In Medias Res (2/6)
May. 15th, 2013 04:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dime_lioraEaton, Colorado May 4th, 2008
"But I love him." Sam keeps her gaze even if it makes him uncomfortable. There's something behind her eyes that makes them hard to look at for longer than a few seconds, but Sam's going to try his damnedest to prolong that stare because he wants her to understand. If she does then maybe she'll give in. "I love him."
"Of course you love him. He's your brother. That doesn't mean it will work though Sam. It's a very specific ritual, and the rules go beyond brotherly love."
"We've-uh-I can do that." He's almost afraid to see her expression. There's no telling how she'll react to such a confession, and it could be a deal-breaker. What little cooperation he's gotten so far could completely disappear. Which is why he's surprised when he looks up and finds her eyes sympathetic.
"It couldn't just be you."
Sam thinks of Union Springs, and his hands move restlessly between his knees. "I don't think it would be."
"I've found the biggest problem with college freshman is they never understand the difference in the words think, believe, and feel. Which is it Sam?"
He considers that for a long time as he takes a bite of a cookie. They're good, and she looks honestly pleased when he has a second and then a third. Home-baked goods are a rare commodity in their line of work.
"I believe it." He meets those dark eyes again and sees an apology in her gaze that he can't understand. "I believe that he feels that way too."
"How much research did you do on me?" She takes a cookie herself and considers it before biting off half and leaving the rest on the table. She doesn't look like she enjoys it, but she chews dutifully while she watches him.
"I know you graduated from high school several years early. Youngest person in your field to achieve your master's and your doctorate. Before your unfortunate breakdown they were speculating that you'd revolutionize the whole field if you kept it up. You were courted by Harvard and Notre Dame, but you chose the University of Colorado in Boulder. You're an only child and both of your parents died when you were young. You had a near fatal traffic accident twelve years ago when you were still working on your masters. Every two years you teach a course on the 'Descent' myth."
"By myth do you mean a religious story believed by a group of people or a fairy tale?"
Sam bites his lip for a second, because this is the crux of their conversation. This is the turning point. "The first."
She nods once and then leans back in her chair. "And Clewsky told you that I teach that class because I did it."
Her hands are spread on the table in front of her, and Sam studies the sigils again. "Yes. He told me that."
"So you came here because your brother, the one you love more than a brother, is going to Hell. You think I'll just be able to teach you how to walk in and take him out."
Sam swallows, but her tone isn't condescending or judgmental. She honestly sounds curious. "You're my last hope. If Dean dies I-please you have to understand. He's all I have. I can't lose him."
"What you're asking Sam-it's not as easy as all that. How many of the descent myths do you know?"
Sam's always been good at storing lore. It's not uncommon for him to be able to spout off a story or two that seems insignificant or arcane to the layperson. This woman is anything but a layperson, and he knows that, but he's become almost as much of an expert as she has at this one. "I know it's part of Campbell's Hero Theory. I know the Mwimbo, Inanna, Ishtar, Orpheus, Dante, Odysseus, Osiris-"
She raises a hand and Sam abruptly stops. There's no smile now, not even a twitch of lips, but she seems to have relaxed a little more. "Alright. Not a bad list. You probably would have passed my class. Now tell me, what are the two reasons a hero makes the katabasis?"
That throws him for a second, and Sam flounders for an answer. Love. Love was the reason he always read, but if there's a second then… She's watching him carefully and Sam swallows again before he makes a guess. "Power."
Her eyes go a shade darker as she watches him. "Which reason is better Sam? Power or love, and be specific as to why."
"Love. Love is better, because their intention is pure. It gives them more focus, and they come out better in the end."
"Orpheus failed Sam. He looked back. Mwimbo and Heracles came out unscathed because they had nothing to lose. Is love really your answer?"
This is a trick question. If Sam gets it wrong she'll shut down, and the chances of getting it out of her are slim to none. He's seen the crime scene photos of what the kid did to her during his interrogation. Sam doesn't want to hurt her, but he's willing to if it's his only chance to save Dean.
