glasslogic | Honey and Flies

Section Four

It took Dean less than two hours to draw Bobby’s charm in grease pen over his heart, grab a couple of items from the store, and find the house. It was ridiculously easy with the picture. All he had to do was pick the end of the lake with the largest lots and the fewest houses, then get as close to the water as he could and drive slow. It was the fourth house he passed. Brown siding, low shrubbery, and he could see the window from the photo near the driveway. Tall bushes and dense scrub blocked the view of any of the neighbors and Dean could see the lake on the other side of the property. Unless someone was on the street or maybe on the water, whoever, or whatever was inhabiting the house would have total privacy.

His instincts said to case the place. To wait until nightfall and sneak around. But it had already been six hours, if Sam was even still human at all there was no way of knowing how much time he had left. Bobby’s-friend-the-naiad-hunter thought there was a chance, and Dean was going to take it.

No matter how bad his plan was.

Bobby had told him that according to Stevros the accepted way to hunt lone naiads was a rifle shot from a distance to the head to incapacitate, then a pyre to finish the job. It wasn’t a strategy that would work so well in a group, even if he could get a clear shot at the monster in charge. So he was going to improvise, and pray really hard that they were as arrogant and careless as so many of the other things he hunted had proved to be.

Out in the yard a pretty woman in shorts and a tank top was watering the landscaping. Dean parked the Impala half a block away, shouldered his backpack, and then crept down the street -- he made it around the bushes on the edge of the property and up behind the van parked in the driveway. The sound of the hose continued unabated and Dean wondered if he was going to have to run with plan B at all, or if Plan A was actually going to get him to his goal. They were supposed to be sensitive to intention; maybe since his only intention was Sam they would somehow miss his presence...

The house was old and the window casements ancient. Dean slipped the blade of his pocket knife into the gap beneath one, trying to slide the lock open when he felt it -- a sizzling wave of something that brushed against his skin like a sensual caress. It felt like what he had experienced with Sam, except that instead of sinking into his bones and clouding his thoughts it just melted around him. He was aware of it, but unphased. “Score one for Stevros,” Dean mumbled, freezing in place just as a hand landed on his shoulder.

“Can I help you?”

Dean turned around and didn’t have to do much acting to pull off stunned. She had been nice looking from a distance, but up close was jaw-droppingly gorgeous. Curvy and slim, with full breasts and tanned skin that just couldn’t be as soft as it looked. Her eyes were the exact blue of the sky and blonde hair that had never seen a dye bottle was pulled up into a messy ponytail. She grinned at his expression.

“Hello? Do you have a name?”

Fortunately, Dean was supposed to be enthralled and didn’t need to put much effort into his answer. “Ummmm...” Had there been more with Sam? He didn’t remember clearly.

Her smile grew a touch colder and Dean could see something shift in the back of her eyes. Something predatory and ...inhuman.

“How about I name you then?”

“Yeah... okay,” Dean said slowly, as if trying to pull thoughts from the fog his mind should have been.

“We were just about to have to go find take-out, but now that you’re here -- you don’t mind if I call you lunch, do you?”

Dean shook his head, staring at her in mock adoration. She reached out and brushed his cheek with her hand. Dean nuzzled into it, skin crawling with revulsion.

“Come with me.”

