessly about until they cracked, and took the children back to Marie Callender’s for a One Each pie extravaganza.
Dean sampled a single forkful of each type of pie before he went back for a second taste. “Gotta give each one an equal chance,” he said. The regular apple and the banana cream were his favorites. Sam had one bite of each, and as delicious as they were, he let Dean finish those all by himself. Sam liked the lemon meringue best, which Dean also declared “friggin’ awesome,” but he let Sam eat most of that. Neither of them cared much for the blueberry pie, oddly enough. The cream cheese pies and cheesecakes were so rich that they could only eat little slivers of each one.
As the fat and sugar high swept over them, they became more animated, laughing and feeding each other off their forks, wiping smears of sticky syrupy peach juice from the corner of the other’s mouth and sucking it off their fingers, sneaking a quick kiss when they thought no one was looking.
Finally they sat back with a groan, and dropped their forks to the table with a ringing sound.
“You boys done?” The waitress stood before them.
Dean’s mouth curled into a smile. “Darlin’, we’re just getting warmed up.”
Sam leaned forward. “Could we get two cups of coffee please?”
The waitress unsuccessfully tried to fight back a grin. “You two are nuts.”
The coffee seemed to have melted the pie already eaten into a more compact form, creating more room in their stomachs, because after half a cup, they dove back into the pies with a vengeance. Dean ate half the slice of pecan pie in three bites because “this tastes fucking incredible with the coffee.” At Dean’s urging, Sam devoured the other half. And agreed with him.
The rhubarb pie went largely untouched, but the custard pie also tasted better with the coffee than it did alone, so most of that slice went into the Winchesters as well. The German chocolate pie played beautifully against the black unsweetened coffee, and managed a respectable half-eaten status.
The waitress refilled their coffee cups. Finally, their pace began to slow. The key lime pie was nibbled at. Fingers were poked into the New York cheesecake and the vanilla-scented custard sucked from their fingertips. Their own, not each other’s—not all the eyes on them were friendly.
“My stomach’s going to burst.” Dean looked over at Sam, eyes wide with worry. “Can stomachs actually burst?”
“Yes.”
Dean stared at Sam with horror.
“But it’s really rare. You usually just puke it up.”
Dean made a sour face. “Gah. 30 kinds of pie puke.”
“Gross.” Sam rubbed his stomach.
The waitress brought the bill to them, with Sam’s change, as he’d already paid for the meal. “You boys want the rest of these to go?” Sam and Dean surveyed the carnage.
“How about you bring us a box big enough for a whole pie? And…” Sam handed her a twenty. “We’d like a whole pecan pie too, please.”
“Sure thing.” She turned on her heel and walked away.
Sam toyed with the hem of Dean’s shirt. “For Juliane and Danny and the others. For tomorrow. Even if we don’t go.”
The waitress returned quickly with an empty pie box, and a boxed pecan pie. Dean put in the cherry cheesecake slice, completely untouched, first. Then he added all the partially eaten apple pie slices. Sam filled the rest of the box with fruit pie leftovers, and after a moment’s thought and a glance at Dean, he filled the last space with the half-consumed slice of pumpkin.
Dean put his hand on Sam’s wrist. “That was your favorite.”
Sam looked down at the table.
“Cold pumpkin pie, the day after Christmas. And apple cider.”
Sam took a deep breath.
Dean nudged Sam with his shoulder. “Hey. You’ll get to have it. Right?”
Sam took a swallow of lukewarm coffee. “Yeah.”
Dean nudged Sam a little harder. “Hey. Look at me.”
Sam looked up. Sure enough, his eyes were gleaming with tears.
“Sam. Christmas always was just you and me. Right? Dad was gone half the time. Or drunk if he was there. And… he always gave the lamest presents. Toys that were for kids three years younger than us. Generic Twinkies. Or… remember the year he gave us ammo?”
Sam snorted.
“For me? Christmas… it was always about you, Sammy. You and me.”
Sam wiped his cheek. “Me too. But that’s not it. This year…” He hesitated. “After what happened… Dad was nice to me.” He looked at Dean directly. The sadness in his gaze hit Dean like a punch to the solar plexus. “He spent time with me. He said he was proud of me. He never… well, you remember.” Dean nodded glumly. “And at Thanksgiving? How he was? I just… I was thinking this year, we’ll finally get to have a real Christmas like other kids get. In a house, with Dad and Uncle Bobby and a bunch of people we don’t know that well and they’d make a lot of noise and eat a lot, and have their kids with them like Bosie, and they’d give each other presents too…and we’d sneak out back when it got too much and we’d freeze our asses off, but then we’d go back in, and it would be loud and crazy and…”
“Like a big family.”
