justinedelarge | Sure Got a Dirty Mouth Chapter 96: In My Life

Title: Sure Got a Dirty Mouth Chapter 96: In My Life
Author:

justinedelarge
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Word Count:4,850
Summary: Dean recovers from his night of drinking. Gus reaches out. Sam gives Dean his presents.
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.

Dean was starting to fade, eyes gone soft and sleepy, loose-limbed from the alcohol in his system, so Sam called it. After thanking everyone, he helped Dean to his feet, pulled Dean's arm over his shoulder, and drunk-walked him down the hall to their apartment. Reggie followed behind, carrying his presents. Bobby came last, stopping off at his door to fetch a paper grocery bag.

Sam guided Dean to the couch and released him. He fell against the soft cushions with a grunt. Sam helped him get his boots off. Reggie filled a tall yellow cup with water and brought it to Dean.

Dean sat up and took the cup. "You're a good guy, Reggie." He sank back down and took a sip. "Lookin' out for me."

"You know it."

Bobby came in, with just one crutch, putting a bit of weight on his injured leg. "Here." He handed the grocery bag to Sam.

Sam pulled out a loaf of bread, a carton of eggs, two large bottles of yellow Gatorade, a box of saltine crackers, a baggie containing several vitamins, a bottle of orange juice, and a box of ginger tea.

He looked up at Reggie and Bobby, his eyes wide. "You went shopping for him? For this?" Sam waved his hand at Dean, bleary-eyed, sipping water slowly.

"Damn right," Reggie said.

"Get him to finish both bottles before morning. Wake him up a couple of times and have him drink a little. And get this into him right now." Bobby handed Sam the baggie. "Multivitamin and a couple of B-complex." Sam untied the baggie, and had Dean take all three pills.

Bobby tapped the package of saltine crackers. "See if he'll eat some of these now, and put some by the bed. When he wakes up, don't let him sit up until he eats a couple."

Sam listened attentively to all the instructions.

"Scrambled eggs, toast, and orange juice for breakfast. It'll help. Trust me." Bobby picked up the box of ginger tea. "And some of this. No coffee. It'll only make it worse. Got it?"

Sam nodded. Dean frowned, and pulled himself up a little straighter. "No can do, chief. Gotta have my coffee."

Bobby shot Dean a stern look. "Your choice. But it'll make the headache worse."

"Head'll hurt worse if I don't have any coffee." Dean nodded emphatically, lips pursed.

"Well, try to limit it to one cup, alright? Then you two boys go for a good long run and sweat it out. A shower, a nap, and you'll be right as rain."

Dean gave Bobby two thumbs up. "Will do."

Bobby bent over and kissed Dean on the top of his head. "Happy birthday, Dean."

"Thanks, Bobby."

Reggie patted Dean on the shoulder. Dean pursed his lips and shook his head no, then dragged himself upright and pulled him in for a hug. Reggie laughed and squeezed Dean hard, smile lines standing out at the corners of his eyes. He patted Dean's head and whispered something in his ear. Dean made an exaggerated sad face.

"Trust me on this," Reggie insisted.

"Ok. Fine." Dean acquiesced.

Once Reggie and Bobby had left, the door locked behind them, Sam asked, "What was all that about?"

Dean pouted. "He said if we had sex tonight, I'd probably puke on you."

Sam blinked rapidly, not expecting that as Reggie's words of advice.

"Puke on you, Sammy." Dean walked unsteadily toward Sam and stroked his cheek. "Too beautiful. Don't ever want to puke on you."

Sam laughed. "You won't." He brought Dean back to the couch, and had him finish the glass of water, and refilled it with Gatorade.

Sam settled on the couch, with his back against the padded arm, and Dean crawled between his legs, resting his back against Sam's stomach, head on Sam's chest. "Room's spinning."

"I got you." Sam squeezed his shoulders firmly, anchoring him in his body, anchoring him to Sam.

"You spin me right round, baby right round…" Dean sang softly.

"Are you singing 80s music at me? Really?" Sam ran his fingertips through Dean's hair, scratching his scalp lightly with his fingernails.

Dean gave a sigh of pleasure like a dog having his belly rubbed. He let Sam scratch his head for a few minutes. "Mom used to do that."

Sam smoothed a stray lock of hair off Dean's forehead. "Yeah?"

Dean nodded. "Hold me in her lap and scritch my head." His eyes fluttered closed. "She smelled like jasmine."

Sam's mouth twitched. "I don't remember that."

"Do you remember anything?"

Sam thought about it. "Not really. No."

