Justine Delarge (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
justinedelarge) wrote2013-06-27 12:16 am
justinedelarge) wrote2013-06-27 12:16 am
Entry tags:
Sure Got a Dirty Mouth Chapter 59: Safe House
Title: Sure Got a Dirty Mouth Chapter 59: Safe House
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: 3549
Disclaimer: I don't own what I don't own. But I do own what I do own, such as my original characters and my plot.
Summary: Sam takes care of a bruised and battered Dean. Reggie reaches out to Bobby.
Sam didn’t remember falling asleep, but he must have, because he awoke to the sound of Dean moaning in pain. The clock on the end table read 9:02 am.
“Dean?” Sam pushed himself up on his arm and stroked Dean’s hair, longer now. It had been weeks since he had a haircut.
Dean blinked blearily. “Morning, sunshine,” he mumbled, and winced.
“Hurts a lot?”
Dean frowned and shook his head. He touched his jaw lightly. “I’ll be ok.” The skin around his eyes tightened. Sam knew the signs of Dean masking his pain.
“You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t hurt, Dean. I’m not Dad.” Sam dropped his hand to Dean’s chest, cradled the amulet in his fingers in a reflexive movement.
“S not it.”
Just talking was clearly painful for Dean, and Sam knew the pain meds had completely worn off during the night. He examined Dean’s face. Thinking. “Alright. Don’t pretend it doesn’t hurt because I got beat up worse.”
Dean blinked in surprise, and sighed at how quickly Sam had figured him out. “This is nothing, Sammy.” His words were slurred, face swollen, a line of dried blood on his cracked lip. “You—“
“That was different.”
Dean dragged himself to a sitting position, trying hard to keep his face from reflecting discomfort. “Not gonna whine. You set the bar high, Sammy.” Dean tried to smile, and hissed in pain as the split in his lip cracked open again.
Sam sat up all the way, dabbing at Dean’s bleeding lip gently with a tissue from the box on the bedside table. “I need to know. What hurts and how much. So I can take care of you right.” His voice softened. “And I don’t want you keeping that stuff from me anyway. That’s a bad habit to get into. Us keeping things from each other. I know what a badass you are. And I know how much pain you can take without even flinching.” He wadded up the blood-tinged tissue and tossed it neatly into the wastebasket without hitting the rim. “You’re the toughest guy I ever met. So let’s make a deal, alright? We man up and play through the pain when other people are looking. But when it’s just you and me? We don’t pretend. We say how much it really hurts. No hiding how bad it is.”
Dean frowned. “That goes for you too, right?”
Sam tilted his head to the side slightly. “Huh?”
“The other day. Shower.”
Sam closed his eyes, remembering how he’d tried to take a shower all by himself so he wouldn’t so much of a burden on Dean anymore. Eyes still closed, he shook his head yes. “That’s fair. Ok.” He opened his eyes again. “So. How bad is it?”
Dean swallowed, wincing. “Hurts to talk.”
“Where?”
Dean touched the hinges of his jaw with both hands. He opened his mouth just a little, and indicated along the inside of his lips, where the delicate skin was abraded from being smashed against his teeth, and drew a line vertically, tracing the line of his split lip.
“Where else?”
Dean made a circle with his finger in front of his entire face, and then put his hand on the back of his neck.
“Neck hurts too?”
Dean nodded, barely moving his head.
“Headache?”
Dean whispered, “Yeah. Bad one.”
“OK. We need to get more pain meds into you. But here’s the part you’re not gonna like.”
Dean frowned.
“I need you to eat something first.”
Dean’s eyes went wide. He gestured with his hand over his battered mouth, staring at Sam as if to say, “Are you kidding?”
Sam winced, knowing how badly it was going to hurt to even take a sip of water. “If you take these pain pills on an empty stomach, you willthrow up. And that would be…” Sam fell silent.
Dean knew Sam was right. He knew how horrible that would be, the spasms of throwing up wrenching his sore neck, making the headache flare into agony, the vomit forcing open his bruised jaw, the caustic stomach acid burning his lacerated lips. All with the pain pill, useless and mocking, floating in the toilet. Just the thought made Dean shudder. “Ok.”
Sam helped Dean up. They were both still in their sweats and t-shirts. Sam got Dean some fresh socks and pulled them on, stroking his calves and ankles like it felt good to do it, Dean sitting still and letting him.
“You have nice feet.”
Dean’s mouth twitched, trying not to smile. “S that a thing for you, Sammy?”
Sam blushed and stood up quickly. “No! It’s… not a thing. You just… most people don’t have nice feet. They have weird toes and stuff. You have nice feet. That’s all.”
“If it was a thing, it would be fine. Said so.”
Sam frowned. “It’s not a thing. Except that…like…every part of you is perfect and I like looking at you. That’s my thing.”
