The Cause Sanguine - Section Four

[glasslogic]

 

Chapter Ten

"Now the hungry lion roars,
And the wolf behowls the moon."
                                                                  ~Shakespeare, A Midsummer-Night's Dream, v.1.379

The Tikoloshe were gone and the cops never came knocking on Dean’s door, but the third of his little problems didn’t fall out quite the way he had planned.

Dean had assumed he wouldn’t have to deal with Sam and the fallout from screwing him in the middle of a crime scene until Sam changed back into his human form, but Sam didn’t seem to share Dean’s view on that. Dean had to admit Sam’s perspective on the matter was probably pretty different from his own, but fending off the advances of an amorous wolf for days on end had pushed him to the end of his patience.

After the first time or two that the wolf had crossed Dean’s very clear line on personal boundaries --poking a cold nose into places Dean considered highly off-limits while he was drying his hair after a shower, burrowing under the covers and snuffling heavily into Dean’s armpits and wriggling up a lot closer than was usually allowed-- Dean put his foot down and tossed Sam out.

The wolf whined and growled and generally acted endlessly pathetic, but for five days, when Dean went inside, he closed the door on Sam. No meant no, and if Sam didn’t want to acknowledge that, then he could damn well stay outside.

On the sixth day, Dean finally relented under the terribly pleading looks and apologetic head hanging, even going so far as to make the wolf his own bowl of popcorn as a sort of peace offering. Sam perked up a little at that, but after slinking inside, he stayed to his half of the living room, leaving Dean strictly alone.

Dean had expected to be relieved, but it was actually depressing as hell. Like a cross between having kicked a puppy and betrayed a friend. He put up with it through three episodes of Law And Order, a show Dean usually skipped but he knew Sam loved, before he put his own bowl aside and slid onto the bare wooden floor. He had Sam’s attention as soon as he had moved and it only took extending a hand to have the wolf practically in his lap.

Dean rubbed behind Sam’s ears for a few minutes, letting the wolf press his face into his chest before sighing and pushing the animal back until he could see the hazel of his eyes. “Sam. I... can’t do that. What you want.”

The wolf looked so sad. Dean couldn’t even point to what it was specifically in the wolf’s demeanor, but there was something, maybe the look in his eyes that was just so incredibly sad... He whined and tried to lean into Dean again, but Dean locked his elbow, holding him at bay.

“What I mean is...” He licked his lips and trailed off, trying to figure out exactly what he wanted to say.

Two and a half weeks of slowly getting used to the idea had made a few things clear to Dean. He wanted to have sex with Sam. Sam was perfectly capable of making his own decisions. And if the only thing holding him back was some social convention, well -- it wasn’t like Dean had ever given much of a flip for social conventions before. Besides, Sam wasn’t really a wolf. Dean firmly ignored the small part of his mind that pointed out Sam wasn’t really human either.

Making the decision, however unsure he was about it, had made something tight loosen in his chest. He wasn’t going to take it back; telling Sam ensured that, if nothing else. The wolf had been an incredible pain after an adrenaline-fueled rub-off that all together lasted about three minutes. Dean figured if he tried to cut Sam off after giving him actual permission and a real romp in the sheets, he would probably find himself hit over the head and dragged back into that god-forsaken valley until he changed his mind.

Dean cleared his throat. “I don’t mean we can’t have sex ever. I just mean... not like this. I can’t do it with you in, you know, your wolf form.”

Sam cocked his head and gave one slow tail-twitch.

“It’s a human thing. I know you probably don’t understand, but it’s a very important human thing. But, uh, when you are human, and if you want to -- well, I guess I’m on board. Willing. To have sex. Did you get all that?” He gave the wolf a critical look, or he tried, but it was hard when a hundred pounds of fur and enthusiasm suddenly knocked him onto his back and proceeded to lick his face from chin to hairline. Repeatedly.

Dean fended him off; there wasn’t much he hated in his current life more than having Sam’s very long, very wet tongue covering him with wolf-spit. It was tempting to tell him they could have sex as long as he never did that again, but that wasn’t fair. Whatever they had between them was bigger than having to wash his face again, but he did make sure he gave the wolf a good glare when he finally managed to heave Sam off and stalk to the bathroom. Sam followed so closely, he was practically standing on his feet, and no matter how Dean snapped and snarled for the rest of the week, nothing he did so much as dented the wolf’s good spirits.

And then it was the night before the full moon.

Dean had spent the last two days before the start of Sam’s shifting in various states of nerves. He was annoyed with himself for it, but most of his sexual encounters, with men or women, had started in a bar, ended happily a few minutes or hours later in a bed, and both parties walked away satisfied. Never to meet again. He had really only ever had one relationship before that could be considered ‘serious’, but that was mostly her doing. It had never bothered him before, but as he watched the sun sink into the mountains on a day he had started thinking of in capital letters, he wished he had more experience in sustaining relationships. Or even a clue how to start a seduction that didn’t involve liquor.

Sam mattered.

Though, really, how much practice with human relationships was going to be helpful with a man who spent most of his life furry with four legs? And he didn’t need seduction, all he needed was to stop actively fending him off.

When Sam walked out of the forest only minutes after sunset, a spring in his step and a smile of greeting on his face that Dean returned with a raised eyebrow and a good head-to-toe glance-over, there was no question about what the first step in the night’s activities was going to be.