"Yeah. I'm going to stick with love on this one." He watches her fingers push a strand of hair out of her face, and that's when he gets just the right angle to see what the sigils mean.
"Sam? Are you alright?"
------
Union Springs, Alabama July 10th, 1999
"Sammy? You alright?" Dean's eyes are still narrowed, slightly glazed, but beautiful nonetheless. Sam has to take a deep breath and try to look away. Dean sees too much, and if he studies Sam for long he may get past that dopey little brother exterior and dig out something Sam doesn't want to be exposed.
"Yeah man. Just wondering why you got plastered in the morning?"
Dean keeps studying him for a second before he begins a rather amusing and futile attempt to remove his shoes with a series of deathly glares. "Nah, Sammy. Got drunk at night. Just stayed that way. Shouldn't you be in school?"
It takes every bit of his willpower not to look over at the laptop. "Yes Dean. I was a bit preoccupied."
His brother's face gets a distasteful look, and he gives up and tries to struggle his shoes off with his hands. "It's that kinda vocab that'll get you everywhere man. Smart kid. Always said so." Dean manages to remove one boot and starts to fight with the other one. "Proud of yah."
That's the last straw, and Sam stands up and grabs for the laptop before a big callused hand lands on his wrist. He turns to see those green eyes focused on him, and knows that Dean was never distracted. Never bought his stupid excuses, because he's Dean and nobody knows Sam better.
"What is it Sammy? What's buggin' yah?" He begins to wonder if Dean is even as drunk as he's acting.
"What's bothering me Dean? You and Dad stay out all night, and then he lets you drive home drunk without a care in the world. Bad enough I have to wonder when something is going to gut you, but do I have to sit around wondering when you'll wrap your dumb ass around a tree?"
There's a moment when aggravation wars affection on Dean's face, but the second feeling wins out in the end. "You really worry 'bout me that much Sammy? That's sweet."
Which is when Sam punches Dean. Drunk. He's definitely drunk, because he doesn't dodge and the full force of the hit catches his jaw as Dean goes sprawling backwards onto the bed. Sam climbs over him and starts to punch harder, years of concern and worry and grief pouring out of his fists, and Dean just lies there and takes it as if the whole thing is a foregone conclusion. It takes Sam several minutes to realize that he's talking, and the words coming out of his mouth are both revealing and senseless.
"Fucker…crazy fucker….make me love you…worry…won't stop until you're fucking dead…then what Dean? Then what asshole?" He's not hitting anymore. He's crying too hard and Dean's underneath him spitting blood and lying still. Sam expects any second Dean will be sober enough to knock him off and give him the beating he deserves. Sam's not as trained as his brother, doesn't have the muscle mass, and the growth spurts he's been experiencing still haven't gotten him quite to Dean's level although he's close.
So it's even more shocking when arms come up and around him, and then Sam's face is pressed against Dean's neck. He can feel the soft cotton of Dean's t-shirt, smell alcohol and the lingering trace of someone's perfume over the gunpowder and aftershave scent of Dean. There's sweat and the citrusy scent of soap, and Sam briefly wonders if Dean tried to wash some of those smells off of himself before he came back to their latest temporary home. All of it is secondary though to the fact that he's crying like a fucking baby in Dean's arms, and his older brother is letting go of the fact that Sam's seriously dented his face.
"Shhh Sammy. It's ok. I got yah. I got yah kiddo."
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Eaton, Colorado October 1st, 2008
"Shhh Samuel. It's alright now. You're safe here." Dean's come back from getting a snack from the fridge to find her kneeling in front of his brother. Sam must have broken out of his vegetable state for a few seconds, and Dean's annoyed he didn't hear it from the kitchen. He crouches beside her, but Sam flinches away from his touch even as he leans into hers. Dean hates her a little bit right then. More than he already did for putting this stupid fucking idea in his baby brother's head. For giving Sam the ability to destroy himself. He studies the tear tracks on Sam's face. Remembers the first time the kid broke that staring nothingness to begin keening and rocking. He'd tried to hold Sam then, and the response had been Sam almost breaking his nose in an attempt to get away from Dean. It was the last time he did anything more than getting near and making soothing noises.