Dean held onto Sam's forearm. "She was the prettiest mom. No one's mom was any prettier." He stared up at the ceiling, not really seeing it. "She used to say, 'Thank you for picking me to be your mom.'" He squeezed Sam's arm. "She'd say that to you, too."

Sam made a sound low in his throat, not the sound of pain, but of pain being released.

"She'd drink wine…" Dean laughed, snuggling into Sam even closer. "I remember this so clear. This big bottle of white wine. And she'd dance around the kitchen." He closed his eyes, remembering. "Baby you can drive my car."

"Beatles?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah." A sweet smile spread over his face. "She'd hold my hands and I'd stand on her feet and she'd do the twist." His foot moved unconsciously in time to the song playing in his head. "I thought they were singing, 'Dry my car.'"

Sam snorted.

"She'd play the whole album."

"That's off which one?"

"Rubber Soul."

Sam kept lightly scratching his head, fingers moving, teasing out the memories.

"She burned everything. Hamburgers were like these black hockey pucks. I didn't even know you could cook them a little pink in the middle until I was like, twelve."

Sam soothed his fingers through Dean's hair, listening.

"She'd always say grace. Said her prayers every night. And she always finished by praying for you and me."

Sam drew a quick inhale of breath. "Really?"

"'Take care of Dean, and my little punkin.'"

"What?"

"That's what she called you. Punkin."

"That's silly." Sam swallowed hard.

"You didn't know that?"

Sam closed his eyes. "No."

"She read a lot. Books everywhere." Dean relaxed into Sam's body, as though it gave him the support he needed to open his mental vault and remember their mother. "I remember her sitting at the sewing machine. I guess she was making me a Halloween costume."

Sam reached over and picked up the cup of Gatorade. "Here."

Dean took a long drink. "I remember her legs." Little boy reaching out for his mother, bright yellow sundress, holding on to her bare legs. "She had really pretty legs."

Sam combed Dean's hair with his fingers. "Drink some more."

Dean obediently swallowed more Gatorade. "And pretty hair." Mary, sitting in front of her vanity in a white gown, brushing out her gleaming blonde hair with a silver brush.

Sam let Dean's words spill over him, sink in, take form inside his mind, creating a memory of his mother for him where none existed.

Dean gulped down the contents of the cup and set it on the carpet. "She used to hold you, sit in the rocker and hold you, and sing to you." He squeezed Sam's forearm.

Sam ran his fingers lightly along Dean's neck. "Hey Jude." His voice was soft and high, surprisingly childlike.

Dean's fingers tightened on Sam's wrist. "You remember that?" He shifted position to lie on his side between Sam's open legs, craning his head around to scrutinize Sam's face.

Tears welled in Sam's eyes. "It was Hey Jude. Wasn't it."

"Yeah." Dean put his hand on Sam's chest, over his heart.

Sam drew in a deep breath and blew it out. "I always missed having a mom. You know? Mom in capital letters? The archetype." He focused on Dean. "But I never actually knew her. But now—after what you said…" His lower lip quivered. "I miss her." His jaw tensed.

"Me too." Sam and Dean lay together, breathing in the imagined scent of jasmine, the ghost of a Beatles song playing softly in their minds.

" But at least we killed him." Dean's voice was simultaneously triumphant and sad. "We killed the son of a bitch that murdered her."

Sam's hands tensed. "Yeah, we did."

"We did that." Dean sat up and scooted to the other side of the couch, to turn and face Sam.

Sam pulled his legs up, sat cross-legged, watching Dean intently to see where he was going with this.

"We can do it again." Dean's face was alight with purpose. "We can kill them."

"No. We can't."

Dean waited for Sam to explain, not comprehending.

"Not now that we know they can be cured. Not without trying first."Sam ran his hand through his hair. "I want to cure them. Save them. If we can. We have to talk to Nathaniel. Do a ton of research. Dean, this could take a long time. But we have to try. Those are human souls in there."

"Sure. We'll try." Dean's mouth softened as he gazed into Sam's face, took in the purity of his need to help, not hurt. "But if we can't figure out Azazel's trick, how to lock them in their vessels so we can cure them…we can take them out. For good. Think of how many people that'll save."

Sam's voice came in a whisper. "You're right. We can destroy them. No one else has ever been able to do that."

"That's right. You and me, Sammy. We could rule the world." Dean's voice was light, joking.

Sam reached out and took Dean's hand in his. "I don't want to rule it." His hazel eyes shone. "I want to save it."

