Crossroads of Eden - Section Seven

[glasslogic]

Chapter Eleven

“Get in the shower.”

Sam turned, surprised. “The shower?”

“Yeah.” Dean gestured towards the bathroom in the room Sam had first woken up in. “There’s this basin thing on the floor, and a plastic sheet hanging from a rod, and on the wall a twisty metal thing that makes the water come out. Go get in it, and rub some soap around. You reek like demons and I’d like a clean slate to put my personal touches on.”

“What kind of touches would those be?” Sam asked. He peeled the hoodie and t-shirt off, tossing them onto the dresser before skinning off his sweatpants and the socks he had ruined when he fled from the room earlier. What was on his feet hadn’t even blipped on the radar of things he was concerned about at the time.

“I’m not going to tell you; it’s the kind of thing that calls for a demonstration.” Dean paused and then added pointedly, “You don’t look like you’re in the shower yet.”

Sam flipped him the bird and disappeared into the bathroom. He looked surprised a few minutes later when Dean followed him in, dressed only in his battered jeans.

“I don’t think there’s room in here for both of us,” Sam suggested, pushing the curtain back a few more inches to see Dean better.

Dean swept it back all the way against the wall and pulled a few towels from the rack above the toilet to spread over the floor. “I’m not getting in, I’m just... helping. Give me the washcloth.”

“That kind of help will probably end with me getting a concussion,” Sam retorted, but his voice lacked conviction and he handed over the soapy cloth.

“Put your hands against the wall, relax, and shut up.”

“Yeah, because you helping me get cleaned up is going to be relaxing.”

He subsided into compliance when Dean pressed the washcloth to the top of his spine and drew it down, sliding against water-slicked skin with just enough pressure to feel like ownership. After the hell of the past few weeks, Sam found Dean’s possessive attitude oddly reassuring, biological imperative on his part or not.

“Just... be quiet for a few minutes,” Dean muttered, preoccupied. “Did you already wash your hair?”

“I thought you wanted me to be quiet?”

The washcloth paused mid-swipe as Dean waited for an answer.

“Yeah,” Sam admitted.

Dean didn’t reply, but continued his efforts in making sure every inch of Sam was cleansed of the smells of his captivity. His movements were slow, methodical... and apparently designed to drive Sam crazy. He stopped if Sam’s hands left the wall, and by the time the washcloth was dipping past his bellybutton, Sam’s cock was so hard he was ready to take matters into his own hands if Dean didn’t pick up the pace a little. When the washcloth hesitated and then slid smoothly to his thigh, bypassing the area Sam wanted Dean’s hand the most, he groaned. “Dean...”

“I thought you were being quiet?”

“That was before I realized you just wanted to torture me.”

“Be patient.”

Sam rested his forehead on the cool tile and closed his eyes while Dean continued his painstaking exploration. But when Dean finally did slide his hands back up between Sam’s legs, the touches were so brief and impersonal that they left Sam as hard and aching as he had started.

“Dean?”

“I’ve got plans for that, and the bed. You’re the one who didn’t want a concussion.”

Sam stared, incredulous. “What the hell was the point of you coming in here then? I would have been done in half the time if you’d just waited for me.”

“I needed to do this,” Dean explained, meeting his eyes, and Sam was somewhat taken aback by how serious he looked.

“Okay,” Sam said slowly.

“You need more blood too,” Dean added. “And we might as well use the shower because you’re about the messiest feeder I’ve ever seen.”

“You don’t like licking blood off my skin?”

“I’d rather lick your blood off your skin; cleaning up my own blood is just good manners.”

Sam saw only the merest hint of fangs before Dean buried them in his own wrist, then held it out for Sam as blood welled and spotted on the wet floor of the tub. Sam decided to forgo his reply in favor of the offering. It still wasn’t exactly what his body wanted, but Sam was determined to never fill that particular need. Like before, the unsatisfied feeling faded after a few swallows.

When Dean reclaimed his wrist, his eyes were dark with entirely different desires. He ran his tongue over the holes in his skin and held out a hand to Sam in invitation.