“You’ll like this; stop squirming,” Dean growled, exasperated, a few minutes later, after dragging Sam down the hallway to the bathroom. Sam, dirt-smudged and fragrant, was evading Dean’s efforts to crowd him into the shower. The wolf had found showers interesting, but after Dean refused to help him wash anymore, not interesting enough to bother with during most of his human visits. He wasn’t dirty enough for Dean to generally force the issue, and having him bounce in and out of his bed au naturalle encouraged Dean to keep the sheets changed. At least once a month.

But there was absolutely no way Dean was going to do anything involving closer contact until he had personally seen every inch of Sam’s skin scrubbed. He had no problems with spur of the moment fun or a good, unplanned roll in the hay, but this wasn’t spontaneous and he could smell Sam from four feet away. The wolf, oddly, never seemed to have more than a faint foresty scent to him, maybe a little musky, if Dean actually buried his nose in the fur, but whatever kept the wolfy odor to a minimum did not translate to a human form.

Fighting with Sam on the issue was only going to get one of them hurt in what would probably be an abrupt fall onto the slippery, golden-brown tiles of the master bath. It was pointless, anyway; there was a much easier way to coax his reluctant guest into the shower. Dean rolled his eyes at his own stupidity, stripped and climbed into the warm spray himself. After that, getting Sam into the shower was more an exercise in finding room for all of everyone’s limbs. Dean was grateful the stall was a little oversized.

After four months together, with Dean spending time with Sam in both his forms, and Sam’s total disdain for clothes, there was little about his body that was a mystery to Dean. But being aware of him as a friend and companion and having him as a lover were completely different things.

Dean had a washcloth and a goal, but he found himself distracted by Sam’s pleasure in even the most casual of his touches. He started with Sam’s face and worked his way down, savoring the freedom to do what he had wanted to do for months but had stopped himself from ever seriously considering.

He was not at all surprised to see that Sam was fully erect by the time he ran the washcloth down to his waist. The surprise was how patient Sam was being about it. Other than some shivery breaths and the light touches he brushed over every inch of Dean’s skin he could reach, Sam seemed willing to let Dean do what he wanted at his own pace. Dean skipped the area between Sam’s legs, knelt, and went ahead and scrubbed his feet and calves, taking care between each toe and with the sensitive skin behind his knees. Dean paid careful attention to the thick, white scar that curved around his calf. He slowed his pace as he moved up Sam’s thighs and leaned his head against Sam’s hip and reached around to slide the cloth between the rounded, firm muscles of his ass. At the same time, he flicked out his tongue along the side of the swollen shaft right in front of his face.

The low whine that escaped Sam’s throat wasn’t entirely human, but Dean was well familiar with the sentiment behind it. He’d made similar enough sounds in the same circumstances, so he took pity, and as he nudged Sam’s legs further apart to make better use of the washcloth, he took the head of Sam’s cock into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the sensitive skin. A sharp crack from above made him pull back and look up -- Sam had slammed his head into the tile, but when Dean started to stand up, Sam tangled his fingers into his hair and pulled Dean’s face back to his groin. Sam didn’t pull so hard Dean couldn’t have resisted, but if Sam wanted him to continue, Dean wasn’t going to argue. Whatever the reason for Sam’s passivity, it was reassuring to know he was in control enough to keep his strength in mind. The werewolf was easily half again as strong as Dean, something Dean tended to forget on a day-to-day basis, but had much more serious implications if he was going to have Sam in his bed for more than sleep.

The soft gasps and whimpers from above as Dean sealed his mouth back over Sam’s cock were as addictive as the slide of hot skin over smooth muscle, and the heavy, salty flavor of the precome. Dean didn’t mind giving blowjobs on the get-one/give-one scale, but this was the first in a long time he could remember actually enjoying it.

Bobby had been insistent that the valley wolves mated exclusively for life, so that meant that whatever they did together, it would all be new ground for Sam. It gave the quiet sounds that spilled from Sam’s lips as he tilted his head up into the spray and flexed his hands against the wet tiles of the shower wall an almost painful sort of honesty. Dean had one hand wrapped around the base of Sam’s shaft, but the other he traced back between his spread legs. Soap had collected in the crevice and Dean’s fingers were well slicked as he gently traced around the clenched muscle there. He didn’t have any specific plans in that direction for the night, but he was curious to see how Sam felt about at least being touched in that sensitive spot. The answer was apparently pretty good, because Dean had hardly slipped a fingertip in when the wolf spread his legs wider, opened himself even more to Dean’s touch. The invitation was obvious and in short order, Dean was able to slip two fingers in with only a little resistance. He had paused before working the second finger in to slick his fingers with more shampoo, fumbling one-handed while he concentrated on keeping his rhythm with his mouth and the other.

Feeling Sam start to come apart under his hands, Dean pulled back and stood up, knees and jaw aching. That wasn’t how he wanted it to happen their first (second) time. He pressed his own body up against Sam’s and took their cocks together in his hands, slick with soap and water, encouraging Sam to move. The pleasure and sense of power was intense and he lasted only a few strokes before he spilled, semen coating his hand and their combined flesh even as Sam shuddered hard and followed. Dean let go and reached up to grab Sam’s neck, pulling him into a good position to kiss and was surprised when Sam, still panting, continued to stay passive under his touch while Dean explored his mouth. It was true the wolf didn’t have the first practical idea of how to kiss, but the submission with which he was bowing to Dean’s control was unnerving, even if the results had felt incredible.