Sam made Dean finish the first bottle of Gatorade, and set the second bottle on Dean's bedside table along with a small plate of saltine crackers. He walked Dean into the bathroom and stood behind him, letting Dean lean back against him, and reaching around him, applied toothpaste to Dean's toothbrush.

Dean laughed. "I'm not that drunk."

"You kind of are. Just…let me."

Dean stood still while Sam brought the toothbrush up to his mouth. Sam began to brush Dean's teeth, which Dean found hilarious. He snorted and laughed as Sam scrubbed, muttering, "That tickles" when Sam brushed the back side of his incisors, and "You're brushing my tongue," when Sam tried to get to his molars. Toothpaste foamed at his mouth, and he playfully tried to make it hard for Sam, craning his head away, gnawing on the toothbrush like a dog, until Sam burst out laughing.

"Fine. Spit."

Dean spat and rinsed his mouth. "You wanna hold my dick again while I pee?"

Sam pursed his lips, thinking. "Might as well."

Dean unzipped his jeans and whipped out his penis, soft but impressive. "All yours."

Sam shifted Dean to stand in front of the toilet, stood behind him, held his cock in position.

Dean let his head fall back onto Sam's shoulder, just like before, and closed his eyes, warmth suffusing him at the surprisingly emotional power of urinating with his eyes closed, trusting Sam with such an intimate act. He sighed with relief as his bladder emptied, as Sam held him steady, supporting his body as the room spun. He tore off a square of toilet paper and dabbed it at the tip, just like Sam had done what felt like half a lifetime ago. "See? Dainty. Just like you like."

"Come on. Let's get you to bed."

Dean zipped himself back up. Suddenly, he inhaled sharply, eyes widening.

"What?"

"You have presents. You got me presents." Dean gripped Sam's shoulders. "You said we had to open them here."

Sam wiped a trace of toothpaste from the corner of Dean's mouth with his thumb. "Tomorrow."

Dean might have thought that no one could do puppy dog eyes like his brother, but he had an innate gift for it as well. Sam nearly caved. "You'll be feeling a lot better tomorrow. Trust me. You want to wait." He kissed Dean, tasting the peppermint on his lips. "I need you 100% for it."

Dean flipped from playful to completely serious. "Oh. Ok. Tomorrow."Sam guided Dean toward the bedroom. Dean stroked Sam's back gently. "Don't wanna puke on you."

Sam settled Dean into bed, curling up next to him fully dressed and waiting until he fell asleep, which was nearly instantaneous, then went back to the living room to tidy up and brush his own teeth. He did a thorough job, like he always did, and bent over to rinse his mouth out. The razor on the sink caught his eye.

He splashed water on his face and looked at his reflection in the mirror. Dean's presents. Black dress. Panties.

A soft laugh shook him, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was about to do. He took out the tiny pair of scissors and the shaving gel from the grooming kit, and set them on the sink next to the razor. He stripped off everything below the waist and sat on the edge of the toilet seat, positioning the waste basket directly below. The mirror fogged over from the warm water filling the sink as the scissors snipped, curly dark hairs falling into the waste basket. He soaked a washcloth in warm water and pressed it against himself for a few minutes, warming and softening the hair and skin. Then, with exquisite care, he shaved himself clean, rinsing the razor off in the warm water every few strokes.

He patted his smooth skin with antiseptic aftershave, wincing in anticipation of a sting that didn't materialize. Smearing the heel of his hand over the mirror, he wiped a section clear and admired his handiwork. His lips parted as he stared at himself, smooth and bare. "Oh, you're gonna love this," he whispered.

He pulled on his sweats and climbed into bed next to Dean, out like a light with his face mushed into his pillow, one hand on his lower back. Sam did exactly what Bobby told him to. Every time Dean got up to pee, Sam was sitting up waiting with for him when he stumbled back into the bedroom, holding up a glass full of Gatorade, and wouldn't take no for an answer. As a result, Dean was up and down all night, as was Sam, but they both knew if they could prevent a bad hangover, it was well worth it.

In the morning, Sam had Dean eat a few crackers while he was still sprawled on his side, then the last of the Gatorade. "How're you feeling?"

Dean held up one finger. "Let me try sitting up." He carefully raised his head, eyes squinted. Then he slowly pushed himself up onto one arm. Then he rose to a seated position. His eyes went wide. "Not bad."

Sam's expression relaxed. "Really?"

Dean swung his feet out of bed and stood up. A flicker of discomfort moved across his face. "Seriously. Not bad. It's like…a ghost of a hangover. Barely there, but I better not piss it off."

