Midnight Of the Century - Section Six

[glasslogic]

Chapter Twenty-Four


"For me, it is far better to grasp the Universe as it really is
than to persist in delusion, however satisfying and reassuring."
                                    -Carl Sagan

Sam didn't know what to say for a moment. Then he chuckled.

"Right, Dean. You drew that. The only things you've ever drawn in your life are directions to a girl's house and a few containment sigils or traps. I saw an art project you did once, and I know for a fact you don't draw any better than me --and I can barely make a tree recognizable."

Dean smiled unhappily. "What can I say, Sammy. One day I was sketching lewd stick figures on bar napkins, the next day I was drawing fucking still lifes of the heavenly host."

Sam stared at him, at the tension in his shoulders, at the way he wouldn't quite meet his brother's eyes.

"You're actually serious about this."

"No, I thought it would be a really great April Fool's joke! Oh, except it isn't April, and I'm not laughing."

"Jesus, Dean."

"Yeah, he might be involved. Given the subject matter and all."

"This isn't funny!"

"No shit, Sam. Do you have any idea what other hunters would do if they suddenly found out I'm doing some kind of --I don't know-- spirit drawing of freaky-ass angels? I do, and the exorcism would be the fun part! Things like this just don't happen without something supernatural being involved!"

"So you suddenly like to draw angels. There's no reason for any other hunter to care about your artistic inclinations, Dean. I mean, it's paper and pen; not blood and death."

"You saw Jordan's room, Sam." Dean held up the drawing in his lap so Sam could see the entire thing, "How was it, standing around in there. Do you really think it's just paper and pen? This doesn't say anything to you?"

Now it was Sam's turn to swallow. "It's powerful."

"Yeah," Dean snorted and laid the drawing back down on his knee. "'Powerful' is one word for it."

"Do you really think it's freaky?"

"What?"

"You called them 'freaky-ass' angels. Do you really think they're freaky?"

Dean froze and took his hands away from the paper he had begun unconsciously tracing again.

"Dean?"

"No. They're... I don't know, Sam. They scare the shit out of me. But they're almost--" Dean looked like he was struggling for a word, "--comforting, too."

Sam couldn't see anything comforting in the angel drawings. They were powerful, but in a stern unyielding sort of way. Both the promise and the threat. They made his skin crawl, but he couldn't deny the compulsion of their presence.

"So how does this work, the drawings?"

"How does what work?"

"I mean, do you have to draw them --does it just happen? Or is it something you want to do and you actually think about how you want it to look?"

Dean frowned and looks down at the drawing again. "I think I could draw one anytime I wanted to, but sometimes it feels stronger, like there's something I have to get out. It's not painful, or really demanding. But if I'm alone, and there's a pen at hand and something to draw on ...it just happens sometimes."

"What do you do with them?"

"I burn them," Dean replied flatly.

"So there's no problem with that then?"

"It feels like I imagine peeling off your own skin would."

"Jesus, Dean," Sam muttered.

His brother shrugged. "What the hell am I supposed to do with them, Sam? I'm a hunter, I can't be leaving a little fluttery trail of creepy drawings behind me everywhere I go. You said yourself, they're powerful. Jordan hung every damn angel she drew, and kept whole folders of the ones she didn't have wall-space for. Look what happened to her!"

"Jordan died when a cave collapsed, Dean. I hardly think the angels were involved."

Dean gave Sam a level look. "I wasn't completely unconscious, Sam. I didn't think you guys were real, but I heard the conversation up top. I know Jordan told you about the cave. I could hear them whispering, the whole time I was lying in the water. Thousands of voices." He shuddered.

"What were they saying?"

Dean looked up with haunted eyes. "You don't want to know, Sam. Horrible things, things about death and destruction, things about me, about you ...hell, maybe even about Jess. I don't really remember now, it's like some fucking dream. But if those were the angels Jordan was drawing, that I draw, trust me --we should burn every one of them and bury the ashes in salted ground."

"But you said you found them comforting."

Dean glared. "Did you miss the part about freaky, and creepy, and powerful?!"

