Polaris-Good Evening (1/2)
May. 3rd, 2013 10:12 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dime_lioraTitle: Polaris
Wordcount: 12,079 (In two parts)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Sam/Dean
Notes: The only fic I never transferred over, and my first attempt at a chapter story.
Summary: An intervention of pagan forces splits the brothers when they are young. Growing up apart and alone what will they do to be reunited, and how will they fight what is considered their destiny?
First Chapter
Previous Chapter
Dean had known from the minute the kid walked in that he was gonna be trouble. The Weird Sisters going off and Wednesday losing his shit notwithstanding; it was Coyote's simple statement that cemented the idea in his head. A supplicant. Three had come and gone since he'd begun living with Utre. They were always trouble. Walked in like they were owed something, and Dean had seen all three of them give up without even really trying. Each promising that their goal was pure, their heart set for suffering for the cause, and each running like a scared dog as soon as things got hard. Things always got hard.
But Jimmy was different, had been since Dean walked in and heard Utre telling the same story from his childhood. Her eyes too soft, too kind, and Dean's first thought was that the kid was going to gut her when he failed. She believed each and every one of them had some chance, and they'd all let her down. Jimmy though, he had exceeded every one of her expectations. Granted she had been nicer to this one than any of the others before, and Dean secretly believed she really wanted this one to win. His belief was given a good deal of certainty when she had asked him point blank to consider the kid a fixture. To not give up on him. He'd taken to every task they'd given him with gusto, and as time passed Dean was glad to see it. What started as dislike grew into something different.
The kid reminds him of Sammy sometimes, and that hurts, but other times he simply shocks Dean. He's so open, so expressive, and Dean enjoys watching him react to everything with those Charlie Chaplin expressions of his. Pantomimes of regular emotions that Dean can quantify and see without having to try and read or interpret. The kid is like an open book and Dean finds he can't put it down. When the attraction begins-well who the fuck really knows? He's felt it in some capacity since he saw Tom grab him, but to explain the exact genesis of it is beyond Dean's capabilities. It doesn't need to be charted like that anyway, it's not that kind of thing. They take it at the pace they take it, and damn the consequences.
He wonders though what will happen when Jimmy gets his prize. Where the guy will go, and if he'll remember Dean after he gets there. There's never any question that he'll leave, he'll have to. He's given up his whole life for something, and whatever it is Dean hopes it's worth it. Hopes that the wish Jimmy is chasing won't let him down.
At some point he discusses it with Utre. Maybe three of four weeks after it's started and Dean is fighting the urge to get starry-eyed and girly about the whole damn thing. He's never been in a relationship before, and he's not even sure this counts as one. Still the possessive instincts that come over him suggest it's a lot more serious than a casual fuck in the storeroom. Jimmy's sleeping upstairs as Utre and Dean take stock and write in what they need to order. She's transcribing busily when he drops the bomb.
"What's Jimmy's wish?" It wasn't actually what he was planning to say. He was planning to ease into it. Maybe ask some questions around it first and then work his way up to the big one. Instead he just lets fly and waits to see if she'll humor him.
"How are we doing on cheese?" She avoids his eyes, and that's a first.
"We need more cheddar, sharp not mild, and we're low on swiss. What's his wish Utre?"
She fiddles with her hair for a moment and then looks up at him. "If I tell you it will not come true. Like the wishing ponds."
"Wells. Its-oh fuck you're doing that on purpose now. Look I'm just asking cause it might be relevant to-you know-stuff." He looks away then, fighting the urge to do something childish like blush or stammer.
"Getting his ultimate goal will not change his feelings for you. It will only intensify them. What about meat? We must be out of meat."
Dean steps away from the shelves, kneels in front of her and takes the stock list out of her hands before he clutches them tightly. "Utre. Don't fuck with me right now. I'm serious here, and I'm going way out of character asking this."
Her eyes keep his, the glow in the back of them ever-present and warm. "You are my favorite sweetling, and if it were within my power I would tell you everything in a moment. I cannot though, and that is not a joke. Believe me when I say that he is not asking for something that will split you apart. Now please, stop pressing and take stock."
He doesn't let go of her though. Holds on because she's something stable and he feels like he's spinning out of control. The next phrase gets ripped out of him, drops into the air like an announcement about terminal illness.
"I think I love him."
She opens her mouth, pauses, and then licks her lips nervously. It's another thing she's never done before. "That is good Dean. It is very good. Keep doing that."
But he's already shaking his head, trying to tell her without begin forced to say it. "I don't know who he is Utre. The Weird Sisters called him all those titles, and Wednesday almost bashed his goddamn head in. Vecher spit on him. She's hated me my whole life and she's never gone that far. There's something you're not telling me. Something I need to know before I-come on Utre I'm begging here."
Her big eyes take him in for a bit and then look down at their linked hands. "There is a powerful demon who is using him. Has put influence and work into Jimmy without Jimmy really knowing it. If he-if this course he is on fails he will be the demon's toy. If he makes it to the end of three years then he will be free to pursue the life he really wants."
Dean's blood runs cold, gooseflesh racing across his arms as he looks at her serious and sad expression, as her hot fingers grip him tighter. "What does the demon want?"
She shakes her head and pulls her hands away. "I cannot answer that. It is a part of his service, and his secret to keep. If you wish to help him then continue loving him, and he will fight all the harder to finish his time."
Utre walks away, and Dean is left in the stockroom alone with his thoughts. He can't say he likes it.
-----
Despite his questions Dean falls into bed with Jimmy every time it's possible, explores every position imaginable, and then eventually he makes the decision that whoever Jimmy really is he's willing to let it go. Willing to simply accept him at face value. Which is what leads them to this moment. What has Dean on his back with Jimmy running trembling fingers up and down his thighs and a look of question on his face so broad and unsure that Dean wants to hit him.
"I said you should man. Jesus just-could you get started or something. I'm feeling ridiculous."
Jimmy's fingers move, and then Dean hears the snick of the lube bottle, a squirt, and tries to remember to relax. He's been on the giving end before, but receiving has never been his thing. This is so far out of his comfort zone it isn't even funny, but he can't tell Jimmy he loves him until he knows who the guy really is. Until he can call him by his real name. So this is the next best thing, and when one finger starts to move inside him Dean realizes it would have been easier to just say it. Jimmy has stupidly large hands.
He feels the hesitation when he hisses and through clenched teeth he manages a simple, "If you don't move that thing I'm gonna kick you in the goddamn face."
Those big blue-green eyes are sympathetic and teasing, and if Jimmy could open his mouth Dean imagines he'd be saying how romantic or something similarly tender and teasing. Although he could be totally off on that. He has no idea what Jimmy would say if he could talk, or what the guy would sound like. He hears a low noise though, and then a second finger is moving in and Dean's gasping at the burn and looking away. Can't take the intensity of watching the man's face as he stretches him open for the first time.
As if Jimmy knows what it's doing to him he taps Dean's stomach and makes him look back. Locks gazes and then Dean's drowning in the ocean of Jimmy's eyes while a third finger is added. He barely even feels the pain anymore, and his flagging erection has found that it can come back to life much faster than Dean ever thought was possible. When Jimmy swallows him down to the root all Dean can manage is a terse, "Goddamn," and then he's thrusting up into the heat of Jimmy's mouth and down on his graceful digits. He feels those fingers ghost over his prostate, and then he's arching again as he rips at the sheets underneath him.
It takes a while for Jimmy to decide he's ready, and by the time Dean's legs are being spread he's cursing and growling at the taller man even as he moves. This is the one place he never calls Jimmy by the name he gave him. Never even suggests it outside of his own head because it's the wrong name. He'll have the right one eventually, will call it instead, but until then he sticks to endearments he'd usually never consider and noises.
