Sledgehammers and the Fourth Wall (2/4)
Mar. 8th, 2013 12:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dime_lioraTitle: Sledgehammers and the Fourth Wall (2/4)
Wordcount: 8,124
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Dean/Sam, implied Jensen/OFC and Jared/Alona
Notes: This is the result of both an argument I saw on Youtube, and one I had in real life.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything in Supernatural, and Jared and Jensen are real people and certainly not the ones found here.
Summary: When the Winchesters go at the Fourth Wall they go at it hard.
Previous part
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Jack Johnson starts playing from the speakers in the living room, and he goes back into the kitchen to find her washing red potatoes and green peppers.
She doesn't look up from the vegetables. "Trouble?"
There's this, she knows their history because she's watched the show. That's a problem, because Dean knows very well the kinds of assumptions people make off of that. Some of those aren't entirely off the mark, and Sam acting like a jealous girl isn't going to fucking help him avoid that. If she's asking in that vein though her face doesn't say it. Instead she continues to study the potatoes she's chopping into fine pieces.
"Nah. Not at all. Hey, uh, listen I was wondering about…" He can't figure out how to get at it so he looks at the table instead. "Can I use your laptop?"
Morgan's fingers keep moving rhythmically. "Yeah. Go ahead. Just don't use it for porn. I'm not sure if the IRS is allowed to look, but that'd be embarrassing."
He wants to say something smart, but he settles for Googling her. It takes roughly six seconds to figure out she's overly modest. Sold a few books his ass. She's been on the cover of Newsweek more than once, her work has hit the bestseller list four times, and this is the second movie they're making. Rumor has it Brad Pitt is being recruited for it. He finds articles about her being the new Jim Butcher, whoever that is, the new Stephen King, and the new Dean Koontz. He flips past all of those to the gossip blogs, and there it is. Pictures of her and Jensen Ackles on sites everywhere. He reads about the actor's womanizing, and the two dominant internet theories go the way of the flowery romantic or the cynical hard-ass. They can't decide if it's a case of heartthrob wooing geek or actor sleeping his way into a good role. Dean's not really swayed one way or another, but he has to say that Morgan may be smart but nobody would be taking a bullet getting her in bed.
She's still chopping when he finally looks up. "The internet thinks Jensen is boning you for a movie role." Her hand never even hesitates, and her face never changes. He's not even sure why he said it out loud.
"Yes. I've heard that one. Did you see the one where I'm sleeping with both of them to get a writing credit on the show? That's my favorite." She slides the pepper chunks off the cutting board and reaches for the kielbasa.
"You're a big fucking deal aren't you?" She glances his way then, just once, before slicing the kielbasa.
"That is what my editor and my agent tell me yes. It may even be true." Her hands are like machines, and her face is still blank. Carefully so. "Never saved the world though, so don't get intimidated."
"I'm better at gallows’ humor than you." She gets the hint, and her head nods before her eyes drop. The music changes to Metallica and Dean's temporarily distracted. "Sweet. This is a pretty mixed playlist you got Morgan."
Except she doesn't try a witty comeback or a brush-off. Instead she's staring at the chopping board blankly as if someone cut all her strings. It sets off the weird shit alarm and he gets up and crosses the kitchen to see she's sliced into her hand instead of the sausage and she's not moving to stop the blood flow. He curses once before knocking the knife from her hand and lifting it above her heart while applying pressure.
"You got a first-aid kit?" She nods dumbly and he leaves her there to check the usual spots. He finds it beneath the bathroom sink and brings it back before nudging her to the sink and washing her hand off. It isn't too deep, but it's bleeding a fair amount so she's probably on blood-thinners. Post-surgery clots can be a bitch, but he's not sure if this long after such a surgery they're still a concern. "You wanna tell me what you were thinking about?"
Dean moves her to the nook and pushes her down before he starts applying butterfly closures and gauze. Her eyes stay on her hand. "I don't know. Mind wandered. You can hear that?"
When he's done he gets up and heads to living room, because Sam may be able to make crazy intellectual jumps but Dean's instincts are golden. He finds the stereo they've been listening to this whole time, and sure enough it's playing Metallica, but it ain't plugged in. He makes a noise and the music stops, and then he heads back into the kitchen.
"Tell me about your husband's death."
He honestly expects a pithy remark or redirection. Instead she stares at her hand like she's been dead for weeks and he's summoned her back to chat.
"Ray was military, and he wanted to keep guns in the house but I said no. He gave in. That's important to the story. So one night it's late, he's asleep, and I'm mid chapter revision. The book is almost done, and I'm probably three or four beers in. Not enough to be drunk but enough that I'm not paying as much attention as I should be. There's this noise from the stairwell, and I go to check it out because sometimes Ray wakes up and comes to get me. Remind me that sleep isn't an outdated concept. Except it's not Ray it's some guy I don't know, and there's that couple of seconds of disconnect you get when you're buzzed and someone has confused you. Which is enough time for him to swing the hammer and take my knee out. That's good for me I guess, because I fell down the stairs and he wasn't expecting that. He missed my head. Whether the sound of me crying out or the sound of me tumbling got Ray up I don't know."
Her voice cuts off for a second, and her hands move over her face and then drop back into her lap. Dean hasn't moved from the position he took to bandage her, crouched down and face-level. She's still not emoting.
"He followed me down, and the hammer came a couple more times. I was dragging myself away at that point, but he was just following and slamming away. Which was when Ray came out of nowhere with this knife. I missed a lot of this part, but the blood splatters and the police reports kind of tell their own version. I can extrapolate from that. He sliced the lunatic's arm once, and then got him in the gut. They grappled, they fought for the knife, and then he got it away from Ray. Then the stabbing started. Police call it overkill. Which is a funny phrase because I think any killing is overkill, but that's the term they used. Fourteen times, and by then I had dragged myself to the alarm system and engaged it. The phone was ringing like crazy, and I could hear the sirens but he was still going. The guy took off, and I dragged myself over and grabbed at Ray and I could find his pulse. I swear I could. Except the hospital told me that he died on the scene, was dead before the last stab, and that nothing could save him. They said later that he hit me in the side and broke a rib, that I had a concussion from the stairs and that the claw part of the hammer took a good slice from my lower back. I don't remember any of that, but I've got the scars so it's objectively true."
Morgan looked up then, and her eyes met his and stayed perfectly stable. There was something burning there, something low and deep, and he'd seen it before but he couldn't remember where.
"It was Jensen that took me out of the hospital. He made these crazy trips down as often as he could for the physical therapy I ended too quickly and to just make sure I wasn't going insane. Which I was. If he couldn't come Jared did, and they coordinated it with my agent and my editor so that I wasn't wandering around the house alone on my crutches talking to myself. But that's not how Ray died it's just the epilogue."
He stood then, and he opened the fridge and pulled out two beers before popping them both open and holding one out to her. She took it gratefully and gulped for a while before putting it down to suck in air. When he spoke there wasn't much question from the state of his voice as to what he thought. "They catch the son of a bitch?"
"Yeah. Sort of. Suicide by cop." Her fingers twisted the bottle around before she took another gulp and crossed back to the sausage. "Can't say I was happy he didn't spend some time getting ass-fucked, but that's me. Hypocrite to the end. Vote Democrat and root for execution." Her slicing was more cautious he noticed, and briefly Dean wondered if the knife came from the kitchen.
There were more questions but they could wait. He needed to run it by Sam. He needed Sam to ask them. He'd exhausted his emotional reserves already. "So who's Jim Butcher?"
That got a response, and he wasn't too surprised by it. She started laughing as she coated the pan with oil and turned the stove on. "He writes modern day fantasy set in Chicago. How many trashy websites about me did you read?"
"Enough. They said you were replacing Stephen King."
Morgan rolled her eyes and dropped the meat into the pan. "That's highly unlikely. We don't even write the same stuff. I wish I was on that level, but that sort of thing takes a lifetime. When did you and Sam cross the brother line?"
Dean drops his beer. It's the worst possible response he could give her, but it's all he's got at the sudden punch in the gut she throws. Dean please-just please-
"I don't know what the hell you're talking about." It's a growl and she doesn't even glance his way.
"Ok. No big. You might want to send a text and tell him there's maybe thirty minutes before dinner or whatever the hell this is gonna be is." And that's it. She doesn't push and he doesn't offer more. At least he shouldn't, but she just spilled her guts all over the floor in front of him and there's something in the air that hits him just right. Maybe it's her seeming indifference, or the fact that she lives in another universe and can never tell anyone. Whatever it is his mouth starts moving and won't stop.
"I was drunk. Really drunk and angry and it happened. It was a huge fucking mistake."
Her head nods simply as she adds potatoes to the skillet.
"He thinks we should do it again, but I know better. We can't fix that shit if it goes wrong."
Morgan's eyes narrow as she stirs the skillet and then leans back and uses her non-injured hand to rub at her face. "Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. Sam's gonna see that eventually. Kid loves normal, and incest ain't that. Not even close."
She doesn't look his way when she responds. "Once a season Sam storms off after some fight you two have. Ray always used to say, 'Sam's got sand in his clit again.'"
The laughter is so sudden and surprising it almost hurts. She doesn't grin in response though. She just stirs the food and watches it while Dean uses her cell to text Sam.