He scrubbed Sam’s hair afterwards, trying to explain about the stinging, made sure every trace of soap was gone, and then they climbed out of the shower.

Sam watched to see how Dean dried himself and diligently followed suit. It was a better job than he had bothered with when bathing alone and it was a welcome change to not have puddles of water to mop up as Sam followed him to the kitchen, Sam naked as he preferred to be and Dean not bothering with clothes himself. There hardly seemed a point.

They were halfway through the canned chicken and noodle soup Dean had hastily heated up for dinner, when Dean dropped his spoon into his bowl and glared at the subdued wolf.

“What’s wrong with you?” he demanded, the horrible though suddenly occurring to him that he might have read everything wrong. That maybe Sam had just been riding an adrenaline rush back at the house and didn’t have any interest in any of this; his attempted molestation of Dean just a bad interpretation of wolfy friendship. Maybe Bobby didn’t know crap about what he was talking about with mating-bonds and the valley wolves, after all. “You’re acting like--” Dean broke off as Sam looked at him curiously. Acting like he had after Dean had kicked him out. Placating, submissive, desperate not to get banished again.

No, Dean didn’t think he had interpreted anything wrong. He just thought he was a jackass.

“Sam.” Dean hoped his tone would convey anything that might get missed word-wise. “This has to be about us. I’m not going to get mad at you and throw you out of my bed. I mean, yeah, this is my house and I have some rules you have to follow while you’re here, like no peeing inside and no eating my guests, but as far as the sex goes, as long as you don’t hurt me on purpose and stop if I say stop, then it’s your show too. You don’t need my permission to do pretty much whatever you want.”

The wolf gave his usual frustrating indications of comprehension --absolutely none at all-- and went back to his food as soon as Dean was done speaking. But Dean wasn’t imagining the little sidelong, speculative looks from Sam’s side of the table, and he was looking forward to the after dinner entertainment with some anticipation.

They hadn’t bothered with sheets, sleeping hadn’t been high on either of their agendas, and they were plenty warm without them. Dean had shared his body with many people in his twenty-four years, but never one who treated him like the bend of his ankle and the curve of his ass were deserving of equal attention and fascination. Without the restraint of having to worry about some boundary he was in danger of crossing, Sam seemed to feel that every inch of Dean needed to be carefully explored and tasted. And he wasn’t shy about pinning Dean in place to get a better angle if Dean moved before Sam had mapped whatever he was working on to his satisfaction. It was a novel experience for Dean, who couldn’t ever remember being with a lover who outclassed him in the muscle department, but not one that concerned him. It was Sam; he trusted him, and as the night wore on in a strange, intoxicating mix of passion and communion, Dean couldn’t remember ever feeling as connected to another person as he felt when they lay twined together. It felt... right. Which was way sappier than Dean had ever imagined feeling, but it was okay, as long as he only admitted it to himself.

Shortly before dawn, Dean woke up and rolled to his side, leaning up on one elbow and letting his eyes drift over the sleeping form of the man sharing his bed. Sam looked entirely human, and Dean’s body still carried the bruises and aches of hours of sexual exploration as a reminder that Sam felt entirely human.

But he wasn’t. And that was the core of Dean’s problem. Sam wasn’t human, and Dean was, and a hunter. While it was nice to think about blowing it all off and settling down in Sunvalley with Sam to live out his days in lazy sunshine and warm, fire-lit nights, the time he took from the job could cost others their lives. He had already been sidelined longer than he had planned. His dad’s death was still a deep ache in his mind and his heart, but the thought didn’t make him want to reach for a bottle anymore. In fact, if it wasn’t for Sam and the distraction he represented, he probably would have been gone weeks ago.

Before Dean could head any further down that moody avenue, Sam’s eyes fluttered open. He stared back at Dean for a moment, then a smile curved his lips and he slid one arm over Dean’s back and up until he could stroke long fingers through the hair at the back of Dean’s head. Hair he normally kept cropped short, but after half a year as a civilian was long enough that it actually had to be combed. Sam tugged him in and pressed a noisy kiss to Dean’s cheek. Dean was grinning when Sam finally leaned back.

“Tomorrow, I’m teaching you how to kiss the right way.”

Sam grinned back at him and then slipped out of bed, Dean feeling not a shred of guilt over ogling his ass as Sam padded out the door. A quick glance at the clock told Dean there was less than five minutes before official sunrise.

Sam would be a wolf until sunset again, and Dean had a variety of chores to do, but lying in his warm bed on sheets that smelled strongly of Sam and sex, he wondered, for what might have been the first time in his life, if there might be a future for him that didn’t revolve around the hunt. He could certainly stay through the winter and find out.



Chapter Eleven

"Only a mountain has lived long enough
to listen objectively to the howl of a wolf."
                            ~Aldo Leopold

Winter was unusually mild for all of the northern United States, and Sunvalley was no exception. Even deep into December there were only inches on the ground, and the roads were clear as far as anyone could care to travel.

It had been three months since he had started a more personal relationship with Sam and none of the wonder or excitement had worn off. He only had his lover for the three days a month, but he had his companionship nearly constantly. Dean missed not having human Sam around, but that was more because he missed the casual intimacy he could share with Sam in his human form that he refused to share with the wolf. But he still had the company and the companionship that had founded their relationship and he enjoyed it immensely. And when Sam was human... well, the shifter was a quick learner and apparently spent a great deal of his four-legged time thinking up things to do to Dean during the three nights Dean would let him touch him like that. Not that Dean had any problems with it, he certainly spent a lot of his own frustration imagining what he was going to do with Sam. It was just a little unnerving to feel the weight of Sam’s gaze sometimes and know that the wolf lounging on his couch shedding all over the place was planning out absolutely filthy things he intended to do to Dean, just as soon as Dean would stand still long enough to let him.