“I like your thing,” Dean whispered, all the talking starting to cause him enough pain that sweat burst out in little beads on his forehead.
Sam settled Dean on the couch, and went into the kitchen. He started a pot of strong coffee, and stood quietly for a moment, thinking. He pulled out the carton of vanilla ice cream. Heaping several scoops into a pint glass, he slid the pot free before the coffee was finished brewing, the machine pausing automatically, and poured some hot coffee over the scoops of ice cream. The coffee melted most of the ice cream, and Sam swirled a spoon through it, mixing it up into a cool, easily drinkable concoction.
He brought it to Dean, spoon in hand. “Try it.” He poured a spoonful into Dean’s mouth with exquisite care, bypassing the cuts on his lips, pouring it right onto his tongue. Dean stared at Sam in surprise. “Mmm.”
“Is that a good sound or a bad sound?” Sam looked concerned.
Dean gestured to him to try it. Sam took a sip. “Whoa. That’s really good.”
Dean nodded his head with a tiny smile in a way that clearly said, “I know, right?” He took the glass from Sam. He winced as it touched his lower lip, but he was able to drink it without too much discomfort. In fact, after a few sips, the cool liquid felt good in his mouth. He drank it all down.
“More?”
Dean raised his hand in a gesture that meant, “No, I’m good.” Sam brought him a pain pill, and Dean swallowed it, wincing in discomfort. Sam blew out a heavy breath of relief once the tablet disappeared down his throat. “You’ll be feeling ok soon. I swear.” He handed Dean the remote. “I’m going to make some cheesy eggs. Put on something you like. We’ll hang out until the meds kick in, and then we can talk to Reggie. Sound good?”
Dean gave Sam a thumbs up.
Sam poured a cup of coffee for Dean, diluting it with a generous splash of milk. Dean raised an eyebrow when Sam brought it to him, since usually took his coffee black. “I put in milk to cool it down.” Sam gestured to Dean’s mouth. Dean ran his hand across Sam’s waist and pressed it against his lower back, thanking him for his thoughtfulness without making a sound. Then he took a sip.
Sam watched him like a hawk. “Ok?” Dean blinked yes, nodding his head slightly. Sam gave another heavy sigh of relief again, and went into the kitchen, where he busied himself doctoring his own coffee with lots of milk and chocolate powder, then made a massive skillet of cheesy eggs, finely grating a huge heap of cheddar into a large bowl of beaten eggs. He tipped the bowl into the butter-slicked skillet, and stirred and stirred the eggs with a whisk, with more time and care than Dean had ever seen him take with scrambled eggs before.
He came to the couch with a heaping plate and two spoons. “I made too much. If you want some…” He settled the plate on his lap, one spoon handle pointing toward Dean, casually. If Dean felt like it.
Dean watched Sam raise a morsel of steaming orange-hued scrambled eggs to his mouth, intently staring at the cartoons Dean had found, pretending that he hadn’t made the huge portion on purpose, and that he wasn’t fighting the urge to spoon-feed Dean.
Dean laughed softly, and tried a bite. Sam pretended he wasn’t watching out of the corner of his eye. The eggs were perfect; all that constant stirring had created delicate, soft curds, still moist but not slimy, not so hot they stung his mouth, not so cold they were unpleasant to eat. They slid down his throat easily with just a subtle roll of his tongue, the melted cheddar mixed into the eggs completely, with no long stringy strands requiring chewing that would send pain shooting through his jaw. The flavor was rich and satisfying, yet simple and soothing, the cheese adding saltiness without gritty granules of salt sprinkled on top that would sting the cuts on his lips. And Sam hadn’t even tried to feed Dean like a baby, knowing he, with his stoicism and pride, would find that unbearable.
He’d brought him his own spoon.
Dean blinked the tears back before they made their presence known to Sam.
They ate in comfortable silence, Sam watching the cartoons, Dean’s eyes pointed in that direction but his thoughts elsewhere.
“Sammy?”
Sam looked at Dean, the skin above and below his right eye painted purple and dark grey, the promised hell of a shiner having materialized just as Juliane predicted, his perfect pink lips now swollen, red and cracked, his skin mottled with bruises blooming under the skin. Despite this, the look of absolute love that softened Dean’s mouth and lit up his eyes made his battered face beautiful.
“You’re right. We can’t go back.” Dean didn’t say If you don’t want to go back, then we don’t go. That would put the whole burden of the decision onto Sam, and that weight was too heavy. Besides, it was true. After what he now knew John was capable of, after he had seen that side of him reflected through the broken body of Sam, who had received a perfect replica of the brutality John (with Bobby’s assistance) had visited upon the Spivey boy, after hearing Sam’s terrified nightmare-fed screams and pleas for his dad to not hurt him…after all of that, Dean could not sleep easy under the same roof as John, let him issue commands, steer their lives where he saw fit. Not anymore.