----------
He can actually see the struggle between Sam's brain and his heart. The kid knows logically that he's supposed to be polite to her, hell he probably wants to be polite to her, but he's angry and suspicious. Right up until she starts spooning out the concoction she's made and he sees the bandage. One eyebrow goes up and Dean sees it, but Morgan responds without expressing anything at all.
"I'm being haunted. Also I didn't make a vegetable, but there's bag salad in the fridge for you." She drops the skillet down in the middle of the table before sliding onto the bench across from them and pouring ketchup over the mishmash of potatoes, kielbasa, and green pepper. There's a long silence before Sam's mouth starts moving.
"Wait I don't-the ghost cut you? What were you doing when it attacked?"
Her eyes are almost amused. "Cutting sausage. I got distracted and sliced myself instead. It's the damnedest thing, but it seems not all my problems are mental anymore. You want salad?"
Sam shakes his head before shooting a look at Dean. "Did you know she was being haunted?"
It's so damn surprising and adorable that Dean starts laughing, and Sam's face is understanding even as he glares. "No Sammy I was not aware. I forgot to bring the EMF over."
"Well we can work with this. What's been happening?" Sam's in research mode now, shoveling food in his mouth even as his big old brain starts cataloging all the things they need to do and handle. A simple salt and burn in another dimension. It's like the best and worst of every case added together.
Morgan's face goes blank again as she spears a chunk of kielbasa and bites into it. "I'm not-uh-"
But Dean understands instantly. Gets what's happening in her brain and where it might be going or not going. "Do they have you on medication?"
"Yeah, but I haven't really been taking it." Sam's eyes are darting in between the two of them and Dean doesn't want to make her tell the story again. "So I haven't really been sure what's real and what's just me being off. When you called I figured it was going to be the two of them coming to lecture me about meds."
Sam starts adding things up, and his face is so sympathetic Dean winces. "When was the last time you had a real meal or a full night's sleep?"
Morgan pushes a green pepper away before biting into red potato slices. "Probably a week or two. Can't seem to get my shit together for an appetite."
Dean can see where this is going, and he'd like to have the talk with Sam in private later. So he redirects because he's good at that. "Hey Sammy, no shit, Morgan's famous. Wrote a bunch of books and stuff."
Sam glances his way once and then looks back at her. "I read about it. Your short story about the woman in Purgatory was really good."
Of course Sam actually read her stuff. It occurs to Dean that maybe his little brother was researching the woman more than the situation at the library, but that can wait for later. Sam's gotta get his head in the game but lecturing him about it here won't do them any good.
"Thanks. I always liked that one. I find my best stuff is always unrecognizable after a few weeks."
Sam nodded and then leaned in and began to passionately debate with her about influences. Apparently he'd read her whole damn biography because he seemed to know everything to say to get her to respond. She finishes the meal in front of her and Dean eats his own and then gets seconds before the two of them have even begun to wind down a little. It's soothing to hear Sam talking. They've been so tense recently he almost forgot how good it was to hear the kid passionate about something.
Although really applying the word passionate to Sam is a can of worms recently and Dean doesn't have any interest in opening it more than he is absolutely required to. After all it seems like if he can get Sam to stop acting like a jealous wife they'll be ok. This whole "other world" thing is sufficient to distract his little brother, and no doubt the geek theorizing will begin any time now. Once that's in play Sam will spend so much time waxing philosophic Dean will be left with the more mundane details and no cold shoulder treatment. He's fine with that. Better than fine really. The sooner Sam moves on the sooner they can forget.
Dean, Dean I need-
An elbow catches his ribs and Dean looks up to see Sam giving him a superior stare. "What's a matter Dean? Little lost?"
Morgan isn't in front of him anymore. Instead she has left the room, and he can hear the distant strains of one-side of a conversation. Something about being fine.
"No. Thinking. Will the ghosts here work like the ones in our world?" It's so bizarre to say it out loud he almost stumbles on the words. They've done some weird shit, but dimension traveling is still in the top ten.
"Probably. We'll have to experiment with it though. She tell you who the ghost was?"
He thinks of the blank look on her face. The gunless house, and the admission. Guilt is a powerful fucking thing, and Dean is a scholar when it comes to that.
"I have an idea. I'll tell you later. If these two chuckleheads play us wouldn't they know all our tricks for taking care of a haunting? Why would they need us for this?"
Sam's face goes pensive, and Dean wonders if he knows how that pout works on him. That little lip bite, and the resulting crinkle in his forehead. He hates how well Sam can manipulate him. He wants to ask Sam if he dreamt last night, if maybe Jared tried to drop him some hints, and he still needs to get on that phone. All of that can come later though, because if Dean doesn't put some damn space between them there's going to be a problem. Over his shoulder he half throws what little he can manage to force out.
"Gonna take a nap."
Dean doesn't really expect to sleep. Instead he just wants to lie down until the stress and tension bleeds out, but there's only a few minutes of him lying there before he falls deeply asleep.
Ray is sitting on the couch and arguing with Jared about something. He doesn't know what, because his eyes are fixed on Morgan's ass as she bends over and digs through the cabinets.
"I can't believe you don't know the Metallica discography. Research Jen. It's all about research for believability. Shit I don't even like most Metallica and I know it."
He leans against the counter and crosses his arms. "That's because your hubby loves them. I just can't get into it. Plus everybody expects me to love it. I'm not Dean." He almost sounds bitter, and Dean wants to smack him but he's just an observer right now.
She glances his way and then smiles broadly. "I know you're not Dean. You are a good actor though, and I've heard that actors do research to get into their roles."
There's a huff from his mouth, and then a very long period of time where he watches her brush shoulder length red hair out of her eyes before she starts frying hamburger. "What would you know? You're not an actor."
"No I am certainly not. They asked me to do a cameo though. The King reference. God I'm tired of that one. I'll never live up to it."
Ray comes in then, slides an arm around her waist and gives Jensen a knowing smile. "How's that hot little number from the soap opera treating you?"
There's a confusion of emotions here that Dean has to sift through. Jensen likes Ray despite being jealous of him. At the same time he's being baited and he's obviously kind of upset about that too. He forces a grin. "Wouldn't know. We broke it off. She wanted to get serious."
Morgan gives him a scathing look. "You're going to have to commit sometime Ackles. You're an adult now and that happens."
"I thought I'd just piggyback your domesticity while I live the high life." It's forced, almost brittle, but she doesn't catch it. Is too busy fending off Ray's advances while she tries to cook.
"Make yourself useful old man and boil some water for noodles. The wheat ones." Ray rolls his eyes theatrically at Jensen as he moves away.
"You famous people. Always so damn demanding."
Which is when Jensen heads through the door and lands in a hospital room. There are security guards stationed outside the doorway behind him, and the thing slides silently shut before he turns back to the scene in front of him. The actor's mind is screaming a variety of feelings. Panic, rage, horror, and sorrow all mixed in with this protective feeling Dean knows all too well. The ratty faced man waiting for him inside looks up and then moves forward to whisper.
"She hasn't spoken since she woke up. They're going to do reconstructive surgery on the knee, but she'll never get full use of it again." He glances over his shoulder before turning back and gripping Jensen tightly. "She's fragile man. Just be careful ok?"
The man, Peter Jensen's mind supplies, slips out of the room and then he's crossing the space with heavy feet and facing her. There's a gash on her forehead that they've sewn shut. Her eyes are focused on her feet, and the sling holding her shattered knee up and stable gives him too fine a view of what was done. She's propped up, and Dean knows that's because of the wound on her back. He takes the seat beside her and gently grips the hand not attached to the IV drip.
"I came as soon as I could. Jared and Alona are going to come in a day or two, and we're all here for you ok? Morgan?"
Her eyes rise slowly and then land on his face. Her voice is thick, laced with opiates and pain. "His sister is going to be so angry. I told him no guns."
There's a spasm of grief Dean completely understands. He's been in too many hospital rooms, held too many people's hands, and he knows how bad this can get. She's somewhere between shock and anguish, and there's no talking to that.
"A gun wouldn't have changed what happened darlin’. Ray knows that. His sister can deal. How are you?" He's petting her small hand softly, and his voice shakes. Dean can feel the tears leaking out.
"They said he was a fan. Like the guy with Harrison. A crazy fan. Ray wanted us to hide more and I said no Jensen. I told him no." She looked up again then, eyes burning with sincerity and grief even through the painkiller haze. "I did this."
"No. Shit babe no. This wasn't you so stop that. Right now. It's gonna be ok. You're gonna get through this." And when she started to cry he awkwardly wrapped her up and held her.
Dean woke up to arms around him. It took a second to realize it was Sam, and that he was actually crying. He pushed, but Sam held on.
"Just a nightmare Dean. It's ok. It was just a nightmare."
Except it wasn't. It was Jensen Ackles's memories, and Dean has enough grief to carry without having the writer and the actor added to it. He has a lifetime of deaths under his belt, and one more shouldn't mean much but they're making him live it like he was a part of the loss. Stripping him of that careful boundary between victim and vengeance. So without him really thinking about it he's pouring the story out into Sam's neck as he lets himself be surrounded by the smell that's just a little wrong. Jared's body doesn't have the same feel as Sam's, isn't the right earthy musk, but it's close.