Late December and Sam was shifted for the last time of the year. He’d spent the afternoon in his fur form, dragging Dean through the eves of the forest, and Dean had to admit some of what Sam had shown him was absolutely amazing. Frozen waterfalls and ice crystallized as delicate as lace, a massive bull elk with a rack at least half as wide across as Dean was tall, and a pristine glade over which bald eagles rode thermals as they kept their eyes out for likely prey. Well, pristine until two smaller wolves barreled out of nowhere and bowled Sam completely over. Dean whipped his pistol out by reflex at the unexpected assault, but Sam gave a sharp bark in his direction that needed no interpretation and Dean re-holstered the weapon. He watched, amused, as Sam cavorted in obvious play through the unbroken snow with what had to be cousins, or --it occurred to Dean suddenly-- maybe even siblings.

That thought preoccupied his mind while Sam thoroughly trounced the other wolves and returned, triumphant and panting, to Dean’s side.

They returned to the cabin through the deepening twilight. The day had been one of adventure and exercise and Dean was looking forward to an evening of slow exploration and a very different sort of exercise. He knew when the scent of his arousal was strong enough to reach Sam’s sensitive nose because the wolf started tripping as he kept glancing at Dean with wide eyes. Dean just whistled and picked up the pace. He wanted to be at the cabin when Sam shifted, the night would be too short as it was, and the sooner they got started, the more fun they could have.

But the best laid plans often went amiss. Dean grabbed some more wood from the pile against the shed and headed in as soon as they arrived. He was warm under his jacket but his hands and feet, not to mention his face, were freezing. Sam didn’t follow him and Dean wasn’t surprised. The wolf was within a few minutes of changing and his natural fur would keep him warm until then. Dean made extra sure not to lock the door by reflex, though; he didn’t like the idea of Sam outside buck naked in the snow. The shifter had survived some twenty odd years in the wild before Dean showed up, but he suspected that had more to do with deep caves and the fur of his relatives than a supernatural resistance to frostbite.

He was just starting to feel his toes again and was digging through his clean laundry for sweats when he heard the front door slam and Sam’s voice call plaintively, “Towel?”

Spying one tossed over a chair, Dean grabbed it and headed out to see what the problem was, then sighed. Sam was coated in splatters of mud. Dean supposed he really should have expected that after all of the roaming around they had done earlier, but he planned to have his mouth on a lot of that skin in the very near future and he didn’t like dirt that much.

“Shower.”

“No.” Sam held out his hand for the towel, a set look on his face.

Dean tossed it to him and shrugged, pulling his own shirt off over his head and letting it fall to the floor as he headed back down the hallway.

“Suit yourself. I’m taking one; warm up faster that way. I guess I can take it alone.” He stifled a smirk when Sam almost beat him to the bathroom.

Sam was cooperative enough during the shower itself, but he got growly when after he was clean Dean unceremoniously tossed him out after only a little mauling instead of indulging in the sort of games that were Sam’s favorite part of human bathing. Dean had plans, though, and he wanted to be clean, fed and wrapped up in his warm bed with his warm blankets and his warm lover, not running the hot water out in the middle of something and getting out of the shower almost as cold as he got in. So Sam got kicked out while Dean finished washing.

But apparently Dean was just cursed, because his hair was full of shampoo when he heard yelling from the living room and he had to dart out of the shower and down the hallway to find out what the hell was going on. No one should have been showing up at the cabin anyways, but Sam of all people didn’t need to be the one dealing with unexpected company.

Dean slammed to a halt at the kitchen counter. Bobby was standing right inside his doorway, Sam about three feet away. Both of them were clearly bristling, and both of them stared wide-eyed at Dean as he stormed into the scene.

Dean swallowed his shock to level a finger Sam. “You are not allowed to eat my guests, remember?”

Sam nodded reluctantly, then solemnly handed Dean the towel he took from around his own waist. Sam didn’t mind public nudity; Dean wasn’t quite so blasé. He refused to glance at Bobby’s face while he accepted Sam’s offering and wrapped it around himself.

He wiped soap away from his eyes and turned to Bobby. “Will this wait until I rinse off?”

“Is that a werewolf?!” Bobby demanded, pointing at Sam. Then he seemed to take in the faint bite marks on Dean’s shoulder and connect them to the hickey on Sam’s neck and his eyes grew huge. “Jesus fuck, Dean.”

That wasn’t an expression Dean could ever remember hearing from Bobby, and he felt a headache building rapidly behind his eyes. Sam picked up on the growing tension and growled. He shut up under the fierce glare Dean turned on him.

“Bobby, I am way too tired to deal with this. I’m going to go rinse the soap out of my hair and get dressed. The two of you are adults; I trust you not to kill each other in the ten minutes I’m going to be gone. Sam, that’s Bobby; Bobby, Sam. And neither one of you had better have any more goddamned holes in your skin than you’ve got right now, when I get back!”

Figuring that was as good of an exit line as any, Dean stalked back to the bathroom to enjoy what little peace he was likely to get for the rest of the night.