"Why the fuck does he let you touch him?" Dean's surprised honestly when it comes out of his mouth. He'd meant to ask her something unconnected. Something that bared less of their unconventional relationship, but his mouth has been moving on its own for days now. With Sam as his captive and unresponsive audience Dean has been talking about everything and anything in a desperate attempt to give Sam a reason to come back.
"I don't feel substantial to him. Or at least that's my theory because I'm not really sure. Like I told you I'm not qualified to fix him." Her fingers keep stroking Sam's face for a moment, and then there's this dreamy far-off look. "It's amazing really. He's the first thing I've touched since I got back that feels natural."
Dean swallows his anger and considers that for a moment. "So Sam told you he loved me and you spilled the beans? Not a state secret then."
She steps back from Sam and takes the armchair again, her hands clasped together under her chin. "No. Sam told me he loved you, and I told him that love wasn't the only reason people cross that line. Was he sure it was what he wanted? He assured me it was, and then he became very upset."
"Why was he upset?"
"He read my hands." She glanced down in their direction and her lips tightened. "That was enough to dull the edge of his interest in my technique. At least for a few minutes."
Dean can picture it without being told. Knows already the half-second look of Sam realizing that his plan is a bad one, and then going for it anyway. That's Sam through and through. He imagines his brother had felt that the night they spent in Pennsylvania, known he was making a mistake and made it anyway, but that can't be changed now. All Dean has to hang on to is the possibility that Sam can be fixed. That he can be brought back so Dean can kick his ass and Sam can know he earned it. Apologize for his half-assed self-sacrifice. It's Dean that's supposed to be sacrificing.
"What do they say?"
She looks over to Sam's hands now, and her lips curl slightly downwards. "It doesn't matter for your purposes. Just know that they paint a very vivid portrait of what your brother is currently experiencing. They were the key to open the doorway into the Underworld."
"Humor me sweetheart." It sounds flat and dead, but she looks up and the surprise is evident on her face.
"They're Egyptian. They state that the bearer belongs to something, and as such takes on all of that thing's responsibility and debt. Your brother's have a different name than mine, but they have the same message."
Dean gets it instantly, even if he doesn't want to. It is exactly what he was afraid of. He goes to speak but her head is shaking already and her eyes are closed. He watches as she tightens and loosens her marked hands before she finds the words she wants.
"Time is a free-flowing thing that we try to imprison. We trap it in watches and clocks, give it a face and a meaning as if that could hold it in. You know the concept of eternity Dean, but the meaning? It's ephemeral. Cannot be grasped by human conception. It's just a word with no concrete form and no ultimate definition. Except it is a thing, and it works in a way that can't be ignored. If you could though-" her breath hitches in sharply, "if you could ignore it once you grasped it that would be everything. Except once you know what eternity is you can't escape it. Everything happens in circles, but it's all layered on itself so that what you're experiencing now is happening at the same time as what you went through a year ago and what you'll go through in ten. It's always happening. Always." Her voice breaks and she looks away. "The difference between science and religion in theory circles is that science can be put into practice."
------
Palo Alto, California September 8th, 2002
"So the difference between a scientist and a humanist, other than one being a machine, is that their theory is put into practice and ours is…theoretical."
Sam simply nodded, because at this point he'd realized there was no stopping Clewsky. Plus he was getting a lot of free beer out of it. Definitely way too much.
"That's where my girl comes in. She's on the fast track right? Making this crazy leap to connect Quantum Mechanics with Philosophy, and everybody is buzzing about what she's going to do with it. She's got funding coming at her from all sides, and she's really going to do it. Except then she gets into this car wreck, near death y'know, and her focus changes. Now you don't tell a kid like that no when they want to change focus. Got a damn IQ of 189 or 190, and she's barely old enough to be emancipated, but there she is going for her doctorate and she's gonna remember who snubbed her when she wanted to change dissertation topics. So they hook her up with me to be her advisor because she's coming into our ring and she needs a guide." Sam wonders if a person with an IQ that high would have anything they needed Clewsky to teach them. He keeps his mouth shut and nods when Clewsky pauses. "So I take her in. Turns out she needs to know about Campbell and the damn hero theory. Nobody's doing mythology anymore. I warned her, but she insisted. Everything I could tell her. Everybody that would be able to give her more. She works with me and three of the best damn mythology scholars out there. Then it all gets weird."