“We just can’t. Not after what happened.” He squeezed Sam’s left hand gently. “Not after we’ve had…this.” One thing Dean knew was that he absolutely could not go back to sitting on the couch several feet away from Sam, unable to touch him because John or Bobby were in the room; go back to lying with him in their shared bed in the single motel room, unable to touch him, coax out all the sounds of pleasure Sam was capable of making for Dean because John was in the other bed a few feet away.
He could not give up having Sam all to himself. Not for anything.
The warmth of his fingers and the look in his eyes were enough for Sam to intuit what he meant, what he wouldn’t part with. He blew out a shaky breath, blinking back tears of such sharp relief that Dean realized Sam had been strung tight about this since the night before, when he declared to Reggie that he wasn’t ever going back.
No. Longer than that.
“I’ll figure something out, Sammy.” For all John’s agonized regret over what he had done and where it had led, Dean knew John would not simply or easily allow his boys to run away for good. But he’d find a way.
Sam squeezed Dean’s knee. “We’ll figure something out.” He leaned forward to kiss Dean—and pulled back. “Your mouth…” he whispered. Dean’s mouth was a mess. He couldn’t kiss him.
Dean froze, realizing that until his mouth healed, he wasn’t going to be able to kiss Sam. The pain that shot through him at the realization felt physical.
Sam whimpered softly, not even realizing he’d done it. He put his hand on the back of Dean’s head gently, like he was going to kiss him, but instead, he brought his lips to Dean’s throat. Sliding his mouth to the side, he nuzzled Dean’s neck, soft mouth parting, exhaling warm breath that tickled Dean’s skin. Dean arched back, baring his neck to Sam. Sam brought his other hand up to cradle his head, holding all the weight of it, protecting his wrenched muscles.
Always protecting Dean.
Dean let his head relax into Sam’s strong hands and made a soft sound of pleasure as Sam nuzzled his neck, kissing him the only way he could.
~
Reggie had opted to wait until the morning to call Bobby. But before he did, he asked Danny for a tour of the Sanctuary. Danny was pleased to show off all the features, explaining how he and his friends had planned and built the elaborate structure, and all the creative safeguards they had devised. Thoroughly impressed and even more comforted than he had been initially, he excused himself and went to fill Bobby in.
“Ratkins Construction.”
“Bobby. It’s me,” Reggie drawled. “I found ‘em.”
Bobby’s sigh seemed to stretch out forever. “Thank god. ‘Cause I think we got real trouble.”
“Yeah we do.”
“What? Wait… ok. First. Where are you?”
Reggie poked through the cupboards of the apartment’s kitchen, and pulled out a bag of ground coffee. “Amarillo. I’m inside the Sanctuary.”
“You are not.”
“I most certainly am.”
“Damn. THE Sanctuary? Is it really—wait. Later. The boys are there?”
“Yup.”
“What kind of trouble are you talking about?”
Reggie filled the coffee maker’s reservoir with tap water. “What kinda trouble are you talking about?”
“Dean said Sam had…well, it sounded like a vision.”
Reggie frowned.
“Not a dream. Middle of the day thing. Just out of the blue. Head pain and bam! Demons all around him chanting Regem Puerum. That means—“
“I do know Latin. What do you take me for, a blunt little tool?” Reggie’s voice was soft, making it clear he was just ribbing Bobby. “Actually, I don’t know Latin that well. I got the first word. King.”
“Second word is boy. Boy king. As in, the prophecy of the Boy King. Human boy handpicked by evil to serve Lucifer and lead the demon hordes. Enslave mankind. Hell on Earth. That Boy King.” Bobby flipped through the pages in front of him. “As far as I can tell, it’s some sort of competition. A few are chosen. Not sure how or why. But the strongest of them becomes this Regem Puerum. And all hell breaks loose—literally.”
“That’s not good.” Reggie put his hand on the kitchen counter and slumped over.
“That’s really not good. So…what’s your bad news?”
Reggie filled Bobby in on the events of the evening, how Dean was yanked into the alley almost right in front of him and been attacked by two human men controlled, or at least egged on, by someone possessed by a demon.
“What the…? Is Dean ok? Is Sam ok?”
“Dean got a real nasty cut on his face. Sam sewed him up real nice, though. He may not even scar. And Sam didn’t have a scratch on him.”
Neither of them said it out loud, the phrase that echoed in their heads.
Neither of them had to.
“Sam beat the hell out of the guys attacking Dean. Nearly killed one of them. He…I think he was going to beat him to death.”
“You’re not gonna hear tears of sorrow from me on that one.”
“Bobby…I think… that’s what the demon wanted.”
Bobby was stunned into silence.