Sam wiped his face again with the back of his hand. “Yeah.”
“Is it ok, Sam? That it’ll be just me?” Dean put on his trying to be stoic face. But Sam saw beneath it.
Looking around to make sure no one was staring at them, he brushed his mouth against Dean’s, tongue daring to tease along the inner seam of his lips. He tasted of coffee, cream and pie crust. “It’ll be perfect. Our first Christmas, just us. Together.”
Sam and Dean stood up, stretching. Sam pocketed the change, leaving a generous tip. Dean took the pie box and they went to the car, walking so close together they were nearly touching. They got in. Dean put the pie box in the back seat, then pulled Sam to him for a long kiss, surprising in its slow sensuality.
“Happy Christmas Eve, Dean,” Sam breathed.
“Happy Christmas Eve, Sam.”
~
The man in the grey suit watched them from outside the front door of the restaurant. When they pulled away and drove out of the parking lot, he got into the back seat of his sedan and lay down flat. A black gout of smoke spurted from his face and eyes and rose into the air. It twined and coiled and flew many miles, finally descending to earth at a small farmhouse. On the porch was the figure of a white-haired man slumped over in a chair, a length of rope tied around his chest to hold him in it.
The smoke drove down and entered the man’s mouth.
He opened his eyes. He reached for the rope and untied it. Then he stood, went to the door, and rang the doorbell.
The man who opened the door had close-cropped hair, and yellow eyes. “You have news of Sam Winchester?”
The white-haired man with jet-black eyes began to laugh. “Oh, you won’t believe the news I’ve got for you.”
Author:
justinedelargeFandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Warning: Wincest
Word Count: 3630
Disclaimer: I don't own what I don't own.But I do own what I do own, such as my original characters.
Summary: Sam and Dean leave the sanctuary, and are followed. They realize what the date is. Sam does something special for Dean.
Dean lay on his side, nose smashed into his pillow. Sam was curled up around him, top leg thrown over him like the bossy puppy of the litter that always has to be on the top of the pile. Their breathing, peaceful and slow, was perfectly synchronized.
Suddenly Dean made a loud snore.
“What?” Sam roused, blinking blearily.
Dean rolled onto his back as Sam sat up. When he saw Sam, he grinned.
“Nice sex hair.”
“Shut up.” Sam ran his fingers through his hair, smoothing it back. “’S your fault, anyway.”
Dean’s grin widened. “I could mess it up some more.”
Sam slapped Dean’s hand lightly as it wormed its way under the sheets. “Dean. There’s no fluid left in my body.”
Dean crossed his arms behind his head with an eminently satisfied smirk and lay back, smacking his lips.
“Besides, I’m hungry. Aren’t you hungry?”
Dean blinked, as if surprised to have realized something obvious. “Yeah. Starving.”
They put clean clothes on, Dean hastily tugging on his jeans and t-shirt. Dean stepped close to Sam as he dressed, playfully unbuttoning his jeans after Sam fastened them, tugging at Sam’s shirt after he pulled it over his head and trying to take it off again.
“Come on,” Sam asked with a laugh. “After we get some food in us. You can keep me naked and at your mercy all night.”
Dean’s eyes darkened. “Promise?”
“Don’t you get tired?” Sam shook his head in amused disbelief.
“Of you? Never.”
Sam blushed, and Dean went in for a sneak attack on the sensitive patch of skin behind Sam’s ear. Sam pushed Dean back, but kept his fingers wrapped in Dean’s shirt.“Food. In the stomach. Now.”
“Ok, fine.” Dean reluctantly let Sam dress and keep his clothes on.
Sam put his hand on Dean’s forehead.“How are you feeling?”
Dean said, “Nothing a shot of cold stuff won’t fix.” He took the bottle from the bedside table and swigged a generous dose.
Sam called Juliane. “Hey, um, it’s Paul. We’d like to grab something to eat. Where’s good around here?” He listened. “Sure. You said if we wanted, we could be on lockdown? Yeah. I think we’d like that.” He listened some more. “Ok. Thanks.”