Sam holds him through it, rubs his back and shushes him the way Dean used to when Sam was little. The way Dean did after that terrible mistake. When it's over, when he has control again he pushes and Sam lets go. They put space in between them, and that hurts worse than the nightmare did.
------
He sees Peter before he sees her. The guy must have shown up while he was sleeping. He rubs at the back of his neck before catching Sam's eyes and then joining the two of them outside on the patio.
"You're not goddamn eating. I can see you're not eating. Are you sleeping? Are the meds still working?"
Her eyes landed on him for half a second before flittering away. "Working fine Pete. All is well. Chapters are almost done."
His eyes narrow and his hand grabs her arm tightly. "You don't need a deadline. I'll tell them to back off but you don't need to be writing. It's the one year kiddo. You need to be drinking or whatever it is you're allowed to do on those pills so you can relax."
Dean stepped up at that point and Peter's eyes really took him in. "I'm glad you guys are here. She actually listens to you."
Sam nods and puts a hand on her shoulder, and Peter eyes it for a second before Sam takes it back. So Jared doesn't touch her. Or something. "We'll keep her in line."
They fall into an argument about casting, and then the new book. When it's over Peter leaves and she rubs tiredly at her eyes before opening a beer and collapsing onto the patio chair to smoke. Morgan eyes him carefully. "Have we figured out how to get you guys back yet?"
Dean doesn't have the vaguest clue, which is why Sam apparently has the answer tucked in his pocket because he pulls it out casually like they all should have known before.
"We get to go back when we fix whatever problem it was Jared and Jensen specified when they did the spell."
Her eyebrows hit her hairline, and then she puts the placid mask back on and looks out into the yard again. Dean actually follows her gaze this time and studies the big tree she's staring at. Interesting.
"So they thought I was being haunted and they found a spell to summon the experts. That's…I don't know if that's admirable or messed up. I'll have to shake their hands when I finish beating them. Beer time?"
On that he can agree with her.
-----
Sam's gone in to find a whiskey bottle she swears is hidden in some cabinet somewhere. Beer just isn't doing it for any of them right now. He lets his mouth move without him. "How'd you know?"
Morgan's fingers tap restlessly beside her cigarette pack as if she can't make up her mind about opening it. "I'm a professional writer. We're good at reading between the lines. For example right now you want me to chastise you so that another voice dissents. Sam won't help you with that." She reached for her beer bottle, shook it distastefully, and then leaned back in her chair. "You may as well give up on that one."
"Why?" It's not supposed to sound whiny, but goddamn it, she's the first person to find out and there should be some judgment here. Some kind of anger or disgust, because that's what Dean deserves.
"Other than the fact that I just don't care? I just don't care."
"But-we're-fuck Morgan we're brothers."
"Yes. I know that." She finally gives in and grabs a cigarette. "I took that into account."
"It's incest, and he's like…he's Sam."
"You want me to what? Argue with you or agree with you? Now I'm confused." She takes a deep drag and then looks his way. "Until earlier today I believed I was going clinically insane. I'm still not entirely sure I'm not. This is not the sort of resource you tap for a life-changing decision Dean."
"You're the only resource I got." It's pathetic, sounds pathetic, and they barely know each other but this is probably his only chance for outside input. Somehow it matters.
"Ok. Let's look at it this way alright? What else have you got going for you Dean? Really. You got this little brother you've spent your life devoted to and now he's all grown up. He's being honest with you, he's being responsible, and he needs you but he doesn't need you. So are you going after the idea of being with him because you love him like that or because he'll need you again?"
"That wasn't the goddamn question. I ain't afraid of Sam leaving. Sam leaves all the time. Sam would still leave if-"
"Stop. I don't want to hear that part. That's your abandonment issues talking and they're important to character development but not this conversation. Are you lusting after your brother or after the feeling of being needed?"
And that's a damn fine question, because the fight leading up to the issue at hand suggests the latter. Dean's not sure if it's true, but if it is it certainly worked. The idea that he would play on that though. Play on Sam's need and love to get the feeling of being the big brother again. That's not a good one, and he's not too fond of the implications.
"If you were writing this which would it be?" It's out of his mouth before he's even fully formulated the idea, and her face says she knows that.
"I would make it the first. There's always been this 'will they won't they' air about you guys. It's what fuels all the goddamn fanfiction. You're too bonded for real brothers, but too close to be not brothers. If I had to pick I'd go with the first, because you hate yourself a good deal but you're not a bad guy." She inhaled through her nose and then blew a slow stream of smoke out of her mouth. "But I'd write two more giant fights before you got your head out of your ass and realized Sam's old enough to make his decision and incest is a taboo created by a society you put no stock in. Then I'd make you the bottom to show how sorry you were for being a dick. Also, probably, tears."
Dean chewed on that before responding. "I bet your books suck."
"One or two critics agree with you." The door opened and Sam came stumbling out with a whiskey bottle held high in victory. The dimples in full glory and his big eyes crinkled in joy. He caught her gaze. "But then again they hate happy endings."
------
The ghost waits until they're drunk, because ghosts? Fucking inconsiderate. They've moved it inside because it's raining and the temperature has dropped way below bite and into uncomfortable. They're sitting in the living room, her on the floor with her leg stretched out and he and Sam on opposite ends of the couch. Enough space to be comfortable without being obvious. Dean's got that happy blank feeling he gets sometimes when the mood hits him just right and the liquor has done its job. Sam's kinda hazy, not as controlled as he should be, and this is the first time they've both been this drunk near each other since that night. He's kind of ruminating on it as she and Sam discuss quantum something with slurred voices. Just don't-God Dean please-
That desperate look on Sam's face, and the way his lips were swollen with blood as he reached out for Dean. Begged him not to react the way he obviously did. Which is when the wedding picture on the mantle falls and hits the bricks of the fireplace. Morgan gives it a suspicious look before pointing once and forcing words out.
"That fucking happen?"
Sam nods seriously and looks to Dean, face a mixture of disbelief and concern. "Maybe we should-"
Which is when things get insane. Dean's first reaction is always Sam, and his first action is always the civilian. He can't throw himself over Sam every time things get dangerous, and the woman is sitting and staring stupidly as glass begins to explode all around them. Picture frames shudder and warp, the window blows inwards, and Dean's over her and blocking the glass even as he's shouting at Sam to get the fuck down. It ruins the haze, sharpens his focus, and when the incident ends they're sitting perfectly still in the suddenly cold living room in a wasteland of glass. Morgan's eyes are unfocused and dark, and Dean checks her over before turning to Sam.
His brother was smart enough, or sober enough, to duck down and cover his face. So it's only the backs of his uncovered hands and one spot on his throat that have fine cuts. Dean looks over every one even as Sam starts talking.
"Dean. Holy shit Dean. Your shoulder man. Your shoulder." It doesn't make any sense and Dean starts to haul Sam up so he can push him to the bathroom and wash out all the little cuts. Except pulling on Sam sends agony through him, and when he looks Morgan's face is pale and her hands are shaky. She pushes her way up awkwardly and stumbles even as Sam is trying the same maneuver. The two of them get him to the bathroom, and he sees in the big mirror that there is a chunk of glass several inches long buried in his shoulder. Well fuck. Maybe he's still drunk because it's almost funny and as long as he doesn't move it he doesn't feel the glass there. Which is when fucking Sam pulls it out. There's a high noise that escapes his mouth and then Morgan is shoving the little first aid kit their way and stumbling out of the room. He can vaguely hear her throwing up somewhere else and Sam cleans the wound.
"What the-oh fuck Sam slow down!" But Sam is not slowing down. His fingers are almost vicious as he cleans blood off Dean's skin and digs in the first aid kit. His brother looks angry, lost, and then Sam looks up and shouts over his shoulder.
"Morgan! I need a needle and fishing line! You need a better kit!"
Dean shoots him an ugly look in the mirror. Sam, the fucking sadist, digs his fingers into Dean's flesh and sways. They could all still be pretty drunk. Morgan's arm comes into the bathroom just enough to drop Sam's request in his hand and then she's gone again. She may be muttering but he can't be sure. When he looks up Sam is cleaning the needle and the line with rubbing alcohol.
"Sam it's not that bad man. Calm the fuck down ok?"
Sam hits him. It's so unexpected Dean reels away from the punch and into the wall before those big hands drag him back upright and Sam starts to sew his shoulder shut none too gently. He hisses but keeps his mouth shut.
"Goddamn, arrogant, selfish, crazy bastard." He's not even sure if Sam is talking to him or just talking. "Glass in your goddamn shoulder and you want to pull me up-fuck this is so like you."
"Shut up Sam." He wants to hit him. He wants to kiss him. He's still very fucking drunk.
"Why? You don't want to hear about being an idiot? Then don't be an idiot. Idiot." Sam's face cramps in agony at his own words and he finishes off the stitches and pulls back to point his finger at Dean and express his distaste. "You want to run around like you're fucking invincible, but you're not." His hands fly around passionately. "And you want to help me but you can't be anything else but this. I can't stand it Dean."
So he does the stupid thing and holds still when Sam leans in. Feels those almost-right lips touch his and slant, and then he's licking into the taste of not quite Sam while his arousal surges and his fingers move. Sam pins his bad shoulder down to keep it stable even as he takes control of the kiss. When they pull back he looks half-dazed, which goes well with his anger.