“It’s just a feeling I got. But it was a strong one. They singled out Dean, but didn’t hurt him too bad, or kill him. Just enough to put Sam into a rage. Make him lose control. And when Sam laid into them, they didn’t lift a finger to protect themselves.”
“Reggie, what the hell is going on?”
“That, I do not know.”
“I’m sure glad you found them. When are you all coming home?”
“Yeah. About that.” Reggie ran his fingers through his hair.
“You are bringing them home, right?”
“They don’t wanna go.” Reggie poured a cup of steaming coffee and took a sip. “And I don’t think they should.”
“Dammit it, Reggie, the safest place for them is—“
“Right here.”
“What?”
“This place. It’s a fortress. I’ve never seen the like. They got protections here I’ve never even heard of. I’m telling you, there’s no better safe house for them than right here. But even if it wasn’t the safest place, Sam doesn’t want to come back. He told me so. And I respect that.”
“He’s just a boy, he—“
“He’s not a boy. Not an ordinary boy. You know that. You knew that before any of this ever happened.”
Bobby’s silence admitted the truth.
“He’s already more of a man than I was at twice his age. Smarter. Braver. More…”
“Good.”
Reggie laughed softly. It’s not a term Sam would appreciate being applied to him, but it was accurate. “Yep. Good. So if Sam’s decided he doesn’t want to come back, I’m not going to try to make him. Not while he’s got this resource at hand.”
“Is it…he won’t come back because of me and John? What we did?”
Reggie took another swig of coffee. “Yes. And the other thing. I think they really like being able to, um, be themselves, and not have to hide. I think it’s important they have that right now, with what’s going on.” Maybe more important than anyone knows, he thought.
“They’re running around that place acting like a couple?” Bobby sounded shocked.
“I do believe they were, yes.”
“They don’t know… they don’t know, do they?”
“Folks that run this place? No. They think they’re a nice young couple. The boys gave ‘em fake names, but they let their real ones slip last night. Dean was all kinds of messed up, and called him Sam. Just the first names though.”
“They might figure out the rest. Some hunters have heard of Sam and Dean Winchester now.” Bobby hissed.
“I’ll take care of that. Not to worry.” Reggie would think of something. “Something else you need to know. Dean stabbed one of them, the demon, with one of the knives I made. Just caught him in the leg. But it drove the demon clean out.”
“It exorcised it?” Bobby whispered.
“Yep.”
“Was that… did you… make it that way on purpose?”
Reggie laughed. “No. Well, not exactly. Those knives are special. I don’t even know all of what they might do. But they have a lot of potential in the right hands.”
“Looks like they’re in the right hands.”
Reggie nodded. “Oh yes.”
“I better call John and let him know you’re with the boys.”
“Don’t tell him where we are.”
Bobby was silent, thinking.
“He’d come here. And he can’t come here. They need to be with each other right now. Without having to hide.”
“But you’re there.”
“I told them I knew. Told ‘em it was ok.”
Bobby whistled, a sound of disbelief. “How’d that go over?”
“Never saw two people needing to hear something so bad in my life.”
“They…they don’t know I know?” Bobby’s voice cracked.
“Oh no. No. It’s not my place to tell them that.”
“Thank god.”
“Hey, Bobby, there’s something we need from you. Bad. Those anti-possession talismans you showed me? I think they could really use them. Me too, for that matter. Can you send ‘em to us?”
“Sure,” Bobby said. Bobby scribbled down the address. “Tell them I love them both, wouldja? And keep an eye on Sam. If he has any more visions. But don’t say anything about the whole Boy King deal. I need to find out more first. Joseph has some manuscripts from the Achaemenid Empire that he thinks can help us. He’s going over them now. I’ll call you in a couple of days.”
“Alright.”
Bobby hung up the phone.“Call you from the front lobby, is what I’m gonna do.” He hauled himself onto his feet and thumped up the stairs to his bedroom. He pressed what looked like an ink stain on his desk, and a small piece of wood lifted free. He removed a carved box from inside the hidden compartment, and worked the puzzle lock to open it. Nestled inside were four talismans carved with a stylized pentagram inside a circle edged with sun flares. He closed the box again and set it on the bed, and pulled open his closet, flinging clothes into a military duffel bag.
He stopped in his tracks, as though he’d just remembered something critically important. He raised one arm slowly and sniffed his armpit. His eyes squinched shut. “Shower first.” He walked toward the bathroom. “With bleach.”
Author:
justinedelargeFandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Warning: Wincest
Word Count: 3549
Disclaimer: I don't own what I don't own. But I do own what I do own, such as my original characters and my plot.
Summary: Sam takes care of a bruised and battered Dean. Reggie reaches out to Bobby.
Sam didn’t remember falling asleep, but he must have, because he awoke to the sound of Dean moaning in pain. The clock on the end table read 9:02 am.