He hung up the phone. “Danny’s going to make sure the hall’s clear, and bring us up.”
Dean looked confused.
“Maybe one of the other hunters knows us. We don’t know who’s staying here.”
Dean nodded, comprehension dawning. “Right. I forgot.”
Sam burst out laughing.
“What?”
“I fucked you stupid.”
“Did not.” Dean’s face pinked up.
“I always knew that was possible. But I never thought I’d see it.”
Dean pushed his lower lip out slightly in the little pout he’d done ever since he was a little boy. “Don’t call me stupid.”
Sam moved in close and put his arm around Dean’s waist like he was going to slow dance. “You’re smart. Real smart.” His lips were warm against Dean’s neck. “Smarter than me. Did you know that?”
Dean snorted. “Ha ha. Dude. You’re the smart one. I’m the most bad ass.”
“I’m serious.” Sam put two fingers under Dean’s chin and tipped his face up to meet his gaze. “Dad always says ‘Sam’s the smart one, you’re the tough one,’ but that’s because… I don’t even know why. He has to keep us in these little boxes. But I know how smart you are.”
Dean didn’t sniffle. He didn’t blink. But a single tear welled up in his eye and trickled down his cheek. Sam raised his hand and brushed the tear away with his thumb.
Dean traced his fingertips along Sam’s left arm, still paler than the other one from being encased in the cast. “And I know how tough you are.”
Sam’s smile was that of a little boy staring up at the night sky in wonder, the blues and reds and greens of Fourth of July fireworks bursting in flashes across his face.
The moment was broken by a knock at the door. It was Danny, come to escort them to the common room.
~
The sound of a whistling teakettle greeted them as Juliane opened the door. Juliane took the kettle off the stove, and gestured toward the table, where she’d spread out take-out menus. “These are the places that are open tonight. But, you know, you could eat with us if you wanted to.”
Sam and Dean looked up.
“Anyone in the sanctuary who wants to can eat dinner with us here. I’m not a great cook, but I can crack open a box or a jar with the best of them.” Juliane poured hot water into a hammered silver teapot.
Danny flopped down on the couch and picked up his book. “She’s being hard on herself again. She’s a good cook.”
Juliane rolled her eyes. “Anyway, I’m making spaghetti. You’re welcome to stay.”
Sam and Dean exchanged wary glances. Sam reached for Dean’s hand under the table.
Juliane pretended not to have seen it. “Sounds like you want to keep to yourselves.”
“Yeah, for now. But thank you for the offer.” Sam’s eyes were huge and earnest.
“But…I hope you’ll join us tomorrow. I’m making something special. Roast beef and gravy and all the usual stuff.”
Sam and Dean had identical quizzical expressions on their faces.
Juliana checked the contents of the teapot. “You know. For Christmas Day.”
Sam and Dean stared at each other in shock, understanding dawning. “Tomorrow’s Christmas,” Dean said in a near-whisper.
“And tonight… it’s…”
“Christmas Eve? It’s Christmas Eve.”
“Haven’t you guys looked at a newspaper recently?” Danny peeked over at them over his book.
Dean’s tone was brusque but not unfriendly. “We’ve been busy.”
Sam’s face changed, his expression showing something dark and haunted. “Yeah.”
Juliane gracefully changed the subject. “Most of those places do take out or sit-down, whatever you prefer.” The menus were typical fare, pizza and Chinese and American diner food. Sam and Dean looked through them.
“I’m so hungry I don’t even care where—“ Sam stopped. Beneath his fingers was a menu for Marie Callendar’s. “Done.” He held up the menu in front of Dean.
Dean’s eyes went wide. “Is that the…” Dean’s tongue swiped over his lower lip. “…the pie place?”
Sam’s response was a peal of laughter. Then his face changed, a flash of something Dean couldn’t read animating his features. “Hang on.”
Sam pelted down the hallway hoping no one would open their door and see him, and went back into the bedroom. He opened the bag of cash, stopped for a second to make a rapid mental calculation, and pulled out some bills.
Within three minutes, he was back in the common room, and took Dean’s hand. “Come on, baby. I’m taking you out to dinner.” Dean looked pleased and embarrassed that Sam used that term of endearment.
Juliane gave them a concerned look. “Remember. It’s safe in here. No guarantees once you go outside.”