When Dean finally left the bathroom again, dry and dressed, and headed back towards the living room, he was expecting anything from World War II to a hostile peace, but the soft murmur of voices in apparently calm discussion was a surprise. Especially since Sam barely spoke to him and the two of them were pretty much living together. He stifled the tiny surge of jealousy and went to see what was going on.

Sam and Bobby were sitting on the bare wood of the floor. The fire had been stirred up and wood added, and Sam had pulled on a pair of Dean’s sweatpants. Dirty ones, because Sam would only wear clothes that Dean had already worn, and they were inches too short for his long legs, but the fact that he was clothed at all without an extended battle was a small miracle. The old cedar chest was open and one of the tattered albums was spread across Bobby’s lap. As Dean watched, Sam pointed to one of the figures and Bobby frowned.

“Derek Wilson. Not a relation of yours, I don’t think, but a good hunter. He bought it out in Virginia back in... seventy-five? Seventy-six? Something like that. Car accident. Stupid thing for a hunter to die from.”

“Stupid?” Sam echoed.

“Yeah. You know that word?”

The shifter nodded.

“It was stupid because he spent all his life fighting monsters. And a car killed him. Drinking alcohol and driving his car was a stupid thing to die from. Understand?”

Sam didn’t reply but pointed to another one of the blurry figures on the page.

“Nope. That one I don’t know. He one of your kin?”

Sam squinted at the photo, but after a second, shook his head.

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” Dean broke in. “But, uh, what the hell are you doing here, Bobby?”

Bobby started at the sound of his voice. Sam looked up too, but with a casualness that showed he’d been aware of Dean’s presence.

Bobby glared at them both, but Dean just crossed his arms and waited. Sam dragged the album off of Bobby’s lap and carried it over to the couch.

“It’s almost Christmas. You’re just about the closest thing I have to family still around and I know you’ve had a rough year. I just thought it might be nice to drop in on you and spend a few days.”

“You know a lot of hunters that like surprises?” Dean asked dryly.

Bobby snorted and climbed to his feet. “Well, like you’ve been insisting for months now -- you ain’t a hunter now, are you?

“So you and Sam make up?” Dean nodded towards the couch where Sam was listening, but giving most of his attention to the pages of the photo album. Obviously, he didn’t think Bobby was a threat anymore.

“At least we didn’t make out,” Bobby snapped.

“Bobby--” Dean began defensively, Sam watching more closely now.

“Can it! I don’t want to hear whatever excuses you have. I warned you about this; we had a freaking discussion about it -- and you went ahead and let it happen anyways. He’s a wolf, Dean. And now he’s your wolf. Which head were you listening to when you decided shagging him was a good idea? And what are you going to do with him when you leave?”

“Are you done?” Dean asked levelly.

“Yeah, I’m done.”

“We didn’t have a discussion because this wasn’t something I had to discuss with you. I’m an adult, he’s an adult. Just because he isn’t... properly human, doesn’t mean he needs help making his own decisions! He chose to be with me, and I chose to be with him. It’s between us and you don’t get a fucking say.”

“And when you leave?” Bobby demanded.

“Maybe I won’t.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” Dean tightened his arms. “Maybe I won’t leave. I’ve given my entire life to hunting and saving other people. Dad literally gave his. Mom’s been dead more than twenty years now and I don’t owe it to them to waste my whole life in the shadows for that. I deserve the chance to have something that isn’t death and cheap motel rooms, Bobby! I’m almost happy here; closer that I thought I could be.”

“You won’t be, not when whatever idyllic fantasy you’ve concocted wears off. You think you’re in love and it’s rotted your damned brain. Happy? Stuck in a nowhere town in the middle of the mountains? I know you, boy. One day, you’re going to wake up and miss the road, miss the job, and start feeling trapped. What’s going to happen then, Dean? What’s going to happen to him?” Bobby pointed at the couch where Sam had closed the album and looked uncertain of how he should be participating in the conversation.

“Nothing is going to happen to him,” Dean hissed. “And you don’t know a damn thing about how I feel.”

“Dean--”

“No! I didn’t invite you here. If you just want to bitch at me and try and tell me I’m bad or something for wanting Sam, then you can just get the hell out.”

Bobby shouldered his bag and stormed out without another word.

Dean’s good mood was completely destroyed as he stalked over to flip the locks. He glanced over to Sam, knowing they had both been looking forward to the evening, but Sam wasn’t looking at him. The shifter had set the photo album on the side table and fished the television remote out from between the cushions.

“Popcorn?” Sam asked.

“Sounds good.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Dean’s mouth despite himself as he went to snag a blanket off the bed and toss some popcorn in the microwave. Bobby’s angry words had hit so hard because they were all things Dean had thought about himself, and had to leave unresolved. But whatever happened, he wouldn’t believe that his relationship with Sam was a mistake.

When Dean let Sam out the next morning, he was surprised not to hear the sharp bark Sam used when he wanted back inside in his fur form. It had been a good hour since Dean let him out and while it was possible he had headed deeper into the woods to do some wolfy things on his own, Dean had been chopping meat for the wolf’s breakfast and it was odd that he would have taken off without eating first. Sam was certainly capable of feeding himself and often brought game back for Dean to poke dubiously and figure out how to cook, but Dean had gotten used to the morning routine.

Dean opened the front door with a frown, and then looked resigned. Sam had come back, and he wasn’t the only one. The wolf was lying on his back in the powdery snow, wiggling in happiness under the skilled fingers rubbing at his belly and talking to him softly. Dean couldn’t hear what was being said, but it clearly didn’t trouble Sam.