He feels the burn come back, Jimmy's three fingers may not have been enough, and when the other man is fully seated Dean is panting and sweating as he tries to remember why he didn't just say the three stupid fucking words. There's a period of adjustment, Jimmy takes Dean's chin and locks their eyes again, and then he's moving inside Dean so slowly that Dean's reminded of Chinese water torture. He thrusts up, gasps at the pain and pleasure of it, and then Jimmy finds his rhythm and really starts to go. Grunting out moans and sounds that he can manage without breaking Utre's fucking rules.
Dean grips broad, skinny shoulders and feels the bones of them as his fingers dig in hard enough to bruise. "That's it. That's it man. Fuck."
Jimmy approves of the movement, keeps his hands planted to either side of Dean as he pushes in hard enough to break him. Dean leans up and licks sweat off Jimmy's jaw, hears the moan and grins. He sucks a bruise into Jimmy's collarbone, over a rib, any spot of skin he can reach as he's split open over and over again. It's worth it, so worth it, and then he grips himself and tugs half a dozen times until he comes. Jimmy doesn't last much longer than that, and then there's a pool of cum in between them, sweat and musk and sex and Dean isn't sure if he wants to stay there or slide out from under the taller man. Jimmy makes the decision for him, rolls over onto his back panting loudly and biting his hand.
Dean looks at him for a moment, unsure if he's supposed to ask or not, and then it hits him. Jimmy wants to talk, and he's trying to stop himself, and the thought of it makes Dean feel so damn elated he may as well have had a second orgasm. He shoves Jimmy's shoulder hard. "Shut up."
Jimmy shakes, covers his face, and Dean hears the smothered laughter underneath his arm. Dean lets go, laughs with him, and the world is perfectly complete.
-----
Year two is almost over when Dean finds himself sitting in the bar across from one of the Hindu goddesses, staring at the scarf she's knitted him as a late birthday present and wondering when Jimmy's birthday is. If the guy minds that they never celebrate it. His eyes go back to her, and she puts the scarf around his neck and smiles broadly. "Tell June I made this for you dearest. She'll be so jealous."
Dean can't help but tease her, and he sees the way Utre's eyes sparkle at him over the counter. "I thought the whole point of you guys was to avoid the need for material possessions and jealousy?"
She waves a hand and looks towards the table June is sitting at next to the gorgeous blonde Dean's been ducking since his fourteenth birthday, one eye always on her insanely jealous husband. "That's for the punters Dean, not the competition. Plus, it is a good scarf isn't it?"
He feels the soft material slip through his fingers and nods. It's unlikely he'll wear it, but he can imagine using it later to tie Jimmy's hands to the headboard. As if she can read his mind she pushes lightly at his shoulder. "You were sweeter when you were young." Her husband calls from across the bar and she's up and gone before Dean can reply or joke. He steps behind the bar with Utre and polishes glasses.
"So, only a year left."
Her head nods as she pours a glass full of honey-thick liquid and lays it out on the bar. She's always especially careful with this drink. "A year, one month, three days, and seven hours. To be precise."
Dean hates that, but he loves it too. She's counting down the same way he is. He wonders if Jimmy and Sammy would get along. Something about that line of thought tugs at him oddly, but suddenly the Old Man is there with his lupine grin and his antics. "Dean-o! Hey! I missed your birthday boy. Damn shame, I know how you love to party. Why don't I take you out tonight to make it up to you?"
Utre's gone then, delivering the drink and chatting easily with the table as if there was no question that they should all be friends. He lets his eyes travel back to their original point. "Sure. Yeah Old Man. Whatever."
The god shakes his head, expression long and mournful. "You were so cute when you were a boy. Then you had to ruin it all by insisting on growing up. Damn humans."
Dean chuckles once and pours him his favorite booze out of the clay bottle with the paw prints. Lays it down on the countertop and nods once to Wednesday and his son as they wander out the front door singing loudly. "You know, maybe if the group of you tried growing up you wouldn't spend all your days in a bar drinking and having petty arguments."
He glared once, and then a familiar woman with long black hair and eyes a matching shade walked by and the Old Man leaned back and whistled low so she turned. "Raven, I saw your performance in that Hitchcock movie last night. Inspiring sweetheart. When you gonna do a sequel?" Her long fingers fluttered for a second, and then she slammed his head into the bar and walked away. He blinked and rubbed at his forehead for a while before turning back to Dean. "Women huh? Hey how's Jimmy?"
Dean poured himself a glass of water and watched as Utre broke up some conflict between two of the gods, her hands harsh even as the gentle tone of her voice carried over the space. "He's fine. Get to the point before you bust a gut."
There's silence for a moment, and Dean turns to see a serious look on Coyote's long face. He almost drops his glass. "I got a present for you boy. I'd prefer you not show it to anybody though or else I'll lose some of my rep."
Dean can only nod, so shocked by the lack of innuendos and smirking that he can't really process the rest. He finds a small box in his hand, and inside it a tiny pouch on a leather cord.
"You ever really need me you just grab that and think of my real name as hard as you can. You remember my real name right? I told you once when you were young and you beat me in cards."
Dean remembers how hard it was to beat him, how much cheating he had to do just to level the playing field a bit, and then the pouch grows cold in his fingers for a second and when he looks up Coyote's eyes are full of stars. "Yeah. I remember Old Man. Thanks."
Coyote nods once, pulls back from the bar and takes the last of his drink in one long gulp. "Time to start some trouble."
Dean watches him go, shaking his head even as he loops the cord around his neck and tucks the pouch under his shirt. He's busy wiping down part of the bar when he hears the crash upstairs. He goes to move but Utre's past him in a second, and that's when Dean notices that the whole bar has gone silent. That there's an uneasy tension in the room that didn't exist a moment before. He's just about to go up when an imperially slim god with long thin fingers grips his elbow. Where he came from Dean doesn't know, but he shakes his head even as Dean pulls free and heads up the stairs.
He finds Jimmy standing in the middle of the kitchen area, eyes wild and uncertain, knife clutched in his hand and coated in blood. Utre is in front of him with her hand pressed firmly against one side of her face and her mouth moving even as Dean is heading into the scene. "-alright. You are awake now. It is over."
Jimmy drops the knife, hits the floor, and then he's gripping his head and groaning piteously. Dean grasps him tightly and speaks in the lowest voice he possibly can. "I got you Jimmy. I got you now." He rubs at Jimmy's back, counterclockwise, and lowers the taller man's head to his chest. There's a jerk, Jimmy's body going whipcord tight for a second, and then with a whimper he collapses fully into Dean's grip and lets himself be held.
Dean looks over his head to Utre, but she's leaning against the countertop and holding her face together as she stares into nothing. Her eyes are blazingly bright, hard to look at, and then she steps away and towards the door. "Keep him up here. Get him back to sleep and do not leave him. I will take care of the rest." She sounds imperious, cold, and Dean's more confused than he's been in years. He keeps his hold on Jimmy though, manipulates him up and into the bathroom to wash the blood off his hands. It's only when he's carrying Jimmy to the bedroom that he sees that the black door is cracked open.
He pauses, frozen in place and remembering Blackbeard, and then he leans forward half in a trance to glance through the doorway. He sees something that he can't explain, can't even put into a real set of visual images. There's a man chained to a pole in the room, half-hidden in darkness, eyes bluer than any Dean has ever seen before. In front of his eyes the man shifts, becomes a mangy wolf half-starved and madly pulling at his chain, and then the man is back. He's beautiful, intoxicating to look at, and he holds his hands out to Dean in a gesture that can only be seen as imploring. Begging. His eyes shift to Jimmy and he makes a noise that Dean takes to be hunger, and then the door slams shut and Dean's left in the hallway, holding Jimmy up and shaking while his heart beats at a hundred miles an hour in his chest.