Dean unconsciously put his hand on the hilt of the knife Reggie gave him. “We’ll be alright.”
Danny told them how to get to the restaurant, which was a fairly involved set of directions. “But I’ll draw you a map.”
“That’s ok. We got it.” Sam buttoned up his heavy coat in preparation for the blast of cold once they hit the outside air.
“Seriously, it’ll just take a second.”
Dean shot Sam an amused look. “You want to? Or should I?”
Sam gave Dean a nod. “Go ahead.” Sam watched with a proud expression on his face as Dean recited back the convoluted directions, word for word.
Danny shrugged. “You know, I’m man enough to admit when I’m impressed.” He settled back down on the couch. “And I’m impressed.”
Juliane buttoned up the top button of Sam’s coat. “You two be safe.”
~
Dean rolled carefully over the salt speed bump and pulled out onto the road. “What else do they have?”
Sam read to him from the menu he’d brought with him at Dean’s insistence. “Chicken pot pie.”
“Oh god.”
“Mozzarella sticks. Country fried steak. Knife and fork chili burger.”
Dean’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “It’s like porn.”
Sam ran his hand up Dean’s thigh. “I haven’t even started reading off the pie menu yet.”
The car wavered slightly as Sam began reciting in a slightly husky voice, “Lemon meringue…pecan…chocolate satin…banana cream…”
“Keep going, Sammy.”
“Coconut cream…blueberry…German chocolate…French apple…”
Behind them, car headlights flicked on as a dark sedan pulled out onto the road and followed them at a discreet distance.
~
The hostess, a tiny thing with dyed red hair, greeted them. “Two?” Sam gave her his best smile. “Yes, but could we have a really large table?” He stepped closer. “My legs are too long for the little tables and booths and stuff.” She looked all the way up at him, tall and lean and lovely, and blushed, flustered under the heat of Sam Winchester’s attention. “Of course. Absolutely. This way.”
She brought them to a large round table with eight chairs around it. “Is this good?”
Sam sat down and stretched his legs out. “This is perfect. Thank you.”
Dean sat down next to Sam, grabbed his menu and began poring over it. “I can’t even choose. How can a man be expected to choose?”
Sam’s mouth twitched slightly.
The hostess escorted a dark-haired man in a grey suit to a two-top across from them.
After a few minutes, the waitress came to their table. She looked a little confused, looking at all the empty seats and just the two of them. “Are you waiting for anyone else?”
“Nope.” Sam’s eyes glinted mischievously.
“Ok, are you ready to order or do you need some more time?”
Dean ran his finger down the menu. “I’d like the chicken pot pie, and a Coke, and---“
Sam interrupted Dean. “And a slice of every type of pie you have.”
Both Dean and the waitress stared at Sam in shock.
Sam pulled the wad of bills out of his wallet, and handed the waitress two hundreds. “It’s not a prank. I’ll pay up front.”
The waitress set her pad down and wiped her hands down the front of her apron. “But… we have over thirty types of pie.”
Sam grinned. “Well, we’re not planning to finish all of them. But my boyfriend loves pie. It’s Christmas Eve. One of each, please.”
The waitress shrugged. “Hope neither of you is diabetic.” She scrawled PIE-ONE SLICE EACH-EVERY KIND on the bottom of the ticket and walked back to the kitchen.
Dean couldn’t stop staring at Sam.
“Dean. You ok?”
He just stared.
“Use your words.” Sam’s smile was irrepressible.
“You love me.” Dean’s voice was hushed.
“Duh.”
“No. You really love me.”
“You’re just getting this now.”
Dean shook his head in awe. “You really love me,” he repeated.
The waitress cruised back by with Dean’s coke and two glasses of water. “You want the chicken pot pie first?”
“Oh yeah.” Dean looked like he’d start eating the waitress if she didn’t bring him some kind of pie immediately.
“And can I get a glass of milk?” Sam asked.
“Ooh.” Dean looked up.
“Two? Two glasses of milk?” Sam amended his request.
“Sure thing.”
The waitress returned with two tall glasses of milk, and a massive dish filled with crusty, bubbling chicken pot pie.
“Help me with this?” Dean shoved the dish toward Sam.
“Ok.”
Dean punctured the top crust with his fork, steam escaping. “That smells so good.”
They dug in, eating gingerly at first, careful not to burn their mouths. Sam blew on a huge spoonful to cool it off.