He obediently followed her inside.

~~~~~
The interior of the house was the complete opposite of the exterior. Where the front it presented to the world was plain, serviceable, and unremarkable, inside it was a lavish ode to decadence. Ornate tiles and rich hardwoods covered the floor, and floor-to-ceiling drapes in heavy velvet were swept back revealing the plain, wooden blinds in the front of the house, and in the back an expansive view of a terraced yard leading right down to the water's edge. Water lilies and other plants Dean had no name for drifted in a dark pond just beyond the glass that seemed to be connected to an in-ground pool. Carved wooden couches looked plush and inviting and the walls were decoratively plastered with a molded fresco Dean couldn’t quite make out.

“Sit there,” the woman pointed to one of the couches, then ruffled his hair affectionately when he obediently did as directed. “I’ll go see if they need you yet.”

The couch was just as comfortable as it had looked. It was a shame he was going to have to burn it all down. The woman walked to the far end of the room and knocked lightly on the double doors there. When she pushed one side open Dean heard a sharp crack and a cry of pain. He didn’t know if it was Sam or not, but hoped so -- if he was being tortured, then he was probably still holding out. The woman looked back at him and he forced a bland smile on his face, figuring she would expect no reaction from someone under her spell. It seemed to satisfy her, because she slipped inside, leaving the door open. Dean couldn’t see anything in the room, but heard the low murmur of a male voice and felt a vicious sense of satisfaction. It wasn’t Sam speaking, that timbre he knew -- so it could only be the ringleader of this merry band of murderer’s. And then he felt it, a low roiling something that seemed to creep into the room like a mindless, living presence. It brushed over him, and then sank in. Dean sucked in a breath, but as quickly as it had touched him it recoiled. He was still aware of it though, and he had no doubt it was aware of him. It waited, hovering, wanting him.

Sam, hang on.

It was definitely Sam, his brother in that room, and Dean was considering just getting up and following the blonde in when he felt another wave roll against his skin, as if his clothes didn’t even exist. This one wasn’t the mindless hunger, but raised all the fine hairs on his neck in wariness all the same. It was just as sensual, and electric, as the blonde’s had been, but where her aura had been warmth and sunshine this one was a cool evening air. He had the distinct impression whoever it belonged to was pissed. Dean hadn’t even heard its owner come up behind him, but he recognized her voice immediately. “Who are you?”

Dean said nothing, swearing silently to himself. If he knew her voice, she would almost certainly remember his from their brief, abbreviated phone call earlier. Slender fingers grabbed hold of his jaw and wrenched his head around. “Who. Are. You?” The speaker was just as lovely as the first woman was, as long as he didn’t look into her eyes. Swimming in their depths was the same predator, the same ...alienness, as in the blonde’s. But this one was making no effort to disguise it.

“Lunch,” Dean offered in a dazed tone, hoping the brevity of the answer would keep her from remembering where she had heard his voice before.

It seemed to work, she released him as if burned and stalked around the couch and across the room, giving Dean an excellent view of her long legs, stiletto heels, and... just about everything else since she was only wearing what could generously be called a chemise. “Helen!”

The blonde, Helen? returned and pulled the door closed behind her.

“Who is this?” The newcomer demanded to know.

Helen looked at him. “I don’t know,“ she shrugged. “He was trying to climb in through the window, I thought we could use him,” she gestured towards the double doors.

New Girl’s brows drew together alarmingly. “He was trying to break in and you didn’t even ask his name?!”

“It’s not like it’s going to matter for much longer.” Helen smiled at him. Dean smiled back. No, it wasn’t.

“What does he have in his bag?”

Helen shrugged again. New Girl gave Helen a truly withering look. “Go upstairs, get Gabrielle, Lucille, Wendy, and Eliza and tell them to start packing up. As soon as Andrew is done with our brother, we’re leaving. I’m getting bad feelings about this town.”

You have no idea, Dean thought viciously. Both women looked at him sharply. Dean tried to focus again on bland and appreciating Helen’s assets.

“What did you say your name was again?” New Girl asked him slowly. “Before it was Lunch, what did people call you?”

“Todd Adams,” Dean answered equally slowly, as if struggling to remember. He wasn’t so lucky a second time on the memory game. She stared at him for a minute and then spit out a string of curses that raised a feeling of actual admiration in Dean’s chest. Too bad she was an undead people-eating monster.

“This is the man that called earlier, the one Sam was trying to contact,” New Girl explained to Helen. “Did he say anything before you decided to name him lunch?”

Helen’s blue eyes grew wide. “No, I thought he was just... you know, a burglar or something.”

“You’re an idiot,” New Girl said flatly. Dean had to agree.

“We can tie him up, I’ll let him go and then we can question him?” Helen suggested.

“No, he can stay like this for now” New Girl decided. “Go tell our sisters what I said. I’ll ask Andrew what he wants to do.”

Helen glanced towards the door, an oddly hungry expression stealing across her otherwise lovely face. “How much longer do you think this will take?”