This is where Sam's ears really kick in. He's spent a lifetime waiting for that phrase. Listening for it in witness interviews, reading it in reports, and waiting for the moment when the civilian thinks things are strange. If it's that obvious generally they've long since crossed the Rubicon.
"She starts asking about this crazy mix of stuff. Talking to demonologists and paranormal researchers. Next thing we know she's paying off these crazy ladies that claim they're witches. She's two years into her research at this point and nobody's sure where she's going with it, but it's exciting stuff. Way past what we consider interdisciplinary, and into some new universe. Then it comes in and she has to defend it. Which is when we get to read it. The title? This is why I thought of it Sam. 'I Misunderstood the Meaning of Goodbye'." He's grinning like a loon, but there's an odd chill climbing Sam's spine and suddenly he wants to be home with Jess. Wants to be lying in bed with her and considering the classes he's going to be hungover in tomorrow and the test he has at the end of the week. He's so much more responsible than this, and he can't remember why he stayed and listened to Clewsky's crazy bullshit. He's gotta tell him he needs to leave. That he needs to get some rest. Dean would have the perfect way to say it, but Sam can't channel Dean the way he used to. Instead his brother is this presence in the back of his head that occasionally reminds Sam the many different ways he abandoned the family.
"Nobody wants to ask her what it means because the damn thing is so far beyond what any of them are capable of, and they're all ashamed to admit it. Shortest dissertation defense I've ever seen. When it's over she walks out with a doctorate and a thousand options. She picks a pretty good school, but not any of the ones she should have gone with, and then she settles down there. But not like, there there, outside the city. Gets some crazy big piece of property with the university's sign-up incentive and starts living isolated while she's working. Then she demands this sabbatical, and shortly afterwards she comes back all wrong. Nobody can explain it, but I asked her once. Know what she said to me?"
"What?" Sam croaks it out while draining the last of his beer. He's going to leave any second. Just listen to the punchline and then take his leave. Clewsky isn't teaching him anymore, and he can't lower Sam's grade for being uninterested in academic gossip and fable.
"She said that she'd found a way to practice her theory. That she'd gotten empirical data. Damn crazy right? Except she was so different then. So damn different it was scary really. She'd been this bright-eyed little genius and suddenly she was like a pod person."
Sam finds his feet and stumbles his way up. "I gotta go Professor." He nods in Clewsky's direction and then stumbles away. All he has to do is find a cab. It's not a case, and if it was Sam wouldn't do anything about it. He's not a hunter anymore, and he hasn't spoken to Dean in over a year. He's not allowed to come back. Dean doesn't want him to come back. They never talked about it, but they both know he left because of Union Springs.
-------
Eaton, Colorado May 5th, 2008
"Then I made a mistake in Union Springs, Alabama, and that's why I left."
Her eyes are distant, dreamy, and she rocks gently in the porch swing beside him. He can see the way her scarred fingers drag through the air, and it hurts to look at them because if she gives him the secret that will be him. Owned and marked appropriately. That's Sam's destiny if he follows this plan. Except how is that any different from now?
"But he definitely knows how you feel? There's no question he knows you love him like that?"
Sam looks away, over the sprawling lawn and into the distance where mountain ridges are outlined in clear air. No wonder she doesn't want to live in the city. Boulder has nothing on this, and Sam wonders how beautiful the stars are. He fell into a sleep so deep last night that he can't recall the transition, and when he woke up the sun had already risen. Dean would love it out here.