“Mmph,” Dean said.
“Mmm hmm,” Sam agreed.
“You mind?” Dean gestured toward the pie.
Sam laughed. “Go for it.” Dean took the back of his spoon and smashed the crust down into the rich gravy, letting it soak it up.
Within minutes, the chicken pot pie had vanished and Dean’s Coke was just a thin layer of brown liquid at the bottom of a glass of ice.
The waitress approached with a giant round tray and a folding stand. Opening the stand, she lowered the tray down. One by one, she set the slices of pie on the table. “Razzleberry. Strawberry. Peach. Pumpkin. Rhubarb. Coconut cream. Chocolate cream. Kahlua cream cheese. Pecan…” Dean stared at the array of pie spread out before him.
“You two get started. I’ll be back with the rest.”
Sam peered at Dean. “Dean. You crying?”
“Damn straight.” Dean shook his head in disbelief. “This is beautiful.” He gazed at Sam, wet eyes gone dark hunter-green. “Anything you want, Sammy. For, like, ever. Or at least a week.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “Anything?”
Dean dug his fork into the pumpkin pie and took a bite. His moan was positively sexual. “Yeah. Anything.”
Sam leaned in and whispered something to Dean.
Dean froze, fork still in his mouth. He blinked once, slowly. “Hell yeah.” He lowered the fork to the table. “Hell yeah.”
Sam’s cheeks went red, not in a flush of embarrassment, but in another physical reaction altogether. He slid the cherry cheesecake to the side of the table with a quiet smile, then stabbed his fork into the slice of strawberry pie and brought it to Dean’s mouth.
Dean opened his mouth and let Sam feed him. A bit of whipped cream lodged on Dean’s upper lip and before he could lick it off, Sam’s mouth was on him, his tongue lifting the dollop of cream off and pushing it into Dean’s mouth.
Across from them, the man in the grey suit sat up straight.
Sam licked the taste of strawberry and cream from Dean’s mouth, then pulled back reluctantly. Dean made a faint whimper of protest.
“Hey, I don’t want to get us kicked out. There’s like 30 more types of pie to try.”
The waitress returned with the large tray laden with more types of pie. “OK, this is the regular apple, this is the French apple, this is the Sour Cream apple…” And she had to return a third time for the last ten types of pie. Soon the huge table was jam-packed with wedges of pie. People seated around them stared in disbelief at the two young men having a Christmas Eve pie feast. The kids elbowed each other, a new dream born within them, to pester their parents relentlessly about until they cracked, and took the children back to Marie Callender’s for a One Each pie extravaganza.
Dean sampled a single forkful of each type of pie before he went back for a second taste. “Gotta give each one an equal chance,” he said. The regular apple and the banana cream were his favorites. Sam had one bite of each, and as delicious as they were, he let Dean finish those all by himself. Sam liked the lemon meringue best, which Dean also declared “friggin’ awesome,” but he let Sam eat most of that. Neither of them cared much for the blueberry pie, oddly enough. The cream cheese pies and cheesecakes were so rich that they could only eat little slivers of each one.
As the fat and sugar high swept over them, they became more animated, laughing and feeding each other off their forks, wiping smears of sticky syrupy peach juice from the corner of the other’s mouth and sucking it off their fingers, sneaking a quick kiss when they thought no one was looking.
Finally they sat back with a groan, and dropped their forks to the table with a ringing sound.
“You boys done?” The waitress stood before them.
Dean’s mouth curled into a smile. “Darlin’, we’re just getting warmed up.”
Sam leaned forward. “Could we get two cups of coffee please?”
The waitress unsuccessfully tried to fight back a grin. “You two are nuts.”
The coffee seemed to have melted the pie already eaten into a more compact form, creating more room in their stomachs, because after half a cup, they dove back into the pies with a vengeance. Dean ate half the slice of pecan pie in three bites because “this tastes fucking incredible with the coffee.” At Dean’s urging, Sam devoured the other half. And agreed with him.
The rhubarb pie went largely untouched, but the custard pie also tasted better with the coffee than it did alone, so most of that slice went into the Winchesters as well. The German chocolate pie played beautifully against the black unsweetened coffee, and managed a respectable half-eaten status.
The waitress refilled their coffee cups. Finally, their pace began to slow. The key lime pie was nibbled at. Fingers were poked into the New York cheesecake and the vanilla-scented custard sucked from their fingertips. Their own, not each other’s—not all the eyes on them were friendly.