New Girl gave a most unladylike snort. “Until Andrew gets bored. It could be over in five minutes, or five days. Our new brother is unbelievably stubborn. He’ll come around once it’s over though. Everyone does.”

“I’ve never had a brother,” Helen said, still eyeing the door. “Do you think he’ll be generous? Or hog all the good prey for himself like Andrew does?”

“I think you will do what he says and be grateful.”

“Of course, but... maybe he’ll have a different favorite...” Helen’s eyes were sharp with malice as she glanced at her sister on the couch. New Girl seemed unconcerned.

“I gave you a direction. Tell your pet to do what I say before you go.”

Helen heaved a sigh, an impressive sight, and brushed Dean’s cheek with her hand again. The return of her full attention was like the sun coming up. Dean didn’t want to even think about what this would be like if he wasn’t immune.

“You’re going to sit here like a good boy and do what Krystal says now, right?” Dean could actually hear the “k” in Helen’s voice. He nodded at her.

She left without another word. So now the only thing between Dean and getting in that room was Krystal, who was about half his size -- if that. Before Dean could grab her with the vague intention of snapping her neck, Krystal picked up his backpack, glanced at the zippers, and then just casually ripped a hole in the leather with her dainty, delicate fingers so that she could investigate the contents.

So, maybe not with the whole grabbing thing.

Krystal pulled out one of the bottles of beer and looked it over. Dean began some of the most fervent praying of his life as she tilted the bottle first one way, and then the other as if deciding whether she wanted to try it or not.

“Is this why you were looking for Sam?” she asked after a moment of contemplation. “You had some kind of...” a slow smile curved her lips, “date? Ply him with a little alcohol, get into his pants?”

And of course the undead sex fiend leaped directly to that conclusion. On the other hand, it was probably as good as any other for why Dean would be chasing around after Sam, desperate enough to find him based on one cruddy cell phone picture, and carrying a backpack full of what looked like beer. Certainly it was the most useful interpretation. He nodded solemnly.

He smile faded. “Are you lying to me?”

Dean felt the first hint of panic, but before he could protest his innocence, one of the double doors opened again and a man stepped out. He looked about thirty and his sandy hair was artfully tousled. His body had all the chiseled tone that legions of men strived for every day in gyms across the country, and wherever he came from originally wasn’t a place that believed in circumcision -- which Dean could see because he was also stark naked, a look he apparently enjoyed since his tan didn’t show any signs of being broken up by swim trunks.

“Andrew,” Krystal greeted.

Andrew stretched languorously and gave a lazy hand wave. “Is that the new toy Helen found?”

Krystal frowned and glanced at Dean again. “Yes, but... something’s off about him. Sam tried to contact him earlier, and Helen caught him trying to breaking into the house.”

Andrew crossed the room with an easy, confident strut. Ahead of him like a furnace of allure rolled the wave that Dean had expected. And like with the women, it brushed over his skin and slid past. Dean focused all of his attention immediately on Andrew as he approached. Closer and he could see that the monster’s sculpted body was spattered by blood and slick with sweat. Dean let his eyes go wide and soft as he cautiously invited in that feral, hungry thing that hovered all around him. Just a little, just enough. With his permission, it bled through the edges of the charm like it was at home in his skin. Dean’s gasp was genuine as the familiar burn settled into him gingerly. He felt his cock swell in his jeans and let the arousal show clearly on his face, trying hard to hold Andrew in his mind while Sam filled his body. Andrew reached out and touched where Helen had earlier, but his grip was more sure and his gaze more searching. After a long moment Andrew’s intent expression relaxed and he leaned in, firm lips brushed Dean’s and Dean obediently opened his mouth, feigning desire in the enthusiasm of the kiss.

Andrew tasted like blood, and death.

When he pulled back Dean was breathless, mouth swollen, and keeping Andrew in his thoughts wasn’t quite the chore it had been. He supposed that was what a few thousand years of seducing and killing did for your oral skills. Andrew gave him another long look, then turned to Krystal.

“Bring him.”

“But what about...”

“It doesn’t matter," Andre cut her off dismissively. "We’re leaving within the hour. I think this will be the last toy we will break -- if he means something to Sam, so much the better. Apparently publicly ending his life and killing his woman was not enough to teach him that the things in his old, pathetic, existence were better abandoned. Perhaps this will -- but either way, my patience is at an end.”

Andrew gave Dean a smile that had probably broken a thousand hearts. “It’s a shame, really. If Sam hadn’t come to hand I might have considered this one. He has a certain air about him I find... quite attractive.” He shrugged and headed back to the room. In his wake, Krystal glowered at Dean and chewed a nail, clearly still not happy about him.

“Krystal.”

She looked up at her master’s voice, then gave Dean a curt gesture. “Let’s go.”

Dean gathered up his backpack and made to follow.

“No,” she said, exasperated. “Leave that here, you don’t need that anymore.”

Dean set the pack down on the couch again as Krystal turned and continued on. He managed to tuck one bottle into the back of his pants, and followed in her wake.

If he did it right, he only needed one.