He pushes Jimmy into the bed and then sits beside him and strokes his hair. Stays until Jimmy is slack with sleep and long after, listening to the cadence of his breathing and checking his pulse every now and then to make sure it doesn't go erratic again. Time slides by slowly, and Dean's left with only his fear for Jimmy and his memory of the contents of the room. The room he has never been allowed to go in, with the door that never opens. To be honest he half-thought it couldn't open. That it was only a concept or a symbol like the faces he sees in the bar. He knows that none of the gods really look like that, it's all perception, but he still fools himself sometimes into forgetting. Now he has a lot more to forget.
Utre comes in before Jimmy wakes, her eyes tired and her face half-closed. She pauses at the doorway and then comes fully in and leans against the wall across from him. "How is he?"
"Still sleeping. What the fuck happened?" He can't believe it's his voice. Rough and full of anger and disuse.
She touches her face once hesitantly and then looks to Jimmy. "He carries a visitor within him. One I cannot expel. It took over for a short time. I am afraid I was unprepared."
Dean grips Jimmy's shoulder, holds it so he can feel how solid and sure it is under his fingertips. Feel the blood and flesh and know that this isn't some trick of his mind but a real person that he really loves.
"The door opened." It escapes him before he can think about it, before the consequences of such a thing can stop him from opening his stupid mouth.
Utre's already pale face loses even more color, and then Dean realizes that she had her face sliced open and he's shown her almost no concern at all. He glances once at the alarm clock and knows that it's over an hour after sunset and she's forced herself to stay up until the part-timer arrives so that Dean can…
"Did anything-did you look in sweetling?"
He's frozen, unsure what is worse, because she always said not to open it but she never said not to look in. "Yeah. Little bit." Dean'll wait to ask her about the man/wolf, wait to ask about the rest because she's dead on her feet and he's been pretty fucking careless with her tonight. He pushes up from the bed gently and grabs her around the waist, lifts her up, and almost shakes at how frail she feels in his arms. It occurs to him that if the knife went inches lower it would have sliced her jugular open. Can she be killed with a kitchen knife? Dean doesn't know, has never asked. He always assumed she was invulnerable.
"Sweetling wait. Wait. I cannot go to bed yet. I will have a visitor soon."
He's back to gruff, angry and thick. "The hell you will. You're going to sleep Utre."
He carries her out into the hallway and sees Vecher standing in the open area at the entrance to the apartment, dark eyes glittering coldly and hands clenched at her sides. Dean freezes in place, Utre nestled in his arms and eyes locked on Vecher's face. Watches her cross the floor and finger the closed wound, stare at the door, and then put her hand down and step back. For the first time in all the years he's known her Vecher speaks gently.
"You vill stop this now. Daz insists. You lost control of the door, you lost your focus, and you almost lost your life. Tell him the truth and end this game."
Dean's arms tighten instinctually, but Utre doesn't complain. Doesn't argue or try to struggle. She covers her eyes and Dean realizes the goddess is weeping. Weeping silently and weakly.
"What truth?" Dean looks from Utre's shaking shoulders to Vecher's pity and feels the world slip from underneath him. Knows instinctually that whatever is about to be said cannot be taken back. He's tempted to shut Vecher up, put Utre to bed, and continue on like nothing happened. Deflect and deny. It's the Winchester way.
Vecher keeps him from that. Puts her hand on his shoulder and looks him in the eye. "The supplicant is not named Jimmy. You know this. He is named Samuel. Samuel Vinchester. You must-"
But Dean's stopped listening. He drops Utre, not on purpose but because all the strength has suddenly left him, and Vecher catches her at the last second. He sees the way her head rolls, how she's barely got her eyes open at all.
"What the fuck are you talking about? That's impossible. It's not-" And then the strong hand he's come to know so well is grabbing his arm, and there's Jimmy. Jimmy with his big blue-green eyes and his pouty lips and how the fuck did he not see it before? That mulish look Sammy always got when he didn't want to go to bed, the soft eyes that worshipped and adored, all the looks he remembers in his brother's little face writ large across Jimmy's adult one.
Sammy. This is Sammy. He's been fucking Sammy. The world spins dizzily and he pulls back. "Say something. Fucking say something Sam. Game's over now man."
Sam shakes his head, tears in his eyes, and then grabs at Dean again but Dean is too fast. Utre calls to him once, but Dean's already moving. Already gone. He steps out of the bar and into the cold night air, starts up the car, and then hears a throat clear beside him. He turns to see the Coyote.
"Not tonight." He needs to go. Needs to outrun the realizations that hang heavy in the air back there. Needs to move until he can't think anymore.
Coyote's serious look is back. "I can't think of a better time kid. You ride alone you're likely to crash into a tree right now. I'll keep quiet."
Dean hits the radio to assist him in his pledge, makes it twenty miles, and then viciously twists the knob to off.
"Did you fucking know?"
He wants Coyote to say yes so he can hit him. He wants him to say no because somebody he trusted had to not be lying to him. Utre never lied directly though. Only ever by omission.
"That's pretty open-ended Dean-o. What specifically has you running away in the middle of the night?"
Dean glances his way but sees no humor there. No sparkle of mischief. "That Jimmy was Sam. My brother. That I got involved with my brother."
Coyote looks out the window up at the cold night sky and then gestures once, and the car splutters and dies. He gets out without a word and Dean follows him. Follows and throws the first punch.
It's designed to hurt, to maim, and he feels his knuckles split on Coyote's face but the slim god stands unruffled by the action. Stands perfectly still as Dean beats his rage out for fifteen minutes on Coyote's face like the world's most implacable punching bag. When he's out of breath, sore, and bleeding copiously from both hands he stops and dry-scrubs his face.
"Yeah. I knew. I helped him figure out what he wanted. Helped him stop thinking of himself as little brother, and start thinking as Jimmy. Now ask me why Dean."
Dean's known Coyote since he was eleven, and this is the first time he's ever called him by his real name without some friendly add-on. It does something to the hot blood rushing through his veins. Cools him down a bit in a way nothing else could. He remembers Jimmy- no Sammy waking up with the bite mark. Remembers the shift in attitude and how all the gods suddenly got along with him.
"Ok. Good question. Why did you and Utre pretend you cared about me, and then trick me into violating my little brother?" His baby brother.
Dean's surprised when a harsh laugh works its way out of Coyote, and then the god scratches the back of his neck for a long second before he seems to find his voice. "You damn Winchesters. You know the world is in color and yet everything has to be in black and white. How much mythology have you lived first-hand Dean-o, and yet still you think it was malicious? We don't see love in terms of taboos, so put that 'Coyote and Utre made me do a bad thing' shit to bed boy. I'm not gonna listen to that, and I don't have to defend against it. But let me ask you a better question. What did you want Utre to do? Tell you that it was your brother who came to be a supplicant? Ok, and then knowing what you know about his destiny you'd turn him away and Azazel woulda gotten his hands on him. So that one's a bad plan, but what if you followed him to keep him safe? Well then you boys would have been out of the protection zone. So that one sucks too. What's left? You want to armchair coach this thing Dean? You got the 20/20 hindsight necessary to point out all the mistakes?"
And wow. Now he's ashamed of himself, and pissed off about it. Coyote doesn't let up.
