notes: Beta by storydivagirl, everything right is because of her. Mistakes are all mine.
stale taste of recycled air
The key scrapes in the lock and Sam hurries to fold the letter in her hands, tucking it into her back pocket. She swallows hard, managing to look down at her text book just as the front door opens.
“Where’s my dinner, woman?” Dean asks, kicking the door closed behind him and pulling a battered newspaper from underneath his arm. He shakes it at her, saying, “I think I found us a job, which we’ll talk about later ‘cause it’s a bloody one and you’re such a girl about shit like that.”
“Fuck you,” she replies more from habit than insult, not bothering to look up at him.
He drops the newspaper on the scarred coffee table and walks into the cramped kitchen, bumping her with his hip before pulling the handle of the ancient refrigerator. He drops a six pack on the bottom shelf, bottles clinking together faintly. He snags one before sitting down at the table. “Dinner, bitch. I want it.”
“Asshole,” she shoots back, closing her book and bending over to shove it in the back pack beside her chair. “Quit looking at my ass and get it your own damn self. Your Hungry Man’s in the microwave, like always.” Rubbing her chest absently with her knuckles, her face crinkles into a frown. It shouldn't be this difficult, it shouldn't hurt this much.
Okay, so maybe Sam thought it was going to be sunshine and roses with some kittens and rainbows thrown in once she got her acceptance letter. But, damn it her chest is tight with guilt. She slowly sinks into the chair across her brother, tucking one leg beneath her, jeans snagging on the ragged rip in the vinyl. Holy fuck. I got a full ride. Spreading her fingers on the Formica table top, she presses down to keep them from shaking. I can do this. I can leave them. Leave him. Live a normal life. But, her chest, oh, her chest feels like it’s on fucking fire.
“Look,” Dean says, “I’m sorry. Apparently you’ve got some serious calculus and rocket science shit going on in that freaky smart brain of yours. If I promise you cookies and ice cream later, will you get my dinner outta the microwave?” He twists the cap off a bottle of beer, the microwave giving three shrill beeps behind them. Dean watches her carefully, and she pretends not to notice and act normal. Sam attempts to focus her thoughts and stands, her fingers lightly touching her back pocket.
“What?” Sam says, popping the microwave door open. “Yeah, sure.” Steam rises from the TV dinner. She peels the plastic back and dishes the food onto a chipped plate.
“You’re not acting like it.”
Biting her bottom lip, she breathes deeply to calm herself. I’ve been rewarded a full scholarship to Stanford. I’m leaving in the fall. She can tell him, opens her mouth to tell him and instead, “Do me a favor,” comes out, dropping the dinner plate in front of Dean with a clatter. “Don’t bring that girl around here anymore.” Eleven words stuck in throat ever since Dad took off on a hunt and Dean decided to use it as an opportunity to have free fucks in his bed when he could.
Dean flinches away from the gravy splatter and looks up at his sister in surprise. “Megan? The homecoming queen?” He picks up a piece of beef with his fingers and plops it in his mouth, flinching because it’s too hot to chew properly. Steam rises and he says, “Ow. Why? She’s legal.”
“She’s stalking you,” Sam says, making a face. She walks to the sink and looks out the window, resting a hip against the counter, her back to him. “She drove through the parking lot just before you pulled in.”
Watching the birds land along the telephone wires outside, she presses her fist into her chest and rubs.
The bottle is raised behind her, the ridges on the bottom scraping along the edge of the table. There’s an audible hard swallow before he says, “Huh,” and gets up to lean over her. Dean grabs a clean fork from the dish tray and she drops her fist with a jerk. He flashes her a wide grin before sitting back down. “Can’t help it if I’m that good.”
“I don't want to know,” Sam mumbles, stiffening, an unwelcome heat creeping up her chest and face. She does know.
She can’t explain what it did to her, coming home to the sound of the bedsprings squealing and headboard pounding against the wall. Couldn’t explain the confusion she felt coiled deep in her belly when she remembered Dean kissing that girl, his hands wrapped in her dark hair, pulling her neck back so he could attack her mouth. Won’t tell him how her hand crept into her panties that night, remembering the time it was her he was inside, his weight pinning her to the mattress.