“Bobby.”

Bobby straightened up with one last rub and a pat to Sam’s flank. “Dean.”

Bobby’s tone didn’t give anything away, though Sam gave Dean a look as he brushed past on his way into the house.

“You know he’s not a pet, right?”

Bobby snorted. “I know what he is, Dean. But he’s got thick fur and no fingers; a good scratch is a good scratch. Besides, I needed to apologize to him. And to you.”

Dean’s shoulders relaxed a little. “You want to come back inside?”

“Let me say this first. I’m not happy about the thing between the two of you.” Dean opened his mouth to tell Bobby exactly how much that concerned him, but Bobby held up one hand for him to wait. “But, you were right that it’s not really any of my business. You’re an adult, and he’s what he is, and he’s obviously happy here. I still think you’re asking for trouble, but it’s your trouble to ask for. I won’t say another word about it.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

A moment of heavy silence passed between them, “Come on in, Bobby. I was... in a bad mood last night. I’m not gonna say I didn’t mean what I said, but I shouldn’t have said it like that. I--”

“--wasn’t expecting to be jumped,” Bobby finished for him.

“Yeah, something like that.”

“I don’t have to stay, Dean. I can just visit for awhile and get a room in town.”

“Be serious, man. You’ve come all this way. The cabin has a spare bedroom and it will be nice to do Christmas right for once.” Dean eyed the bag over Bobby’s shoulder. It didn’t hang right to just be clothes and a gun or two. “What did you bring?”

Bobby reached into his bag and pulled out a mason jar filled with a clear liquid. He raised an eyebrow.

Dean grinned and shoved the door open. “It will be a merry Christmas anyways.”

Bobby was around for about a week. Sam and Dean did a good job of keeping their hands off of each other the first night he stayed, but Bobby must have been picking up on something because he got Dean alone Christmas Eve morning and asked delicately about Sam’s shifting. Delicately for Bobby, anyway. Dean admitted that that would be the last night for the month, and promptly at sunset, Bobby announced a pressing need to visit a bar.

It was the best Christmas present Bobby could have given them, and Sam barely waited for the door to close before he was dragging Dean to the bedroom. It was Sam’s favorite room of the house; Dean figured it reminded him of a den. With, you know, perks. Dean was pretty fond of it himself, and was grateful for the chance to give Sam his present while he was in a form to appreciate it. It was more of a demonstration than something tangible, and Sam must have been shopping in the same catalogue, because Dean certainly felt well gifted by the time he staggered to the shower to clean up a little before Bobby got back.

All in all and despite the rough start, by the time Bobby left, it had been the best holiday Dean could remember and he was sad to see it end.



Chapter Twelve

"Wolves are not our brothers;
they are not our subordinates, either.
They are another nation, caught up
just like us in the complex web of time and life."
                                ~Henry Beston

 

January, February and March passed in much the same way as December had. The snow continued to be light, the weather cold but not terrible, and Dean was settling down into domesticity with almost disturbing ease.

He and Sam took lots of long walks in the woods, even camping a few times, and there was a surprising amount of maintenance work to keep the property in good shape. Fallen limbs in the forest were okay to supplement his wood pile, but periodically he would head out in Sam’s wake to find a more substantial piece of wood to chop and haul back to the cabin.

At one point, Dean spent an interesting week trying to learn how to bake his own pies, and brought one of the best results of his experimentation to his nearest neighbors, the Martins, in thanks for the help they had given him almost a year ago when he first moved to Sunvalley. Lynnette was surprised, but seemed pleased, and when Dean heard that they were buying their own winter wood because they both worked such long hours, Dean took to hauling it out to their home as well. It was incredibly strenuous work, but it helped keep him in shape.

Surprisingly, they also spent a lot of time at the library. Or Dean did, and Sam spent as much time as he could with his limitations. At first, Dean was just looking for something to occupy some time and figured local history was worthwhile, but he described what he was doing there to a curious Sam and the wolf insisted he wanted to go too.

Dean checked the library hours and found they were open for two hours after sunset. He couldn’t think of a good reason not to bring the wolf in his human form, so he got Sam dressed in sweatpants that were too short for his long legs, a t-shirt, made him wear a sweatshirt on top, stuck some flip-flops on his feet and bundled him into the car. The sheer wonder on Sam’s face as they rumbled through the drifting snow and into the township proper made Dean realize that Sam had never been in the car before. In fact, other than Bobby, he didn’t know if Sam had ever met a person besides himself. It was a very strange thought. Dean had ceased to think of Sam as anything but Sam months ago, and remembering that he was mostly a wolf, well, that was just weird.

Sam got some strange looks at the library over his attire, and Dean suspected the staff, all of whom smiled and welcomed them in, thought Sam had some kind of mental disability. He had managed to restrain Sam from indulging in a need to thoroughly sniff the building, but let it go regarding the books Sam handled. The only way to stop the wolf from inspecting those nose-first would have been to physically restrain him, so Dean just shrugged, flashed the curious staff winning smiles and went about his own research.

Dean was interested in history; Sam was interested in children’s books. At first, Dean assumed he was looking at pictures, but when he checked on Sam, the wolf was tracing letters in a brightly colored spelling book and mouthing things silently to himself. Dean picked up the stack Sam had dragged off the shelf, and a handful of learning videos for very young kids -- and checked the whole lot out. If Sam wanted to learn English, Dean was totally supportive.