"So what'd you do? You turned on her the second shit got rough. You know how many bullets she's taken for you? How hard it's been to stand up to her father, to us, to everything in defense of you and your little brother? That first day you came into the bar and we knew who you were I was at the head of the line to slit your fucking throat boy. It was a longer line when your brother showed up. And what about Sam? Poor little Sam is left standing in that building, rejected by his brother and his lover. He's-"
"You fucked his memory Coyote!" Dean's back on solid ground now. Back to outrage and defiance which is much more comfortable than guilt. "He didn't know what he was-"
"He knew! Knew he wanted you, knew you were special, knew everything. Was that disgust in his eyes when you walked out or in yours? Put your complex aside Dean and really look. Look at what you've done tonight. You wanna walk away boy? Walk away. But don't do it feeling righteous 'cause you aren't. You're just a fucking coward."
Dean threw another punch and this time Coyote side-stepped it and socked him in the gut, drove the breath of him and caught him before he fell to his knees. "You're in a position that is older than you can imagine. You wanna throw love away? Risk everything to be a dick? Then do it, but don't come crying to us when it's over with. The kid-gloves are off now Dean. Time to be a man."
With that he's gone, and Dean's left alone in the dark staring up at the sky and shouting after him.
-----
Dean returns after sunrise, and finds a stranger at the bar. The crowd is sullen, quiet, and small. He sees the strained smile of June, watches as Wednesday turns away from him and talks to his over-sized son. No one is laughing, no one carouses or argues, they simply drink. Dean orders a whiskey, takes it all in one shot, and then heads upstairs to the apartment. He finds Utre with her head in her hands. Sam is nowhere in sight. She doesn't look up when he clears his throat.
"I-I'm fucking angry Utre. Really angry."
She nods without speaking, fingers moving in her hair as she hides her face.
"You lied to me. You tricked me. I never expected that from you."
She nods again and Dean's rage sweeps over the sympathy and sadness.
"Look at me."
When Utre lifts her head Dean's anger is forgotten, replaced by fear and concern. The wound has reopened, is leaking a small but steady stream of blood, and her hands were the only thing holding it in. Her eyes are dull, burnished copper in her face despite the sun having risen. She looks tiny, young, and so lost it's painful. He crosses the room and sits in the chair beside her, touches her shoulder, and finds her flesh cold.
"What's happening to you?"
"I was mistaken. You cannot be saved. Sam cannot be saved." Her fingers tremble and then she's covering her face again. "I am so sorry sweetling. I wanted to do the right thing and I hurt you. I am a terrible mother."
Utre's words hit him like Coyote's sucker-punch did, sucks all the air out of his lungs, and then he's grabbing her and pulling her into the circle of his arms. "Bullshit. You're an excellent mother. You're my excellent mother. Cut that shit out right now. It's fine Utre. It's gonna be alright."
She's crying into his shoulder, tears and blood wetting his shirt even as her words come thick and strangled from her mouth. "Sam is in the basement. His service is over, and now he must decide if he will stay anyway. If he leaves-Dean if he leaves-"
"What happens if he leaves? What would have happened if we turned him away Utre? I have to know."
She nods once, face pressed firmly against his still, and then Dean feels the wet trail of her face moving up his neck. She doesn't speak, just shows him all the things that should have been.
He sees Sammy growing up with him and dad, turning sullen and angry and unapproachable. He sees his brother turn his back on them, on the very concept of them, and then how it ends in fire and grief. He sees the distance between them grow to unimaginable depths, how hard it is for them to even be in the same room, and then the promise of a return to love and closeness. All of it is destroyed in the moment he sees Sam in the mud, dying in Dean's arms, and he'd scream and pull back from the vision but he can't. Instead he's forced to follow Sam's descent, his death, the end of times. All brought on by the simple understanding that they love each other, and that their love can be used against them. When it's over Dean's shaking harder than Utre.
"This could still-Sammy could-" He can't get it out but Utre understands anyway.
"Yes. It could still happen. Here, at the crossroads for all gods, Sam is protected. The gods have grown to like him. They will keep him as safe as possible. Away he is at Azazel's mercy."
"What about you and Vecher?" He's afraid to ask, afraid she'll say that they've given up. It's not that several pantheons worth of gods backing them isn't enough, but without Utre it'll be harder. Dean's fairly certain that's true, and not just him longing to still have her love him.
"Vecher has been pleading my case to Daz since the beginning. She is only bad at showing her softer emotions. I will-I am not-" She shakes her head once as if words can't form in her mouth anymore. There's blood on her lips and Dean wipes it away softly. "I will never leave you sweetling."
He kisses her forehead, leaves her there and heads for the basement. Heads for Sam.
----
Sam's in the basement hauling sacks of oats and yeast. He glances Dean's way once and then slams the sack he's holding down before going back to get another.
"Sammy I-"
Sam shakes his head once, and then manages to croak out a single phrase. It's not the one Dean was expecting, but it's good to hear despite the roughness of the tone. "Fuck you."
"Well we did that." It's horrible, a joke that's dead before it's delivered, and the shock on Sam's face suggests it's the worst thing Dean could have said. He rubs at the back of his neck and then tries again. "Sammy I made a mistake. I just-Jesus kid it scared me. Ok? It scared me a lot."
Sam slams the sack down and crosses the big room, footsteps echoing off the walls like gunshots. Dean's expecting a hug or a kiss, something to cement what they were building under Sam's false name. What he gets is a punch to the jaw that has the world reeling under him and the wall at his back. Then Sam's in his face with an arm pressed across his throat.
"Scared you? You left Dean. Left me. I followed. Fuck scared." It's all delivered in staccato format, tight and terse and thick as if Sam's having to push each word through a barrier. Dean imagines after being silent for almost two years that's not a completely imaginative statement.
He thinks of Sam dead in the mud, thinks of the image of staring at Sammy's body lying in some bed in an abandoned house somewhere. Yeah, he's not apologizing for leaving.
"Sam I-" but Sammy's not finished because he tightens the chokehold to shut Dean up before he leans in and kisses him. The kid got taller than him at some point, and he has to lean down, and it's familiar and new all at once. He lets Sam taste him though, lets Sam lick into his mouth and run his tongue over Dean's teeth. Lets the kiss go on and on until his knees are weak and his cock is throbbing in his jeans. Then Sam lets go and Dean's glad for the wall or he'd fall down.
"What now?"
For a full minute Dean's not sure what Sam means, and then he follows his little brother's sightline to see the two olive-skinned sisters at the top of the stairs giggling. Dean's seen them in the bar before, but they're not around as much as most of the others. Usually they seem fairly dreary, but their dark eyes are lit from behind as they stare.
The slightly taller one gets ahold of herself as Dean finds where his missing bones have gone to. "Nep and I wanted to check on you two. It's good to see you've fixed your problem."
Dean waves them off, one hand covering his eyes while the other gestures in the air. "You wanted to have the gossip. Get out of here."
He hears the door close, and then Sam's in his face again, one eyebrow raised and that expressive set of features asking the same question as before, but for Dean again.
"I don't know Sammy. We just-shit. This whole thing got out of control so fast. We stay because this is where you're safest." It's an easy answer to a complicated question. What will they do now? If the kiss is any indication Dean's not going to be able to turn Sam down for the more intimate aspects of their relationship, and Sam's not gonna stop asking for them. It scares Dean a little, turns him on more, and leaves him wondering how things got so fucked up. It's better than Sam dying though. The very prospect of it turns Dean's blood cold.
Sam tilts his head, and Dean's prepared for almost anything. Just not what actually comes out of the man's mouth. "I want to cook more."
He remembers when Utre first suggested adding meals with stunning clarity. His hesitance. He can't help the laugh that spills out of him. "Cook all you want. Good training for when someone makes an honest woman out of you."
Sam punches his shoulder once and Dean feels lighter, easier, and happier than he has since before the whole clusterfuck started.