Blushing at the slick of moisture and heat rushing to her panties she says without turning around, “Why her?” Why not me?
Dean growls her name, and rolling her eyes, she plunges her hands into the cold, dirty dish water, releasing the metal catch plug. It doesn’t help the burn on her face or fire in her chest but it’s something to do. The water loudly escapes down the drain, the kitchen chair scraping against the cracked and peeling linoleum behind her.
“You’re the one who stopped us,” he whispers, and she shivers, his breath hot against her ear. “You won’t let me touch—“
“Dean, please.” She interrupts him, holding up her wet hands as if to ward him off.
He looks down at her, eyes hot, cradling her hands to his chest. “Let me touch you, Sam. I want to touch you again so much.”
"Dean," she whispers, "we can't, it's not norm--"
Body tingling, blood hot and coursing through her veins, she parts her lips in invitation. Dean’s a grease, gun oil and Irish Spring smelling drug, lulling her into euphoria and she’s so ready to taste the Kool-Aid. Releasing her hands, he slides his arms around her waist, leaning into her, tipping his head down and breathing against her neck. Her knees weaken, his lips coming dangerously close to her own.
And then the strangely haunting and familiar sitar riff of Paint it Black plays from the cell phone beside Dean’s plate.
“Sam. Hey, Sam.”
She opens her eyes when Dean snaps his fingers in front of her face. She sits up, the leather seat of the Impala creaking in the near silence. Water trails run up the windshield, the wipers swishing back and forth, the squeak of rubber on glass loud in the dark car. “Hey, I think we’re close to the highway we need. Grab the map out of the glove compartment. What’m I looking for?”
Clearing her throat, she flicks the flashlight on and unfolds the map. “Are we still on 35 North?”
“Okay, then 136. You’ll be looking for 136 West. We’ll follow that straight into Nebraska.”
“I’m sorry I woke you,” he says. She clicks off the small light and carefully folds the map. She holds it in her lap, fingers rubbing against the soft paper.
“It’s okay,” Sam replies with a sigh, grabbing the water bottle beside her on the seat and drinking deeply. She drops it next to her and turns to the passenger side window, eyes trailing the water gliding by in rivulets. Her face feels flushed and she longs to lay her cheek along the cool glass. Fragmented and frayed lightning cuts the sky in the distance.
“Look, I know you didn’t want to leave, but the old man’s got a case lined up, a good one.”
Her hands float up to her face and she rubs the sleep out of her eyes, until her fingers drift down and cover her mouth. She’s not sure if she’s holding back a yawn or a scream. Dropping her hands into her lap, she steals a glance at his shadowed face. “It doesn’t matter,” she murmurs.
He’s looking at her, the lights from the oncoming cars momentarily throwing his face into sudden quick relief before plunging him back into darkness. “Keep your eyes on the road,” she orders him and he smiles. She turns away, something rumbling deep inside her that’s got nothing to do with lack of food.
“So you’re gonna miss some school. Big fucking deal. School sucks. I don’t understand why you got such a hard on to go to college anyway. You know dad will never let you go. He wants you to stay with us.”
She takes a deep breath and barely keeps the sarcasm from her voice when she says, “Dad wants me to stay. Sure he does.”
“Don’t do that,” Dean says. “Don’t be like that. You’re his daughter. Of course he wants you close.”
“And that’s why we’ve seen him twice in the last six months.”
“He’s hunting the thing that killed Mom, remember?”
“How can I forget,” Sam says, pulling the band from her hair and massaging her scalp. “No one will let me.”
“Sam,” Dean begins, but she cuts him off.
“Don’t you ever long for something else? Maybe wish things were different, that you had a normal life?”
Dean glances over at her. “Depends on what you mean like normal. Do I wish Mom were still alive? Hell yes. Do I want to be Joe College, star quarterback and captain of the track team? Fuck no.”
Sam presses her fingers against the bridge of her nose. “No, I mean, don’t you wish you lived in a world where we didn’t know monsters were real? Don’t you wish you could be like them?” She motions her hand towards the world outside her window. “I do. I want to fall in love and get married one day. I want to get pregnant and have children. I want to settle down and live in one place for longer than six months. I don’t want my kids to grow up nomads. I want to be able to tell my kids bedtime stories that don’t consist of how to properly make sure the safety is off the gun under their pillow. I don’t want them to ever have to fear the dark,” she pauses and then whispers, “I just want to be normal.”