"Don't do this to me." His face says he wants to take it further, but Sam's voice is pleading. Broken and drunk and utterly fucked-out. "Don't make me that Dean."
Whatever that is he's not sure because suddenly Morgan is in the doorway staring at them. Sam goes pale, but her eyes flutter over them before she points to the window behind Dean.
"I need a cigarette."
He growls at her. "Get one then."
But Sam understands even if Dean can't come up with the reasons. "I'll go with you. You're not alone." And just like that Dean is ashamed and drunk and angry all at once, while Sam is reasonable and caring. He follows her limping gait, and Dean collapses back against the wall and breathes hard.
-----
When he's finally under control he comes out to find them sitting on the patio. She has one leg stretched out and the other tucked against herself, and she looks so small and delicate Dean hates that he growled at her. She's wrecked, and Sam's face says he knows it and doesn't know what to do. When she finally speaks the slur is gone even if her eyes are still glazed and unfocused.
"It's not Ray."
"Morgan sometimes when people die they-"
"It's not Ray. He wouldn't have-"
Dean moves in and takes her hand. It feels wrong and right all at once, and he wonders how close to the surface Jensen is capable of coming. If Sam ever has those same alien feelings. She looks at it and then follows his arm up to his face, voice shocked out of her at the touch.
"It could be as simple as him not realizing he's hurting you and as complicated as him wanting to unite you two. It ain't a mark against his character sweetheart it's the way things go. Dead people lose touch."
"-an anchor to come back to I was going to say." She looks unaccountably embarrassed, and her hand pulls from his and fumbles for her cigarettes as she blushes in the unforgiving flood light. "His sister was against cremation. Violently so, but Ray said I had to. Insisted. So I bought two coffins, and after the open-casket the funeral home switched them out and buried the empty one. I spread the ashes on that tree." She nods to the spot she's been staring at this whole time.
Which makes things really difficult because the ghost is showing all the signs of being her husband, but the chances somebody kept a little piece of him without her knowing are kinda fucking slim. That puts this ghost higher on his "annoying shit" list.
"Ok. We go over everyone who's ever died here. Anyone it could be. We'll find out the ghost's identity and move from there Morgan." Sam's voice is kind, soft, and she glances his way as her fingers jitter inches from her face. "We'll figure it out. Dean and I are pretty good at that."
She nods once and then takes a very deep drag. "We'll need to board up the window. There's a shopvac in the garage that can get the small glass up and-oh fuck." Suddenly she's crying and her hands are covering her face. Dean manages to get the cigarette from her fingers before she lights her pretty red hair on fire. "This is so fucked. It's all so fucked. Whatever happened to fiction huh? It was so easy when it was all fiction."
There's a look on Sam's face, something like sympathy but with an undertone Dean can't name. "Yeah. It really was."
-------
They part company hours later, and Dean wonders what this is going to do to her sleep cycle. He and Sam are trained to change from nocturnal to diurnal, and he wonders if her sleep deprivation is only going to get worse.
He brushes against Sam as they split up to go to sleep, and then he's standing in the room with the day bed and the bookshelves, looking around for a way to forget everything that doesn't include getting drunk again. He finds the shelf with her books, and picks one made up of short stories first. He finds the one Sam referenced quickly and moves through it. He remembers vaguely English classes in high school and middle school, and he's pretty sure the style is familiar but where it comes from he can't say. It's not the heavily detailed type of fantasy he's used to from his one foray into Tolkien, and that makes the non-reality of it all the more real. He follows the story slowly, eyes soaking in every detail of the nameless protagonist’s journey through Purgatory. Dean knows from experience that Purgatory isn't just for unsure souls, but he can give her a pass on that. The ending is ambiguous, but not bleak and that's surprising. He flips several pages and lands on a story about two best friends who have superhuman abilities. It's a jump from the tone of the last one. Warm and soft where the Purgatory story was sparse and confusing.
The boys grow up as the light seeping into the window suggests morning has finally arrived and broken some of the cloud cover. The younger one turns his back on the older, on the concepts of honor and heroism that they swore themselves to, and goes in for himself. Now they're adults, bitter enemies, and there they are locked in a room together as the older one slowly dies.
"Todd, Todd I need-" He closes his eyes for a second and reminds himself that the young man in the story is not Sam no matter that it's his brother's voice he hears as he races to the end. Even though the words become so close it could be that night all over again. I need you to tell me you love me. I can forgive everything else, but just once. Just once tell me.
And suddenly Dean is there again. The smell of Sam tangled up with the scent of whiskey and both of them drunker than they have any right to be. Dean angry, angrier than he thought he could be with Sam lately, because Sam's eyes are wounded and heavy. Because he's looking at Dean like there's a way for Dean to fix the slowly eroding link between them. It's not that he loves his little brother any less. It's that he loves him more, more than he should, more than he's allowed to, and with every change in Sam Dean finds it's harder and harder to hold that back and smother it. He's got Sam pressed against a wall and he's grinding words out against Sam's ear.
"Fuck it. Sam you hear me? Forget that shit. What d'you want from me?" Sam's eyes were shining in the half-dark, wet and big, and Dean found himself licking the trail of a salty tear off Sam's cheek. Licking down to his brother's mouth and then forcing his tongue in between gasping lips as he tastes Sam for the first time. Tastes liquor and heat, Sam's mouth so hot it could burn his goddamn tongue off. He half expects Sam to push him away, but instead big hands are gripping the sides of his face and now Sam is tasting him back, moaning in the back of his throat as he holds on like Dean's his last thread.
Dean jerks at the next sentence. Surprised at the turn even though he shouldn't be. Todd's eyes closed once and then his face turned away from Mark. His cheek pressed against the metal wall, skin so pale it's almost translucent, and fingers weakly fluttering as the poison burns his blood. Boils him inside and out the way he thought he'd incinerate from the friction and heat of Mark's body. "Yeah. Of course I love you. What good does that do you now?"
Sam's fingers wrapped in the back of his jeans, tangled into the belt loops as they eat away at each other and Dean's so eager to get his boots off he doesn't realize they're already gone 'til Sam laughs into his mouth. They're naked moments later, skin pressed against skin and Dean tasting his brother's hipbones as he fights the urge to fuck him dry. What were they fighting about? Was it this? Because this is a good idea. Best idea he's ever had. If he'd've done it earlier Sam would never have wandered away, and the thought has him sinking his teeth into Sam's hipbone to mark him. He tastes blood and sweat, and above him Sam actually fucking keens.
"Dean, please-just please-" Sam can't even get words out in full sequence as Dean breathes against the hard cock in his face and then licks up the vein. He hears that noise again and thinks it's the most brilliant sound Sam has ever made. Best one since Sammy used to say he was the world's most awesome big brother. He licks again and again until Sam is gasping and jerking, and then Dean slides his fingers into Sam's mouth. This is gonna hurt his brother, and he wants to hurt him. Wants to break him the way Sam's gone about breaking Dean all these years. Wants it over with.
"It means everything asshole. It always meant everything. When did you get so stupid?" Todd finally looks up to see Mark’s hazel eyes taking him in. He feels a little better, isn't sure why, and then Mark is collapsing onto the floor. "Always meant everything."
He was buried inside Sam, his brother almost struggling under him and it takes Dean's whiskey-soaked brain and overactive protective urge several hideous seconds to figure out Sam is urging him to move not trying to escape. Sam makes that keening noise again and starts moving, and Dean's licking sweat off his jaw and biting his throat as he begins to thrust. It's hard and painful, and he can't be giving Sam pleasure but his brother is moaning like a whore anyway. Dean's name seems to be the only word left in Sam's vocabulary, and that's a good thought. The best thought.
"Come Sam. I ain't got much-fuck just come for me."
"Mark? Mark you fucking moron what did you do? You're a villain jerk. Remember? Bad guys do bad things? Mark?"
“Dean, Dean I need-" Sam's gasping and there's blood pulsing behind Dean's eyes, filling his head, and if he doesn't come soon he's going to die, but Sam has to come first. Cannot come in second to that. He reaches down and grasps Sam's cock, stripped red and raw between them, and starts to stroke but Sam's head is shaking and there are tears in those big pretty eyes again. "Say you love me. Just once say it."
And Dean does. Says it over and over again, but he only has to say it once for Sam's whole body to start to spasm under him. The tightness of Sam's ass gets so bad Dean's pretty sure he's lost blood flow to his cock, but he keeps pumping and declaring his love even as Sam is an octave away from roaring, big head slamming against the pillows as he thrashes and spasms. He keeps saying it, keeps thrusting, and just as Sam is starting to go limp Dean bites his lip hard enough to taste his own blood and comes in jerks and stutters inside Sam's tight channel.
Now he's lying in this room remembering that moment, the warmth and duplicity inherent in every second of being that close to Sam. Being that connected. Mark is dead, at least Todd thinks so, and the hero is burying the only person he ever wanted to save as the world celebrates around him. Dean shuts the book without reading the end, and closes his eyes against the sudden burn. Because that's the next morning and not that night or this one. He buried Sam the next morning when he stood up, brushed his teeth, and told Sam in the calmest tone he could manage how big a mistake it was. How it would never happen again.