Sam recalled what Frank Black had said about people with Jordan's talent, and thought about Dean, miserable and alone, drawing angels in dingy hotel rooms while letting his life fall apart. Jordan's expression right before the rockfall cut off Sam's view. The neat sterility of her father's house. The grief in the man's voice when he spoke of the family he had loved, and lost.

Sam heard his own voice as if from a distance. "I won't let you go, Dean."

Dean snorted. "No shit, Sam. I can see you parked in front of the door like a warden."

"No, I mean ...I can't, Dean. I can't stand back and pretend I don't know where this is headed. And I don't think you can stop it alone."

"What are you talking about, Sam?"

"Frank Black said he had known three people with this gift. He said that two of them had destroyed themselves, and it drove Jordan and him apart. Now Jordan is dead too, and you're a freaking mess. I'm not going to sit back and watch you fly off the same fucking cliff!"

"From drawings?! Are you insane, Sam?! I've lost a few pounds, and ducked a little too late a couple of times, and now I'm going through ink pens a little faster than I used to. It's not a sign of the end times!"

"No, but that angel might be. Isn't that what the voices told you?"

"That isn't what I said." Dean shifted uncomfortably. "How did you even get Black to talk to you? I knocked on his door and he totally blew me off."

"He knew you were lying."

"He did not."

"He did, he told me so," Sam shrugged.

"Well, how did you get in?"

"I told him I had a vision of you dying and his daughter was involved. He still wasn't really happy about it, but he talked to us for a while."

"He let you in because you said you had a vision?" Dean asked incredulously.

"I got the impression Frank isn't a stranger to visions. And I told you he knew about Jordan's gift, and other people like her."

"Whatever, man." Dean's stomach rumbled loud enough for them to both hear. "How far away did you say your girl was going to get food again?"

Sam's eyes narrowed. "She's got a name, and she isn't 'my girl,' she's my fiancée, Dean. Which will make her your sister-in-law eventually. Try to show at least a little more respect than you give your average one-night stands?"

"When's the wedding?" Dean folded the drawing back and held out his hand for the journal. When Sam passed it over, he carefully slid the drawing back between the pages.

"Whenever we get around to it. It's just a ceremony, Dean. A formalization of what we already have."

"So Sammy's off the market --good for you!" Dean's tone was right, and so was his smile, but it didn't reach his eyes, and Sam remembered sharply where the entire mess had started.

"Dean--"

"Don't, Sam. I'm a big boy. Whatever fucked up issues I have, they are my issues. There isn't anything you need to do for me, or because of me. Just ...let me sort it out myself."

"You tried that already. It doesn't seem to have helped anything."

"So what's your solution then, Sam? I already offered to take off, and you didn't like that idea."

"Because you're going to wind up face down in a ditch!" Sam snapped.

"Then what?! Your fiancée seems like a nice open girl, and she kisses like a grand champ, but I have to think she would balk a little at having her husband's brother tagging along lusting after him, you know?"

"How do you know how she kisses?" Sam asked, distracted from his comeback.

Dean shrugged and tossed the journal onto the table. "When you left us to go get the stove and stuff, she pinned me against the freaking rock and tried to knock my tonsils out."

"Why would she do that?"

"Said it was 'gratitude,' you know --for not dying an' all. I have to tell you, Sam, if that's how she shows gratitude to complete strangers, I'm impressed you can even walk most mornings."

"She said she wished she had been in the hotel room."

"What hotel room?"

"Back in Cookeville, when I ran you down the first time. I told her about it and she said she wished she had been there."

"To watch us fight?" Dean asked, baffled.

"To watch us kiss. She said she thought it would be hot."

"First of all, I can't believe you told her that; but mostly, I can't believe she told you that." Dean shook his head admiringly. "Where did you find this one again, Sam?"

"College."

"Clearly, the catalogues aren't using their most valuable selling points."

"How would you know what's in a college catalogue?"

"I do have a GED, Sam, I did some looking around at my options at one point."

"I ...can't believe you ever considered giving up the job."