“My stomach’s going to burst.” Dean looked over at Sam, eyes wide with worry. “Can stomachs actually burst?”
“Yes.”
Dean stared at Sam with horror.
“But it’s really rare. You usually just puke it up.”
Dean made a sour face. “Gah. 30 kinds of pie puke.”
“Gross.” Sam rubbed his stomach.
The waitress brought the bill to them, with Sam’s change, as he’d already paid for the meal. “You boys want the rest of these to go?” Sam and Dean surveyed the carnage.
“How about you bring us a box big enough for a whole pie? And…” Sam handed her a twenty. “We’d like a whole pecan pie too, please.”
“Sure thing.” She turned on her heel and walked away.
Sam toyed with the hem of Dean’s shirt. “For Juliane and Danny and the others. For tomorrow. Even if we don’t go.”
The waitress returned quickly with an empty pie box, and a boxed pecan pie. Dean put in the cherry cheesecake slice, completely untouched, first. Then he added all the partially eaten apple pie slices. Sam filled the rest of the box with fruit pie leftovers, and after a moment’s thought and a glance at Dean, he filled the last space with the half-consumed slice of pumpkin.
Dean put his hand on Sam’s wrist. “That was your favorite.”
Sam looked down at the table.
“Cold pumpkin pie, the day after Christmas. And apple cider.”
Sam took a deep breath.
Dean nudged Sam with his shoulder. “Hey. You’ll get to have it. Right?”
Sam took a swallow of lukewarm coffee. “Yeah.”
Dean nudged Sam a little harder. “Hey. Look at me.”
Sam looked up. Sure enough, his eyes were gleaming with tears.
“Sam. Christmas always was just you and me. Right? Dad was gone half the time. Or drunk if he was there. And… he always gave the lamest presents. Toys that were for kids three years younger than us. Generic Twinkies. Or… remember the year he gave us ammo?”
Sam snorted.
“For me? Christmas… it was always about you, Sammy. You and me.”
Sam wiped his cheek. “Me too. But that’s not it. This year…” He hesitated. “After what happened… Dad was nice to me.” He looked at Dean directly. The sadness in his gaze hit Dean like a punch to the solar plexus. “He spent time with me. He said he was proud of me. He never… well, you remember.” Dean nodded glumly. “And at Thanksgiving? How he was? I just… I was thinking this year, we’ll finally get to have a real Christmas like other kids get. In a house, with Dad and Uncle Bobby and a bunch of people we don’t know that well and they’d make a lot of noise and eat a lot, and have their kids with them like Bosie, and they’d give each other presents too…and we’d sneak out back when it got too much and we’d freeze our asses off, but then we’d go back in, and it would be loud and crazy and…”
“Like a big family.”
Sam wiped his face again with the back of his hand. “Yeah.”
“Is it ok, Sam? That it’ll be just me?” Dean put on his trying to be stoic face. But Sam saw beneath it.
Looking around to make sure no one was staring at them, he brushed his mouth against Dean’s, tongue daring to tease along the inner seam of his lips. He tasted of coffee, cream and pie crust. “It’ll be perfect. Our first Christmas, just us. Together.”
Sam and Dean stood up, stretching. Sam pocketed the change, leaving a generous tip. Dean took the pie box and they went to the car, walking so close together they were nearly touching. They got in. Dean put the pie box in the back seat, then pulled Sam to him for a long kiss, surprising in its slow sensuality.
“Happy Christmas Eve, Dean,” Sam breathed.
“Happy Christmas Eve, Sam.”
~
The man in the grey suit watched them from outside the front door of the restaurant. When they pulled away and drove out of the parking lot, he got into the back seat of his sedan and lay down flat. A black gout of smoke spurted from his face and eyes and rose into the air. It twined and coiled and flew many miles, finally descending to earth at a small farmhouse. On the porch was the figure of a white-haired man slumped over in a chair, a length of rope tied around his chest to hold him in it.
The smoke drove down and entered the man’s mouth.
He opened his eyes. He reached for the rope and untied it. Then he stood, went to the door, and rang the doorbell.
The man who opened the door had close-cropped hair, and yellow eyes. “You have news of Sam Winchester?”
The white-haired man with jet-black eyes began to laugh. “Oh, you won’t believe the news I’ve got for you.”