"Go easy." Dean nodded, very carefully, and shuffled into the bathroom. Sam quickly changed into fresh underwear and regular clothes so Dean wouldn't see him naked and spoil that part of his surprise before it was time.

Sam whipped up a plate of scrambled eggs and toast for both of them, with orange juice and a single cup of coffee for each of them. Dean ate little bites, fearful that something would set up the expected maelstrom of nausea, but it never materialized. "Thanks, man. Really dodged a bullet there."

"You're really ok?"

"Oh, I feel rough. And tired. But nothing like what I figured was gonna happen." He grinned like it was only fitting that Dean Winchester should escape the mother of all hangovers on his 21st birthday.

After breakfast, Sam had Dean take a long nap. Then, as Bobby had instructed, they changed into sweat pants and went outside for a few easy laps around the parking lot, their breath steaming out into the cold air like twin dragons. Dean bent over, bracing his hands on his knees. "Dude, when was the last time we worked out?"

Sam breathed in and out rapidly, catching his breath. "A long time. Since before…" His brow furrowed. "Since before I was kidnapped."

A wave of dizziness moved through Dean, and it had nothing to do with his alcohol consumption the night before. Sam steadied him, his hand between his shoulder blades. "Shower. Maybe we just hang on the couch, watch something?"

Dean reached both hands up, seized Sam's cheeks and brought him in for a kiss, his tongue teasing Sam's mouth open, claiming him. "Mine," he murmured. Sam wrapped his arms around Dean and kissed him back, his tongue dipping into the softness behind his lower lip, teasing the soft skin, until Dean gasped, letting Sam push his tongue into Dean's mouth, reinforcing his own claim. "Mine," Sam whispered back.

"Get a room." Reggie's drawl rang out from the doorway to the motel. Sam and Dean whirled around, pulling away each other on sheer, panicked instinct. The toothpick fell out of Reggie's mouth, shame suffusing his face as he realized what he'd inadvertently done. "Come on in out of the cold. You'll catch your death." He held the door open for them, and got them in out of the brisk winter air in their sweat-soaked clothes. "How're you feeling, Dean?"

"About 80, 85 percent."

Reggie clapped his hand on Dean's shoulder. "Atta boy." He gave Sam a proud look. "Good job taking care of him."

Sam stood up taller, his body language clearly conveying the message, "Always."

"I'm headed to the store. You boys need anything?"

Sam did some mental calculations. "Sandwich stuff, coffee… stuff to make spaghetti for everyone, maybe." A thought struck him. "Actually, can I come with?" He turned to Dean. "You can get started getting cleaned up."

Dean frowned. "What about you?"

"I'll shower when I get back."

Dean looked confused, then his face broke into a smile. "Wanna get me another present, huh."

Sam did a brilliant job of acting like Dean had sniffed out his secret plan, even though it was just a ploy to keep him from insisting they shower together, and discovering that Sam had had an intimate date with Schick the night before. Sam ran down the hall and grabbed his wallet, and he and Reggie did a quick trip to the grocery store. As a cover, Sam picked up ingredients to make bacon cheeseburgers and a nice bottle of vodka as additional birthday-related items, in addition to the supplies to make sandwiches and other staples they needed.

As they put the bags of groceries into the back seat, Sam pressed his hand to his forehead, a twinge of pain on his face

"Sam?" Reggie was at his side in a few seconds.

Sam Winchester

"I got a phone call," Sam croaked.

Sam Winchester am I too loud?

Sam sat down in the passenger seat of the car, eyes closed. No. You're very quiet. It's just…this always hurts a little.

The voice in his head softened to something akin to a whisper. Better?

Yes. Sam took a deep breath. Thank you.

Have you… Gus's voice paused. Is there any news?

Sam blew out a breath, eyes squinting shut in concentration. Not yet. I…I'll talk to Azazel's vessel myself. See if I can't get inside his head. Find out more. Sam had been putting this off, dreading having to touch those memories, take them inside his own consciousness.

The demon did not say anything in words, but Sam could feel his emotions—anguish at no good news, but hope still burning—like a melody inside his head.

What about you? Any news?

Chaos, still. Demons are going into hiding. Laying low, as long as it takes for…

For what?

A long pause. A new leader to rise.

Sam opened his eyes. "Nature abhors a vacuum," he whispered.

"What?" Reggie knelt in front of him, putting his wrist on Sam's forehead to feel the temperature.