Dean chuckles as he shakes his head. “Are you fucking nuts, Sam?”
“Don’t you make fun of me, Dean.”
“We’re not normal, Sam. We’re either gonna die young or grow old in our little fucked world together. The faster you get your head out of your ass and realize that the better off you’ll be, little sister.”
Anger ripples along her spine, burning with fury at herself because she realizes that maybe, deep down, she wouldn’t mind growing old with Dean. Damn it all to fucking hell, she thinks. I’m a nut case who wants to live a fucked up version of happily ever after with my brother.
Voice cold she says, “I don’t think you understand, Dean. If I decide I want to go to college, I’ll go and that’s final.” Body slumping in her seat, she relents and says quietly, “Can’t we just stop this? This is an argument neither one of us is going to win.” Besides, I’ve already been accepted, she thinks. Stanford sent an acceptance letter. Next month I’ll be eighteen and he can no longer stop me. You can’t stop me. I’m leaving. Leaving Dad. Leaving you. She sits up, spying a familiar bright blue and white sign up ahead. “Pull into that Wal-Mart up there.”
Sam sighs. She needs to get out of the car, needs to step away from Dean. She’s got thoughts and angst and guilt rolling around inside of her and she just wants five minutes to be alone, surrounded by normal people. Because I was dreaming about you holding me in the kitchen last night. Kissing me. Because I want you to touch me like that again. And I’m about to go crazy. “Because I need to go to the bathroom and get some things.”
“It’ll put us behind.”
She snaps, “Jesus, Dean. Just stop at the fucking Wal-Mart, okay? I won’t be long.”
He huffs, then slows and hand over hand turns the wheel of the Impala, maneuvering the car towards a parking spot near the front of the store. “Do you want –”
Sam’s got the door open and is out before the car comes to a complete stop. Ducking her head back, she says, “I’ll done in a few minutes.” Sam slams the door behind her, strides across the parking lot and takes a deep breath of sterile, retail air as soon as the automatic doors swoosh shut behind her.
“—me to come in with you?” Dean finishes to the empty car.
Thunder rumbles off in the distance, a flash of lightning illuminates the nearly empty parking lot. Dean sighs and runs a hand through his short hair before putting the car in park.
Something’s going on with Sam. She’s acting weird, keeping something from him. Maybe it’s got to do with Megan. But hey, it wasn’t his fault she walked in on them having sex. She’d said she’d be home at six, not four. Sam wasn’t supposed to be there.
He shifts in his seat, cock hardening, remembering Sam’s eyes growing large as he stared at her in the doorway, fucking Megan from behind with long strokes, his hands full of her full, tight ass.
There had been something hot in Sam’s eyes, her mouth slightly slack, her pink tongue peeking out against her red lips before licking them wet. If he wasn’t careful, he may have to admit it was why he blew his load so fast. Sam watched them and Dean watched her until the pressure inside built to an exploding crescendo. He came hard, eyes closing, tilting his body over Megan’s, pushing into her as deep as he could go.
When he opened his eyes, Sam was gone.
And then he figures she isn’t going to say anything to him about it. Thought she was just going to ignore it like she has about the other fucked up stuff they’ve done. So, he pretends it never happened. Pretends he didn’t jerk off to the memory of Sam’s face watching him fuck Megan later on that night.
So then what does she do? Gets all high and mighty and calls him out on it. His little seventeen year old sister tells him not to bring his fuck buddy around anymore. And what did he want to do while she’s saying it? Wanted to get her naked and tilt those long legs of hers behind his back. Wanted to bend her over the kitchen table like before and plow into her so hard, wanted to hear all the little moans she tries so hard to hide at night into his ear.
Then what’s he do? Brings up ancient history and almost kisses her.
He blows the air out of his lungs and rests his head against the bump on the back of the seat. He looks at his watch and drums his fingers against the steering wheel. Sam’s been gone for ten minutes, then fifteen. At the half hour mark, Dean shuts the engine off and follows her into the store.
