Lost Time Chapter 24/27
Jan. 10th, 2013 08:16 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dime_lioraWordcount: 6,140
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Dean/Sam, Gabriel/OFC
Warning(s): Violence, Sex, Expletives, Mentions of an Abusive Relationship
Notes: Still very AU. If you like this, thank
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sammichgirl, who told me it was time to make it public. :) If you don't it's totally not her fault.Summary: Sam Burton has an average life, a foul-mouthed sister, and a dream of putting his past behind him. All of that changes when Dean Winchester comes to stay.
First part
Previous part
Sam was greeted outside of security by Ophelia and Dean. He hugged her first, pulling her in tightly and taking a deep breath of her conditioner and shampoo. When he pulled back she sniffed once and rubbed under her eyes. “Dean’s been abusing me this whole time Sammy. I begged him to make something with vegetables, to not force me to drink, to let me sleep, but he just kept saying no. It was awful.”
He tried for a stern expression, and couldn’t manage one when he saw the naked shock on Dean’s face. He had honestly thought upon touchdown that nothing could make him laugh. That Meg’s words would have him greeting them with a face like death. Instead here was Dean and Ope, and here was Sam laughing until his sides hurt.
He let her go, stepped over to Dean, and shook one mock admonishing finger. Dean looked at it for all of five seconds before pushing it away and grabbing Sam into a hug so tight his ribs creaked. “Good to have you back Sammy. I was a day away from killing her.”
“He thinks of me as a sister.” She sang in a falsetto voice as she put her hand on Sam’s forearm and let him lead her out of the airport. It never failed to amuse him how far out of her way she’d go to avoid using the cane. Dean grunted behind him and as soon as they’d reached the car and Ophelia was feeling for the handle of the back door he felt a hand grip his shoulder tightly and pull.
Sam let himself be turned, let Dean lead him down and claim his mouth. It was heated, all of Dean’s kisses were, and rough. Sam had never been more grateful to be greeted. The kiss took away any lingering chance of him giving away what he knew. It opened the door instead to holding onto Dean, to leaning on his strength instead of standing under the weight of what Meg had told him. At least for a little while.
Dean pulled back without releasing him, and Sam shuddered when Dean’s nose found the spot underneath his ear that was so sensitive and nuzzled there. Sam tried to make it sound like a joke, but it came out wanting and desperate instead. “You must have really missed me huh Dean?”
“You have no idea Sammy. No idea. Welcome back.” Dean pulled away from him, all swagger and bravado again. “I hope you weren’t expecting a big meal, ‘cause the best I can offer you is cold Chinese and beer. Thanks to the lush in backseat I don’t even have much of that.”
“Hey! I don’t drink your shitty light beer. That stuff is for women and men with love handles.”
There was dead silence for about three miles, Sam trying not to laugh and Dean working his jaw. When he finally spoke his tone was pure sex. “Sammy, I believe she just suggested I have love handles. Do you think I have love handles?”
“I think,” Sam went for diplomatic despite the laughter that wanted to escape, “she was calling you a woman. You are definitely love handle free.”
Dean grumbled for the next twenty miles.
-----
Dean grabbed Sam’s duffel bag before he could even reach for it and watched his little brother lead Ope up the hill and into the house. He stood there for a minute, dry scrubbing at his hair and face. He had been so relieved when Ophelia covered her tears with a joke that he’d almost hugged her and given the game away. If he could have just a little bit more laughter before the shit really hit the fan he’d be grateful. He heard the rustle of wings and almost groaned.
“What is it Cas?”
If the shortening of his name affected him Castiel didn’t mention it. “I have returned without a list. I am sorry Dean, it was deemed unnecessary.” There was trouble in his tone, a slight hitch and hesitation that Dean knew all too well from questioning disturbed officers, usually displeased with procedure or superiors.
“You don’t sound too happy ‘bout that. Wanna tell me why?”