“Dean?” Sam pushed himself up on his arm and stroked Dean’s hair, longer now. It had been weeks since he had a haircut.
Dean blinked blearily. “Morning, sunshine,” he mumbled, and winced.
“Hurts a lot?”
Dean frowned and shook his head. He touched his jaw lightly. “I’ll be ok.” The skin around his eyes tightened. Sam knew the signs of Dean masking his pain.
“You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t hurt, Dean. I’m not Dad.” Sam dropped his hand to Dean’s chest, cradled the amulet in his fingers in a reflexive movement.
“S not it.”
Just talking was clearly painful for Dean, and Sam knew the pain meds had completely worn off during the night. He examined Dean’s face. Thinking. “Alright. Don’t pretend it doesn’t hurt because I got beat up worse.”
Dean blinked in surprise, and sighed at how quickly Sam had figured him out. “This is nothing, Sammy.” His words were slurred, face swollen, a line of dried blood on his cracked lip. “You—“
“That was different.”
Dean dragged himself to a sitting position, trying hard to keep his face from reflecting discomfort. “Not gonna whine. You set the bar high, Sammy.” Dean tried to smile, and hissed in pain as the split in his lip cracked open again.
Sam sat up all the way, dabbing at Dean’s bleeding lip gently with a tissue from the box on the bedside table. “I need to know. What hurts and how much. So I can take care of you right.” His voice softened. “And I don’t want you keeping that stuff from me anyway. That’s a bad habit to get into. Us keeping things from each other. I know what a badass you are. And I know how much pain you can take without even flinching.” He wadded up the blood-tinged tissue and tossed it neatly into the wastebasket without hitting the rim. “You’re the toughest guy I ever met. So let’s make a deal, alright? We man up and play through the pain when other people are looking. But when it’s just you and me? We don’t pretend. We say how much it really hurts. No hiding how bad it is.”
Dean frowned. “That goes for you too, right?”
Sam tilted his head to the side slightly. “Huh?”
“The other day. Shower.”
Sam closed his eyes, remembering how he’d tried to take a shower all by himself so he wouldn’t so much of a burden on Dean anymore. Eyes still closed, he shook his head yes. “That’s fair. Ok.” He opened his eyes again. “So. How bad is it?”
Dean swallowed, wincing. “Hurts to talk.”
“Where?”
Dean touched the hinges of his jaw with both hands. He opened his mouth just a little, and indicated along the inside of his lips, where the delicate skin was abraded from being smashed against his teeth, and drew a line vertically, tracing the line of his split lip.
“Where else?”
Dean made a circle with his finger in front of his entire face, and then put his hand on the back of his neck.
“Neck hurts too?”
Dean nodded, barely moving his head.
“Headache?”
Dean whispered, “Yeah. Bad one.”
“OK. We need to get more pain meds into you. But here’s the part you’re not gonna like.”
Dean frowned.
“I need you to eat something first.”
Dean’s eyes went wide. He gestured with his hand over his battered mouth, staring at Sam as if to say, “Are you kidding?”
Sam winced, knowing how badly it was going to hurt to even take a sip of water. “If you take these pain pills on an empty stomach, you willthrow up. And that would be…” Sam fell silent.
Dean knew Sam was right. He knew how horrible that would be, the spasms of throwing up wrenching his sore neck, making the headache flare into agony, the vomit forcing open his bruised jaw, the caustic stomach acid burning his lacerated lips. All with the pain pill, useless and mocking, floating in the toilet. Just the thought made Dean shudder. “Ok.”
Sam helped Dean up. They were both still in their sweats and t-shirts. Sam got Dean some fresh socks and pulled them on, stroking his calves and ankles like it felt good to do it, Dean sitting still and letting him.
“You have nice feet.”
Dean’s mouth twitched, trying not to smile. “S that a thing for you, Sammy?”
Sam blushed and stood up quickly. “No! It’s… not a thing. You just… most people don’t have nice feet. They have weird toes and stuff. You have nice feet. That’s all.”
“If it was a thing, it would be fine. Said so.”
Sam frowned. “It’s not a thing. Except that…like…every part of you is perfect and I like looking at you. That’s my thing.”
“I like your thing,” Dean whispered, all the talking starting to cause him enough pain that sweat burst out in little beads on his forehead.
Sam settled Dean on the couch, and went into the kitchen. He started a pot of strong coffee, and stood quietly for a moment, thinking. He pulled out the carton of vanilla ice cream. Heaping several scoops into a pint glass, he slid the pot free before the coffee was finished brewing, the machine pausing automatically, and poured some hot coffee over the scoops of ice cream. The coffee melted most of the ice cream, and Sam swirled a spoon through it, mixing it up into a cool, easily drinkable concoction.