Ten minutes of wandering the aisles until he finds her in the toy section, sitting back on her heels with a smattering of plastic Barbie boxes scattered in front of her. Her hair has grown long, in spite of the old man’s orders to keep it short. It falls down her back in messy waves and he resists the urge to run his fingers through it.
He opens his mouth to call to her when she speaks. “What’s your name?” She looks down at the Barbies for a moment before nodding her head slowly. “Hi, Jenny. My name’s Sam.”
The blood drains from his face. Not only was there a freaking ghost in Wal-Mart but his sister can see it, can speak to it. “Sam,” he says, his voice a warning.
She doesn’t turn her head. “I’m okay, Dean,” she says, quiet. “It’s just a lost little girl.” Sam picks up a pink box and puts it back on the shelf. “I think you’re right. This one is the prettiest. Sometimes I like to look at them too, because I wasn’t allowed to have any when I was your age.”
Dean rolls his eyes. Only Sam would bring up how deprived she was growing up to a freaking ghost.
She smiles at whatever the little girl says and looks up at him. “That’s Dean,” Sam says. “He is very handsome. No, no, honey. He’s not mad at you. He’s mad at me because I made him wait in the car.” She crosses her eyes at him and continues to place the pink boxes back on the shelves.
“Do you miss them, your family? Not Davy, huh? Who’s Davy?” Sam looks at the floor, listening to a voice only she can hear. “Davy’s your big brother? Maybe Davy’s missing you. You don’t think so? I do. You wish you could see your mom?” Sam sighs. “Me, too.” She suddenly looks up towards the back of the store. Standing slowly, her hands automatically wipe the seat of her pants. “Jenny, what if I told you I could help you see your family again?”
“Sam,” Dean says a bit more forcefully, patting his pockets. Of course he left all his guns in the car. “Sam, don’t.”
“I have to,” she whispers, holding out her hand, fingers curling around something he can’t see. “She’s just a little girl who misses her mom. I can do this.”
Dean takes a step toward her and yells, “Since when!” Where the hell is everyone? It may have been the middle of the night, but where are the workers stocking the shelves? What the hell happened to the over head Muzak he didn’t even notice isn’t playing anymore? Who the fuck does she think she is? Sylvia fucking Brown? What the hell does she think she’s going to do, open a stairway to heaven? Send the little girl into the light?
And then, Sam reaches up above her head and in a rush of sound and pressure that makes his ear pop, she does. Thunder cracks deafeningly loud, the fluorescent lights exploding above them, sparks raining down on the painted concrete floor. Sam’s body goes slack and she crumples to the floor.
Dean thinks he might have seen something, maybe an outline of a little girl burning against his eyelids when he blinks. He runs to Sam, sliding the last couple of feet through broken glass and scoops her up into his arms. Her head lolls against his arm, blood trickling from one nostril and his heart skips a beat. “Talk to me, Sammy,” he says, pushing her hair away from her face. “Come on baby, don’t do this.” He presses his ear to her chest and sighs in relief at the steady sound of her heartbeat. He pulls the hem of his t-shirt up and wipes the blood away from her nose.
Sam comes around slowly, her eyes fluttering open. Broken blood vessels pinprick the whites of her eyes. “Christ,” she croaks. “I’m thirsty.”
“I’m going to fucking kill you,” he growls against her neck. He tightens his arms around her body and winds his hands into her hair, pulling her head back so he can kiss her mouth hard. He leans back and stands, dropping her legs to the ground. “Can you walk?”
Leaning on him for support, she nods her head. “I still have to pee.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
Dean grips Sam’s upper arm when she comes out of the bathroom and half drags her out of the store, fingers tight enough to bruise. Rain beats down hard on them, soaking them both in seconds. “I can’t believe you did that,” he hisses when they’re in the car.
“Why?” Sam asks, wiping the water dripping down her nose with the back of her sleeve. “All I did was send a little girl back home. She wasn’t homicidal, she wasn’t a salt and burn job. She was lost and scared. She had been dead a long time and didn’t understand where she was. I thought I could do it. I tried and it worked.”