"It was shortly after Austin --I needed to get away from you, Dad kept tying us together... College seemed like maybe a good out. That's actually what made me tell him about my 'issue' in the first place." Dean rubbed at the back of his neck. "Dad caught me with some brochures. He looked like I'd betrayed him. Stabbed him in the back. It was ...unpleasant. Might be why he was such a bastard to you when you said you were going to Stanford."

"Maybe." Sam swallowed. "Look, Jess, um, seems to think... I don't know that she'd really be adverse to the idea of, you know ...sharing."

"Are you out of your fucking mind?!"

A sharp knock on the door distracted Sam before he could do more than give Dean a glare as he rose to peer through the hole. Jessica's blond hair was a hazy cloud through the probably-never-cleaned viewing glass, and he could hear her muttering uncomplimentary things about guys who left girls out in the freezing cold wearing only their boxers.

He swung the door open and she promptly dumped two sacks of food in his arms and leaped for the bed.

"Oh good, you've warmed it up."

She toed off her boots and climbed under the blanket, displacing Dean through sheer persistent wiggling until her legs had taken over the warm spot where he had been sitting.

"In some parts of the world, when it's snowing, people wear pants."

"If I were you, I wouldn't be pointing out to others what's acceptable in 'some parts of the world,'" she replied tartly.

Dean glared.