Dean turned and really looked at the angel, at the way his square jaw clenched and his blue eyes were slightly narrowed. “It seemed like a reasonable suggestion. I cannot understand why it would be denied.”
He laid Sam’s bag down and rubbed his hands through his hair again. He needed to get it cut soon. “You told Ope not to ask about the final fight earlier. Was that your suggestion or the guys who told you no about the list?”
A pause, and then Castiel looked up and met Dean’s eyes. “My superiors suggested she not ask those questions. Why?”
“Ope is of the opinion, and I kinda agree, that they may not want to stop the Apocalypse. I’m already signed up, but maybe you could give me a reason to not believe that.”
Castiel simply stared at him for a long time. Long enough for Dean to go through the lyrics of four Metallica songs in an effort to keep his face neutral and his hands unclenched.
“That is a serious allegation.”
It wasn’t a plea of innocence by a long shot, but Dean couldn’t read the angel’s expression. It was certainly more complicated than the usual bland one. “So you’re saying you don’t want the Apocalypse to happen.”
“I am saying I do not want the Apocalypse to happen.” That troubled sound was there again, and before Dean could respond he turned to the sound of Sam calling his name. When he turned back Castiel was gone.
“Fuck.” He picked Sam’s bag up and put his game face on. Ophelia was in the kitchen with Sam, smoking and tapping the table softly. He glanced at her once and then looked to Sam. His little brother looked tired, worn-down, but happy. Dean was glad to see it.
“So Sammy, you want to go to bed or watch a movie or what?”
Sam rubbed at the back of his neck for a second before looking up. “I’d like to go to bed.”
Ophelia stood slowly and turned away from them. “That’s my cue to put on headphones.”
------
Sam snuck out after Dean had fallen asleep to find Ophelia in the living room with her headset on and her computer monitor glowing. He could hear the tinny sound of the computerized voice reading the text off to her. Her fingers traced the wood of the desk in an odd pattern, and Sam leaned over her shoulder to look at the complicated sigil on the screen.
She didn’t jump when he came that close to her, simply tensed for half a second and then pulled one earphone off and turned her head towards him. “Couldn’t sleep Sam?”
“Had a lot on my mind. What are you looking at?”
Her head half-turned to the screen, the habit as ingrained as Sam using a verb for sight. He had felt bad at the beginning, but now they both simply rolled over the slips in speech and action.
“It’s supposed to be a sigil that can banish angels. I won’t know if it works until someone tries it though.”
“Why are you planning on banishing angels? Isn’t Dean working for them now?”
He saw her briefly bite her bottom lip, and then she smiled bright and fake. “A girl can never be too careful around dicks. Hey could you draw this? Like on a piece of paper and really hard so I can trace the outline and really get a feel for it?”
Sam obliged, making sure each line was perfect before he pushed her a little harder. “Do we still not trust Castiel?”
She shrugged and ran her fingers along the raised lines he’d made. “I barely trust anyone Sam. You know that. I’m surprised you don’t want to be in bed with Dean. Anything wrong?”
He considered her clumsy deflection and then before he could respond a husky voice caught his attention. “Yeah Sammy, anything wrong?”
Sam turned to see Dean standing in the doorway to the hall in just his boxer-briefs, the lamp beside the computer highlighting planes and angles along his nearly naked body. Sam was both annoyed and half-hard, despite their earlier activities.
“No. I was just coming back to bed.” He pushed himself up and dropped a kiss on her head. There would always be time later.
------
The guide ropes had been down for over a month, but Ophelia didn’t really need them anymore. She stepped cautiously along the length of the porch before she found the bench and sat in it. The night was warm, the crickets soothing, and despite the fact she wasn’t supposed to be out here alone she felt that relaxing into the bench was the only logical answer.
Sam was suspicious. Sam was suspicious and it would be hard not to crack underneath that. She’d argued with Dean enough about telling him. It wasn’t that she didn’t understand where he was coming from, saving Sam worry was a good thing, but lying to Sam hadn't helped much so far. Still, at the end of the day it was Dean’s decision. She had to know when to take her hands off of their lives, when to step back.