~~~~~
Inside the room was as bad as anything Dean has ever seen. In the center of the room, a low chair sat on the marble floor, and cushions in shades of blues and green littered the stone. Two bodies, young women, lay sprawled near the door, eyes open and staring. Another two lay haphazardly against the wall where it looked like they had been dragged. One of those was male, but both were young, and obviously dead. Another female corpse was still in the middle of the room, her legs splayed and eyes still glassy with recent death. All of the bodies looked like they had been tortured in some way before they had died, but he knew it wasn’t the torture that had killed them.

What had killed them took a graceful seat in the low chair and smiled at the only living thing in the room that Dean particularly cared about.

Sam.

A Sam that Dean hardly recognized at first, his skin was paler, and more sunken than Dean had seen before, and his naked body was covered in long, thin cuts. Some of them, Dean knew, matched the coiled whip lying beside the chair Andrew lounged in like a king overseeing his vassals, other were probably the marks of blades. A few looked to be more ragged than either weapon would usually inflict, and Dean remembered the ease with which Krystal had ripped through leather with a hint of queasiness. A metal collar chained to a bolt set into the wall held Sam restrained where he knelt, like some kind of fucking pet.

Dean had almost staggered as he entered the room. The sense of Sam, and Sam’s bare grip on himself and his instinct was a living thing roiling about his skin, much more powerful and aware in the room where it originated. Dean felt the greasepaint on his chest begin to run as the charm began to dissolve under the weight of Sam’s... hunger, and knew that the hold Sam was maintaining was even thinner than he imagined. Once the charm was gone, Dean likely would be too. Any pain he caused himself strong enough to cut through what he could feel building would probably also be debilitating. He met Sam’s eyes across the charnel mess. Sam stared in seeming disbelief, though Dean knew he would have had to have been aware of his presence for at least ten minutes. Dean had certainly been aware of his.

Maybe Sam just hadn’t believed what he’d felt.

Sam blinked, glanced at the wall by Dean’s head, then met his eyes again. Dean casually glanced that way and saw the key hanging on a leather strap.

Good to know.

It was about to be important.

Krystal walked with a dancer's grace across the floor towards Andrew. Dean reached behind himself and carefully unscrewed the bottle cap, then pulled a rag out of his back pocket and stuffed it into the bottle neck. The rag would stop the reek of the gasoline fumes from reaching sensitive noses until he made his move.

“So, stranger -- Krystal thinks you know our Sam here?” Andrew asked with that same stunning smile, as if all the blood and the bodies and the evidence of pain were just casual decorations. Dean met Sam’s eyes across the room again. He hoped he was right about killing the master, because otherwise nothing was going to walk out of the room alive. Already he could feel the haze of Sam’s nature seeping past the failing charm. Krystal stepped over a last cushion and stood so close to Andrew that the filmy edge of her clothes brushed his hand. Sam looked desperately back at him. Dean smiled.

“Of course I know him, he’s my brother.”

He let that phrase hang in the air for one second. Just long enough for Andrew and Krystal to understand and realize the implications. One second to feel a fraction of the panic and fear they had inflicted on Sam. Not nearly enough payment for all the lives they had destroyed. But one second was all Dean could give them, that one second -- and one thing more.

He slid his (their) father’s lighter from his jeans pocket and lit the rag stuffed into the end of the bottle in the same smooth gesture, then hurled it as hard as he could at Andrew on his throne.

Krystal, unfortunately, flung herself clear at the last moment, but Andrew went up with all the fury and fire that Dean could have hoped for. Human flesh didn’t burn like that, it was as if his very skin was made of gasoline vapors. Dean wrenched his gaze away, gagging in the sickeningly sweet stench that was filling the room. He ripped the key from the hook and stumbled across the room.

“No!” Sam yelled, scooting backwards away from him. He was squinting against the brilliant blaze of Andrew writhing in the center of the room. Sweat was pouring into Dean’s eyes and he knew they had to get out. Cushions under Andrew’s body caught fire and Dean lunged impatiently for Sam who had reached the end of the chain.