Next Chapter
Wordcount: 12,079 (In two parts)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Sam/Dean
Notes: The only fic I never transferred over, and my first attempt at a chapter story.
Summary: An intervention of pagan forces splits the brothers when they are young. Growing up apart and alone what will they do to be reunited, and how will they fight what is considered their destiny?
First Chapter
Previous Chapter
Dean had known from the minute the kid walked in that he was gonna be trouble. The Weird Sisters going off and Wednesday losing his shit notwithstanding; it was Coyote's simple statement that cemented the idea in his head. A supplicant. Three had come and gone since he'd begun living with Utre. They were always trouble. Walked in like they were owed something, and Dean had seen all three of them give up without even really trying. Each promising that their goal was pure, their heart set for suffering for the cause, and each running like a scared dog as soon as things got hard. Things always got hard.
But Jimmy was different, had been since Dean walked in and heard Utre telling the same story from his childhood. Her eyes too soft, too kind, and Dean's first thought was that the kid was going to gut her when he failed. She believed each and every one of them had some chance, and they'd all let her down. Jimmy though, he had exceeded every one of her expectations. Granted she had been nicer to this one than any of the others before, and Dean secretly believed she really wanted this one to win. His belief was given a good deal of certainty when she had asked him point blank to consider the kid a fixture. To not give up on him. He'd taken to every task they'd given him with gusto, and as time passed Dean was glad to see it. What started as dislike grew into something different.
The kid reminds him of Sammy sometimes, and that hurts, but other times he simply shocks Dean. He's so open, so expressive, and Dean enjoys watching him react to everything with those Charlie Chaplin expressions of his. Pantomimes of regular emotions that Dean can quantify and see without having to try and read or interpret. The kid is like an open book and Dean finds he can't put it down. When the attraction begins-well who the fuck really knows? He's felt it in some capacity since he saw Tom grab him, but to explain the exact genesis of it is beyond Dean's capabilities. It doesn't need to be charted like that anyway, it's not that kind of thing. They take it at the pace they take it, and damn the consequences.
He wonders though what will happen when Jimmy gets his prize. Where the guy will go, and if he'll remember Dean after he gets there. There's never any question that he'll leave, he'll have to. He's given up his whole life for something, and whatever it is Dean hopes it's worth it. Hopes that the wish Jimmy is chasing won't let him down.
At some point he discusses it with Utre. Maybe three of four weeks after it's started and Dean is fighting the urge to get starry-eyed and girly about the whole damn thing. He's never been in a relationship before, and he's not even sure this counts as one. Still the possessive instincts that come over him suggest it's a lot more serious than a casual fuck in the storeroom. Jimmy's sleeping upstairs as Utre and Dean take stock and write in what they need to order. She's transcribing busily when he drops the bomb.
"What's Jimmy's wish?" It wasn't actually what he was planning to say. He was planning to ease into it. Maybe ask some questions around it first and then work his way up to the big one. Instead he just lets fly and waits to see if she'll humor him.
"How are we doing on cheese?" She avoids his eyes, and that's a first.
"We need more cheddar, sharp not mild, and we're low on swiss. What's his wish Utre?"
She fiddles with her hair for a moment and then looks up at him. "If I tell you it will not come true. Like the wishing ponds."
"Wells. Its-oh fuck you're doing that on purpose now. Look I'm just asking cause it might be relevant to-you know-stuff." He looks away then, fighting the urge to do something childish like blush or stammer.
"Getting his ultimate goal will not change his feelings for you. It will only intensify them. What about meat? We must be out of meat."
Dean steps away from the shelves, kneels in front of her and takes the stock list out of her hands before he clutches them tightly. "Utre. Don't fuck with me right now. I'm serious here, and I'm going way out of character asking this."
Her eyes keep his, the glow in the back of them ever-present and warm. "You are my favorite sweetling, and if it were within my power I would tell you everything in a moment. I cannot though, and that is not a joke. Believe me when I say that he is not asking for something that will split you apart. Now please, stop pressing and take stock."
He doesn't let go of her though. Holds on because she's something stable and he feels like he's spinning out of control. The next phrase gets ripped out of him, drops into the air like an announcement about terminal illness.
"I think I love him."
She opens her mouth, pauses, and then licks her lips nervously. It's another thing she's never done before. "That is good Dean. It is very good. Keep doing that."
But he's already shaking his head, trying to tell her without begin forced to say it. "I don't know who he is Utre. The Weird Sisters called him all those titles, and Wednesday almost bashed his goddamn head in. Vecher spit on him. She's hated me my whole life and she's never gone that far. There's something you're not telling me. Something I need to know before I-come on Utre I'm begging here."
Her big eyes take him in for a bit and then look down at their linked hands. "There is a powerful demon who is using him. Has put influence and work into Jimmy without Jimmy really knowing it. If he-if this course he is on fails he will be the demon's toy. If he makes it to the end of three years then he will be free to pursue the life he really wants."
Dean's blood runs cold, gooseflesh racing across his arms as he looks at her serious and sad expression, as her hot fingers grip him tighter. "What does the demon want?"
She shakes her head and pulls her hands away. "I cannot answer that. It is a part of his service, and his secret to keep. If you wish to help him then continue loving him, and he will fight all the harder to finish his time."
Utre walks away, and Dean is left in the stockroom alone with his thoughts. He can't say he likes it.
-----
Despite his questions Dean falls into bed with Jimmy every time it's possible, explores every position imaginable, and then eventually he makes the decision that whoever Jimmy really is he's willing to let it go. Willing to simply accept him at face value. Which is what leads them to this moment. What has Dean on his back with Jimmy running trembling fingers up and down his thighs and a look of question on his face so broad and unsure that Dean wants to hit him.
"I said you should man. Jesus just-could you get started or something. I'm feeling ridiculous."
Jimmy's fingers move, and then Dean hears the snick of the lube bottle, a squirt, and tries to remember to relax. He's been on the giving end before, but receiving has never been his thing. This is so far out of his comfort zone it isn't even funny, but he can't tell Jimmy he loves him until he knows who the guy really is. Until he can call him by his real name. So this is the next best thing, and when one finger starts to move inside him Dean realizes it would have been easier to just say it. Jimmy has stupidly large hands.
He feels the hesitation when he hisses and through clenched teeth he manages a simple, "If you don't move that thing I'm gonna kick you in the goddamn face."
Those big blue-green eyes are sympathetic and teasing, and if Jimmy could open his mouth Dean imagines he'd be saying how romantic or something similarly tender and teasing. Although he could be totally off on that. He has no idea what Jimmy would say if he could talk, or what the guy would sound like. He hears a low noise though, and then a second finger is moving in and Dean's gasping at the burn and looking away. Can't take the intensity of watching the man's face as he stretches him open for the first time.
As if Jimmy knows what it's doing to him he taps Dean's stomach and makes him look back. Locks gazes and then Dean's drowning in the ocean of Jimmy's eyes while a third finger is added. He barely even feels the pain anymore, and his flagging erection has found that it can come back to life much faster than Dean ever thought was possible. When Jimmy swallows him down to the root all Dean can manage is a terse, "Goddamn," and then he's thrusting up into the heat of Jimmy's mouth and down on his graceful digits. He feels those fingers ghost over his prostate, and then he's arching again as he rips at the sheets underneath him.
It takes a while for Jimmy to decide he's ready, and by the time Dean's legs are being spread he's cursing and growling at the taller man even as he moves. This is the one place he never calls Jimmy by the name he gave him. Never even suggests it outside of his own head because it's the wrong name. He'll have the right one eventually, will call it instead, but until then he sticks to endearments he'd usually never consider and noises.