She felt in her pocket to find her cigarettes and plucked out the joint before lighting it. The familiar rasp, the first lungful of smoke, and on the exhale she said, “Castiel, if you’re listening, could I speak to you?”
Angels, she had found, didn’t have much in the way of a scent. Not that she’d noticed anyway, but as a smoker she was willing to admit her sense of smell wasn’t that keen. When she felt the weight though, settling on the bench beside her, she made sure not to jump away. Today Castiel had a hint of citrus, just the barest amount mixing with the smells of the summer night and her own burning marijuana.
“You called for me?”
That voice, still as rough as always, had the tiniest bit of tenderness. She knew from conversation that Dean believed the angel felt nothing, and maybe when he first appeared as Jimmy she would have agreed. But things had changed. Her hearing was better than her olfactory senses, hell probably the best of her senses other than touch, and she could pick up on the subtle inflections Dean missed. Castiel liked Dean, admired him a bit she was pretty sure, and that went a long way to assuaging her suspicion of him. She’d told Sam earlier she didn’t trust Castiel. It had been a lie; she just didn’t trust the angels he worked with. Or for.
“I found this thing on the internet that’s supposed to banish angels when written in blood. I was wondering if you could tell me if it's worth a damn?” She held the sheet out and waited for the tug that would let her know he’d taken it. There was silence for a while, just the sound of inhales and exhales and the crickets, and then Castiel pressed the paper back into her hand.
“It is effective. Will you be using it on me?” Curiosity and concern. She took a deep drag and had a short coughing fit.
Her smile was honest, and she wondered if he could see it in the dark. “I hope not. You planning on making me?”
“I will follow orders because I am made to do so. You will do what you are made to do.” There was an awkward pause, and then he pushed on. “Dean does not trust me. Why do you?”
Good question. She licked her lips to buy herself a second, tapped her joint gently and judged how close the heat of the cherry was to her fingers. “I'm a lapsed Catholic. Too many unanswered questions, too much anger, whatever. Still, faith or no faith, here you are. I have to fucking believe that there’s at least one angel that’s on our side, because having the whole of Heaven against us is a little too much. You understand?”
“Heaven is not against you Ophelia. My Father loves all-“
“Stop. Cut that shit off right there.” It’s a little harsher than she wants to be with him, but it’s a sore subject for her. “There are two very nice men in that house who haven’t been shown any of that love you’re talking about. They finally get to be happy and then along comes the Apocalypse. You remember when you warned me earlier about asking questions?”
“Yes. I remember very well.” His voice is gentle despite the rasp, comforting, and she wonders if this is a good idea or not. Although it’s never stopped her before.
“I’m not asking I’m telling. Jana showed me things Castiel, things that can’t be ignored. Your superiors want this to happen, they want the battle, and Hell wants it too. You’re going to use Dean for Michael’s meat suit, and they’re going to use Sam. I’m not sure why yet, but I’ll figure it out with time. I just know that’s what’s going to happen. You have to help me stop that. If you’re even a bit sincere about wanting to protect Dean you have to help me stop it.”
There’s silence again, and then blunt fingers touch her arm. It’s the first unnecessary touch he’s given her since the day he told her who he really was. She’s dimly aware that the lack of contact has something to do with Dean.
“I will look into this accusation. If it is true I will do my best. Is that enough for you?”
Was it? Was that enough to ensure Sam and Dean’s safety? Was that enough to stop destiny?
“Jana said-she suggested-“ She falters, unsure of how to phrase it. It’s all a jumble of moving and static pictures in her head, unforgettable in their intensity. “This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. They were supposed to be together all this time. As brothers. Is that true?”
There's a heavy pause here. Something unsaid that may or may not be important. Her fingers are distant and fumbling when she reaches to make sure he's still there. “Yes. Someone altered destiny. It is attempting to right itself.”