"No question." Which isn't necessarily true, but Sam gets the feeling she's just filling time. Dean could think a million things about that hot afternoon in July, or he could think nothing at all. It's impossible to know the difference with Dean. It's taken Sam years to figure out that what he sees of his brother is only partially interpretation on Sam's part and mostly show on Dean's. It was a difficult lesson.
"I've never wondered a single moment as to whether or not I made the right choice. I only wonder if the price wasn't a bit more than I could bear. You understand that if you do this your life as you know it now is over?"
"If I don't it's just as done. I can't live without Dean. I won't."
Her lips purse thoughtfully as she stares out at the landscape. "Then we'd better start teaching you. There's not a lot of time left."
It begins with sigils. She warns him that to even understand the theory of it he'll have to know the language. He's getting calls from Dean daily, and he keeps answering them as best he can. That he'll be back soon. That he just needed a little time to research one or two more possibilities. Dean's anger is mitigated by something that sounds suspiciously like hope, and Sam is going to hate crushing that. Still, he knows there's no way to sell this idea to Dean that his brother will accept. Sam needs Dean to be willing and pliant, and that's going to require some deception.
It only takes him two days to memorize each of the marks he has to carve into his hands, and then the responding sigils he'll use to open the gate into Hell. Once that's done she starts with the theory, and that's where Sam has trouble. He tries to follow all of it, but it's become obvious the more time he spends with her that she's not entirely connected to the process of teaching him. He has to remind her what lesson they're on, how long he's been there, and most importantly sometimes he has to remind her who he is. One morning he enters the kitchen and she drops her coffee cup and starts screaming. It takes him fifteen minutes to get her to quiet down, and even then she spends the rest of the day shaky and unsure about what they're supposed to be doing. He remembers Clewsky telling him her IQ level was way beyond the borderline genius level, and it's hard to remember sometimes from the way she drifts off, or the wounded little girl look she gets sometimes when Sam gets frustrated. He tries to stay even and calm.
The worst part is the thought that if she's been this affected what will happen to Sam? Will he even have a mind when this is over? She can't tell him how she got back to herself, just that she was led there by the hunter she went to retrieve. When she talks about him her throat works vigorously and her hands shake. Seeing her like that kind of scares the shit out of Sam, and he fixes Dean's face firmly in his mind whenever the fear comes on. She leads him through the steps, but it's when she gets to the first one that he stops her. She's explained what will happen when he crosses over, and how he'll open the door, but this part is new.
"Dean will never go for that. I told you about Union Springs. There's no way."
She doesn't look over at him, focuses on the papers she's been drawing sigils on. "Drug him or convince him. Those are your two options."
"What did you do?"
"I got him drunk. Got naked. Let his penis do the rest." Her fingers cover her eyes for a second and then she looks through them at Sam. There's nothing coy about it, and he gets the feeling she's not trying to hide herself so much as figure out a way of looking at Sam that will make him make sense.
"I don't think there's a way to get Dean that drunk. He has a fairly high tolerance level."
"You'd be surprised what the right amount of alcohol can do. Although too much and the whole thing becomes kind of pointless. There's always roofies. I mean you're lying about some pretty intense stuff, so drugging might not be too much further over the line. I'm not the best judge of morality."
Sam's surprised when he laughs, and even more surprised when she joins in. They sit that way for a while, the sunlight wrapped around them and the purpose of their meeting almost forgotten. Then her face hardens and the laughter is all gone.
"You have to do this right. I'm counting on you to do this right."
"Will it matter for you if I don't?"
She studies him for a long time. "I'm teaching you the most insanely effective and damning method of suicide humanly imaginable. There's a lot of responsibility attached to that."
"And afterwards? What happens afterwards?"
There's a moment where he thinks she won't answer. Then her lips go slack and she looks off into some distance Sam can't even imagine. "Dean will have to do the heavy lifting afterwards. You'll need to leave him clues on how to get here. I don't know how you'll do that."
"I'll figure it out. I always do. So after the bonding part then I wait for the hellhounds to take him, cut my hands, open the gate and descend. Then what?"
"Then you stop bargaining for Dean's life and start demanding it."