How Sam didn't need to act like a clingy one-night stand.
Wordcount: 8,124
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Dean/Sam, implied Jensen/OFC and Jared/Alona
Notes: This is the result of both an argument I saw on Youtube, and one I had in real life.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything in Supernatural, and Jared and Jensen are real people and certainly not the ones found here.
Summary: When the Winchesters go at the Fourth Wall they go at it hard.
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Jack Johnson starts playing from the speakers in the living room, and he goes back into the kitchen to find her washing red potatoes and green peppers.
She doesn't look up from the vegetables. "Trouble?"
There's this, she knows their history because she's watched the show. That's a problem, because Dean knows very well the kinds of assumptions people make off of that. Some of those aren't entirely off the mark, and Sam acting like a jealous girl isn't going to fucking help him avoid that. If she's asking in that vein though her face doesn't say it. Instead she continues to study the potatoes she's chopping into fine pieces.
"Nah. Not at all. Hey, uh, listen I was wondering about…" He can't figure out how to get at it so he looks at the table instead. "Can I use your laptop?"
Morgan's fingers keep moving rhythmically. "Yeah. Go ahead. Just don't use it for porn. I'm not sure if the IRS is allowed to look, but that'd be embarrassing."
He wants to say something smart, but he settles for Googling her. It takes roughly six seconds to figure out she's overly modest. Sold a few books his ass. She's been on the cover of Newsweek more than once, her work has hit the bestseller list four times, and this is the second movie they're making. Rumor has it Brad Pitt is being recruited for it. He finds articles about her being the new Jim Butcher, whoever that is, the new Stephen King, and the new Dean Koontz. He flips past all of those to the gossip blogs, and there it is. Pictures of her and Jensen Ackles on sites everywhere. He reads about the actor's womanizing, and the two dominant internet theories go the way of the flowery romantic or the cynical hard-ass. They can't decide if it's a case of heartthrob wooing geek or actor sleeping his way into a good role. Dean's not really swayed one way or another, but he has to say that Morgan may be smart but nobody would be taking a bullet getting her in bed.
She's still chopping when he finally looks up. "The internet thinks Jensen is boning you for a movie role." Her hand never even hesitates, and her face never changes. He's not even sure why he said it out loud.
"Yes. I've heard that one. Did you see the one where I'm sleeping with both of them to get a writing credit on the show? That's my favorite." She slides the pepper chunks off the cutting board and reaches for the kielbasa.
"You're a big fucking deal aren't you?" She glances his way then, just once, before slicing the kielbasa.
"That is what my editor and my agent tell me yes. It may even be true." Her hands are like machines, and her face is still blank. Carefully so. "Never saved the world though, so don't get intimidated."
"I'm better at gallows’ humor than you." She gets the hint, and her head nods before her eyes drop. The music changes to Metallica and Dean's temporarily distracted. "Sweet. This is a pretty mixed playlist you got Morgan."
Except she doesn't try a witty comeback or a brush-off. Instead she's staring at the chopping board blankly as if someone cut all her strings. It sets off the weird shit alarm and he gets up and crosses the kitchen to see she's sliced into her hand instead of the sausage and she's not moving to stop the blood flow. He curses once before knocking the knife from her hand and lifting it above her heart while applying pressure.
"You got a first-aid kit?" She nods dumbly and he leaves her there to check the usual spots. He finds it beneath the bathroom sink and brings it back before nudging her to the sink and washing her hand off. It isn't too deep, but it's bleeding a fair amount so she's probably on blood-thinners. Post-surgery clots can be a bitch, but he's not sure if this long after such a surgery they're still a concern. "You wanna tell me what you were thinking about?"
Dean moves her to the nook and pushes her down before he starts applying butterfly closures and gauze. Her eyes stay on her hand. "I don't know. Mind wandered. You can hear that?"
When he's done he gets up and heads to living room, because Sam may be able to make crazy intellectual jumps but Dean's instincts are golden. He finds the stereo they've been listening to this whole time, and sure enough it's playing Metallica, but it ain't plugged in. He makes a noise and the music stops, and then he heads back into the kitchen.
"Tell me about your husband's death."
He honestly expects a pithy remark or redirection. Instead she stares at her hand like she's been dead for weeks and he's summoned her back to chat.
"Ray was military, and he wanted to keep guns in the house but I said no. He gave in. That's important to the story. So one night it's late, he's asleep, and I'm mid chapter revision. The book is almost done, and I'm probably three or four beers in. Not enough to be drunk but enough that I'm not paying as much attention as I should be. There's this noise from the stairwell, and I go to check it out because sometimes Ray wakes up and comes to get me. Remind me that sleep isn't an outdated concept. Except it's not Ray it's some guy I don't know, and there's that couple of seconds of disconnect you get when you're buzzed and someone has confused you. Which is enough time for him to swing the hammer and take my knee out. That's good for me I guess, because I fell down the stairs and he wasn't expecting that. He missed my head. Whether the sound of me crying out or the sound of me tumbling got Ray up I don't know."
Her voice cuts off for a second, and her hands move over her face and then drop back into her lap. Dean hasn't moved from the position he took to bandage her, crouched down and face-level. She's still not emoting.
"He followed me down, and the hammer came a couple more times. I was dragging myself away at that point, but he was just following and slamming away. Which was when Ray came out of nowhere with this knife. I missed a lot of this part, but the blood splatters and the police reports kind of tell their own version. I can extrapolate from that. He sliced the lunatic's arm once, and then got him in the gut. They grappled, they fought for the knife, and then he got it away from Ray. Then the stabbing started. Police call it overkill. Which is a funny phrase because I think any killing is overkill, but that's the term they used. Fourteen times, and by then I had dragged myself to the alarm system and engaged it. The phone was ringing like crazy, and I could hear the sirens but he was still going. The guy took off, and I dragged myself over and grabbed at Ray and I could find his pulse. I swear I could. Except the hospital told me that he died on the scene, was dead before the last stab, and that nothing could save him. They said later that he hit me in the side and broke a rib, that I had a concussion from the stairs and that the claw part of the hammer took a good slice from my lower back. I don't remember any of that, but I've got the scars so it's objectively true."
Morgan looked up then, and her eyes met his and stayed perfectly stable. There was something burning there, something low and deep, and he'd seen it before but he couldn't remember where.
"It was Jensen that took me out of the hospital. He made these crazy trips down as often as he could for the physical therapy I ended too quickly and to just make sure I wasn't going insane. Which I was. If he couldn't come Jared did, and they coordinated it with my agent and my editor so that I wasn't wandering around the house alone on my crutches talking to myself. But that's not how Ray died it's just the epilogue."
He stood then, and he opened the fridge and pulled out two beers before popping them both open and holding one out to her. She took it gratefully and gulped for a while before putting it down to suck in air. When he spoke there wasn't much question from the state of his voice as to what he thought. "They catch the son of a bitch?"
"Yeah. Sort of. Suicide by cop." Her fingers twisted the bottle around before she took another gulp and crossed back to the sausage. "Can't say I was happy he didn't spend some time getting ass-fucked, but that's me. Hypocrite to the end. Vote Democrat and root for execution." Her slicing was more cautious he noticed, and briefly Dean wondered if the knife came from the kitchen.
There were more questions but they could wait. He needed to run it by Sam. He needed Sam to ask them. He'd exhausted his emotional reserves already. "So who's Jim Butcher?"
That got a response, and he wasn't too surprised by it. She started laughing as she coated the pan with oil and turned the stove on. "He writes modern day fantasy set in Chicago. How many trashy websites about me did you read?"
"Enough. They said you were replacing Stephen King."
Morgan rolled her eyes and dropped the meat into the pan. "That's highly unlikely. We don't even write the same stuff. I wish I was on that level, but that sort of thing takes a lifetime. When did you and Sam cross the brother line?"
Dean drops his beer. It's the worst possible response he could give her, but it's all he's got at the sudden punch in the gut she throws. Dean please-just please-
"I don't know what the hell you're talking about." It's a growl and she doesn't even glance his way.
"Ok. No big. You might want to send a text and tell him there's maybe thirty minutes before dinner or whatever the hell this is gonna be is." And that's it. She doesn't push and he doesn't offer more. At least he shouldn't, but she just spilled her guts all over the floor in front of him and there's something in the air that hits him just right. Maybe it's her seeming indifference, or the fact that she lives in another universe and can never tell anyone. Whatever it is his mouth starts moving and won't stop.
"I was drunk. Really drunk and angry and it happened. It was a huge fucking mistake."
Her head nods simply as she adds potatoes to the skillet.
"He thinks we should do it again, but I know better. We can't fix that shit if it goes wrong."
Morgan's eyes narrow as she stirs the skillet and then leans back and uses her non-injured hand to rub at her face. "Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. Sam's gonna see that eventually. Kid loves normal, and incest ain't that. Not even close."
She doesn't look his way when she responds. "Once a season Sam storms off after some fight you two have. Ray always used to say, 'Sam's got sand in his clit again.'"
The laughter is so sudden and surprising it almost hurts. She doesn't grin in response though. She just stirs the food and watches it while Dean uses her cell to text Sam.