The image that stuck with her the most, the one that haunted her at night when she was supposed to be sleeping came unbidden at his words. Sam with black eyes, standing over a blonde woman near an altar. Sam with the weight of the world’s blood on his hands, and Dean turning his back on him. She shook her head, chased the picture away with a memory of the two of them smiling at each other.
“Well good for them. Let’s hope destiny doesn’t get its fucking way.”
A hand rested on her elbow then, light and gentle. "Yes. Let us hope."
-------
Dean woke from a pleasant dream to the feel of warm suction wrapped around his cock. He didn’t need to lift the sheet to see what was causing it, but as nice as the outline of Sam through thin cotton was Dean liked the full visual better.
He pulled the sheet up and saw Sam, eyes closed and lips stretched, and Dean moaned once before running his thumb along the corner of Sam’s mouth and the skin of his own shaft. Sam opened both eyes and looked up at him, amusement warring with arousal. He pulled back and licked his lips. “I thought you’d sleep through the whole thing.”
“Not possible.” Sam shuddered when he spoke, and Dean’s smirk grew. “What brought this on?”
Something crossed Sam’s face, some shadow, and then it was gone and Sam smiled before taking one long lick from the base of his cock to the tip. “Shut up Dean. Let me take care of you.”
Dean, for once, kept his mouth shut. Sam’s tongue, his lips, those big damn hands, all of them combined to take away Dean’s ability to think, to rationalize what that look had been. By the time Sam’s lubricated fingers were working into him, scissoring him open and rubbing against his prostate, Dean had forgotten about the shadow. He’d honestly forgotten everything except for Sam.
He was begging for it by the time Sam finally relented, moaning in a manner Dean associated with pornography as Sam lifted Dean up and turned him around before settling back on the bed with Dean straddling his crotch. He grabbed Sam, relished the harsh gasp, and then aimed Sam’s cock and settled himself down. There was a burn, the angle was all new for him, and then a burst of pleasure. He worked himself until Sam was fully sheathed, and then big hands grabbed his waist and moved him at a slow pace.
It was Sam’s eyes that really got Dean in these moments. He liked all of it, the friction, the strength in the man underneath him, the smooth skin over hard muscles and the slick sweat, but the eyes. Sam’s goddamn eyes. There were no words for the way black pupils overtook hazel irises, blue flecked with the smallest amount of brown and grey and so intense it left Dean breathless with lust. Sam’s thrusts were gentle but his hands were iron as they helped Dean lift and sink.
“Come on Dean-let go-for me-please-“ One of those hands released his waist, grabbed his cock, and with two long strokes Dean was jerking, back bowing as his eyes flew shut and he cried out Sam’s name. Half a dozen more pumps and Sam was coming with him. The hand still on his waist clenched so hard Dean grunted, the other pulling at the sheet beneath them, and then Dean slumped down and buried his face in Sam’s neck.
He worked to get his breath back, to regulate it to something slow and steady, and when he’d achieved his goal he slid off Sam and collapsed on the mattress. “That’s a great way to wake up Sam, but it doesn’t do much for making a man want to get up.”
Sam nudged him once. “I’d say you were very up.”
Dean laughed, linked his fingers into Sam’s for a long moment, and then used the hand to push himself vertical and really look at Sam. Tanned face flush, chest just settling fully, sweat drying on all that skin. “I believe sexual innuendos are my domain Sammy.”
Sam shrugged once, grinned cockily, and winked. “I learned from the best.”
-----
Ope was frowning at the Braille book in front of her when he found her. Sam had only been back two days, but he'd spent this one mostly in bed. He'd officially exhausted Dean beyond any point of waking, which gave him the opening he needed. "Hey Ope. Did it offend you?"
"Fucking bumps Sam. I can read fucking Latin, but I can't master fucking bumps." She extinguished her cigarette and pushed the book away desultorily. "Fuck this."
"Hey, listen, I was thinking about some things and I wanted your opinion." Her head tilted up and the pierced brow rose above the line of the sunglasses.