He feels the burn come back, Jimmy's three fingers may not have been enough, and when the other man is fully seated Dean is panting and sweating as he tries to remember why he didn't just say the three stupid fucking words. There's a period of adjustment, Jimmy takes Dean's chin and locks their eyes again, and then he's moving inside Dean so slowly that Dean's reminded of Chinese water torture. He thrusts up, gasps at the pain and pleasure of it, and then Jimmy finds his rhythm and really starts to go. Grunting out moans and sounds that he can manage without breaking Utre's fucking rules.
Dean grips broad, skinny shoulders and feels the bones of them as his fingers dig in hard enough to bruise. "That's it. That's it man. Fuck."
Jimmy approves of the movement, keeps his hands planted to either side of Dean as he pushes in hard enough to break him. Dean leans up and licks sweat off Jimmy's jaw, hears the moan and grins. He sucks a bruise into Jimmy's collarbone, over a rib, any spot of skin he can reach as he's split open over and over again. It's worth it, so worth it, and then he grips himself and tugs half a dozen times until he comes. Jimmy doesn't last much longer than that, and then there's a pool of cum in between them, sweat and musk and sex and Dean isn't sure if he wants to stay there or slide out from under the taller man. Jimmy makes the decision for him, rolls over onto his back panting loudly and biting his hand.
Dean looks at him for a moment, unsure if he's supposed to ask or not, and then it hits him. Jimmy wants to talk, and he's trying to stop himself, and the thought of it makes Dean feel so damn elated he may as well have had a second orgasm. He shoves Jimmy's shoulder hard. "Shut up."
Jimmy shakes, covers his face, and Dean hears the smothered laughter underneath his arm. Dean lets go, laughs with him, and the world is perfectly complete.
-----
Year two is almost over when Dean finds himself sitting in the bar across from one of the Hindu goddesses, staring at the scarf she's knitted him as a late birthday present and wondering when Jimmy's birthday is. If the guy minds that they never celebrate it. His eyes go back to her, and she puts the scarf around his neck and smiles broadly. "Tell June I made this for you dearest. She'll be so jealous."
Dean can't help but tease her, and he sees the way Utre's eyes sparkle at him over the counter. "I thought the whole point of you guys was to avoid the need for material possessions and jealousy?"
She waves a hand and looks towards the table June is sitting at next to the gorgeous blonde Dean's been ducking since his fourteenth birthday, one eye always on her insanely jealous husband. "That's for the punters Dean, not the competition. Plus, it is a good scarf isn't it?"
He feels the soft material slip through his fingers and nods. It's unlikely he'll wear it, but he can imagine using it later to tie Jimmy's hands to the headboard. As if she can read his mind she pushes lightly at his shoulder. "You were sweeter when you were young." Her husband calls from across the bar and she's up and gone before Dean can reply or joke. He steps behind the bar with Utre and polishes glasses.
"So, only a year left."
Her head nods as she pours a glass full of honey-thick liquid and lays it out on the bar. She's always especially careful with this drink. "A year, one month, three days, and seven hours. To be precise."
Dean hates that, but he loves it too. She's counting down the same way he is. He wonders if Jimmy and Sammy would get along. Something about that line of thought tugs at him oddly, but suddenly the Old Man is there with his lupine grin and his antics. "Dean-o! Hey! I missed your birthday boy. Damn shame, I know how you love to party. Why don't I take you out tonight to make it up to you?"
Utre's gone then, delivering the drink and chatting easily with the table as if there was no question that they should all be friends. He lets his eyes travel back to their original point. "Sure. Yeah Old Man. Whatever."
The god shakes his head, expression long and mournful. "You were so cute when you were a boy. Then you had to ruin it all by insisting on growing up. Damn humans."
Dean chuckles once and pours him his favorite booze out of the clay bottle with the paw prints. Lays it down on the countertop and nods once to Wednesday and his son as they wander out the front door singing loudly. "You know, maybe if the group of you tried growing up you wouldn't spend all your days in a bar drinking and having petty arguments."
He glared once, and then a familiar woman with long black hair and eyes a matching shade walked by and the Old Man leaned back and whistled low so she turned. "Raven, I saw your performance in that Hitchcock movie last night. Inspiring sweetheart. When you gonna do a sequel?" Her long fingers fluttered for a second, and then she slammed his head into the bar and walked away. He blinked and rubbed at his forehead for a while before turning back to Dean. "Women huh? Hey how's Jimmy?"
Dean poured himself a glass of water and watched as Utre broke up some conflict between two of the gods, her hands harsh even as the gentle tone of her voice carried over the space. "He's fine. Get to the point before you bust a gut."
There's silence for a moment, and Dean turns to see a serious look on Coyote's long face. He almost drops his glass. "I got a present for you boy. I'd prefer you not show it to anybody though or else I'll lose some of my rep."
Dean can only nod, so shocked by the lack of innuendos and smirking that he can't really process the rest. He finds a small box in his hand, and inside it a tiny pouch on a leather cord.
"You ever really need me you just grab that and think of my real name as hard as you can. You remember my real name right? I told you once when you were young and you beat me in cards."
Dean remembers how hard it was to beat him, how much cheating he had to do just to level the playing field a bit, and then the pouch grows cold in his fingers for a second and when he looks up Coyote's eyes are full of stars. "Yeah. I remember Old Man. Thanks."
Coyote nods once, pulls back from the bar and takes the last of his drink in one long gulp. "Time to start some trouble."
Dean watches him go, shaking his head even as he loops the cord around his neck and tucks the pouch under his shirt. He's busy wiping down part of the bar when he hears the crash upstairs. He goes to move but Utre's past him in a second, and that's when Dean notices that the whole bar has gone silent. That there's an uneasy tension in the room that didn't exist a moment before. He's just about to go up when an imperially slim god with long thin fingers grips his elbow. Where he came from Dean doesn't know, but he shakes his head even as Dean pulls free and heads up the stairs.
He finds Jimmy standing in the middle of the kitchen area, eyes wild and uncertain, knife clutched in his hand and coated in blood. Utre is in front of him with her hand pressed firmly against one side of her face and her mouth moving even as Dean is heading into the scene. "-alright. You are awake now. It is over."
Jimmy drops the knife, hits the floor, and then he's gripping his head and groaning piteously. Dean grasps him tightly and speaks in the lowest voice he possibly can. "I got you Jimmy. I got you now." He rubs at Jimmy's back, counterclockwise, and lowers the taller man's head to his chest. There's a jerk, Jimmy's body going whipcord tight for a second, and then with a whimper he collapses fully into Dean's grip and lets himself be held.
Dean looks over his head to Utre, but she's leaning against the countertop and holding her face together as she stares into nothing. Her eyes are blazingly bright, hard to look at, and then she steps away and towards the door. "Keep him up here. Get him back to sleep and do not leave him. I will take care of the rest." She sounds imperious, cold, and Dean's more confused than he's been in years. He keeps his hold on Jimmy though, manipulates him up and into the bathroom to wash the blood off his hands. It's only when he's carrying Jimmy to the bedroom that he sees that the black door is cracked open.
He pauses, frozen in place and remembering Blackbeard, and then he leans forward half in a trance to glance through the doorway. He sees something that he can't explain, can't even put into a real set of visual images. There's a man chained to a pole in the room, half-hidden in darkness, eyes bluer than any Dean has ever seen before. In front of his eyes the man shifts, becomes a mangy wolf half-starved and madly pulling at his chain, and then the man is back. He's beautiful, intoxicating to look at, and he holds his hands out to Dean in a gesture that can only be seen as imploring. Begging. His eyes shift to Jimmy and he makes a noise that Dean takes to be hunger, and then the door slams shut and Dean's left in the hallway, holding Jimmy up and shaking while his heart beats at a hundred miles an hour in his chest.