Sam sighed and dropped the bags on the table. "How about we just eat?"

~~~~~~~

Later that night Jess was curled up with Sam in the bed closest to the door. Closer even than usual, actually, since Sam had insisted on shoving the bed out from the wall so the door wouldn't open unless the bed was moved back.

Dean had snapped and snarled when Sam had insisted on taking that bed in the first place, and looked completely betrayed when Sam had further insisted on blocking the door. But Sam had just calmly told Dean that he could sleep in whichever bed he wanted, and the furniture could stay where it started, but only if Dean slept with one of them so they would know if he tried to sneak off in the night.

Jess had helpfully amended that to "at least one of them," and then made a good attempt at a leer when Dean turned his glare back on her.

But that was all hours ago, and Dean had long ago fallen deep into a hopefully healing sleep. It was sleep, at least; his snoring was probably audible two rooms down in either direction.

Sam had caught Jess up in whispers about the revelations of his discussion with Dean. She had been both appalled and amazed, and agreed that Dean needed to not be out on his own. Frank Black's revelation was fresh in both of their minds.

For a while they lapsed in to silence, as they tried to drift off in the haze of the racket from the far bed.

"Does he always snore like that?" Jess finally asked sleepily.

"He didn't used to. I think it's because he's getting sick."

"'Kay. I'll postpone judgment on a smothering until he gets a chance to heal up."

"Did you really try to knock his tonsils out at the cave?"

She smiled against his chest. "He looked so pathetic, and lost."

"And smoking hot?" he added dryly.

"Not so much, more wounded puppy with mange. But the potential was obvious. And it served its purpose. He was definitely distracted, and calmed down a little."

"I'm not terribly surprised that being mauled by a strange naked woman had a calming effect on Dean."

"I think it was more that if I wanted to suck on his lips, I probably didn't want to stab him in the heart."

"That's ...really special imagery you're drawing for me there."

"Do you like it? I figured I should return the favor, since you gave me such a tantalizing visual image about a certain hotel room encounter."

Sam stroked her hair in silence for awhile, listening to his brother breathe and feeling Jess's heartbeat against his skin.

"Are you serious?" he asked finally, not certain she was still awake.

"About what?"

"All of it. The innuendo, and suggestive stuff. About me and Dean."

Jessica pushed herself up on one elbow so she could see his face, heavily shadowed in the dingy light leaking through the curtain from the parking lot.

"I think you're going to have to be a little more specific, Sam."

"It's just, you've been totally calm with his wanting me, you know -- like that, and maybe my own feelings, and about the kiss, and keeping him with us…. I just wanted to know if you were serious about, I don't know, thinking it was hot. Maybe wanting to be involved."

"Wow," she said finally. "How painful was that to get out?"

"I'm serious, Jess."

"I know, Sam. And I'm thinking. I guess ...what exactly are you proposing? I'm guessing we are talking actual touching? As in the biblical sort of sense?"

"I don't know. I don't even know how Dean will react to the idea, or how much I would be comfortable with."

"This isn't the sort of thing you can suggest as an experiment, Sam, or something where you can draw hard lines between 'allowed' and 'not allowed.' Are you ready for that? What you're talking about --this is a big deal. He's in love with you! You can't say, 'Let's try this for a while,' and then take it back if you decide it's not working. Not and have a prayer of keeping any kind of relationship with him."

"I don't want to lose him, Jess."

"That doesn't mean you have to offer yourself up like a sacrifice to try and keep him with you."

"It's not like that. I don't think ...it wouldn't be a sacrifice, Jess."

"Are you sure about that, Sam?"

"You don't like the idea."

She sighed. "What I don't like is the idea of you trying this, it backfiring terribly, and the two of you never speaking again. And yeah, I'm a little nervous that maybe you'll like it too much, and I'll be the odd person out."

Sam could feel the tension in her body where it leaned against his. He pulled her down until she was laying on his chest again. "You will never be the odd person out. This isn't about me choosing you or him. I will never not choose you. This is about if you're okay with it, and he is, maybe..."

"Giving me a chance to live out a few fantasies?"

"Sure, Jess. I'm actually arranging all of this as an engagement present."

"That's because you always go that extra mile."

Sam smiled involuntarily, then let it slip away as he grew serious again. "I didn't even ask --because this is about the three of us, not just me and Dean, and me and you-- do you even like him?"

"I told you he's a hottie."

"Yeah, and that's all that matters in this." He rolled his eyes.

They both paused when the snoring from across the room stuttered for a moment, and relaxed when it resumed.

"I like him, Sam. He's a stubborn son-of-a-bitch, and a little wild eyed and jumpy --though that's probably the current circumstances. And it's not like I've really had a lot of time to make an informed decision, but I like what I've seen, and what I've heard, and if you really want to do this, and he's willing..." She shrugged.

"You can't be that okay with this. If you don't want too, it's okay. Really."

"Are you jealous that you're not the only Winchester man I think is hot?" she asked with an arched brow. "What do you want me to say, Sam? I already told you my concern. Oh, and if he's having sex with us, he's not screwing skanks --make sure you make that point painfully clear when you guys have this little discussion."

Sam made a kind of choking noise, clearly not having really thought things out in those terms before, and she went on.