“I wish you could close them up like that on me,” Sam muttered as he licked his lips and climbed out of the shower

“Soon you can do your own.” Dean handed him a towel and Sam wiped the water from his body and rubbed as much of it out of his hair as he could.

“You said to be patient; do I get a reward now? What are these plans you mentioned?” Sam asked as he followed Dean back into the bedroom.

Dean grinned at him. “I thought we’d relive the past a little.”

“Which part of it?”

Dean pushed him back until the back of his legs hit the mattress and he fell across it, then nudged his knees apart and knelt down on the carpet. “This part, where you’re all wet from the shower and naked in a cheap hotel room and I’m on my knees between your legs.”

There had been a lot of motel rooms and showers between them over the years, but Sam knew exactly which time Dean was talking about. “I wasn’t naked.”

“Not at first,” Dean admitted. “Maybe this time you can look at me instead of staring at the ceiling and pretending I’m a girl.”

“It was the first time I’d had sex with a guy, Dean! Or a vampire; give me a break. And I didn’t pretend you were a girl.”

“Are you sure?” Dean raised an eyebrow and smirked. “You were pretty uncomfortable. I don’t mind if you did.”

“I’m sure.” Sam met his eyes down the length of his own body. “I’d been thinking about it for awhile. I didn’t think I wanted to; I thought sex was... something I could pay you with. But when I came to you that night and you turned me down and took the pain away anyway... I was still thinking about it.” His gaze shifted down to Dean’s chest. “I couldn’t pretend it was some bartering thing I was bracing myself for anymore.” He met Dean’s eyes directly again. “I wanted you; why would I have pretended you were someone else when I’d been fantasizing about you for weeks?”

“Fantasizing, huh?” Dean’s smile made Sam’s erection ever more painfully hard, if that was possible. “You’ve never told me this before, Sam. Why don’t you give me some more details about this fantasizing and maybe I can bring a little more of it to life...” He leaned in and wrapped his lips around the head of Sam’s cock, licking away the moisture beaded there and then pulling back before Sam could thrust. Dean held Sam’s hips tightly to the mattress and looked up. “I thought I asked you a question?”

Sam growled something unflattering, but slumped back in frustrated defeat at the expression of interest on Dean’s face and scrambled to remember what he had asked. “I wasn’t... there weren’t details, Dean! I didn’t know what I wanted; I just wanted!”

“You suffer from a sad lack of imagination, Sam,” Dean accused with mock disappointment.

“Oh, my God,” Sam hissed in disbelief. “This is just like the first time!”

“No,” Dean disagreed, eyes dark with arousal. “This isn’t going to end when I’m done with your cock. Good with that?”

“Whatever you want,” Sam pleaded. “Just--” He bucked up against Dean’s grip impatiently.

“Still so easy, Sammy.”

Anything Sam might have responded with vanished from thought when Dean licked one palm and used it to roll Sam’s balls gently in his hand while he laved his tongue up the shaft before swallowing it down to the root without warning. Sam made a strangled sound as he was blindsided by an orgasm from the unexpected, constricting heat of Dean’s throat as he swallowed around the head of Sam’s cock, and kept swallowing until Sam was drained and his body limp on the mattress.

Dean slid his mouth away from Sam’s dick to the silky soft skin high on the inside of his thigh. The skin was thin, and hot, and blood raced so close to the surface that Dean imagined he could hear the whisper of its passing. Sam knew what was coming and made some effort to spread his legs even wider, giving Dean more access. He didn’t bother picking his head up, though, enjoying the lassitude of his release. Dean used one hand to hold the leg in place, and the other to knead Sam’s hip for distraction. He didn’t bother with a warning before sliding his fangs through the skin to nick the vein. Sam tensed at the sharp pinch and then just sighed and let his body relax deeper into the mattress while Dean’s mouth worked against him in the familiar rhythm.