Rain hammers hard on the roof, falling in sheets against the window, blocking them off from the outside world. Soft gray light filters into the car from the bright Wal-Mart sign hanging outside the store.
“And what if it hadn’t? What if something worse had happened?” Sam makes a noise of disgust and Dean lifts the hem of his soaked shirt and shows her the red stain along the bottom. “Do you see this? This is your blood. Your nose bled.”
“So?” she asks, swallowing hard, refusing to meet his eyes.
“Did you take a look at your eyes in the mirror when you were in the bathroom? Did you happen to notice the blood in the whites of your eyes because I sure as hell did!” Dean slides towards the center of the car, snapping on the over head light. He grabs Sam by the back of the neck and pushes her wet face towards the rearview mirror. “You see that? You did something to your brain when you decided to send that little fucking girl home!”
“Let go of me,” Sam cries in surprise, his fingers sliding off her drenched hair. She jerks her head from his grip and lashes out at Dean, her fist glancing off his chin. She pushes at his chest, until he grabs her hands and crushes her to him.
“You could have died, Sam,” he says, grabbing her around the middle and pulling her into his lap. “What if you blew something in your brain and it ended up leaking from your ears in the middle of Wal-Mart? What the hell would I have done then?” His voice cracks, his head falling against her chest, her heart pounding against his cheek. “What the hell would I have done then?”
Sam closes her tearing eyes above him, choking back a sob, cold rainwater dripping down her back. Christ, he was scared of losing her. What the hell was she going to do now? How was she going to leave him?
“I’m sorry, Dean,” she whispers, resting her cheek against the top of his wet hair. She loves him so fucking much; it makes her chest tight and her throat dry. Bringing his face up along hers, the shadow of his beard scrapes across her hot cheek. His mouth seeks hers, his lips surprisingly gentle. His tongue traces along her full bottom lip, shocking her with the depth of excitement that courses through her veins.
Wrapping her arms around his neck, her fingers tangle in his wet short hair, water beading up and running down her arm, pulling his head back, opening her mouth above his, her tongue sweeping in and touching his. It’s electrifying, this touch, and it should feel dirty and wrong, but for the first time in forever, Sam feels like she's home.
Dean’s humming against her lips, his mouth moving like magic against hers, his fingers sliding under her soaked flannel shirt, her skin rippling and breaking out in goose pimples at his touch. Undoing the mother of pearl snaps with his forearms, his fingers glide up her torso, cupping her full breasts in his hands, moaning against her mouth when he realizes she’s not wearing a bra. He runs his callus-covered hands over her swollen nipples, lightly pinching them, her eyes flying open and breaking her mouth away from his. She gasps in pleasure.
And she knows, just as she knows she needs air to breathe, that all Dean needs to do is touch her right there, can already feel the powerful orgasm building in her, and it won’t take much to tip her straight over the edge. When he jerks his hips up against hers and his jean covered erection rubs her right fucking there, she comes hard, throwing her head back, a sharp guttural cry escaping her mouth. Dean jerks against her, arms wrapping around her back, hands hard and tight on her shoulders. He presses her down against him, thrusting over and over until he groans over the pounding rain, seeking and bringing her mouth back down to his.
“How the hell did you open the freaking thing anyway?”
Sam shrugs. They’re back on the road and she can’t get her head around whether they’re acting like everything’s okay or if it really, is okay. She can still feel his touch against her skin. Feel his mouth against hers. Can taste him still.
“I don’t know. I could see these gossamer-like,” she narrows her eyes in concentration, remembering, “…things. If I had to describe them, I’d say they were like strands of spider webs hanging off her, floating down the aisle and then undulating towards the ceiling. And when I touched her,” her hands start to shake, “it was like I electrified them somehow. Like all I had to was flip a switch and I’d turn on the light. You know. That light. And when I walked her to where they were all gathered, I pulled on the threads and it was like this sudden rush of power coursed through me and then…” she pauses and glances out the window, darkness spreading out over wheat fields in an endless black sea.
“She was gone. Gone into the light.”
“Well, don’t sound so fucking proud of yourself,” Dean says, stretching his arm across the back of her seat. “You wait until Dad finds out.”