“No! Don’t touch me!” Sam screamed at him. Dean froze. Krystal gave a strangled yelp and Dean spun to see her entire body just melt into clear water, it started to crackle and hiss where it pooled into the edge of what was left of Andrews’s crumbling corpse. Behind him, Sam made a faint sound and Dean turned back just in time to see Sam sag against the chain as his eyes rolled up and a violent seizure wracked his body. Dean coughed harshly and pulled his shirt over his mouth and nose to try and cut some of the stinging smoke.

On the floor, Sam went suddenly limp, and then water began to run from his nose and mouth. Dean felt his heart sink, but as quickly as it had begun, the water stopped. And Sam was still there. Fumbling fingers unlocked the collar and Dean could feel his muscles groan as he hoisted Sam up onto his back. Then, somehow, he was through the door and out into the blissful coolness of the main room. A room that was already filling with smoke from the antechamber as the fire continued to spread. Dean made for the front door and damn anyone who saw them, sidestepping another pool of water that seemed to have formed around a pair of denim shorts and a suspiciously familiar halter top. Somehow, they made the car, and then they were gone into the growing evening gloom.

~~~~~
By the time they reached the motel Sam was conscious again, if still somewhat unaware and speaking only in slurred, unintelligible sounds. But he was able to carry his own weight into the room, and helped a little as Dean herded him into the shower to scrub the blood and soot from his skin. The cuts and wounds were all gone, as was the corpselike cast to his features and the horrible pallor. He looked like Sam again. The Sam in the picture, and the Sam that Dean had known for those few days after he had nearly died in a spontaneous act of sex -- which was really something he didn’t want on his tombstone. Dean couldn’t feel that insidious pull from Sam either, not when he helped him from the car, and not when he dragged a washcloth over bare, soapy skin. Not even an echo of the flashbacks he’d been having. Sam was practically asleep on his feet, so Dean dried him off and dressed him in a t-shirt and boxers, then tucked him into bed so he could go and take his own damn shower.

He didn’t feel anything but a fine and burning rage about what had happened at the house. Five more people had died, and he had been too late to save them.

But he hadn’t been too late to save Sam.

He hoped.

“How do I tell?” he asked Bobby later in a low voice while Sam lay deep in slumber on the bed. “He could practically pass for human before, how do I tell if he’s really cured, or if he’s just... the same?”

“They go up like torches,” Bobby said quietly. “Stevros says they can’t even smoke without risking death. It was one of the ways they could pick them out back in the day -- they were the only ones in Greece who didn’t have a cigarette hanging out of their mouths. I think he was kidding, but you get the idea.”

Dean hung up and flicked the lighter. He held the flame close to Sam’s arm and Sam muttered and shifted in his sleep, pulling away. Dean grabbed his arm back and tried again, this time Sam’s lids fluttered up and he mumbled a protest.

“Hold still,” Dean ordered. Something in his voice must have cut through Sam’s exhaustion, because after a glance between the lighter and Dean’s face, he relaxed into Dean’s grip and held still. His eyes were wet with tears of pain by the time Dean released him, satisfied. Dean dressed the burn and waited by the bed until he was sure Sam was fast asleep, then called Bobby back.

“He’s human,” Dean said, relief thick enough to cut in his voice.

“You’re certain?” Bobby’s voice was tight with restraint.

“Well, he’s not going to be real thrilled about the burn when he wakes up, but better a burn than a burning. He’s not anymore flammable than I am, and that... pull, it’s all gone too.”

Bobby released a breath like he had been holding it for a year. “Thank God. Bring him home,” he ordered. “He’s got no business out there now. Even if he walked into a police station and proved he was alive all they would do is try to pin that poor girl’s death on him probably. There’s nothing for him in California.”

Dean agreed, but thought Sam had probably had enough of other people trying to run his life for him for awhile. Or unlife -- whatever. “I’ll try,” was all Dean promised.

~~~~~
Sam, as it turned out, didn’t take much convincing. He woke up with the sunrise and tore ravenously into the food stuffs Dean usually accumulated when he was holed up somewhere for awhile. Dean looked him over while he steadily ate his way through five packages of applesauce, three oranges, a box of raisins and a can of cold ravioli. Sam seemed physically none the worse for wear. Just tired, and that was completely understandable.