Sam closed his eyes and sent Gus a final message. I'll find the cure. I'll find it. Sam felt Gus's emotions, gratitude spilling from him, and then the connection was severed.

"Talk to me, kid."

Sam shook his hands out and stretched his neck. "Gus. Checking in. Hoping I had some news."

Reggie watched Sam's face carefully. "That it?"

Sam pressed his palms over his eyes. "He said the demons are going to ground. Laying low until…" He laughed, a sound with no humor in it. "Until a new leader rises."

"Meet the new boss," Reggie murmured.

Sam asked, "Huh?"

"Who song. Before your time." Reggie settled Sam in the car and shut the door. He drove out of the grocery store parking lot, chewing on his toothpick. Sam lay his head back on the headrest, eyes closed.

Finally Reggie spoke. "There's always going to be good and evil, Sam. We can't wipe evil out permanently."

Sam tilted his head to look at Reggie, sadness beyond his years reflected on his young face. "No?"

"But you and Dean just gave it a hell of a kick in the ass." Reggie chewed his toothpick resolutely. "It could take decades for a new beastie to get topside and start messing with us." He glanced over at Sam, his blue eyes piercing and bright. "Centuries, maybe."

Sam nodded, exhausted at the brief conversation with the reluctant demon, accepting what Reggie said. But somehow, he knew.

They would not be given the luxury of centuries.

Sam told Reggie he and Dean wanted the night to themselves and to make their excuses. Reggie understood, and promised to do so.

Sam ate a few squares of dark chocolate to get his energy up as he put the groceries away, hiding the vodka under the sink, and then he showered. By himself, but in the Navy shower style, to minimize how long the water rained down on him. He was better—much better—but he didn't think he'd ever be able to be in water again without fighting off the surge of panic.

Soaping up his newly shaven genital area was intensely arousing, so smooth and slick he nearly came right then and there. But he didn't, saving every bit of that sexual energy for later. For Dean.

He and Dean lounged on the couch, watching Ghostbusters and arguing over the technological implausibility of the ghost containment unit. Dean insisted on making lunch for the both of them, making huge sandwiches with multiple meats and cheeses, and far too much mayonnaise, but Sam didn't complain, seeing the sheer delight on Dean's face and his pride in feeding Sam.

As Sam had hoped, Dean fell asleep on the couch after lunch. Sam let him sleep, sitting in a chair and reading a book on the structure of the demonic soul and its relation to its vessel, hoping to find something in there that would save him from having to talk with Nathanial, try to get inside his memories. His skin literally crawled at the very thought of it.

Dean roused, making a smacking sound with his mouth. "Sammy?"

Sam set the book down. "How are you feeling?"

Dean sat up, rolled his head from side to side, and cracked his knuckles. "Good. Normal."

Sam's mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. "Yeah?"

Dean's expression shifted to an eager, hungry look. "Time for my presents?"

Sam took a deep breath, a shiver of nervousness moving through him. "Sure."

He got up and went to the kitchen, pulled the fancy Russian vodka out from under the sink and tossed it to Dean. He caught it with one hand neatly, and examined the label. "Nice." He cocked his head. "I'm gonna hold off on trying it, though."

"Smart." Sam wiped his palms, suddenly damp, on his jeans. "Ok, wait there." Sam went into the bedroom and came back with three wrapped presents: one large box, one medium-sized flat box, and two smaller ones, two tied with red ribbon. He sat on the coffee table across from Dean, holding the presents on his lap.

Dean grinned. "Smallest one first?"

Sam shook his head. "Big one."

Dean's eyebrows went up. He reached for the large box and tore the paper off. "No."

Sam's cheeks turned pink.

Dean looked up at Sam like Sam had just simultaneously won an Oscar, a Grammy and the Nobel Peace Prize. "Sam…you're awesome." He opened the box and pulled out the camcorder. "Really?"

Sam looked down, an attack of shyness overcoming him, then back up at Dean. His green eyes were blazing, fixed on Sam with almost feral intensity, pupils gone wide. "Really," Sam said. He tossed Dean another wrapped present. A few quick tugs, and the wrapping came free. It was the three-pack of cassette tapes.

"So it's, um…ready to go. We can…"

"Yeah."

Dean swiped his tongue over his lower lip. "I can see why you wanted to do this by ourselves."

Sam's blush intensified, hands worrying the two remaining presents in his lap.

"I don't know what you could have to top this," Dean tapped the camcorder, "but I'm dying to find out."

Sam hesitated, his mouth going dry.

"Come on, baby. What you got for me?" Dean's voice dropped low into that purr of pure sex that never failed to undo Sam. He put his hand on Sam's knee.