Sam was starting to slide off into sleep. Excitement and the stress of the night, and simple physical exhaustion, were lulling him into a state where it was easier to close his eyes and trust that Dean would be there still when he opened them than fight against the urge... when the hand kneading his hip slipped away, only to reappear a moment later coated with slickness and sliding against the smooth skin behind his balls to stroke gently at the opening there. Sam shifted uncomfortably and Dean’s hand tightened on his leg in warning until he settled back. Dean slid his palm upward and began a different plan of attack, stroking and squeezing until Sam’s cock began to take a renewed interest in the activity and his involuntary little movements had more to do with getting more contact than less.

Dean’s hand found the opening again and rubbed a slick knuckle against it until Sam relaxed against the pressure enough for Dean to slide first one, and then two fingers into the tight furnace of his body, spreading the lube deep and encouraging Sam to open up. As soon as Sam ground back on his hand, Dean slipped his fingers free and pulled his mouth back from the wound. He used the hand from Sam’s knee to fumble for the ready band-aid on the nightstand to cover the wound and then worked his slow way up Sam’s body until he could take his mouth in a bruising kiss.

“Still okay?” Dean asked a breathless eternity later when he finally pulled back.

“I’m fine,” Sam hissed. “Are you going to do it or just tease me all night?”

“Poor choice of words, Sam.” Dean’s smile was edged as he stood between Sam’s legs and gripped him behind a knee, pulling the thigh up to leave Sam completely exposed. Sam twisted the sheet in his fists and gave Dean a challenging look, somewhat ruined by the unfocused haze and shiver of anticipation when Dean lined the head of his cock up and pressed in slowly. Dean kept his hand behind Sam’s knee as he eased in, then pulled out and eased in again, a little deeper each time until Sam’s body had swallowed the entire length of his cock and Dean’s balls were pressed flush against his skin. Sam’s renewed erection had flagged somewhat during the process, but started to fill again as Dean continued his slow movements until Sam had loosened enough to take a faster pace. Sam gasped each time Dean bottomed out, and Dean held him pinned tightly in place, thrusting harder and deeper into his tight heat.

Impatient with the position that limited his reach, Dean pulled out entirely, ignoring Sam’s inarticulate complaint, and shoved him further up on the mattress so Dean could kneel between his thighs while sinking back into the tight, slick heat. Sam wrapped his legs around Dean in welcome. He moved against Dean’s weight, getting more friction against his own dick and pleased to have Dean where he could taste his mouth again. Dean kept one hand on Sam’s hip to help guide the rhythm and the fingers of his other hand tangled in Sam’s dark hair to keep his head where Dean wanted it. He was trying to focus on Sam’s face and ignore the siren call of his blood just begging to be tasted and devoured. Especially beneath his jaw; Dean’s favorite place in the world. But it was a bad idea, he had all the time in the world to claim Sam properly later-- doing it now would make things harder for Sam, and the part of Dean that could still think didn’t want that, no matter how powerful the desire.

It was a struggle to remember that, as Sam arched and panted beneath him, eroding Dean’s willpower. And then as if reading his thoughts, Sam managed actual words.

“Bite me again,” he gasped. Dean was completely in favor, and twisted his attention away from Sam’s jaw line to nose along his arm, mouthing where an artery ran tantalizingly close to the surface. “No.” Sam grabbed a handful of hair and pulled to make sure he had Dean’s attention, then tilted his head back, exposing his throat. “Here.”

Dean strangled the impulse to immediately take Sam up on his offer.

“It’s... not a good idea, Sam,” he gasped.

“You want to,” Sam challenged breathlessly.

He definitely did; he wanted to put his mark of freaking ownership right where John Winchester and the entire rest of the world would have to acknowledge it. “Yeah, but that’s why it’s not a good idea. You’ve still got to talk to him, Sam. That conversation’s going to be hard enough.”

Sam kept tugging at his hair until Dean met his eyes again. Sweat plastered hair to his face and his pupils were blown with the physical rush, but his eyes were still focused and fierce. “This is my decision; you’re my decision. I want him to see that.”