There were shadows in his eyes too, but they weren’t the sort erased by a few good nights of sleep. They would fade with time, or with nothing. Dean knew a lot about that kind of baggage, and knew there wasn’t a lot anyone could do for you about it. It was just something you had to deal with.

Alcohol helped. But he doubted Sam would be up to visiting any bars anytime soon.

Dean carefully laid out Bobby’s argument on dragging Sam to South Dakota, and raised an eyebrow when Sam only nodded and asked, “Are we leaving soon?”

“You sure that’s what you want to do?” Dean asked.

“He’s right -- I’ve got nothing here. What would I tell people -- that I woke up in the morgue, staggered out, decided to play pool for about a month, then got bored and headed back to my apartment? I’d sound like a head case at best, and a murder suspect at worst." He scowled. "I don’t want to be here anymore! Every street is a reminder of what they did to me. And I couldn’t be on campus without seeing her face around every corner. I don’t want to deal with it, and I don’t have to. Not here.”

“What are you going to do instead? I thought the idea was that you were going to be some big shot lawyer -- pretty sure you need more than two or three years of college for that, Sam.”

“I’m going to Bobby’s, and I’m going to sleep for a month. And then I’m going to learn this hunting thing that you and he do,” Sam said, determination hard in his eyes.

Dean felt like an idiot for not seeing that one coming.

“Sam, this life is a rough one. No one chooses it, it--"

“Chooses them?” Sam suggested. “What do you call this Dean if not a freaking wake-up call? I can’t sit on my ass in a cushy nine-to-five knowing things like this are out there. Do you know what would have happened to me if you hadn’t come in just then? Do you have any idea what I would have become?”

“You need to take half the credit for that, if it wasn’t for that picture you sent I would never have found the place.” A pause. “I saw the room, Sam."

“She left her purse on the floor and I got a hand out of the rope, it was chance,” Sam said darkly. “And you didn’t see anything. I was there, Dean -- I watched every second of it. They brought them in one at a time, and told me they were going to die. Either I could kill them and it would be fast, or he could kill them and it would be slow. He tortured five people almost to death in front of me, and then raped them to finish it off. That would have been me.” Sam’s voice was almost breathless, the plastic spoon snapped in his hand. Dean reached and pulled it gently from his grip.

“I’m going to take you home. Then... if you still want to be a hunter, and Bobby won’t teach you, I will.” And his father be damned.

Sam grabbed his wrist. “Promise?”

“I swear.”

That seemed to release something, Sam’s shoulder slumped and some of the nervous energy that had been humming in him dissipated. “Okay. Okay, then. Can I borrow your phone for a few minutes? I want to give Bobby a call.”

Dean handed it to him. “I’m going to load the car. I’ll knock before I come back in, give you some privacy.”