"And Sam, sweetie, baby, lover, you have been a great study and passion of mine for the better part of a decade now and even if you don't know this about yourself, I do: if you've gotten this idea so far under your skin that we are actually having a serious discussion about opening up our pending marriage to include your brother, then it isn't a casual sort of thing for you anymore. You said I won't ever be second, and I'm going to believe that. I don't understand about psychic "gifts" --yours or his-- or even really about hunting, not like you do --but I understand about the heart. He's been in love with you for almost ten years, and you've always been the center of his life. You talk about maybe having some of the same feelings, you have visions of his death and then we spend a year on the road trying to save him, I spend a year on the road trying to save him... I feel like we tossed out conventionality when we left California, and --I don't know, Sam. I feel almost like there's this sense of inevitability. Like this is something that's been coming since last Christmas. When we dragged him out of that cave, with all the fear and horror --I still felt like something clicked. Like it was meant to be, we were meant to be. I don't understand it, Sam, and with all the talk about psychic visions and that cave, I'm more than a little afraid that this isn't just us anymore. But we all feel it, and I agree that letting him go is stupid. So ...yeah. If he's in, and you're in, I am too.

"And really," she added, before Sam could say anything about her assessment of the situation, "the idea of the conversation you are going to have to have with him alone is almost worth the price of admission."

"Thanks for that," he said dryly, then frowned and focused on her earlier statement. "What do you mean about that cave? About this not being about us?"

He felt the movement against his skin as she shrugged. "It just feels right, Sam. And I can't point to any reason why it should. I barely know him, he's your brother, tying us all together guarantees that you and I will never be free of the hunting stuff, and probably that we will be spending a lot of time on the road. Which means another reevaluation of our career intentions, and everything else we discussed wanting out of life. Plus the whole problem of being a threesome in general. Assuming this all actually works out, and one of us doesn't storm off in the first few weeks --down the road, what are we going to do? What about marriage? You and me? Me and Dean? Fake some birth certificates, drive to Vermont --you and Dean? The marriage laws in this country are starting to change a little, but I doubt any state is going to be licensing polyandry anytime soon! And kids ...I don't even know how to begin to think about that issue."

Sam nodded. "You still didn't tell me what you meant about the cave."

Jess shifted against him. "It wasn't just Dean, I heard ...voices."

"What?"

"Voices. From down the tunnels, and I think maybe ...maybe from beyond that pool, too."

"It was just echoes, Jess. It was a creepy cave, but I don't think there was really anything there."

She thought about reminding him about the ancient carvings that centuries of flowing water hadn't touched, about human skeletons and his mangled visions that he still hadn't sorted out --but if she did that he might make her talk about it more, and the night was cold and dark enough already. And Jordan's death --no, she wasn't ready to have that conversation again.

"So it sounds like maybe I shouldn't talk to Dean yet." Sam said after a moment. She couldn't tell if the tone of his voice was relieved or reluctant. "Maybe we should think about this a little while longer."

"Anything going to change by waiting? Except for giving him more opportunity to escape? Concerns about marriage, living arrangements, kids ...these aren't things the two of us can decide without him. We need to know if we are even going to try before we start tying ourselves in knots. And if we do try, and it does work ...then we can sort it out later."

Sam swallowed. "Okay then, any idea how we should approach him?"

"Oh, there's no "we" in this, Sam," she said firmly, "he's your brother, and this is your idea. I'm willing to go along for the ride, but you get to lay the groundwork."

"Fine. Any suggestions as to how I should approach him?"

"Try naked. I know that always weakens my resolve."

"Somehow I don't see that really helping matters."

"Your problem is that he's not going to believe you're serious. He's going to think he has to save you from yourself, or something equally noble."

"I thought you didn't know him."

"Please. I know big brothers. This whole thing started with a kiss," she shrugged again, a slide of smooth skin that perked Sam's attention in other ways, "so back him into a corner and try it again."

"I find it highly suspicious that your solutions to almost everything involve some kind of clothing removal or kissing."

"I'm a friendly sort of girl. You inspire me. And apparently encourage me to be even friendlier."

Sam winced. "Right. Well, how about you and your friendliness try for some sleep? Tomorrow promises to be almost as much fun as today."

Jessica shuddered. "I hope you are talking about the motel room portion of today, because if you are talking about the frozen death-march part --I'm opting out."

"Go to sleep."

Silence broken only by Dean's snores fell back over the room. Jess had almost drifted off when she realized Sam's breathing had grown uneven, her fingers brushed his face gently and found tears.

"I thought he hated me," Sam whispered.

Jess curled her body around him and hummed French lullabies in the filtered light until she was certain he was asleep.



Chapter Twenty-Five


"A man travels the world In search of what he needs,
and returns home to find it."
                                    -George Moore

Jess had been the first one to roll out of bed. She left, dressed in her own winter clothes with a shopping list in hand of necessities like beer, cough drops, aspirin, and Twinkies.

And strict instructions to bring back lunch. Lots of lunch.

Sam had looked like he was going to go back to sleep after he woke up with her crawling over him to get out of bed, but that wasn't at all the point of Jess vacating the room, so she had made a special point to bounce on Dean's bed a few times while getting her shoes on to make sure he was good and conscious too.

"You brother has something to talk to you about," she had announced firmly, before dropping an enthusiastic kiss on his cheek and standing up. Sam got a more lingering and personal sort of farewell, along with a warning look accompanied by a meaningful glance towards Dean while Jess used her full body weight to shove the bed the few inches away from the door so she could get out.

Sam, feeling a little betrayed by her abandonment, didn't feel at all guilty about not helping. Or not getting off of it to make it easier either.

From the little grin at the corner of her mouth as she closed the door, she was well aware of his feelings on the matter.

Dean waited until she had left the room before turning his head to face Sam on the other bed, his expression still a little stunned by the nature of his awakening.

"What did you want to talk to me about?"

Sam sighed and gave up the idea of more sleep. "Let's get up and dressed first."

"Is that going to make this better?"

"Probably not, but at least I'll be awake."

"Is that going to make this better?"

"No."