He brought it to Dean, spoon in hand. “Try it.” He poured a spoonful into Dean’s mouth with exquisite care, bypassing the cuts on his lips, pouring it right onto his tongue. Dean stared at Sam in surprise. “Mmm.”
“Is that a good sound or a bad sound?” Sam looked concerned.
Dean gestured to him to try it. Sam took a sip. “Whoa. That’s really good.”
Dean nodded his head with a tiny smile in a way that clearly said, “I know, right?” He took the glass from Sam. He winced as it touched his lower lip, but he was able to drink it without too much discomfort. In fact, after a few sips, the cool liquid felt good in his mouth. He drank it all down.
“More?”
Dean raised his hand in a gesture that meant, “No, I’m good.” Sam brought him a pain pill, and Dean swallowed it, wincing in discomfort. Sam blew out a heavy breath of relief once the tablet disappeared down his throat. “You’ll be feeling ok soon. I swear.” He handed Dean the remote. “I’m going to make some cheesy eggs. Put on something you like. We’ll hang out until the meds kick in, and then we can talk to Reggie. Sound good?”
Dean gave Sam a thumbs up.
Sam poured a cup of coffee for Dean, diluting it with a generous splash of milk. Dean raised an eyebrow when Sam brought it to him, since usually took his coffee black. “I put in milk to cool it down.” Sam gestured to Dean’s mouth. Dean ran his hand across Sam’s waist and pressed it against his lower back, thanking him for his thoughtfulness without making a sound. Then he took a sip.
Sam watched him like a hawk. “Ok?” Dean blinked yes, nodding his head slightly. Sam gave another heavy sigh of relief again, and went into the kitchen, where he busied himself doctoring his own coffee with lots of milk and chocolate powder, then made a massive skillet of cheesy eggs, finely grating a huge heap of cheddar into a large bowl of beaten eggs. He tipped the bowl into the butter-slicked skillet, and stirred and stirred the eggs with a whisk, with more time and care than Dean had ever seen him take with scrambled eggs before.
He came to the couch with a heaping plate and two spoons. “I made too much. If you want some…” He settled the plate on his lap, one spoon handle pointing toward Dean, casually. If Dean felt like it.
Dean watched Sam raise a morsel of steaming orange-hued scrambled eggs to his mouth, intently staring at the cartoons Dean had found, pretending that he hadn’t made the huge portion on purpose, and that he wasn’t fighting the urge to spoon-feed Dean.
Dean laughed softly, and tried a bite. Sam pretended he wasn’t watching out of the corner of his eye. The eggs were perfect; all that constant stirring had created delicate, soft curds, still moist but not slimy, not so hot they stung his mouth, not so cold they were unpleasant to eat. They slid down his throat easily with just a subtle roll of his tongue, the melted cheddar mixed into the eggs completely, with no long stringy strands requiring chewing that would send pain shooting through his jaw. The flavor was rich and satisfying, yet simple and soothing, the cheese adding saltiness without gritty granules of salt sprinkled on top that would sting the cuts on his lips. And Sam hadn’t even tried to feed Dean like a baby, knowing he, with his stoicism and pride, would find that unbearable.
He’d brought him his own spoon.
Dean blinked the tears back before they made their presence known to Sam.
They ate in comfortable silence, Sam watching the cartoons, Dean’s eyes pointed in that direction but his thoughts elsewhere.
“Sammy?”
Sam looked at Dean, the skin above and below his right eye painted purple and dark grey, the promised hell of a shiner having materialized just as Juliane predicted, his perfect pink lips now swollen, red and cracked, his skin mottled with bruises blooming under the skin. Despite this, the look of absolute love that softened Dean’s mouth and lit up his eyes made his battered face beautiful.
“You’re right. We can’t go back.” Dean didn’t say If you don’t want to go back, then we don’t go. That would put the whole burden of the decision onto Sam, and that weight was too heavy. Besides, it was true. After what he now knew John was capable of, after he had seen that side of him reflected through the broken body of Sam, who had received a perfect replica of the brutality John (with Bobby’s assistance) had visited upon the Spivey boy, after hearing Sam’s terrified nightmare-fed screams and pleas for his dad to not hurt him…after all of that, Dean could not sleep easy under the same roof as John, let him issue commands, steer their lives where he saw fit. Not anymore.
“We just can’t. Not after what happened.” He squeezed Sam’s left hand gently. “Not after we’ve had…this.” One thing Dean knew was that he absolutely could not go back to sitting on the couch several feet away from Sam, unable to touch him because John or Bobby were in the room; go back to lying with him in their shared bed in the single motel room, unable to touch him, coax out all the sounds of pleasure Sam was capable of making for Dean because John was in the other bed a few feet away.
He could not give up having Sam all to himself. Not for anything.