"Sounds…ominous. Do I need a drink for this?"
Maybe. "Nope. I was just wondering about this whole Heaven and Hell thing. Like what's the endgame? What's the point?"
Her lips tightened and she started to stand but Sam put one hand on her shoulder and gently led her back down. "Sammy that's not-we don't know." Lie.
"So it's not the Apocalypse, and Dean and I aren't scheduled to fight to the death?" He watched all the color drain from her face. Watched the way she tried to regulate it and failed.
"We're not discussing this." Her hands reached for her cigarettes and he moved them away. It was kind of cruel, but suddenly Sam was angry. Very angry.
"Why? Because I'm too young to know? We're the same age Ophelia. Is it because you guys don't trust me to make the right choice? I got in bed with demons twice, why wouldn't I do it again?"
Ope had two modes when faced with anger. Sam had honestly expected the first; apologetic and concerned. He was surprised when he got the second. Confrontational. She pushed his hand off her shoulder and stood too fast, hip slamming into the table.
"Really? Fucking really? You'd say that shit to me? After everything you'd accuse me of that?"
Which left Sam with his own two modes of response. He could back down, ease tensions, or he could let himself be angry. She'd always encouraged honesty and venting.
"Yeah I would. I can't see any other option, so that's all that's left. I thought you knew me better than that."
Her lips jerked once and she slammed one open hand out and hit him in the ribs. "Fuck you!"
"No fuck you! Fuck this whole 'Sam can't know' shit too! I've hunted Ophelia. More than you ever did! I deserve to know!"
He heard Dean crash into the doorway, but Ophelia didn't even twitch in that direction. "Going on a few easy pick-up hunts with Dean doesn't make you a goddamn expert Samuel. It makes you a novice at best, and don't fucking tell me about the life. I know the goddamn life. You want me to trust you not to make a mistake, but you don't trust me to trust you. What the fuck does that say? I have your best interests at heart Sam, and I thought I'd proven that by now!"
"Selling your eyesight so that you can die without guilt doesn't prove you love me it proves you need to pass off your burden." It's low. Way low. The lowest blow he's ever hit her with and he regrets it instantly. He hears Dean suck in a breath, but Ophelia stands rigid and unmoving in front of him. He wants to apologize, to pluck the words out of the air, but it's too late. They've been said. He opens his mouth though to say something and she either hears it or has impeccable timing because her hand comes up and gestures for him to stop.
"Don't. Say. Another fucking word to me. Don't." She stepped back, hit the table again and let out a primal scream of rage. "I'm done. I'm fucking done." With that she pushed past him, slammed into Dean, and then careened around the corner. He heard her bedroom door slam, and then they were left alone in the silence of the kitchen. He couldn't even look at Dean. All his earlier rage lay under a heavy blanket of guilt. The strength went out of his legs and he found himself sitting on the floor with his head in his hands.
Dean stood still in the doorway, and then nodded his head despite the fact they hadn't said anything and moved forward. He knelt beside Sam. "Ok Sammy. Ok." Dean patted his shoulder and they just stayed there in silence.
-----
She waited until she heard the car and then stood up and crossed the room. She could hear her own boots clunking along the tiles of the kitchen as she twisted the knob and moved. It wasn't until she reached the edge of the porch that she heard another voice, and then it was Dean.
"Wanna tell me where you're going sweetheart?" He sounded concerned, but she couldn't be interested in that at the moment.
There was a time when she felt like this she'd rev up one of Jeff's motorcycles and head off into the distance. Maybe climb until her arms gave out and she was dangling over the abyss with nothing left inside. That wasn't an option anymore.
"Out. Old hunter friend. Safe." Each word had to be bitten off before it became more. Before she was completely exposed. She started to walk again and a hand restrained her arm. Suddenly she hated him. Hated Sam and this house and everything else. Being touched without warning, the dark all around her, and no way to know when it was coming or why. But it's Sam, echoed in her raging mind.