----------
He can actually see the struggle between Sam's brain and his heart. The kid knows logically that he's supposed to be polite to her, hell he probably wants to be polite to her, but he's angry and suspicious. Right up until she starts spooning out the concoction she's made and he sees the bandage. One eyebrow goes up and Dean sees it, but Morgan responds without expressing anything at all.
"I'm being haunted. Also I didn't make a vegetable, but there's bag salad in the fridge for you." She drops the skillet down in the middle of the table before sliding onto the bench across from them and pouring ketchup over the mishmash of potatoes, kielbasa, and green pepper. There's a long silence before Sam's mouth starts moving.
"Wait I don't-the ghost cut you? What were you doing when it attacked?"
Her eyes are almost amused. "Cutting sausage. I got distracted and sliced myself instead. It's the damnedest thing, but it seems not all my problems are mental anymore. You want salad?"
Sam shakes his head before shooting a look at Dean. "Did you know she was being haunted?"
It's so damn surprising and adorable that Dean starts laughing, and Sam's face is understanding even as he glares. "No Sammy I was not aware. I forgot to bring the EMF over."
"Well we can work with this. What's been happening?" Sam's in research mode now, shoveling food in his mouth even as his big old brain starts cataloging all the things they need to do and handle. A simple salt and burn in another dimension. It's like the best and worst of every case added together.
Morgan's face goes blank again as she spears a chunk of kielbasa and bites into it. "I'm not-uh-"
But Dean understands instantly. Gets what's happening in her brain and where it might be going or not going. "Do they have you on medication?"
"Yeah, but I haven't really been taking it." Sam's eyes are darting in between the two of them and Dean doesn't want to make her tell the story again. "So I haven't really been sure what's real and what's just me being off. When you called I figured it was going to be the two of them coming to lecture me about meds."
Sam starts adding things up, and his face is so sympathetic Dean winces. "When was the last time you had a real meal or a full night's sleep?"
Morgan pushes a green pepper away before biting into red potato slices. "Probably a week or two. Can't seem to get my shit together for an appetite."
Dean can see where this is going, and he'd like to have the talk with Sam in private later. So he redirects because he's good at that. "Hey Sammy, no shit, Morgan's famous. Wrote a bunch of books and stuff."
Sam glances his way once and then looks back at her. "I read about it. Your short story about the woman in Purgatory was really good."
Of course Sam actually read her stuff. It occurs to Dean that maybe his little brother was researching the woman more than the situation at the library, but that can wait for later. Sam's gotta get his head in the game but lecturing him about it here won't do them any good.
"Thanks. I always liked that one. I find my best stuff is always unrecognizable after a few weeks."
Sam nodded and then leaned in and began to passionately debate with her about influences. Apparently he'd read her whole damn biography because he seemed to know everything to say to get her to respond. She finishes the meal in front of her and Dean eats his own and then gets seconds before the two of them have even begun to wind down a little. It's soothing to hear Sam talking. They've been so tense recently he almost forgot how good it was to hear the kid passionate about something.
Although really applying the word passionate to Sam is a can of worms recently and Dean doesn't have any interest in opening it more than he is absolutely required to. After all it seems like if he can get Sam to stop acting like a jealous wife they'll be ok. This whole "other world" thing is sufficient to distract his little brother, and no doubt the geek theorizing will begin any time now. Once that's in play Sam will spend so much time waxing philosophic Dean will be left with the more mundane details and no cold shoulder treatment. He's fine with that. Better than fine really. The sooner Sam moves on the sooner they can forget.
Dean, Dean I need-
An elbow catches his ribs and Dean looks up to see Sam giving him a superior stare. "What's a matter Dean? Little lost?"
Morgan isn't in front of him anymore. Instead she has left the room, and he can hear the distant strains of one-side of a conversation. Something about being fine.
"No. Thinking. Will the ghosts here work like the ones in our world?" It's so bizarre to say it out loud he almost stumbles on the words. They've done some weird shit, but dimension traveling is still in the top ten.
"Probably. We'll have to experiment with it though. She tell you who the ghost was?"
He thinks of the blank look on her face. The gunless house, and the admission. Guilt is a powerful fucking thing, and Dean is a scholar when it comes to that.
"I have an idea. I'll tell you later. If these two chuckleheads play us wouldn't they know all our tricks for taking care of a haunting? Why would they need us for this?"
Sam's face goes pensive, and Dean wonders if he knows how that pout works on him. That little lip bite, and the resulting crinkle in his forehead. He hates how well Sam can manipulate him. He wants to ask Sam if he dreamt last night, if maybe Jared tried to drop him some hints, and he still needs to get on that phone. All of that can come later though, because if Dean doesn't put some damn space between them there's going to be a problem. Over his shoulder he half throws what little he can manage to force out.
"Gonna take a nap."
Dean doesn't really expect to sleep. Instead he just wants to lie down until the stress and tension bleeds out, but there's only a few minutes of him lying there before he falls deeply asleep.
Ray is sitting on the couch and arguing with Jared about something. He doesn't know what, because his eyes are fixed on Morgan's ass as she bends over and digs through the cabinets.
"I can't believe you don't know the Metallica discography. Research Jen. It's all about research for believability. Shit I don't even like most Metallica and I know it."
He leans against the counter and crosses his arms. "That's because your hubby loves them. I just can't get into it. Plus everybody expects me to love it. I'm not Dean." He almost sounds bitter, and Dean wants to smack him but he's just an observer right now.
She glances his way and then smiles broadly. "I know you're not Dean. You are a good actor though, and I've heard that actors do research to get into their roles."
There's a huff from his mouth, and then a very long period of time where he watches her brush shoulder length red hair out of her eyes before she starts frying hamburger. "What would you know? You're not an actor."
"No I am certainly not. They asked me to do a cameo though. The King reference. God I'm tired of that one. I'll never live up to it."
Ray comes in then, slides an arm around her waist and gives Jensen a knowing smile. "How's that hot little number from the soap opera treating you?"
There's a confusion of emotions here that Dean has to sift through. Jensen likes Ray despite being jealous of him. At the same time he's being baited and he's obviously kind of upset about that too. He forces a grin. "Wouldn't know. We broke it off. She wanted to get serious."
Morgan gives him a scathing look. "You're going to have to commit sometime Ackles. You're an adult now and that happens."
"I thought I'd just piggyback your domesticity while I live the high life." It's forced, almost brittle, but she doesn't catch it. Is too busy fending off Ray's advances while she tries to cook.
"Make yourself useful old man and boil some water for noodles. The wheat ones." Ray rolls his eyes theatrically at Jensen as he moves away.
"You famous people. Always so damn demanding."
Which is when Jensen heads through the door and lands in a hospital room. There are security guards stationed outside the doorway behind him, and the thing slides silently shut before he turns back to the scene in front of him. The actor's mind is screaming a variety of feelings. Panic, rage, horror, and sorrow all mixed in with this protective feeling Dean knows all too well. The ratty faced man waiting for him inside looks up and then moves forward to whisper.
"She hasn't spoken since she woke up. They're going to do reconstructive surgery on the knee, but she'll never get full use of it again." He glances over his shoulder before turning back and gripping Jensen tightly. "She's fragile man. Just be careful ok?"
The man, Peter Jensen's mind supplies, slips out of the room and then he's crossing the space with heavy feet and facing her. There's a gash on her forehead that they've sewn shut. Her eyes are focused on her feet, and the sling holding her shattered knee up and stable gives him too fine a view of what was done. She's propped up, and Dean knows that's because of the wound on her back. He takes the seat beside her and gently grips the hand not attached to the IV drip.
"I came as soon as I could. Jared and Alona are going to come in a day or two, and we're all here for you ok? Morgan?"
Her eyes rise slowly and then land on his face. Her voice is thick, laced with opiates and pain. "His sister is going to be so angry. I told him no guns."
There's a spasm of grief Dean completely understands. He's been in too many hospital rooms, held too many people's hands, and he knows how bad this can get. She's somewhere between shock and anguish, and there's no talking to that.
"A gun wouldn't have changed what happened darlin’. Ray knows that. His sister can deal. How are you?" He's petting her small hand softly, and his voice shakes. Dean can feel the tears leaking out.
"They said he was a fan. Like the guy with Harrison. A crazy fan. Ray wanted us to hide more and I said no Jensen. I told him no." She looked up again then, eyes burning with sincerity and grief even through the painkiller haze. "I did this."
"No. Shit babe no. This wasn't you so stop that. Right now. It's gonna be ok. You're gonna get through this." And when she started to cry he awkwardly wrapped her up and held her.
Dean woke up to arms around him. It took a second to realize it was Sam, and that he was actually crying. He pushed, but Sam held on.
"Just a nightmare Dean. It's ok. It was just a nightmare."
Except it wasn't. It was Jensen Ackles's memories, and Dean has enough grief to carry without having the writer and the actor added to it. He has a lifetime of deaths under his belt, and one more shouldn't mean much but they're making him live it like he was a part of the loss. Stripping him of that careful boundary between victim and vengeance. So without him really thinking about it he's pouring the story out into Sam's neck as he lets himself be surrounded by the smell that's just a little wrong. Jared's body doesn't have the same feel as Sam's, isn't the right earthy musk, but it's close.