The warmth of his fingers and the look in his eyes were enough for Sam to intuit what he meant, what he wouldn’t part with. He blew out a shaky breath, blinking back tears of such sharp relief that Dean realized Sam had been strung tight about this since the night before, when he declared to Reggie that he wasn’t ever going back.
No. Longer than that.
“I’ll figure something out, Sammy.” For all John’s agonized regret over what he had done and where it had led, Dean knew John would not simply or easily allow his boys to run away for good. But he’d find a way.
Sam squeezed Dean’s knee. “We’ll figure something out.” He leaned forward to kiss Dean—and pulled back. “Your mouth…” he whispered. Dean’s mouth was a mess. He couldn’t kiss him.
Dean froze, realizing that until his mouth healed, he wasn’t going to be able to kiss Sam. The pain that shot through him at the realization felt physical.
Sam whimpered softly, not even realizing he’d done it. He put his hand on the back of Dean’s head gently, like he was going to kiss him, but instead, he brought his lips to Dean’s throat. Sliding his mouth to the side, he nuzzled Dean’s neck, soft mouth parting, exhaling warm breath that tickled Dean’s skin. Dean arched back, baring his neck to Sam. Sam brought his other hand up to cradle his head, holding all the weight of it, protecting his wrenched muscles.
Always protecting Dean.
Dean let his head relax into Sam’s strong hands and made a soft sound of pleasure as Sam nuzzled his neck, kissing him the only way he could.
~
Reggie had opted to wait until the morning to call Bobby. But before he did, he asked Danny for a tour of the Sanctuary. Danny was pleased to show off all the features, explaining how he and his friends had planned and built the elaborate structure, and all the creative safeguards they had devised. Thoroughly impressed and even more comforted than he had been initially, he excused himself and went to fill Bobby in.
“Ratkins Construction.”
“Bobby. It’s me,” Reggie drawled. “I found ‘em.”
Bobby’s sigh seemed to stretch out forever. “Thank god. ‘Cause I think we got real trouble.”
“Yeah we do.”
“What? Wait… ok. First. Where are you?”
Reggie poked through the cupboards of the apartment’s kitchen, and pulled out a bag of ground coffee. “Amarillo. I’m inside the Sanctuary.”
“You are not.”
“I most certainly am.”
“Damn. THE Sanctuary? Is it really—wait. Later. The boys are there?”
“Yup.”
“What kind of trouble are you talking about?”
Reggie filled the coffee maker’s reservoir with tap water. “What kinda trouble are you talking about?”
“Dean said Sam had…well, it sounded like a vision.”
Reggie frowned.
“Not a dream. Middle of the day thing. Just out of the blue. Head pain and bam! Demons all around him chanting Regem Puerum. That means—“
“I do know Latin. What do you take me for, a blunt little tool?” Reggie’s voice was soft, making it clear he was just ribbing Bobby. “Actually, I don’t know Latin that well. I got the first word. King.”
“Second word is boy. Boy king. As in, the prophecy of the Boy King. Human boy handpicked by evil to serve Lucifer and lead the demon hordes. Enslave mankind. Hell on Earth. That Boy King.” Bobby flipped through the pages in front of him. “As far as I can tell, it’s some sort of competition. A few are chosen. Not sure how or why. But the strongest of them becomes this Regem Puerum. And all hell breaks loose—literally.”
“That’s not good.” Reggie put his hand on the kitchen counter and slumped over.
“That’s really not good. So…what’s your bad news?”
Reggie filled Bobby in on the events of the evening, how Dean was yanked into the alley almost right in front of him and been attacked by two human men controlled, or at least egged on, by someone possessed by a demon.
“What the…? Is Dean ok? Is Sam ok?”
“Dean got a real nasty cut on his face. Sam sewed him up real nice, though. He may not even scar. And Sam didn’t have a scratch on him.”
Neither of them said it out loud, the phrase that echoed in their heads.
Neither of them had to.
“Sam beat the hell out of the guys attacking Dean. Nearly killed one of them. He…I think he was going to beat him to death.”
“You’re not gonna hear tears of sorrow from me on that one.”
“Bobby…I think… that’s what the demon wanted.”
Bobby was stunned into silence.
“It’s just a feeling I got. But it was a strong one. They singled out Dean, but didn’t hurt him too bad, or kill him. Just enough to put Sam into a rage. Make him lose control. And when Sam laid into them, they didn’t lift a finger to protect themselves.”
“Reggie, what the hell is going on?”
“That, I do not know.”
“I’m sure glad you found them. When are you all coming home?”
“Yeah. About that.” Reggie ran his fingers through his hair.
“You are bringing them home, right?”
“They don’t wanna go.” Reggie poured a cup of steaming coffee and took a sip. “And I don’t think they should.”
“Dammit it, Reggie, the safest place for them is—“
“Right here.”
“What?”