~~~~~~~

As it turned out, Sam was right. Being dressed and fully awake didn't seem to be helping anything at all. They sat on the edges of the beds, facing each other across the narrow strip of carpet. Sam doing almost all of the talking while Dean listened in stunned silence. At least, that seemed to be what he was feeling from the expression on his face.

Dean waited until Sam was done outlining the idea, then ran both hands through his hair and gave a kind of stunned chuckle.

"So, the idea is that, you, me, and your girlfriend--

"She's my fiancée, Dean."

"Yeah, Sam. Gotta tell you, that's not really helping your case here. If you wanted to have a threesome with some random barfly that might sorta be okay. But where was I? Right --so you, me, and your fiancée, all ...what? Hold hands on the beach? Cuddle naked together in second rate motels as we --and this is the part I'm really fuzzy about-- do what exactly?! Roam randomly over the countryside looking for sad people in need of legal advice, and what does Jess do again?"

"She's a French translator," Sam ground out, "for a pharmaceutical company."

"Yeah, there's a lot of call for that on the road."

"Obviously, we don't have to do that kind of work --we haven't been for the last year!"

"That's another thing, not that I'm not grateful you guys dropped everything to come save me, but what have you been doing for money? I don't see you and Jess exactly raking it in with the credit card schemes."

"No. We've been running errands for Bobby, and she has a trust fund. We haven't been living it up on the road, Dean."

"And you want to do this forever? You want us to all hook up and travel around while I hunt and you guys …what? Hang out in the Impala? Paint each others nails?"

"Screw you, Dean. If you aren't interested then just say it, but don't make up excuses on our behalf to excuse your own cowardice. If you are interested --we can work that stuff out, work everything out. You want to hunt? I'm not stopping you, but you can hunt better with the kind of research skills I have. Plus, you'll have two people to help you out with the day-to-day crap and to patch you up when you duck too slow, and to freaking notice if you go missing. There are online things I can do as a lawyer for money; they don't pay very much, but they pay enough to live on the road. I have a law degree, I can take the Bar in any state. The same thing with Jess. She won't be in an office, but she can still do technical edits and translations for people, and just mail them in. Bobby will toss jobs our way that require knowledge, but not actual field work, and yeah, Dean, if it comes down to that, you'd have someone to watch your back in the field."

Dean didn't say anything, just slumped his shoulders and looked at the carpet.

"Dean?"

"This is a big thing, Sam. I can't let you do this. It isn't fair. Not to you, and not to Jess."

"Remember what I said about you making decisions for us?"

"This is different, Sam."

"It's not different! And it doesn't have to be complicated. Just tell me, do you want to try this or not?"

Dean licked his lips nervously. "What would we do?"

Sam looked more uncertain now that it looked like Dean might agree than he had earlier trying to talk him into it. "Um, well..."

"Yeah. This is a great idea."

"What the hell do you want from me, Dean? This isn't exactly something I do everyday! I think the idea is that we do whatever we want. No pressure, no expectations."

"So if I wanted to kiss you, that would be fine? With Jess too?"

Sam nodded a bit hesitantly.

Dean sighed. "Sam--"

"Shut up." Sam switched beds so he was sitting beside his brother. Dean looked like he wanted to be anywhere else.

"You aren't exactly filling me with a sense of confidence and your overwhelming commitment to this plan," Sam pointed out.

"I don't recall having agreed to anything yet, Sam. And is there something wrong with your bed that you suddenly needed to sit on mine?"