Dean ducked under his chin and pushed Sam’s head back more, giving himself plenty of room to find his favorite spot just over Sam’s racing pulse. He thrust a few more times, each one designed to shove Sam that much closer to the line, then drove his fangs through the tender skin, not bothering to disguise the bite as anything but what it was, trusting the crest Sam was already riding to twist the pain into something else entirely. Blood welled into his mouth as Sam moved under him, forcing Dean to exert more pressure to hold him at just the right angle.

With Sam’s blood in his mouth and his body willing and open beneath him, Dean had to make a conscious effort not to demand more than Sam could enjoy. Something that he usually did without thought made harder by the persistent knowledge that he had nearly lost another fledgling, and the fierce desire to imprint himself so deeply that the mistake couldn’t be made again.

But it hadn’t been a mistake, and nothing as superficial and fleeting as sex would erase the sulphuric bite to Sam’s blood. It would take years of time to do that. Years. Dean pressed deep and swallowed while Sam shuddered in the tense storm of orgasm that rolled over them both.

Fucking years.

But it was time they would at least have. Dean touched the leather cord the amulet was strung on to reassure himself it was still around Sam’s neck and promised himself to have it replaced with something more durable as soon as humanly possible. If it was possible. He felt calmer with the flavor of Sam’s blood still rich in his mouth. It wasn’t the missing bond, but it was a solid start, and some of the frantic tension he had carried for weeks was easing into a feeling of better control. Control was the vital key that kept his kind above the chaos and insanity of their cousins, the tool that let them survive and thrive in a world that would otherwise do anything to destroy them. Its lack was the cardinal sin of his people and he had missed that feeling almost as much as he had missed his fledgling. Almost. Dean dropped an impulsive kiss onto Sam’s flushed cheek and gently pulled free of his body. He untangled their limbs and slid off to one side.

“I’m going to need another shower,” Sam mumbled a few minutes later. Dean admired the picture Sam made: blood was still trickling in slow drops from the wound on his neck and sweat slicked his pale skin. The knee he still had bent was doing absolutely nothing for any modesty.

Dean ran a finger along Sam’s spent cock and back to the slightly swollen ring between his legs, slick with lube and the results of Dean’s own pleasure. He traced his finger gently around it. Sam opened one eye and glared in discomfort, but didn’t bother moving.

“Wanna go again?” Dean asked, only half joking.

Sam groaned and finally moved. He only made it as far as rolling onto his belly, which didn’t do much for getting Dean to stop touching sensitive areas.

“You know,” Sam mused, “way back when we first met, if you had just kind of pinned me down in that first motel room and done this? We could have skipped an awful lot of misery.”

Dean snorted and went to grab a warm washcloth from the bathroom. “I don’t think you would have been very open to this at that point.”

He cleaned Sam up and then slapped his ass to let him know he could sit up.

“Maybe not.” Sam sat on the edge of the bed and stretched. “But that’s kind of a shame, in hindsight.”

“I didn’t know I liked you then,” Dean retorted. “You were a hunter and kind of an ass.”

“Are you sure you like me now?” Sam asked with a rueful smile, not arguing although the desire to point out that Dean had been at least as responsible for the hostilities of their initial relationship was strong. “I’ve been more trouble than just about anyone else in the world would have been.”

Dean braced himself on Sam’s shoulder and leaned in to lick away blood that was still seeping from the wounds in Sam’s throat. “You’re delicious.”

“Even with the taint?” Sam asked in a low voice.

“That will fade, Sam,” Dean sighed, pulling back. “And yeah, even so. It pisses me off, but it doesn’t change a thing between us, okay?”

Sam nodded; the expression of relief that crossed his face told Dean he should have said the damn words sooner. And maybe a few more just to make his position clear. Sam tended to brood and dwell and Dean didn’t want any lingering misunderstandings.

“I didn’t choose you because I desperately wanted to go through all of the baby vampire crap again, Sam. I picked you because I wanted you. You can’t be enough trouble to make me regret that. As long as you want to be here, I’m willing to shoulder my share of the bullshit. Demons, dads, and whatever other baggage is trailing along behind you. Got it?”