Sam spent hours in his fur form watching the brightly-colored tapes and nosing through the books. Dean brought new ones to him when he made his own trips to the library while Sam wasn’t able to be with him, but Sam didn’t seem to be making much progress and Dean had the feeling the wolf was dispirited about it. He tried to be helpful, but Sam seemed to get frustrated easily and would lope off into the woods for hours at a time, leaving Dean wondering what he had done wrong.

They communicated best during the too-short nights they spent in Dean’s bed, where speech and confusion didn’t get in the way of the very personal language they shared. A language of rough caresses and gentling touch, mouthed across sensitive skin damp with sweat and heated with passion. Dean ached each and every time Sam slipped from their bed to greet the sun on his own.

It was mid April and Dean was spending an afternoon catching up on local news in his favorite in-town location. If the libraries of his youth and childhood had come with a coffee bar and unlimited fresh cookies, he might have been a better student. But local news only took him about fifteen minutes to cover and he wasn’t ready to go just yet, so he browsed through some of the regional headlines and was quickly absorbed in a missing persons case.

About an hour later, he was in the microfiche room scrolling back more than a century, looking for the roots of a pattern he knew was responsible for the missing woman in Lake Park. Dean had an entire page of notes he had been jotting down and was mentally reviewing his stores wondering how much Vervain the job would take... when he abruptly dropped the pencil and leaned back, disconcerted at how easily he’d fallen back into his old pattern.

Dean called Bobby on his way back to the cabin to let him know about the hunt. Bobby grunted and pointed out that Dean was perfectly free to go take care of the problem. Dean retorted that he had someone waiting for him at home and flipped the phone closed. But the cabin was dark when he pulled in, the television off and the food he had set out untouched. Sam was nowhere to be found.

The wolf was back the next morning, but seemed strangely distant. It wasn’t anything Dean could put a finger on, but there was something that felt off. And when Sam wasn’t being distant, he was being super clingy -- to the point where Dean couldn’t sit on the couch without Sam trying to sprawl across his lap. In bed, the wolf crowded so close, Dean had forgotten what it was like to not climb out of bed with limbs tingling with returning blood flow.

He tried to get an answer out of Sam about what the problem was, but the wolf refused to meet his eyes and invariably slunk off into the forest when he pressed the matter. Frustrated, Dean spent more time in town, but he was smart enough to stay out of bars, and instead spent more and more time in the library. He tried to read some of the so-called classics they had always been going on about in school, but quickly gave them up in favor of combing national newspapers, just... looking. When he found something suspicious, he would give Bobby a head’s up. Bobby didn’t comment on what Dean was doing spending so much time looking for hunts, but there was a quality to his pauses that reminded Dean of the confrontation at Christmas.

Sam was also staying away for longer and longer periods of time. First a few hours, then a day. Then... more than one day. By sunset of the second day the first time Sam pulled that stunt, Dean was greatly concerned. He hiked into the woods with a flashlight and a shotgun, calling. The long hikes he and Sam had taken helped his orientation and Dean was pretty sure he would be able to find the cabin again, unlike his last solo foray. He walked for hours, climbing higher and higher, until he could see all of Sunvalley spread out below him and he sank down onto a rocky shelf and felt like screaming. The snow had only melted in the last few days and the air was crisp and cold. He had no idea how to find Sam, how to find out what had happened to Sam.

He was so preoccupied wracking his brain that it was a few minutes before he noticed he had an audience. About ten feet away on the same rocky outcropping sat three wolves. Dean thought they were young, they were all smaller than Sam was, but they didn’t seem either threatening or threatened. Dean had no way of knowing if they were like Sam, or just regular wolves sharing the valley with the altered packs, but he figured it was worth a try.

“I’m looking for Sam.”

Three stares.

“Sam, uh, crap. I have no idea what you guys would call him. The wolf who lives with me, down there.” Dean pointed roughly down towards where the cabin was and three heads swiveled obediently. Dean gave them all a disgusted look and wrapped his arms around his knees. The sun would rise in a few hours and he could try crossing into the other valley then. Sam had never taken him there again after their escape from Redrock, but Dean though he remembered what the pass looked like.

His furry company grew bored at some point and vanished back into the night.

The horizon was just starting to lighten with approaching dawn when another wolf paced slowly out of the woods. This one was every inch as big as Sam, and had an even more impressive ruff and a muzzle grizzled with age. Trotting along behind it were two smaller wolves that Dean thought looked a lot like some of his visitors from earlier. He couldn’t be sure, though; the only wolf he would have recognized on sight was Sam. The older wolf didn’t bother with the prudent distance the other two kept, it walked right up until Dean could have reached out and touched it and then sat gracefully. Dean had no doubt at all that this was a member of Sam’s pack, the intelligence and wisdom in the amber eyes that calmly met his own was almost a palpable thing.

“I’m looking for Sam,” Dean whispered.

The wolf stood and took Dean’s jacket cuff in his mouth; it tugged until the hunter stood up and then let go. The animal took a few steps, them glanced meaningfully over its shoulder until Dean followed, the two smaller ones trailing along at the end of the strange procession. It wasn’t long before Dean realized he was being led to his cabin. He thought about stopping and going back, but the wolf seemed to sense his indecision and gave Dean a look that let him know he would have no hesitation to tackle an unruly human. They stopped at the edge of the woods and three sets of amber eyes watched as Dean kept walking towards the porch. He spun as a sudden crashing sounded behind him, coming closer through the forest. In seconds, he could make out the form of a wolf running all out and careless of the racket it was making. The wolf that had led Dean to the cabin suddenly snarled, causing the new arrival to divert around the group and then swing around the stand in front of Dean, facing back at the other wolves. It was Sam, hackles raised and teeth bared.