"I couldn't reach you from over there." He rested one hand on Dean's knee. It felt awkward with Dean sitting so rigidly still, so he let go, then huffed in exasperation. "This shouldn't be so damn hard!"

"You're wrong, Sam. 'This,' whatever 'this' is, should be incredibly hard. It shouldn't even freaking exist!" He flopped back on the bed and closed his eyes. "You and Jess, that you guys even discussed this for me, well --it's weird as hell, Sam," he grinned, eyes still closed, "but kinda awesome too."

Sam shifted on the bed.

"Is that a no?"

"It's a 'thanks for the offer, but maybe you can find something less screwed up to do with your lives.' I mean it, S--" Dean voice choked off in shock as warm lips covered his own in a tentative kiss. He shoved back hard and sat up. "What the fuck?!"

Sam sat back up on the bed from where he had fallen at Dean's push. "I told you about trying to make our decisions for us, and if that's the only objection you have, then I'm going to read that as a yes, Dean. And if your answer is yes, well, I just wanted to see what it was like."

"What what was like? Kissing me?! We did that in Tennessee."

Sam glared. "That wasn't a kiss anymore than this was."

"What the hell would you have called them, then?"

"Expressions of your being a jackass."

"Yeah, I'm feeling the romantic vibes just rolling off of you now."

Sam slumped his shoulders and rested his elbows on his knees. "I wasn't trying for romantic, Dean. I'm still working my head around the idea of that and you in the same sentence, I just ...wanted to kiss you."

He stood up. "I'm going to go see if they have any coffee in the office. You want some if they do?"

Dean nodded mutely, watching thoughtfully as Sam left.

~~~~~~~

When Sam walked back in a good thirty minutes later, his hands were empty and his cheeks and nose were reddened from the cold. Dean had seen glimpses of him through the curtains and knew he had been pacing in the parking lot.

"They didn't have any coff--" was as far as he got before Dean grabbed him and pressed his back against the door.

"Did you really want to kiss me, Sammy?"

"Yeah, I did, but--"

He didn't get to finish before Dean's mouth was on him. Sam's first instinct was to shove him off. Sam really wasn't appreciating the feeling of being trapped, and the body pressing against his was all the wrong shape, and he didn't like being grabbed without warning ...but the scent was Dean and it sent something warm curling through his belly to be touching him like this, and the lips pressed to his own were soft and warm... Sam gasped for air when Dean finally let up, sliding his lips away from Sam's mouth and down his jaw line to his throat, nuzzling in under his ear and sucking lightly at the skin there.

"You okay, Sammy?" Dean murmured, still holding him in place.

Sam nodded, and Dean stepped back. Leaving Sam just standing there, staring at him.

Dean was looking at anything but his brother, giving him time to regain his balance.

"Dean?" Sam finally asked.

"Yeah?"

"Does this mean yes then?"

"If you and Jess are sure, really really sure about this ...then yeah, why not?"

Sam was pretty sure that given even five minutes, he would be able to come up with entire lists of "why not," but that time had passed last night.

"Good, then."

An awkward silence filled the room.

Neither one of them thought it was time to do any more experimentation. Dean was still sure that any minute Sam was going to come to his sense and run screaming into the street, and Sam was still in shock at how fast and easily his body had melted into his brother's; like once his brain had kicked over from "male" to "Dean" it had been all systems go, and damn the details.

"So," Dean finally offered brightly, "I have cards."

"Cards sound good."

"When is Jess due back with lunch? I'm starving."

"Yeah, hashing out relationships is hungry work," Sam commented dryly.

Dean gave him a wounded look as he fished the battered deck from his duffel bag. "Dude, this is more chick crap we've done this morning than I think I've done in the last ten years. I deserve cheeseburgers."

Sam snorted. "Then you should have put in an order before she left. Jess is a big believer in the veggie wrap as a source of pure goodness in the universe, and I'm pretty sure she had her eye on a source from her last food run."

Sam let Dean's horrified expression cheer him up as he pulled a chair up to the table and indicated Dean should deal.



Section Seven


Masterpost