“Yeah.” Sam brushed fingers over the puncture wounds in his throat with a brief grimace. “And... I meant this. What you said about ‘having my cake and eating it too’? I know what you were saying, and I know you’re right. And... I’m ready. I just didn’t think I would ever have to face him, you know? I think I wanted to believe he was dead, instead of just abandoning me. And it turns out that he didn’t, really. I think he would have come to help me if he could have.”

“He deserves to be dead,” Dean accused acidly.

Sam sighed. “I think he did the best he could; what he thought was right. He had reasons. He did everything in his power to protect me.”

“Some things you just can’t protect people from.”

“No,” Sam agreed. “But that’s hard to tell a father.” His smile was pained, but it was genuine. “I spent half my life hating him for being who he was, Dean. For the crap he put me through and his insane obsession, but... I understand now. It doesn’t make everything better, but having an explanation, having him here, even if just long enough to say goodbye-- that’s a lot.”

Dean snorted. “I think he’s an unhinged psycho-- but that kind of goes with his job.”

“Thanks,” Sam said dryly. He glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “When is he supposed to be back?”

Dean checked the clock too. “Any minute.”

Sam swore and stood up. He grabbed his t-shirt out of the pile of clothing on the dresser and glared when Dean pulled it out of his grip and tossed it back.

“Don’t even think about putting those clothes back on. We just got you cleaned up!”

“I’m not clean; I’m disgusting, Dean. And what the hell do you suggest? I’m not going to talk to him naked; we gave him enough of a show earlier.”

“I like talking to you naked. And there’s different kinds of clean and dirty.”

“I don’t remember you being this crazed about what I smelled like before.”

Dean shot him a withering look. “Before, no one had put their claws in you and broken our bond. Excuse me if I’m going to be a little hypersensitive for a few weeks. My head knows you’re back, but it’s going to take the instincts and hormones and crap some time to catch up. We just need to do some reestablishing, and in the meantime, I need not to be reminded that someone took you away every time I get close.”

“Which doesn’t solve the naked problem. You can put up with it for a couple of hours,” Sam said heartlessly, reaching for the shirt again.

Dean rolled his eyes and grabbed up the entire pile. “Just wait a second.”

He disappeared into the adjoining room and came back a second later carrying a pair of jeans and a dark, long-sleeved shirt.

“Are those my dad’s?” Sam asked.

“You think he won’t share? Not that I particularly care,” Dean shrugged. “I didn’t really bring along a lot of luggage. Or any.”

“What about your whole possession trip? Now you want to dress me in my dad’s clothes?”

Dean snorted. “Better John fucking Winchester than demons. He only wants to take you physically away. But the very first thing we’re doing once we put another hundred miles between us and any interested parties is getting you another bath and some clothes that only smell like me.”


Chapter Twelve

Sam was sitting alone on the end of the neatly made bed in the main room when John let himself back in.

“Those clothes look familiar,” John said gruffly. His assessing gaze didn’t miss the faint shadows of fresh bruises along Sam’s jaw line, or the dark scabs of the neat bite mark on the side of his throat. Sam’s dark hair was tucked behind the ear on that side as if to make sure he got an eyeful.

“Sorry,” Sam said with a hint of true apology. “Dean took offense to what I was wearing. I think he’s outside somewhere burning them right now. Something about the way they smelled.”

“I was going to ask where he had gone.”

Sam’s eyes stared straight into his. Mary’s eyes, but full of his son’s defiance, and willfulness, and... love.

And pain.

“I doubt he’s gone far.”

There was sadness in his voice too, twisted with an implacable resolve that gave John a burst of pride even as it stirred the simmering anger. But Sam’s words sliced right to the heart of the matter, freeing them both from awkward wording and veiled truths.

“It’s not too late for you.” John’s voice was low. But he already knew what Sam would say, it was written in every line of his body. The hunter in him had to make the attempt, but the father...

John had spent so much of his life ignoring that part of his life to clearly understand what it was telling him now. He didn’t want to lose his only child, and he didn’t want Sam to die.