Sam turns to him in astonishment, the pale pink dawn slowly creeping over the horizon behind his profile. “You won’t.”
Dean brings his arm forward, purposely knocking it into the back of her head, reaching into his tape box and randomly shoving one in the player. “I will.”
“Oh, you fucker,” she says, fear clenching her stomach tight. “Dean, come on,” she cajoles, grabbing his hand as he reaches for the volume dial. “Please, don’t tell Dad.”
“Do me a favor and shut up, Sam.” He squeezes her fingers together. “Because as much as I love you, I’m still pissed at what you did back there. Got it?”
“Which part?” she asks, looking at him in mock innocence. “The ‘I sent the little girl home’ or the ‘I dry humped you in the Wal-Mart parking lot’ part, ‘cause I’m really not clear on what you’re getting at.”
“You little shit,” he says, a slow grin sliding across his face. “You fucking trying to blackmail me? I’d like to see you try and sell the old man that story. He’d beat the shit out of both us and salt and burn our bodies,” and then his voice softens. “I’m serious, Sam. You scared the shit out of me. Don’t do it again, okay?”
She nods silently, their fingers lacing together, dropping between them as his thumb strokes the back of her hand softly. This time, she’s the one who cranks the music up, moving as close to him as she can, resting her head on his shoulder.
Sam knows she needs to tell him she’s leaving, that she’s been accepted to a really good school with a full scholarship. Knows above all, he’ll be proud of her and will tell her to go, they’ll be fine without her, he’ll be fine without her.
But she knows he’ll be lying.
Dad’s job turns out to be a fucking Siat. Nasty, greasy-skinned, bloated fuckers that like to eat children. Out of everything they’ve hunted over the years, Dean loves taking out the child killing monsters most of all. Those are the cases he scours the newspapers for everyday, the ones where he can make a difference and save the lives of kids. The ones where he can give justice to the victims too small to do it themselves.
And this one? Dean can’t wait to blow a hole straight through the fucker’s heart.
They’re tracking it through an abandoned warehouse when Dean loses Sam. Dad’s a floor down, pulling the survivors out of the nest and to safety. He turns to peek around a corner and when he turns back, Sam’s gone. “Son of a bitch,” he breathes.
“Sam,” he hisses in a whisper, backtracking the way they came, Colt aimed towards the floor. His entire body goes cold when he catches sight of her, two feet away from being overtaken by a monster that once might have been human. Tucking his gun in his jeans at the small of his back, he creeps up behind her, arm circling her belly, pulling her tight to him into the shadows, his other hand covering her mouth to keep her from screaming.
“Shhh, it’s me,” he barely breathes in her ear and she melts into him, his fingers curling under her t-shirt, sliding across her skin until his hand spans her midriff. He drops the hand from her mouth and she pulls up her Berretta up to line a shot. “You can’t,” he whispers. “We’re at the wrong angle. You need the heart.”
The gun in her hand falls heavily to his side. Mouth open, she gasps for breath silently, the sound and slide of the monster passing so close causing her to shiver in his arms. The heat of her belly, the feel of her skin under his fingers awakens his desire for her. Wrong place, wrong time, he thinks and she presses herself against the hard edge of his erection. “Dean,” she moans, his lips ghosting along her skin. Sam turns to him, grasping his neck, the gun in her hand cold. He lowers his mouth to hers, forcing her lips open, tongue sweeping in. She tastes like fear and Double Mint.
And then his world explodes.
Afterwards, they drive back to the motel where they met and received orders hours before, the room still smelling like old sex and tasting like stale recycled air. They’re tired and cranky, the three of them arguing for the past hour and half in the Impala.
“I did what I had to do,” Sam says, closing the door behind her. “I killed it. Isn’t that what we were there for?”
John closes his eyes and turns away from his daughter. “You could have killed Dean.”
Sam drops her bag and follows her father, forcing him to face her. “I didn’t,” she says through clenched teeth. “Get over it.”
“What did you say to me?” John asks, looming over her.
Sam takes a step forward, and puts her hands on her hips. “I said. Get. Over. It. It’s done. It’s over. It’s dead and we’re alive. It was coming up behind us; I saw it and I shot it. No one else here seems to be having a problem with that besides you. Is it because it was me instead of Dean that brought it down?”