“Sam--” Dean started to tell him it was alright but the older wolf shifted his gaze to Dean and barked. It was about the clearest ‘shut-up’ Dean had ever gotten and he closed his mouth. The posturing went on for a few minutes, growls and shiftings of body that Dean knew was conveying worlds more information that he would ever be able to understand. Finally, Sam gave a capitulation sort of whine and walked towards the older wolf. His head was lowered and he licked at the grizzled muzzle in what Dean recognized as a gesture of submission and... apology? A moment later, the elder and the two others walked off into the forest and Sam headed back to Dean.

Dean crouched down in the yard and threw his arms around the furry body. “Where did you go?”

Sam just leaned into him and gave a tentative lick across his chin. Dean didn’t even flinch back from the tongue on his face like he usually did, just pulled Sam closer until he could bury his face in the coarse fur, grateful the wolf was okay.

Dean knew Sam was apologetic over how worried Dean had been at his disappearance -- the wolf stood practically on his feet for three days, leaning and trailing so close Dean could feel warm breath on the backs of his legs. But on the fourth day instead of trying to merge with Dean’s space, he was out in the yard, standing oddly still until Dean finally went out to see if there was a problem. Sam watched, and when Dean was right in front of him, the wolf whuffed and then started off into the woods. Dean, puzzled, started to follow and Sam walked patiently back and nudged Dean until he was standing back in the same place, then Sam whuffed again and headed away. Dean watched, bemused, until the wolf had vanished into the forest, and then looked around, realizing he stood in almost the exact same place he had knelt to greet Sam’s return after the days he was missing. Dean had a foreboding feeling he knew what the elaborate placement had been about and wasn’t surprised when it was another two days that Sam was gone. He came back for a week, then was gone for four days. Then an entire week.

Dean waited, frustrated, for Sam to come back. Without the wolf’s company and companionship, he was finding that fewer and fewer things around the cabin were holding his attention. He was spending even more time in town pouring over newspapers and Internet, and the number of things he was finding that needed to be investigated was staggering. Realizing he was starting to feel that itch he always felt between jobs, that need to find the next hunt, the next horizon, Dean made a point of reconnecting with Alan, hoping that maybe developing some kind of social life would help him develop some interest in the community. But ultimately he was just reminded again of how much he didn’t fit in. He didn’t belong in a town, thinking about getting a nine-to-five and wondering if he should go ahead and redo the weatherproofing on the fence or if it could go another season. He needed to be out there helping people, but he couldn’t leave Sam. He wouldn’t. Even if sometimes Dean was starting to feel that Sam was leaving him.

When the full moon came, Sam had been gone more than a week and a half, and Dean wasn’t even sure he would come back to spend the nights he was human at the cabin anymore. His skin crawled for Sam’s touch; it felt like there was something missing with the wolf gone.

But Sam did come back, an hour after sunset, blowing in the door like a storm and wrapping Dean up in his frantic energy, and for a few days, it was like the strain and the absences were a dream.

But then the three days were up, and Sam vanished again.

For two weeks.

Dean started spending time dragging out his hunting gear and just generally checking it over, seeing what he was low on, cleaning and maintenance. Things he had been neglecting for far too long. Just... in case. There was no point in letting things get worn down just because he wasn’t currently using them.

When Sam returned, Dean tried to talk to him again, asking where he was going, insisting that if Sam had to go, at least he could take Dean with him. He told Sam about being worried about him, and his concern about what was going on and that maybe Sam needed help. The wolf paid him very serious attention while he spoke, but when Dean was done talking, all Sam did was try to lick him and rubbed against him like a cat, and then he was off again into the forest. Dean, who had never had a relationship that lasted more than two months in his life, tried to counsel himself to patience, tried to convince himself that they had had a great seven months and whatever was going on would blow over.

But when June rolled around, Sam had been gone more than a month and Dean had had enough.

He went into town to talk to the trust manager for the cabin, letting him know it would need to be checked on, since Dean would be gone. He talked to Alan and the ladies at the library he had befriended, thanking them for their help and company and wishing them well. He stopped by to hug Lynnette and give her the recipe he had used for his pie. She laughed and told him he needed to use more sugar, and he promised to remember for the next batch. And then Dean went back home and packed the Impala. With every trip he made reloading the trunk, he scanned the woods, hoping to see movement, but knowing he wouldn’t.

It felt like it destroyed something in his heart to drive out of the valley as the sun set on the forty-second day of Sam’s disappearance. But it would have hurt more to stay, knowing Sam was out there having some kind of life while Dean waiting at home for him, never knowing if the wolf would actually come back. He repeated that to himself as he snaked his way through the mountains on ribbons of asphalt that spilled out onto the plains. He coached himself on the importance of his job and the people whose lives he could save while he chose roads that would take him East and South, as far away from Montana and the late Spring chill as he could get. And when he was crossing out of Kansas wondering if a wolf could track the Impala down the open highways across the country, he put his foot down on the gas and tried to outrun the last year of his life and the sinking feeling that he had finally suffered a wound he would never recover from.

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