“It is,” Sam contradicted almost gently. “It’s been too late for me since the fire, and we both know it now. I know why you did what you did, but I have to live my life with the consequences. I’m not human, and if I can’t just be human, then I want to choose my own path.”

“You survived weeks without him,” John said harshly. “Whatever is different about you-- you can do it again. You can come with me now; he won’t stop you. I know him that well. We can leave, and get you through whatever this is, and then--”

“And then what?” Sam asked. “You put me in a salted iron ward and sit by with a shotgun and a rosary waiting for the demons to come? For the rest of my life? You have a mission already, and... I’m not unhappy, Dad. I wouldn’t have chosen this if I could have had any life I wanted, but a lot of those choices were made for me. This is what I have, and it’s what I want now. I need you to understand that. I don’t need to be saved anymore.”

John closed his eyes against the painful honesty.

“What do you want me to do with this?” he finally asked. He didn’t hear Sam move, but opened his eyes when a hand touched his arm.

“I want you to let me go.”

“Sam...” John began, shaking his head.

Sam wrapped his arms around him, and after a moment, John relented and hugged him back tightly, feeling a burn behind his eyes like he hadn’t experienced in more than twenty years.

It felt like smoke.

“I need you to let me go,” Sam repeated in a choked voice. John just tightened his grip and buried his face in his son’s shoulder. Knowing, knowing, that it would be the last time. “Dad...”

John could smell his own aftershave, the cheap scent of the motel soap, the faint hint of blood, and the sweetness of sweat in Sam’s hair. But mostly it was just Sam. His and Mary’s child, the last and best legacy of their brief marriage and the innocence of his early life. But Sam wasn’t a child anymore, and he had never been safe enough. John let out a slow breath and then released him, stepping back and refusing to rub at whatever was in his eyes.

He cleared his throat. “If you ever need anything. You, uh--”

“I know where Bobby lives.”

John nodded. “What if I need to reach you?”

Sam was silent for a long minute, and then he exhaled heavily. “I... don’t think that’s a good idea.”

No, it wasn’t. It was the hunter that had asked.

John reached out one hand and touched the marks on Sam’s throat. Sam lifted his chin, meeting his eyes with no hint of shame or apology.

John nodded and let his hand fall back to his side. He reached out and lifted his duffle from the dresser and slid the strap over his shoulder. He wanted to give Sam advice, suggestions on where to go and a reminder of the demons still after him. Warnings about hunters, and share a few of the tips he had learned on his trip. But the words died in his mouth. Sam wasn’t his responsibility anymore. Wasn’t his at all. They weren’t even allies in the same fight. Sam had abandoned the side of the angels, and there was nothing left to say.

“I love you, Dad.”

Maybe that.

“I love you too, kiddo. Take care of yourself.” It was as much warning as hope.

John stepped outside into the cool air of evening, leaving Sam behind in the warm glow of the motel lamps. It had been scarcely four hours since he had snatched Sam from the grip of demons, but it seemed like a decade has passed. He headed towards his truck, feeling the weight of his years with each step. A familiar figure was leaning against the driver’s side door.

“Making sure I’m leaving alone?” John asked sardonically.

Dean’s smile was sharp enough to cut. “Oh, I wasn’t worried about that. Just wanted to give you some friendly advice.”

“I think I got the message already.”

“For Sam’s sake, I really hope so. But you would be smart not to forget how the demons found him last time; I sure as hell haven’t. He was safe until you came along and caused this cluster-fuck. This time I plan to bury him so deep that for the next decade God himself won’t have a clue where he is, but if I even sorta get the feeling you might be poking around, I will destroy you.”

“What would Sam say?”

“Sam would never know,” Dean promised. “It would just be a little secret between you, me, and the worms that feast on your rotting carcass under whatever rock I stuff you.”

“I wouldn’t hurt my son,” John gritted out.

“Not right now,” Dean agreed. “But tomorrow? Next year? A few miles down the road when you’ve had time to think it over? Forget about Sam, John. I believe there’s a part of you that genuinely cares, and I want that part to know that I will do everything in my power to keep him safe and eventually steady on his own two feet. The rest of you can go to Hell.”