Sam gave him a hint of a genuine smile. “Thanks.”

~~~~~
“So,” Sam began hours and miles later as they passed out of California and into the wide open spaces of the rest of the world. He popped the Metallica album out of the tape deck. “What you said in there, about being my brother...”

“I know you talked to Bobby,” Dean pointed out dryly. “Did you ask him?”

Sam crossed his arms and stared moodily out the windshield. “He told me some bullshit about our father and a promise.”

“That’s what I got too.”

Sam shook his head. “I don’t even know what to do with that.”

Dean shrugged and leaned to fish under Sam’s seat for his tape box. “Why do anything with it? We’re the same people we were this morning, and yesterday, and the week before, and the week before that--"

“When we had sex,” Sam interrupted him. “We’re the same people we were then, Dean?”

“Nothing that we know now would have changed what happened then, Sam,” Dean said firmly. “You were still screwed up and falling apart and I was still... convenient. It’s not like we were gonna knock each other up, you know? You think I would have let you hurt someone, or that you would have been able to hold back just because we knew about our little family resemblance?” Dean demanded. “Hell, I still don’t even remember most of what happened!”

“You almost died that night,” Sam snapped. “I almost killed you. And what about... you know. If I hadn’t turned back, if I was going to stay that way -- would you still have been able to destroy me as easily as you planned too?”

“Finishing you off was never going to be that easy,” Dean said grimly. “Because of Bobby if nothing else. But if I knew you were my brother? You’re damn straight I could have done it. It’s what I would have wanted you to do for me. You don’t leave family walking around like carrion, no matter how sweet the stench.” His voice lost some of its edge. “I was going to save you Sam, one way or the other. If you can’t handle that, then you need to rethink this whole hunting thing, because there’s a much better chance a hunter dies by violence than in bed of old age. Like ninety-nine to one -- got it? This isn’t the college joyride here.”

“Yeah, we see how well that joyride went for me.”

Dean didn’t have anything to say to that and an awkward kind of silence filled the air between them. He endured for about five minutes, and then reached to shove his tape into the player. Sam pulled it from his fingers before he could push it in.

“You wanted to,” Sam said in a low voice. Dean caught the sidelong glance Sam gave him and gave an inward groan. He knew exactly what Sam was talking about.

“I was screwed up, Sam. Yeah, you’re hot. And yeah, I go for the occasional guy -- but it’s not like I’m lusting at your heels or anything. I was having all these flashbacks, and they were irritating as hell, but also... you know what you were. If you’d come up to me in a bar and tried to pick me up, for real -- not like you actually did,” Dean added dryly, “I probably would have gone with you.”

Sam seemed to digest that.

“What about you?” Dean asked curiously. “I know you had Jess and all, but, uh -- did you ever switch it up sometimes? Before?”

“Are you asking if I would have dated a guy if it had just been preference and not all the other crap I was dealing with?”

“Yeah.” Dean frowned and checked his rearview mirror for cops, then inched the pedal down a little more. You couldn’t really enjoy the open highway at fifty-five miles per hour. What the radar guns didn’t detect wouldn’t hurt anybody.

“I don’t know. No guy ever asked me out,” Sam said thoughtfully.

“That’s not much of an answer.”

“I really haven’t thought much about it. I mean, I didn’t do much dating in High School, and then there was college, and then there was Jess. Not a lot of room for experimentation in between all of that.”

Dean, who couldn’t have recalled all of his partners even if he had been given a notebook and unlimited time, was kind of appalled. “You’re the settling down kind then, huh?”

Sam looked pointedly around the car. “Apparently not anymore. But... you know. Maybe.” Dean could see his slight smile out of the corner of his eye. “If you’d come up to me in a bar or at a party after a few drinks, and I wasn’t involved with someone... maybe.”

“That’s real flattering, Sam,” Dean said dryly. “If you were horny, and smashed, and didn’t have anyone willing on hand, you might have tripped into bed with me. My ego is just eating that right up.”

“Not smashed,” Sam corrected. “Just a little... loosened.”

The phrasing brought up a whole round of visuals that Dean really didn’t need associated with his... brother.

“That’s real special, Sam.”

The smile faded. “I’m not ready.” The comment seemed out of nowhere.

“Ready for what?” Dean blinked.

“A relationship. Even casual sex. I’m not ready. I won’t be for a long time, you know?”

“I thought we were talking about being brothers,” Dean said cautiously.

“And I thought you said that didn’t change anything.”

“It might change some things,” Dean was forced to admit.

“Does it?” Sam challenged. "What does it really change, Dean? I barely know you! We’re practically strangers. It doesn’t matter whose fault it is -- our dad is dead, and he’s never going to be there to tell us why he arranged this stupid game of cloak and daggers. Bobby claims he doesn’t know, and he’s the only person alive who even knows we’re related. I like you, and I... trust you. Which might be more important for me now than anything else. So we’re brothers -- maybe we can just be partners instead. And later... if something else does happen then just... let it.” Sam crossed his arms and slouched back into the seat, staring resolutely out the window so that all Dean could see was dark hair and a hint of his profile.

Dean concentrated on the miles passing under the wheels and the emptiness of a childhood colored by midnight motel rooms, his dad’s stern instruction, and the nagging feeling of something missing. About the secrets and lies that lay at the core of any family, and the way he had always had two dads. He thought about Sam’s infectious grin when he was happy, and the way sweat slicked his skin when... Yeah. Brotherly was not how Dean would categorize the primary emotions the memory inspired.

Dean cleared his throat. “How about we just burn that bridge when we get there. Until then...”

Sam smiled and pushed the tape into the deck.

Masterpost

I hope you enjoyed the story -- feedback is always appreciated!

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From:

caz2y5.livejournal.com

So much love for this story. It is always great to see a new and far more interesting monster than they will ever show in actual canon. and the surprise brothers at the ending brilliant. maybe my slash goggles need cleaning but i did not see that coming at all lol.

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Honey and Flies - Section Four

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