Sam holds him through it, rubs his back and shushes him the way Dean used to when Sam was little. The way Dean did after that terrible mistake. When it's over, when he has control again he pushes and Sam lets go. They put space in between them, and that hurts worse than the nightmare did.
------
He sees Peter before he sees her. The guy must have shown up while he was sleeping. He rubs at the back of his neck before catching Sam's eyes and then joining the two of them outside on the patio.
"You're not goddamn eating. I can see you're not eating. Are you sleeping? Are the meds still working?"
Her eyes landed on him for half a second before flittering away. "Working fine Pete. All is well. Chapters are almost done."
His eyes narrow and his hand grabs her arm tightly. "You don't need a deadline. I'll tell them to back off but you don't need to be writing. It's the one year kiddo. You need to be drinking or whatever it is you're allowed to do on those pills so you can relax."
Dean stepped up at that point and Peter's eyes really took him in. "I'm glad you guys are here. She actually listens to you."
Sam nods and puts a hand on her shoulder, and Peter eyes it for a second before Sam takes it back. So Jared doesn't touch her. Or something. "We'll keep her in line."
They fall into an argument about casting, and then the new book. When it's over Peter leaves and she rubs tiredly at her eyes before opening a beer and collapsing onto the patio chair to smoke. Morgan eyes him carefully. "Have we figured out how to get you guys back yet?"
Dean doesn't have the vaguest clue, which is why Sam apparently has the answer tucked in his pocket because he pulls it out casually like they all should have known before.
"We get to go back when we fix whatever problem it was Jared and Jensen specified when they did the spell."
Her eyebrows hit her hairline, and then she puts the placid mask back on and looks out into the yard again. Dean actually follows her gaze this time and studies the big tree she's staring at. Interesting.
"So they thought I was being haunted and they found a spell to summon the experts. That's…I don't know if that's admirable or messed up. I'll have to shake their hands when I finish beating them. Beer time?"
On that he can agree with her.
-----
Sam's gone in to find a whiskey bottle she swears is hidden in some cabinet somewhere. Beer just isn't doing it for any of them right now. He lets his mouth move without him. "How'd you know?"
Morgan's fingers tap restlessly beside her cigarette pack as if she can't make up her mind about opening it. "I'm a professional writer. We're good at reading between the lines. For example right now you want me to chastise you so that another voice dissents. Sam won't help you with that." She reached for her beer bottle, shook it distastefully, and then leaned back in her chair. "You may as well give up on that one."
"Why?" It's not supposed to sound whiny, but goddamn it, she's the first person to find out and there should be some judgment here. Some kind of anger or disgust, because that's what Dean deserves.
"Other than the fact that I just don't care? I just don't care."
"But-we're-fuck Morgan we're brothers."
"Yes. I know that." She finally gives in and grabs a cigarette. "I took that into account."
"It's incest, and he's like…he's Sam."
"You want me to what? Argue with you or agree with you? Now I'm confused." She takes a deep drag and then looks his way. "Until earlier today I believed I was going clinically insane. I'm still not entirely sure I'm not. This is not the sort of resource you tap for a life-changing decision Dean."
"You're the only resource I got." It's pathetic, sounds pathetic, and they barely know each other but this is probably his only chance for outside input. Somehow it matters.
"Ok. Let's look at it this way alright? What else have you got going for you Dean? Really. You got this little brother you've spent your life devoted to and now he's all grown up. He's being honest with you, he's being responsible, and he needs you but he doesn't need you. So are you going after the idea of being with him because you love him like that or because he'll need you again?"
"That wasn't the goddamn question. I ain't afraid of Sam leaving. Sam leaves all the time. Sam would still leave if-"
"Stop. I don't want to hear that part. That's your abandonment issues talking and they're important to character development but not this conversation. Are you lusting after your brother or after the feeling of being needed?"
And that's a damn fine question, because the fight leading up to the issue at hand suggests the latter. Dean's not sure if it's true, but if it is it certainly worked. The idea that he would play on that though. Play on Sam's need and love to get the feeling of being the big brother again. That's not a good one, and he's not too fond of the implications.
"If you were writing this which would it be?" It's out of his mouth before he's even fully formulated the idea, and her face says she knows that.
"I would make it the first. There's always been this 'will they won't they' air about you guys. It's what fuels all the goddamn fanfiction. You're too bonded for real brothers, but too close to be not brothers. If I had to pick I'd go with the first, because you hate yourself a good deal but you're not a bad guy." She inhaled through her nose and then blew a slow stream of smoke out of her mouth. "But I'd write two more giant fights before you got your head out of your ass and realized Sam's old enough to make his decision and incest is a taboo created by a society you put no stock in. Then I'd make you the bottom to show how sorry you were for being a dick. Also, probably, tears."
Dean chewed on that before responding. "I bet your books suck."
"One or two critics agree with you." The door opened and Sam came stumbling out with a whiskey bottle held high in victory. The dimples in full glory and his big eyes crinkled in joy. He caught her gaze. "But then again they hate happy endings."
------
The ghost waits until they're drunk, because ghosts? Fucking inconsiderate. They've moved it inside because it's raining and the temperature has dropped way below bite and into uncomfortable. They're sitting in the living room, her on the floor with her leg stretched out and he and Sam on opposite ends of the couch. Enough space to be comfortable without being obvious. Dean's got that happy blank feeling he gets sometimes when the mood hits him just right and the liquor has done its job. Sam's kinda hazy, not as controlled as he should be, and this is the first time they've both been this drunk near each other since that night. He's kind of ruminating on it as she and Sam discuss quantum something with slurred voices. Just don't-God Dean please-
That desperate look on Sam's face, and the way his lips were swollen with blood as he reached out for Dean. Begged him not to react the way he obviously did. Which is when the wedding picture on the mantle falls and hits the bricks of the fireplace. Morgan gives it a suspicious look before pointing once and forcing words out.
"That fucking happen?"
Sam nods seriously and looks to Dean, face a mixture of disbelief and concern. "Maybe we should-"
Which is when things get insane. Dean's first reaction is always Sam, and his first action is always the civilian. He can't throw himself over Sam every time things get dangerous, and the woman is sitting and staring stupidly as glass begins to explode all around them. Picture frames shudder and warp, the window blows inwards, and Dean's over her and blocking the glass even as he's shouting at Sam to get the fuck down. It ruins the haze, sharpens his focus, and when the incident ends they're sitting perfectly still in the suddenly cold living room in a wasteland of glass. Morgan's eyes are unfocused and dark, and Dean checks her over before turning to Sam.
His brother was smart enough, or sober enough, to duck down and cover his face. So it's only the backs of his uncovered hands and one spot on his throat that have fine cuts. Dean looks over every one even as Sam starts talking.
"Dean. Holy shit Dean. Your shoulder man. Your shoulder." It doesn't make any sense and Dean starts to haul Sam up so he can push him to the bathroom and wash out all the little cuts. Except pulling on Sam sends agony through him, and when he looks Morgan's face is pale and her hands are shaky. She pushes her way up awkwardly and stumbles even as Sam is trying the same maneuver. The two of them get him to the bathroom, and he sees in the big mirror that there is a chunk of glass several inches long buried in his shoulder. Well fuck. Maybe he's still drunk because it's almost funny and as long as he doesn't move it he doesn't feel the glass there. Which is when fucking Sam pulls it out. There's a high noise that escapes his mouth and then Morgan is shoving the little first aid kit their way and stumbling out of the room. He can vaguely hear her throwing up somewhere else and Sam cleans the wound.
"What the-oh fuck Sam slow down!" But Sam is not slowing down. His fingers are almost vicious as he cleans blood off Dean's skin and digs in the first aid kit. His brother looks angry, lost, and then Sam looks up and shouts over his shoulder.
"Morgan! I need a needle and fishing line! You need a better kit!"
Dean shoots him an ugly look in the mirror. Sam, the fucking sadist, digs his fingers into Dean's flesh and sways. They could all still be pretty drunk. Morgan's arm comes into the bathroom just enough to drop Sam's request in his hand and then she's gone again. She may be muttering but he can't be sure. When he looks up Sam is cleaning the needle and the line with rubbing alcohol.
"Sam it's not that bad man. Calm the fuck down ok?"
Sam hits him. It's so unexpected Dean reels away from the punch and into the wall before those big hands drag him back upright and Sam starts to sew his shoulder shut none too gently. He hisses but keeps his mouth shut.
"Goddamn, arrogant, selfish, crazy bastard." He's not even sure if Sam is talking to him or just talking. "Glass in your goddamn shoulder and you want to pull me up-fuck this is so like you."
"Shut up Sam." He wants to hit him. He wants to kiss him. He's still very fucking drunk.
"Why? You don't want to hear about being an idiot? Then don't be an idiot. Idiot." Sam's face cramps in agony at his own words and he finishes off the stitches and pulls back to point his finger at Dean and express his distaste. "You want to run around like you're fucking invincible, but you're not." His hands fly around passionately. "And you want to help me but you can't be anything else but this. I can't stand it Dean."
So he does the stupid thing and holds still when Sam leans in. Feels those almost-right lips touch his and slant, and then he's licking into the taste of not quite Sam while his arousal surges and his fingers move. Sam pins his bad shoulder down to keep it stable even as he takes control of the kiss. When they pull back he looks half-dazed, which goes well with his anger.