“Just so we know where each other stands,” John said with a hint of the same grim humor Sam showed on occasion.

“Exactly.”



~~~~~


“I’m proud of you,” Dean greeted Sam when he walked back into the motel room.

“For what?”

“I saw your dad in the parking lot; looked like you resisted the urge to turn him into kibble.”

“That isn’t funny, Dean,” Sam groused.

“It would have made my decade, Sam. The whining might have gotten old, though,” he added, unfazed by Sam’s withering look.

Realizing he was having no effect on Dean’s apparent good humor, Sam gave up. “I still wanted to, but not as badly as before. I felt like I had more control.”

“Control is key,” Dean asserted with sudden seriousness. “I guess we’ll just keep you away from humans unless you’ve been tanked up.”

“Maybe it was the sex,” Sam retorted sarcastically.

“Exhaustion doesn’t usually help control.”

“You’ve got a high opinion of yourself,” Sam snorted. “Do I look exhausted to you?”

Dean grinned. “Is that a challenge? I love challenges.”

Sam glanced at the clock. “How long did you say you thought we had before company showed up?”

Dean followed his gaze. “Not long enough for more fun tonight; we’ve been pushing it as it is. I’ll make you eat your words another time.”

“Looking forward to it.”

Dean left the key on the table and the two of them headed out to the car. Sam stopped dead when he caught sight of their destination.

“What happened to the Impala?”

“We took enough of a chance keeping her as long as we did,” Dean said regretfully, eyeing the battered wreck he had liberated from its deceased owner.

“This was the best you could do?”

Dean started to snap something about picky eaters, but managed to stop himself. There were some truths and realities that Sam wasn’t quite ready to face. “We’re going to have to move through a bunch of vehicles in the next couple of nights; you can pick the next ride.”

Sam refrained from further comment, though his expression as he settled gingerly into the mess of empty fast food containers and cigarette butts spoke volumes. Dean ignored it. The springs squealed and the engine choked, but it did reluctantly sputter to life. Sam’s silence was almost as loud as the engine, but Dean refused to let it dampen his mood.

“So, where to?” Sam asked as Dean finally pulled the rusted hulk out onto the empty highway.

“I made some calls; you’ll like this place. It’s a sweet little cabin out in the Rockies. There’s a good three hour hike to the nearest town, it’s private property, and if you don’t want to walk, the only access is by helicopter.”

“A three hour hike?” Sam asked dubiously.

“Well, more of a rock scramble,” Dean admitted easily. “But you’re the one always bitching about needing to stretch your legs-- think of it as a natural Bowflex. We can arrange a supply drop in a shed on the outskirts of the... ‘village’ is probably generous, and then just pick it up when we want to. No need to ever see another living person. Anything major I’ll have dropped off, but the place is really pretty nice. I haven’t been there in about a decade or so. The path didn’t wasn’t always so bad, but there was a rock slide and, well-- it should be nice and isolated.”

Sam felt a smile curve his lips despite himself.

“It sounds good,” he said sincerely.

“Yeah, it does,” Dean agreed. “And we only need to lay about four or five months of confusing back trail to throw off any pursuit before we cozy up there for a few years.”

Sam let his head fall back against the headrest with a groan, and then thought better of it and sat up straight, not at all sure he trusted the car to not be infested with lice. Was glad to be in a place where something like that was worth being concerned about. “Four or five months?”

“I want to be sure.”

“Yeah. And then how many years?”

Dean was silent for a long minute, the only sound in the car the rumble of the engine and the road flying by under their wheels.

“Does it matter? It will happen eventually, and when it does, I’ll bring you out of the mountains and pick you out a nice plot in Kansas for a few months and then...” His voice trailed off.

“And then... what?” Sam prompted.

“Freedom,” Dean said simply. “However you want to spend it.”

Sam leaned forward and twisted the radio on, sure there would be classic rock out there somewhere in the night. “Drive faster.”



END



Now with Timestamps!

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