Sam follows her upstairs to the bedroom she uses as a distance learning classroom and watches as she begins to draw diagrams on the dry-erase board. Dean has made fun of him for the college thing more than once, but being here isn't like those days at Stanford. Doesn't really remind him of his time as a student, or the short period of time in which he'd talked himself into believing he could live without Dean. That he could escape the life. As most things do it reminds him of Dean. Dean sitting across from him countless nights while Dad was out doing one thing or another and lecturing him on the most insane shit anyone could have hopes to learn in a classroom. He remembers the way Dean's face would get studious. How strange it was to see the green eyes he usually connected to affection or merriment looking so sober and adult. Dean had been a great teacher, and for a little while when Sam was a teenager he'd really thought that was what Dean should be. That if he could get Dean to come with him maybe he could talk his brother into using his G.E.D. for something, or maybe going back for a real diploma.
It wasn't like he pictured some weird sitcom, but the image of him and Dean in some crappy little apartment looking out at the ocean from a porch with two beers… It was a dream Sam had indulged in too much leading up to that horrible day in Union Springs. It was Sam's secret comfort when things were really bad, when he'd sit up at night waiting in terror and thinking about the possibilities of injury and death. He'd imagine coming home from classes to see Dean staring angrily at some textbook. Claiming he didn't understand when Sam knew damn well Dean got every fucking word of it he just hated being told what he thought was inconsequential by stodgy old establishment members. It'd been the argument every year of Dean's high school experience. Why he needed to learn algorithms and sentence construction when there were monsters out there.
Which, in hindsight, should have been Sam's first clue that his dream was faulty. Dean didn't want to be that person, because he didn't think that learning those things and giving himself a good job and a safe life was as important as saving people. There was a time Sam thought he'd never understand his brother, but the last two years of hunting without Dad always around to remind Sam of his faults had taught Sam a fairly important lesson. Dean, as he so often was, was right. There was nothing quite as satisfying as saving a life, or giving a family justice. When he'd handed that little girl off to her mom, dripping wet and terrified but alive, Sam had understood. Everything else came second.
-------
Union Springs, Alabama July 10th, 1999
Every thing else came second to the sensation of Dean holding him. To the feeling of lips in his hair and strong hands soothing circles into his back. Sam leaned into it, soaked it up, and waited for the other shoe to drop. Any minute now Dean was going to crack a joke about Sam being a girl, shut down and disengage, and Sam just didn't want it to happen this time. Didn't want to be parted from Dean, because this was as close as he could get these days. When they were little it was all about physical touch. They shared a bed all the time, Dean was always holding his hand to lead him places or ruffling his hair. The problem started when Sam realized he wanted Dean's touch to last a little longer. Wanted Dean to keep touching, and in more places, be more than just the affectionate sibling. The first time Sam achieved an erection thinking about his older brother was the end of his allowing Dean to touch him. He'd started to pull back, to jerk away and practically hiss at the contact, and Dean had taken the hint and stopped.
Now though, now Sam was getting full body contact and it amazed him how badly he wanted it. How much he had missed it. He soaked in Dean's warmth, and then realized Dean was still talking to him.
"Not gonna die on you Sammy. Always come back so stop crying." But Dean can't promise that and Sam knows it. Knows it and can't stand the idea of having to give this up. Having to say goodbye to the one thing he's always wanted. He could run away tomorrow really, if he wanted to, and probably figure out a way to finish high school and go to college without Dad and Dean. He's worked out the particulars of it more than once. Hire some homeless guy if he needs a father. He's more than adequate when it comes to forging and funding himself. None of that changes the sudden stark reality of never seeing Dean again. Which is when Sam's mouth gets away from him.
"Come with me. Dean come with me. I don't want to do this anymore. I don't want to watch you getting hurt like you're supposed to die for strangers. Come with me."
There's silence for a bit, and then Dean's grip tightens almost painfully. "What? What the hell you talkin' 'bout Sammy?"