"Don't do this to me." His face says he wants to take it further, but Sam's voice is pleading. Broken and drunk and utterly fucked-out. "Don't make me that Dean."
Whatever that is he's not sure because suddenly Morgan is in the doorway staring at them. Sam goes pale, but her eyes flutter over them before she points to the window behind Dean.
"I need a cigarette."
He growls at her. "Get one then."
But Sam understands even if Dean can't come up with the reasons. "I'll go with you. You're not alone." And just like that Dean is ashamed and drunk and angry all at once, while Sam is reasonable and caring. He follows her limping gait, and Dean collapses back against the wall and breathes hard.
-----
When he's finally under control he comes out to find them sitting on the patio. She has one leg stretched out and the other tucked against herself, and she looks so small and delicate Dean hates that he growled at her. She's wrecked, and Sam's face says he knows it and doesn't know what to do. When she finally speaks the slur is gone even if her eyes are still glazed and unfocused.
"It's not Ray."
"Morgan sometimes when people die they-"
"It's not Ray. He wouldn't have-"
Dean moves in and takes her hand. It feels wrong and right all at once, and he wonders how close to the surface Jensen is capable of coming. If Sam ever has those same alien feelings. She looks at it and then follows his arm up to his face, voice shocked out of her at the touch.
"It could be as simple as him not realizing he's hurting you and as complicated as him wanting to unite you two. It ain't a mark against his character sweetheart it's the way things go. Dead people lose touch."
"-an anchor to come back to I was going to say." She looks unaccountably embarrassed, and her hand pulls from his and fumbles for her cigarettes as she blushes in the unforgiving flood light. "His sister was against cremation. Violently so, but Ray said I had to. Insisted. So I bought two coffins, and after the open-casket the funeral home switched them out and buried the empty one. I spread the ashes on that tree." She nods to the spot she's been staring at this whole time.
Which makes things really difficult because the ghost is showing all the signs of being her husband, but the chances somebody kept a little piece of him without her knowing are kinda fucking slim. That puts this ghost higher on his "annoying shit" list.
"Ok. We go over everyone who's ever died here. Anyone it could be. We'll find out the ghost's identity and move from there Morgan." Sam's voice is kind, soft, and she glances his way as her fingers jitter inches from her face. "We'll figure it out. Dean and I are pretty good at that."
She nods once and then takes a very deep drag. "We'll need to board up the window. There's a shopvac in the garage that can get the small glass up and-oh fuck." Suddenly she's crying and her hands are covering her face. Dean manages to get the cigarette from her fingers before she lights her pretty red hair on fire. "This is so fucked. It's all so fucked. Whatever happened to fiction huh? It was so easy when it was all fiction."
There's a look on Sam's face, something like sympathy but with an undertone Dean can't name. "Yeah. It really was."
-------
They part company hours later, and Dean wonders what this is going to do to her sleep cycle. He and Sam are trained to change from nocturnal to diurnal, and he wonders if her sleep deprivation is only going to get worse.
He brushes against Sam as they split up to go to sleep, and then he's standing in the room with the day bed and the bookshelves, looking around for a way to forget everything that doesn't include getting drunk again. He finds the shelf with her books, and picks one made up of short stories first. He finds the one Sam referenced quickly and moves through it. He remembers vaguely English classes in high school and middle school, and he's pretty sure the style is familiar but where it comes from he can't say. It's not the heavily detailed type of fantasy he's used to from his one foray into Tolkien, and that makes the non-reality of it all the more real. He follows the story slowly, eyes soaking in every detail of the nameless protagonist’s journey through Purgatory. Dean knows from experience that Purgatory isn't just for unsure souls, but he can give her a pass on that. The ending is ambiguous, but not bleak and that's surprising. He flips several pages and lands on a story about two best friends who have superhuman abilities. It's a jump from the tone of the last one. Warm and soft where the Purgatory story was sparse and confusing.
The boys grow up as the light seeping into the window suggests morning has finally arrived and broken some of the cloud cover. The younger one turns his back on the older, on the concepts of honor and heroism that they swore themselves to, and goes in for himself. Now they're adults, bitter enemies, and there they are locked in a room together as the older one slowly dies.
"Todd, Todd I need-" He closes his eyes for a second and reminds himself that the young man in the story is not Sam no matter that it's his brother's voice he hears as he races to the end. Even though the words become so close it could be that night all over again. I need you to tell me you love me. I can forgive everything else, but just once. Just once tell me.
And suddenly Dean is there again. The smell of Sam tangled up with the scent of whiskey and both of them drunker than they have any right to be. Dean angry, angrier than he thought he could be with Sam lately, because Sam's eyes are wounded and heavy. Because he's looking at Dean like there's a way for Dean to fix the slowly eroding link between them. It's not that he loves his little brother any less. It's that he loves him more, more than he should, more than he's allowed to, and with every change in Sam Dean finds it's harder and harder to hold that back and smother it. He's got Sam pressed against a wall and he's grinding words out against Sam's ear.
"Fuck it. Sam you hear me? Forget that shit. What d'you want from me?" Sam's eyes were shining in the half-dark, wet and big, and Dean found himself licking the trail of a salty tear off Sam's cheek. Licking down to his brother's mouth and then forcing his tongue in between gasping lips as he tastes Sam for the first time. Tastes liquor and heat, Sam's mouth so hot it could burn his goddamn tongue off. He half expects Sam to push him away, but instead big hands are gripping the sides of his face and now Sam is tasting him back, moaning in the back of his throat as he holds on like Dean's his last thread.
Dean jerks at the next sentence. Surprised at the turn even though he shouldn't be. Todd's eyes closed once and then his face turned away from Mark. His cheek pressed against the metal wall, skin so pale it's almost translucent, and fingers weakly fluttering as the poison burns his blood. Boils him inside and out the way he thought he'd incinerate from the friction and heat of Mark's body. "Yeah. Of course I love you. What good does that do you now?"
Sam's fingers wrapped in the back of his jeans, tangled into the belt loops as they eat away at each other and Dean's so eager to get his boots off he doesn't realize they're already gone 'til Sam laughs into his mouth. They're naked moments later, skin pressed against skin and Dean tasting his brother's hipbones as he fights the urge to fuck him dry. What were they fighting about? Was it this? Because this is a good idea. Best idea he's ever had. If he'd've done it earlier Sam would never have wandered away, and the thought has him sinking his teeth into Sam's hipbone to mark him. He tastes blood and sweat, and above him Sam actually fucking keens.
"Dean, please-just please-" Sam can't even get words out in full sequence as Dean breathes against the hard cock in his face and then licks up the vein. He hears that noise again and thinks it's the most brilliant sound Sam has ever made. Best one since Sammy used to say he was the world's most awesome big brother. He licks again and again until Sam is gasping and jerking, and then Dean slides his fingers into Sam's mouth. This is gonna hurt his brother, and he wants to hurt him. Wants to break him the way Sam's gone about breaking Dean all these years. Wants it over with.
"It means everything asshole. It always meant everything. When did you get so stupid?" Todd finally looks up to see Mark’s hazel eyes taking him in. He feels a little better, isn't sure why, and then Mark is collapsing onto the floor. "Always meant everything."
He was buried inside Sam, his brother almost struggling under him and it takes Dean's whiskey-soaked brain and overactive protective urge several hideous seconds to figure out Sam is urging him to move not trying to escape. Sam makes that keening noise again and starts moving, and Dean's licking sweat off his jaw and biting his throat as he begins to thrust. It's hard and painful, and he can't be giving Sam pleasure but his brother is moaning like a whore anyway. Dean's name seems to be the only word left in Sam's vocabulary, and that's a good thought. The best thought.
"Come Sam. I ain't got much-fuck just come for me."
"Mark? Mark you fucking moron what did you do? You're a villain jerk. Remember? Bad guys do bad things? Mark?"
“Dean, Dean I need-" Sam's gasping and there's blood pulsing behind Dean's eyes, filling his head, and if he doesn't come soon he's going to die, but Sam has to come first. Cannot come in second to that. He reaches down and grasps Sam's cock, stripped red and raw between them, and starts to stroke but Sam's head is shaking and there are tears in those big pretty eyes again. "Say you love me. Just once say it."
And Dean does. Says it over and over again, but he only has to say it once for Sam's whole body to start to spasm under him. The tightness of Sam's ass gets so bad Dean's pretty sure he's lost blood flow to his cock, but he keeps pumping and declaring his love even as Sam is an octave away from roaring, big head slamming against the pillows as he thrashes and spasms. He keeps saying it, keeps thrusting, and just as Sam is starting to go limp Dean bites his lip hard enough to taste his own blood and comes in jerks and stutters inside Sam's tight channel.
Now he's lying in this room remembering that moment, the warmth and duplicity inherent in every second of being that close to Sam. Being that connected. Mark is dead, at least Todd thinks so, and the hero is burying the only person he ever wanted to save as the world celebrates around him. Dean shuts the book without reading the end, and closes his eyes against the sudden burn. Because that's the next morning and not that night or this one. He buried Sam the next morning when he stood up, brushed his teeth, and told Sam in the calmest tone he could manage how big a mistake it was. How it would never happen again.
How Sam didn't need to act like a clingy one-night stand.