"Maybe you should talk to him. He feels awful about it."
"Fuck. Off." She pushed the hand away and headed down the steps. She heard Liam's deep Southern accent call out to her and she headed straight for it. When she reached him he led her around to the passenger side and made sure she was fully in.
"I'll be John Browned, you really did lose-"
"Liam. Take me to the bar and order me as much whiskey as you think I can handle without dying. Stop talking to me."
He grunted once and then the car took off. It wasn't until they were in the warmth of the bar that she relaxed even a fraction, and the shots came naturally. They didn't speak, and that was good enough for her.
"Gonna hit the head." She nodded once and heard him slip across the floorboards. Then the hand touched her, lingering and overly familiar, and Ophelia felt the righteous surge of anger. Yes. This is what she had come for. She reached up, fast as lightning, and grabbed the fingers before twisting. She heard one snap, the high-pitched wail, and then she was arcing her arm back and slamming her elbow into the guy's ribs.
There was a grunt of pain, someone called her bitch, and then extreme pressure on her chin and her head jerked to the side. She rolled with it and kicked out in the approximation of shin or knee. The buckling suggested knee, and then the hits were coming hard and fast as she struck out in blind instinct.
Just as suddenly as the fight started it stopped, and Ophelia felt the familiar grasp of Castiel holding her back and the slight smell of citrus that he'd had the last time they'd spoken. There was too much cold air, and she was pretty sure they were outside. She couldn't hear the bar anymore.
"They have broken your cheekbone and four of your ribs. May I fix them for you?" He sounded the same as always, and she tried not to laugh at the formality of it. Her blood was still rushing, singing, and the adrenaline felt good. Felt almost as good as the sensation of flesh yielding to her fists.
"Sure man. Do whatever. I don't honestly give a fuck."
"You are very angry. May I ask why?" She bit her lip for a second and then felt in her pockets until she found her cigarettes. Lit one and then pushed at her hair while she considered the question.
"Because I'm a bitch. Getting angry is what I do. Where the hell are we?"
"I brought you to your home. Dean and Sam were very concerned about you, and I am here to collect Dean for a Seal. He refused to leave without knowing of your safety." He sounded logical and calm, and for half a second she wondered if he looked anything like Spock.
"You keep doing shit like that and Dean might like you someday. Hey, Cas, can I ask you something?" She waits and when the silence just stretches out she takes it as a yes. Yep, still drunk. "Do you really like anything?"
"I am not made for feeling. I am made for following orders." And was that regret? Sadness? She wasn't entirely sure.
"You know I used to pray. All the fucking time. Useless, but it was habit."
"Prayer is never useless. I am sure my Father heard every one."
"I didn't pray to your father. I prayed to-" She heard a noise and turned her head that way, realized it was Dean calling her name and lost the thread of the conversation. Instead she held her arm out and swallowed her pride. "Take me in?"
"Of course." He led her gently, and then Dean's rough hands were pulling her in and tilting her face.
"That son of a bitch that went with you just called. Said you got into some kind of bar brawl with three guys and he missed it." Three? Well that's news. Dean doesn't ask why, and she's grateful he can understand.
"Cas fixed me up. Did I do some damage?"
Dean grunts in response and then speaks over her head. "Thanks man. A lot. I'll roll out tomorrow morning."
She misses what Cas says next, because the world is rushing out from under her feet and she's wrapped in the smell of Sam. The sound of him mumbling apologies in her ear and pressing kisses to her temple. It's been a long time since they had an argument that sent her looking for violence, and Sam apparently remembers the last time too well.
So Ophelia lets him apologize, accepts, because it's Sam and that's the way it is. But she insists he goes with Dean for the Seal. Says she'll call Gabe. It's going to take a while for the impotent rage to really pass.