He pushes Jimmy into the bed and then sits beside him and strokes his hair. Stays until Jimmy is slack with sleep and long after, listening to the cadence of his breathing and checking his pulse every now and then to make sure it doesn't go erratic again. Time slides by slowly, and Dean's left with only his fear for Jimmy and his memory of the contents of the room. The room he has never been allowed to go in, with the door that never opens. To be honest he half-thought it couldn't open. That it was only a concept or a symbol like the faces he sees in the bar. He knows that none of the gods really look like that, it's all perception, but he still fools himself sometimes into forgetting. Now he has a lot more to forget.
Utre comes in before Jimmy wakes, her eyes tired and her face half-closed. She pauses at the doorway and then comes fully in and leans against the wall across from him. "How is he?"
"Still sleeping. What the fuck happened?" He can't believe it's his voice. Rough and full of anger and disuse.
She touches her face once hesitantly and then looks to Jimmy. "He carries a visitor within him. One I cannot expel. It took over for a short time. I am afraid I was unprepared."
Dean grips Jimmy's shoulder, holds it so he can feel how solid and sure it is under his fingertips. Feel the blood and flesh and know that this isn't some trick of his mind but a real person that he really loves.
"The door opened." It escapes him before he can think about it, before the consequences of such a thing can stop him from opening his stupid mouth.
Utre's already pale face loses even more color, and then Dean realizes that she had her face sliced open and he's shown her almost no concern at all. He glances once at the alarm clock and knows that it's over an hour after sunset and she's forced herself to stay up until the part-timer arrives so that Dean can…
"Did anything-did you look in sweetling?"
He's frozen, unsure what is worse, because she always said not to open it but she never said not to look in. "Yeah. Little bit." Dean'll wait to ask her about the man/wolf, wait to ask about the rest because she's dead on her feet and he's been pretty fucking careless with her tonight. He pushes up from the bed gently and grabs her around the waist, lifts her up, and almost shakes at how frail she feels in his arms. It occurs to him that if the knife went inches lower it would have sliced her jugular open. Can she be killed with a kitchen knife? Dean doesn't know, has never asked. He always assumed she was invulnerable.
"Sweetling wait. Wait. I cannot go to bed yet. I will have a visitor soon."
He's back to gruff, angry and thick. "The hell you will. You're going to sleep Utre."
He carries her out into the hallway and sees Vecher standing in the open area at the entrance to the apartment, dark eyes glittering coldly and hands clenched at her sides. Dean freezes in place, Utre nestled in his arms and eyes locked on Vecher's face. Watches her cross the floor and finger the closed wound, stare at the door, and then put her hand down and step back. For the first time in all the years he's known her Vecher speaks gently.
"You vill stop this now. Daz insists. You lost control of the door, you lost your focus, and you almost lost your life. Tell him the truth and end this game."
Dean's arms tighten instinctually, but Utre doesn't complain. Doesn't argue or try to struggle. She covers her eyes and Dean realizes the goddess is weeping. Weeping silently and weakly.
"What truth?" Dean looks from Utre's shaking shoulders to Vecher's pity and feels the world slip from underneath him. Knows instinctually that whatever is about to be said cannot be taken back. He's tempted to shut Vecher up, put Utre to bed, and continue on like nothing happened. Deflect and deny. It's the Winchester way.
Vecher keeps him from that. Puts her hand on his shoulder and looks him in the eye. "The supplicant is not named Jimmy. You know this. He is named Samuel. Samuel Vinchester. You must-"
But Dean's stopped listening. He drops Utre, not on purpose but because all the strength has suddenly left him, and Vecher catches her at the last second. He sees the way her head rolls, how she's barely got her eyes open at all.
"What the fuck are you talking about? That's impossible. It's not-" And then the strong hand he's come to know so well is grabbing his arm, and there's Jimmy. Jimmy with his big blue-green eyes and his pouty lips and how the fuck did he not see it before? That mulish look Sammy always got when he didn't want to go to bed, the soft eyes that worshipped and adored, all the looks he remembers in his brother's little face writ large across Jimmy's adult one.
Sammy. This is Sammy. He's been fucking Sammy. The world spins dizzily and he pulls back. "Say something. Fucking say something Sam. Game's over now man."
Sam shakes his head, tears in his eyes, and then grabs at Dean again but Dean is too fast. Utre calls to him once, but Dean's already moving. Already gone. He steps out of the bar and into the cold night air, starts up the car, and then hears a throat clear beside him. He turns to see the Coyote.
"Not tonight." He needs to go. Needs to outrun the realizations that hang heavy in the air back there. Needs to move until he can't think anymore.
Coyote's serious look is back. "I can't think of a better time kid. You ride alone you're likely to crash into a tree right now. I'll keep quiet."
Dean hits the radio to assist him in his pledge, makes it twenty miles, and then viciously twists the knob to off.
"Did you fucking know?"
He wants Coyote to say yes so he can hit him. He wants him to say no because somebody he trusted had to not be lying to him. Utre never lied directly though. Only ever by omission.
"That's pretty open-ended Dean-o. What specifically has you running away in the middle of the night?"
Dean glances his way but sees no humor there. No sparkle of mischief. "That Jimmy was Sam. My brother. That I got involved with my brother."
Coyote looks out the window up at the cold night sky and then gestures once, and the car splutters and dies. He gets out without a word and Dean follows him. Follows and throws the first punch.
It's designed to hurt, to maim, and he feels his knuckles split on Coyote's face but the slim god stands unruffled by the action. Stands perfectly still as Dean beats his rage out for fifteen minutes on Coyote's face like the world's most implacable punching bag. When he's out of breath, sore, and bleeding copiously from both hands he stops and dry-scrubs his face.
"Yeah. I knew. I helped him figure out what he wanted. Helped him stop thinking of himself as little brother, and start thinking as Jimmy. Now ask me why Dean."
Dean's known Coyote since he was eleven, and this is the first time he's ever called him by his real name without some friendly add-on. It does something to the hot blood rushing through his veins. Cools him down a bit in a way nothing else could. He remembers Jimmy- no Sammy waking up with the bite mark. Remembers the shift in attitude and how all the gods suddenly got along with him.
"Ok. Good question. Why did you and Utre pretend you cared about me, and then trick me into violating my little brother?" His baby brother.
Dean's surprised when a harsh laugh works its way out of Coyote, and then the god scratches the back of his neck for a long second before he seems to find his voice. "You damn Winchesters. You know the world is in color and yet everything has to be in black and white. How much mythology have you lived first-hand Dean-o, and yet still you think it was malicious? We don't see love in terms of taboos, so put that 'Coyote and Utre made me do a bad thing' shit to bed boy. I'm not gonna listen to that, and I don't have to defend against it. But let me ask you a better question. What did you want Utre to do? Tell you that it was your brother who came to be a supplicant? Ok, and then knowing what you know about his destiny you'd turn him away and Azazel woulda gotten his hands on him. So that one's a bad plan, but what if you followed him to keep him safe? Well then you boys would have been out of the protection zone. So that one sucks too. What's left? You want to armchair coach this thing Dean? You got the 20/20 hindsight necessary to point out all the mistakes?"
And wow. Now he's ashamed of himself, and pissed off about it. Coyote doesn't let up.