Dean moves towards the two of them, watching his father’s fist clench at his side. “Look, the ringing in my ear is almost gone. I’ve got a bit of gunpowder burn on my face, but I’ll be okay…”
“Girl, you watch your mouth when you’re talking to me.”
Sam snorts and shakes her head, a small smile playing along her mouth. “Yeah, cause you’ve always been so respectful of me. Father of the freaking year.”
John raises his hand and Dean’s there, blocking it before he can strike her. “Enough,” Dean says, throwing his father’s arm down. “It’s late, and I’m so tired of listening to the two of you go at each other’s throats like Goddamn rabid dogs.”
None of them say anything as the old man picks his stuff off the floor and throws it on one of the beds, pulling the vomit colored comforter back before crawling next to the canvas bag, collapsing and turning his back to them.
Dean glances at the floor and then at Sam. He raises an eyebrow and she nods, silently agreeing the rug is too nasty to sleep on. Dean pulls his shirt up over his head, watching her cheeks pink at the sight of his bare chest. Shedding his jeans, he lies down and pulls the covers up and over him. She barely gets her jeans off before shivering, her teeth chattering in the silence.
“He’ll leave us again soon,” she whispers when the old man starts to snore. Dean puts his arm out and Sam snuggles into his shoulder.
Pictures are all they’ve got left of Mary and even Dean can see the resemblance, see the way his father’s eyes linger on Sam’s blonde hair, the curve of her figure. The hurt and anguish in his face, the constant loss he’s reminded of every day.
The more she grows, the longer their father stays gone. “Yeah,” he whispers. “You’re probably right.”
The silence grows until he thinks she’s fallen asleep. Finally, just as he’s about to drift off, she breathes, “I got a full scholarship to a college. Stanford, in California. I just…just wanted to tell you. Before-” her voice trails off. “Dean, are you still awake?”
A cold wave shoots through his body. He lets his breathing even out, staying as quiet and still as he can. Sam shifts, picking her head up from his chest and he can feel her eyes on him in the darkness. His throat tightens up, forcing himself to keep his eyes closed. After a moment, she lays her head back down on his chest.
He lies awake staring at the ceiling for a very long time.
Dean’s awakened somewhere near dawn to the feel of the bed slightly shaking. Sam’s at the far edge of the mattress instead of sprawled over and around him like normal. Her body is taut and curved away from him, the small, almost silent moans escaping her lips and the rhythm her of her hand alerting him to what she’s doing.
Dean stares at the shadows playing along the ceiling, determined to leave her alone, still reeling from what she whispered hours before. He’s determined to ignore the ache he feels coursing through his body straight to his groin.
Until she whispers his name.
He slides over, ignoring her gasp of surprise when his hand trails down her stomach and tucks under her panties, replacing hers. He strokes her softly, his mouth covering her whimpers. He presses himself against her ass, his cock straining against his briefs. She reaches back under the covers and pushes her hand under the elastic band, fingers encircling him. Pushing his briefs down his hips with one hand, she strokes his cock softly, her fingers on his dick the most delicious sensation he’s ever felt.
Dean glances over his shoulder, the old man's still turned away from them, his breathing slow, deep and regular. He wants to push his dick into her, wants to feel her warmth and softness envelop him as he rocks against her deep and slow before pounding her straight into the bed.
Dean can’t bring himself to do it. As much as he loves her, his cock so hard it hurts, he can’t bring himself to disrespect the old man like that. His mouth drops back down onto hers, cupping her hand around his balls and squeezing, guiding her to what he likes.
And then, in a heartbeat, he realizes what she means by before.
Sam comes all over his fingers, her eyes wide and locked on his in the moonlight streaming through the window, his mouth covering her squeaks and moans. He finally allows himself relief, coming hard and hushed against the cotton of his Jockeys. After they silently clean up, he sleeps dreamlessly for the first time in weeks.
Their father's gone when they wake.
They’re silent for most of the way back to Missouri.
She still hasn’t told him she’s leaving and he refuses to tell her he already knows.
*note: I put together a mix for this story here*