“This place. It’s a fortress. I’ve never seen the like. They got protections here I’ve never even heard of. I’m telling you, there’s no better safe house for them than right here. But even if it wasn’t the safest place, Sam doesn’t want to come back. He told me so. And I respect that.”
“He’s just a boy, he—“
“He’s not a boy. Not an ordinary boy. You know that. You knew that before any of this ever happened.”
Bobby’s silence admitted the truth.
“He’s already more of a man than I was at twice his age. Smarter. Braver. More…”
“Good.”
Reggie laughed softly. It’s not a term Sam would appreciate being applied to him, but it was accurate. “Yep. Good. So if Sam’s decided he doesn’t want to come back, I’m not going to try to make him. Not while he’s got this resource at hand.”
“Is it…he won’t come back because of me and John? What we did?”
Reggie took another swig of coffee. “Yes. And the other thing. I think they really like being able to, um, be themselves, and not have to hide. I think it’s important they have that right now, with what’s going on.” Maybe more important than anyone knows, he thought.
“They’re running around that place acting like a couple?” Bobby sounded shocked.
“I do believe they were, yes.”
“They don’t know… they don’t know, do they?”
“Folks that run this place? No. They think they’re a nice young couple. The boys gave ‘em fake names, but they let their real ones slip last night. Dean was all kinds of messed up, and called him Sam. Just the first names though.”
“They might figure out the rest. Some hunters have heard of Sam and Dean Winchester now.” Bobby hissed.
“I’ll take care of that. Not to worry.” Reggie would think of something. “Something else you need to know. Dean stabbed one of them, the demon, with one of the knives I made. Just caught him in the leg. But it drove the demon clean out.”
“It exorcised it?” Bobby whispered.
“Yep.”
“Was that… did you… make it that way on purpose?”
Reggie laughed. “No. Well, not exactly. Those knives are special. I don’t even know all of what they might do. But they have a lot of potential in the right hands.”
“Looks like they’re in the right hands.”
Reggie nodded. “Oh yes.”
“I better call John and let him know you’re with the boys.”
“Don’t tell him where we are.”
Bobby was silent, thinking.
“He’d come here. And he can’t come here. They need to be with each other right now. Without having to hide.”
“But you’re there.”
“I told them I knew. Told ‘em it was ok.”
Bobby whistled, a sound of disbelief. “How’d that go over?”
“Never saw two people needing to hear something so bad in my life.”
“They…they don’t know I know?” Bobby’s voice cracked.
“Oh no. No. It’s not my place to tell them that.”
“Thank god.”
“Hey, Bobby, there’s something we need from you. Bad. Those anti-possession talismans you showed me? I think they could really use them. Me too, for that matter. Can you send ‘em to us?”
“Sure,” Bobby said. Bobby scribbled down the address. “Tell them I love them both, wouldja? And keep an eye on Sam. If he has any more visions. But don’t say anything about the whole Boy King deal. I need to find out more first. Joseph has some manuscripts from the Achaemenid Empire that he thinks can help us. He’s going over them now. I’ll call you in a couple of days.”
“Alright.”
Bobby hung up the phone.“Call you from the front lobby, is what I’m gonna do.” He hauled himself onto his feet and thumped up the stairs to his bedroom. He pressed what looked like an ink stain on his desk, and a small piece of wood lifted free. He removed a carved box from inside the hidden compartment, and worked the puzzle lock to open it. Nestled inside were four talismans carved with a stylized pentagram inside a circle edged with sun flares. He closed the box again and set it on the bed, and pulled open his closet, flinging clothes into a military duffel bag.
He stopped in his tracks, as though he’d just remembered something critically important. He raised one arm slowly and sniffed his armpit. His eyes squinched shut. “Shower first.” He walked toward the bathroom. “With bleach.”
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Great chapter!
<3
Yay!
Re: Yay!
I started to make, a PDF of this, and now my HDD broke! aaah! So now I have to start all over. Will try on my tablet. I did promise you a pdf in size 16!
Re: Yay!
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I'm happy!
<3
Re: Yay!
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I also loved Reggie's and Bobby's conversation, both being so protective and wanting what's best for the boys. A fatherly dream team. ;) Can't wait to see how they'll all react to Bobby coming to the Sanctuary.
Looking forward to more, thank you so much for the wonderful update!
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And I really like them at the Sanctuary too. :)
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Every update is a little treasure, but as much as I adore protective and tender Dean it's so good to see Sam getting his chance to ease some of his guilt and release some of his own mothering instincts.
Also? That they just made a promise not to do the very thing that always tears them apart in the show gives me a lot of good feelings and hope.
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And yes, the promise? I want things to go differently for them than in the show. Because this is a reboot, I guess. :)
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Reggie's right though, the boys need to be able to be themselves and not hide. I wholeheartedly believe that it makes them stronger and more able to face off against yellow eyes.
Love the update!