Sam looked into his eyes, and saw reassurance there, limitless love and trust. He handed Dean the medium-sized flat box.

Dean opened it, folding back the tissue paper to reveal the black dress. "Sammy?" His voice cracked.

"It's for you, but it's for me. I mean, to, um, to wear." Sam tripped over his own words. "For you. If you want. If you meant—"

"I meant it." Dean's eyes, bottle green and welling with tears, locked onto Sam's hazel ones. You'd love it. Wearing a pretty little dress for me. Suddenly, he inhaled sharply. "Is that?" He placed his hand on the remaining gift. Sam wordlessly let Dean take it, open it. His fingers brushed over the pink satin fabric, the stretchy black lace, of the panties inside the box. His hand shook. "Sam."

"You…like it?"

Dean answered with his hand tangled in Sam's hair, pulling him over into his lap, kissing him like he'd been denied it for weeks. Sam groaned, hard already, hard ever since Dean tore off the paper and seen the camcorder beneath, knowing what else he had planned. What he was going to do.

He rocked against Dean, who gripped his ass and held him close, teeth nipping at his jaw in the way that drove Sam crazy. He pulled away. Dean groaned, refusing to let go of him.

"You have a job to do." Sam waved toward the camcorder. "Set that up. While I get ready."

Dean bit his lower lip. "Jesus Christ, Sammy."

"I'll call you when I'm ready."

"Don't you take too long."

Sam plucked the dress from the box, and his hand hovered over the open box in Dean's lap. "Which one?"

Dean's smile was wolfish. "You know which one." He hooked the pink satin panties over his finger and tossed them to Sam.

Sam shut the bedroom door and leaned against it, breathing deep. Then he stripped off, setting his clothes to the side, and stepped into the pink panties. He tugged them up over his hips, and swore at the first touch of satin on his cock. The fabric was cool, soft and slick, so much softer than anything he'd ever worn. He shifted from one foot to another, and a pulse of pre-come emerged from the tip of his cock as the panties stroked his cock and balls. "Oh god," he whispered. "I'm not gonna last a minute."

"You ready yet?" Dean's voice, hungry and impatient, rang through the closed door.

"Hold on."

Sam quickly tugged on the dress, pulled the stretchy bodice over his torso and arranged the skirt over his thighs.

"Sammy?" Dean's voice was louder. He was right outside the door.

"Hang on." He smoothed the fabric down, suddenly afraid that he looked ridiculous. "Ok. Come in."

The door opened. Dean stood before him, camcorder in hand, and his mouth fell open at the sight of Sam, all sleek muscle and long, long legs, in the little black dress, barefoot with his hair spilling into his face. "Oh my god."

Sam scrutinized Dean's face.

"Sam. You're…that's…"

"Good?"

"Awesome." Dean moved forward, intent on touching Sam, but Sam took a step back, a wicked smile on his face.

"Turn it on."

Dean turned the camcorder on.

"Is it rolling?"

Dean checked the indicators to see if it was recording. He nodded yes.

"Good." Sam stroked his hands down his chest, over his stomach, down his hips, eyes locked onto Dean's. "I want you to get all this on tape."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Lovethis!

♥

Yay!

Perfect and wonderful as always. ♥

I love how you're keeping several strands of the verse going at once, what with Gus entering the picture again and the pending conversation with Azazel's vessel.

I also found Dean sharing his memories of their mum with Sam especially moving.

And now I can't wait for the kinky birthday fun and games to begin, lol... ;)

Thank you so much for this - it's always such a highlight to find a new chapter of this amazing verse.

Thanks! We had to revisit Gus and Rosier's story, and how Nathaniel fits in. :)

And surprise! I'm about to post the next chapter already!

Still with you and loving it still. Excited to read more birthday kink! :D'''

Yay! And yes, they do still have to watch the tape back. :)

J'adore!

Merci! Je suis tellement heureuse que tu aies aimé ce chapitre.

Of course I have to work a long stretch of busy days right when you post a bunch of chapters - stupid RL.

I love everyone looking our for Dean, Bobby actually shopping for hangover-healing/preventing stuff, Sammy making sure to take good care of his Dean...all so good. But of course, my favorite bit was Dean getting his presents :) Now on to see what ends up on that tape!

In this fic, I'm making up for so much neglect and not being taken care of that we see, or is implied, in the show.

Yes, go read Playback! You might be surprised.

Sure Got a Dirty Mouth Chapter 96: In My Life

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