---
She dreams that night, and in the dream she's naked and face-down in her own bed with her hands crossed at the wrists behind her back and Gabriel hovering over her body. She can feel the heat of his erection brushing silky against her skin, but there's something off and she's not sure what it is. The room shifts with shadows as if the light is coming from a flickering fire instead of a steady electric bulb. She feels silky rope wrapping around her wrists and she stays completely still and lets him. She's done this before. She spent a good deal of time with a guy who was so into BDSM he honestly thought it would cure her of her genetic condition. That CIP was simply a mental illness that could be broken with the right kind of pain. She left him after a few sessions, because honestly that kind of pressure isn't very sexy. She feels lips touch her fingers briefly, and then when Gabe breaks the silence he sounds wrong. Some weird approximation of her subconscious that mixes the serious tone he had that first night and the fire she thinks is lighting the room.
"This wasn't supposed to happen. I took my eye off the ball for ten seconds and you humans managed to mess everything up. To give Destiny the upper-hand again."
She shudders at the tone and goes to respond, but a hand slips over her lips and stops her.
"I'm going to teach you a lesson sweets. Would you like to learn a lesson?" It's only a question in the strictest most semantic sense, but she nods anyway as if that matters. Which is when the cold steel of a knife presses against her throat. "You gotta show me you wanna live Opey. Show me so I believe it. Show me you're not a puppet."
This isn't…she waits for a second but the knife doesn't go away, and the hand on her mouth falls to the side and presses against her back in a way that is predatory and cold. So she goes limp, and something in him deflates. The knife wavers, moves, and then her head is snapping back and the crown of her skull hits his face with as much force as she can muster in this position. She hears the crack of his nose and feels the warm gush of blood against her scalp before she's rolling away and kicking out. Her foot connects with his hip, he gives a grunt of pain, and then she's running. Running through the house at top speed with her hands behind her and her fingers clenching and unclenching in an effort to loosen the ropes.
She can hear him behind her, calling her name, but she doesn't stop. This is suddenly about survival, and Ophelia realizes she really does want to live.
Then the house is gone, and Sam's in her face as she's reclined and apparently thrashing. He has one hand restraining her wrists and the other stroking her cheek as he says her name over and over again. His face is fuzzy, only half there, but she can see the floppy hair she's been touching, longer than before the ritual and the thickening sideburns. There's light outlining his head and it's so bright it only intensifies that out of focus look he has. But she sees him, and for a moment she can't catch her breath. Can't seem to find words. Instead she listens to him soothing as she soaks in every detail she can make come into focus. Then she leans up and places her lips against the corner of his. It takes Sam a second to realize it's an aimed kiss instead of an accident.
Dean comes running in when Sam starts shouting, but she's up and being crushed into a bear hug as he swings her around and practically dances. Dean's just as out of focus, it's apparently going to take time for perfect vision, but she's pretty sure his eyes are wet. She doesn't mention it though, because she's also fairly sure the intensifying fuzziness is due to her eyes being wet as well.
-----
He can't get over the way Sam is staring at her like she's just been born. Which is why he misses the signs at first. He knew what last night meant, and it wasn't surprising. She'd been building up to that sort of blow-up for a while, but he was pretty sure the return of her eyesight had signaled the storm blowing over. Apparently not.
"What the hell do you mean Gabriel is still coming? I don't need a fucking babysitter."
Sam's smile never wavers. Instead he holds his hand up and tilts his head. "How many Ope?"
She squints, frowns, and then nods determinedly. "Four." It's two, and she makes a sound of disgust. "Unfair."
"You can see again." Something about Sam's tone, the wonder or the fear, makes her soften, and then he's hugging her again and she's making an exasperatedly fond face over his shoulder at Dean as she's shaken like a rag doll in his little brother's grasp.
"Yes Sammy. Just not too well yet, but yes. Getting hard to breathe." Sam put her down like she was made of glass and she stuck her scarred tongue out at him cheekily and then started laughing. Anger dissipated, and Dean was glad. Very glad, because Sam had been just about destroyed last night. He didn't particularly care for seeing Sam that way. When the knock came Dean crossed the room and got the door, and Gabriel leaned past him instantly with that same broad smirk.