"So what'd you do? You turned on her the second shit got rough. You know how many bullets she's taken for you? How hard it's been to stand up to her father, to us, to everything in defense of you and your little brother? That first day you came into the bar and we knew who you were I was at the head of the line to slit your fucking throat boy. It was a longer line when your brother showed up. And what about Sam? Poor little Sam is left standing in that building, rejected by his brother and his lover. He's-"
"You fucked his memory Coyote!" Dean's back on solid ground now. Back to outrage and defiance which is much more comfortable than guilt. "He didn't know what he was-"
"He knew! Knew he wanted you, knew you were special, knew everything. Was that disgust in his eyes when you walked out or in yours? Put your complex aside Dean and really look. Look at what you've done tonight. You wanna walk away boy? Walk away. But don't do it feeling righteous 'cause you aren't. You're just a fucking coward."
Dean threw another punch and this time Coyote side-stepped it and socked him in the gut, drove the breath of him and caught him before he fell to his knees. "You're in a position that is older than you can imagine. You wanna throw love away? Risk everything to be a dick? Then do it, but don't come crying to us when it's over with. The kid-gloves are off now Dean. Time to be a man."
With that he's gone, and Dean's left alone in the dark staring up at the sky and shouting after him.
-----
Dean returns after sunrise, and finds a stranger at the bar. The crowd is sullen, quiet, and small. He sees the strained smile of June, watches as Wednesday turns away from him and talks to his over-sized son. No one is laughing, no one carouses or argues, they simply drink. Dean orders a whiskey, takes it all in one shot, and then heads upstairs to the apartment. He finds Utre with her head in her hands. Sam is nowhere in sight. She doesn't look up when he clears his throat.
"I-I'm fucking angry Utre. Really angry."
She nods without speaking, fingers moving in her hair as she hides her face.
"You lied to me. You tricked me. I never expected that from you."
She nods again and Dean's rage sweeps over the sympathy and sadness.
"Look at me."
When Utre lifts her head Dean's anger is forgotten, replaced by fear and concern. The wound has reopened, is leaking a small but steady stream of blood, and her hands were the only thing holding it in. Her eyes are dull, burnished copper in her face despite the sun having risen. She looks tiny, young, and so lost it's painful. He crosses the room and sits in the chair beside her, touches her shoulder, and finds her flesh cold.
"What's happening to you?"
"I was mistaken. You cannot be saved. Sam cannot be saved." Her fingers tremble and then she's covering her face again. "I am so sorry sweetling. I wanted to do the right thing and I hurt you. I am a terrible mother."
Utre's words hit him like Coyote's sucker-punch did, sucks all the air out of his lungs, and then he's grabbing her and pulling her into the circle of his arms. "Bullshit. You're an excellent mother. You're my excellent mother. Cut that shit out right now. It's fine Utre. It's gonna be alright."
She's crying into his shoulder, tears and blood wetting his shirt even as her words come thick and strangled from her mouth. "Sam is in the basement. His service is over, and now he must decide if he will stay anyway. If he leaves-Dean if he leaves-"
"What happens if he leaves? What would have happened if we turned him away Utre? I have to know."
She nods once, face pressed firmly against his still, and then Dean feels the wet trail of her face moving up his neck. She doesn't speak, just shows him all the things that should have been.
He sees Sammy growing up with him and dad, turning sullen and angry and unapproachable. He sees his brother turn his back on them, on the very concept of them, and then how it ends in fire and grief. He sees the distance between them grow to unimaginable depths, how hard it is for them to even be in the same room, and then the promise of a return to love and closeness. All of it is destroyed in the moment he sees Sam in the mud, dying in Dean's arms, and he'd scream and pull back from the vision but he can't. Instead he's forced to follow Sam's descent, his death, the end of times. All brought on by the simple understanding that they love each other, and that their love can be used against them. When it's over Dean's shaking harder than Utre.
"This could still-Sammy could-" He can't get it out but Utre understands anyway.
"Yes. It could still happen. Here, at the crossroads for all gods, Sam is protected. The gods have grown to like him. They will keep him as safe as possible. Away he is at Azazel's mercy."
"What about you and Vecher?" He's afraid to ask, afraid she'll say that they've given up. It's not that several pantheons worth of gods backing them isn't enough, but without Utre it'll be harder. Dean's fairly certain that's true, and not just him longing to still have her love him.
"Vecher has been pleading my case to Daz since the beginning. She is only bad at showing her softer emotions. I will-I am not-" She shakes her head once as if words can't form in her mouth anymore. There's blood on her lips and Dean wipes it away softly. "I will never leave you sweetling."
He kisses her forehead, leaves her there and heads for the basement. Heads for Sam.
----
Sam's in the basement hauling sacks of oats and yeast. He glances Dean's way once and then slams the sack he's holding down before going back to get another.
"Sammy I-"
Sam shakes his head once, and then manages to croak out a single phrase. It's not the one Dean was expecting, but it's good to hear despite the roughness of the tone. "Fuck you."
"Well we did that." It's horrible, a joke that's dead before it's delivered, and the shock on Sam's face suggests it's the worst thing Dean could have said. He rubs at the back of his neck and then tries again. "Sammy I made a mistake. I just-Jesus kid it scared me. Ok? It scared me a lot."
Sam slams the sack down and crosses the big room, footsteps echoing off the walls like gunshots. Dean's expecting a hug or a kiss, something to cement what they were building under Sam's false name. What he gets is a punch to the jaw that has the world reeling under him and the wall at his back. Then Sam's in his face with an arm pressed across his throat.
"Scared you? You left Dean. Left me. I followed. Fuck scared." It's all delivered in staccato format, tight and terse and thick as if Sam's having to push each word through a barrier. Dean imagines after being silent for almost two years that's not a completely imaginative statement.
He thinks of Sam dead in the mud, thinks of the image of staring at Sammy's body lying in some bed in an abandoned house somewhere. Yeah, he's not apologizing for leaving.
"Sam I-" but Sammy's not finished because he tightens the chokehold to shut Dean up before he leans in and kisses him. The kid got taller than him at some point, and he has to lean down, and it's familiar and new all at once. He lets Sam taste him though, lets Sam lick into his mouth and run his tongue over Dean's teeth. Lets the kiss go on and on until his knees are weak and his cock is throbbing in his jeans. Then Sam lets go and Dean's glad for the wall or he'd fall down.
"What now?"
For a full minute Dean's not sure what Sam means, and then he follows his little brother's sightline to see the two olive-skinned sisters at the top of the stairs giggling. Dean's seen them in the bar before, but they're not around as much as most of the others. Usually they seem fairly dreary, but their dark eyes are lit from behind as they stare.
The slightly taller one gets ahold of herself as Dean finds where his missing bones have gone to. "Nep and I wanted to check on you two. It's good to see you've fixed your problem."
Dean waves them off, one hand covering his eyes while the other gestures in the air. "You wanted to have the gossip. Get out of here."
He hears the door close, and then Sam's in his face again, one eyebrow raised and that expressive set of features asking the same question as before, but for Dean again.
"I don't know Sammy. We just-shit. This whole thing got out of control so fast. We stay because this is where you're safest." It's an easy answer to a complicated question. What will they do now? If the kiss is any indication Dean's not going to be able to turn Sam down for the more intimate aspects of their relationship, and Sam's not gonna stop asking for them. It scares Dean a little, turns him on more, and leaves him wondering how things got so fucked up. It's better than Sam dying though. The very prospect of it turns Dean's blood cold.
Sam tilts his head, and Dean's prepared for almost anything. Just not what actually comes out of the man's mouth. "I want to cook more."
He remembers when Utre first suggested adding meals with stunning clarity. His hesitance. He can't help the laugh that spills out of him. "Cook all you want. Good training for when someone makes an honest woman out of you."
Sam punches his shoulder once and Dean feels lighter, easier, and happier than he has since before the whole clusterfuck started.
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