"How's Miss Magoo?" She threw the pepper shaker at him with surprising accuracy and he let out a whooping cry and pulled her up. "Look at that. Just temporary after all. You got lucky sweets."
For half a second Dean's sure she shudders when the guy speaks in her ear, but it's gone and she has that careful smile he knows all too well on her face.
"Shut up. Idiot." She pressed her face so briefly against the spot under his ear Dean was pretty sure he was the only one who noticed. "Now put me down. What is it? National Manhandle Ope day? Fucking weirdos."
Just for kicks after Gabriel puts her down Dean swings her around. Her squeal makes Sam laugh, and then her particularly well-placed shin kick has him putting her down and laughing too. So they leave on an up-note, and Dean's glad. The car ride isn't as heavy as it could be, and they make good time on their way to the Seal Castiel told them about in Connecticut. It's going to be a close thing, but every time Dean looks over into the passenger side of the Impala Sam is there. Legs tucked up slightly, because honestly no car is made for someone his size, but face relaxed as he soaks in the scenery and listens to Dean's stereo. Every now and then Sam pushes his hair back out of his face, and the light catches the glints in his eyes just right, or the deep dimples when he smiles. Dean thinks he's beautiful, and he's not so proud of that fact that he shares it, but he's not so ashamed of it that he squashes it down mentally either. Instead he simply soaks it all in and lets the car take them forward into the future.
The one they're facing together.
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Date: 2013-01-10 09:18 pm (UTC)It kinda makes me nervous and twitchy. And I think you like being evil like that. :p
So. Aside from wanting to nuzzle right under Sam's ear myself, he and Dean lovey dovey makes me happy and want to squee. And their hot delicious sex, well, that makes me want to do other things. :O
Ahhhh, I like that Cas seems to be the Cas we are more familiar with - questioning heaven. Or beginning to, anyway. And I want to believe he will work with Ope, to stop the Apocalypse.
I really can't stand Ope or Dean lying to Sam - he's been lied to his whole damn life, and that cannot be a good thing for him. It will break him more. And make him angrier than he already is, and that darkness...I don't want him to go bad.
And then he went and....oh, Sam. That was dirty pool, my boy. I can't believe saying that and fighting with Ope didn't break something in him. And Dean doesn't want to see Sam almost destroyed again...oh, it makes me sick to think about what's coming.
Ope's nightmare - crap on fire. Gabe! Took his eye off the ball...from watching Ope, so she lost her sight? Did he fall in love with her? Or from Sam and Dean being separated? Was he responsible for that? I really think he's a good guy, on their side good guy.
She's not a puppet! Fight, Ope, fight! And her sight is back. :) That's gotta be good. A sign of strength. Unless the handprint on her brain is giving her clarity for a short while before something else. :(
no subject
Date: 2013-01-10 11:16 pm (UTC)So, in answer to your question there's a song by the Silversun Pickups called "Future Foe Scenarios". It's the theme of the next two or three chapters, and Ope's song. I'm actually thinking about putting them up tonight after people have gone to bed if I'm still conscious. Which is a possibility...
I warn you though, if you listen to that song it's not gonna help your angst.
As for Sam, I think when it comes to him fighting with Ope there's an understanding there that she won't leave and he won't turn his back on her. As Bobby is so fond of saying, family doesn't end in blood. :) Plus, to be fair, she hit him kind of low too. He'll be ok, I promise. There'll just be a bit more badness first...
no subject
Date: 2013-03-22 12:56 am (UTC)You captured Ope's frustration and fear perfectly. It was hard to breathe reading how constricted she felt--how *angry*. It must have felt like victory for her, beating up unseen guys. and crazy--thank god Cas was there. And then a hint of her sight returning--yay!!
no subject
Date: 2013-03-22 01:58 am (UTC)Yeah, I think Ope's craziness in relation to her anger becomes a pretty big theme for her. More so in the sequel from what I'm seeing. :D
Yay for you being back!