He's started, and he can't seem to stop. "I'll finish high school. Go to college. Somewhere nice and we'll get an apartment. You don't need to do this anymore Dean. You can do other things. Anything. You're smart and I'm smart and we can do this. Just come away with me. Just come away."
Dean pushes him back a bit so he can look at his face. Sam winces when he sees the damage, but Dean doesn't seem interested in that at all. "Sam what the hell man? Are you seriously suggesting that we run off? What about Dad? What about all those civilian lives man? We have a job to do." He doesn't look as angry as Sam always suspected he would be, but he does look hurt. More emotionally than physically, and that pulls at Sam like he never thought it could.
"They're not worth you dying Dean. Not worth giving you up. I can't do it, and you can't expect me to. Please Dean. Please." He knows he's pushing it. That pulling out the puppy dog eyes Dean makes fun of him for is a step too far, but he tries it.
"Then what Sammy? What's the end game here, because man I don't understand it. You wanna abandon Dad and the life? Why do you need me for that?" He growls it bitterly, and Sam figures he's already done too much. May as well throw in all his chips and go for broke. So he leans in and kisses Dean.
It's not how imagined it. Dean tastes like liquor and blood, with an undercurrent of desperation Sam wasn't expecting. He also wasn't expecting the lips to soften, to part, and then he's sliding his tongue inside and really tasting Dean for the first time while he fists Dean's shirt and holds on. Dean's responding though. Kissing back and there's desperation on both their parts as they eat away at each other's mouths. He can feel Dean hardening underneath him, but when Sam shifts to thrust against Dean, to show he feels the same way, that's when the bubble pops. Suddenly Sam's on the floor and Dean's standing, wiping blood and spit from his mouth as he looks anywhere but at Sam.
"This is-oh fuck Sam I'm sorry. Mistake. This is a mistake." Dean takes a shaky step backwards and looks around the room. He huffs out one mirthless laugh and then lowers his eyes and hides from Sam's gaze. "You're confused Sammy, and I'm drunk. Let's put this one in the 'forget it' pile and just move on ok?"
Two days later Dean's on a "Five States in Five Days" trip, and Sam's hunting a banshee with Dad in Florida. He uses the downtime while Dad's resting to start applying for scholarships and colleges.
Next
Previous
"But I love him." Sam keeps her gaze even if it makes him uncomfortable. There's something behind her eyes that makes them hard to look at for longer than a few seconds, but Sam's going to try his damnedest to prolong that stare because he wants her to understand. If she does then maybe she'll give in. "I love him."
"Of course you love him. He's your brother. That doesn't mean it will work though Sam. It's a very specific ritual, and the rules go beyond brotherly love."
"We've-uh-I can do that." He's almost afraid to see her expression. There's no telling how she'll react to such a confession, and it could be a deal-breaker. What little cooperation he's gotten so far could completely disappear. Which is why he's surprised when he looks up and finds her eyes sympathetic.
"It couldn't just be you."
Sam thinks of Union Springs, and his hands move restlessly between his knees. "I don't think it would be."
"I've found the biggest problem with college freshman is they never understand the difference in the words think, believe, and feel. Which is it Sam?"
He considers that for a long time as he takes a bite of a cookie. They're good, and she looks honestly pleased when he has a second and then a third. Home-baked goods are a rare commodity in their line of work.
"I believe it." He meets those dark eyes again and sees an apology in her gaze that he can't understand. "I believe that he feels that way too."
"How much research did you do on me?" She takes a cookie herself and considers it before biting off half and leaving the rest on the table. She doesn't look like she enjoys it, but she chews dutifully while she watches him.
"I know you graduated from high school several years early. Youngest person in your field to achieve your master's and your doctorate. Before your unfortunate breakdown they were speculating that you'd revolutionize the whole field if you kept it up. You were courted by Harvard and Notre Dame, but you chose the University of Colorado in Boulder. You're an only child and both of your parents died when you were young. You had a near fatal traffic accident twelve years ago when you were still working on your masters. Every two years you teach a course on the 'Descent' myth."
"By myth do you mean a religious story believed by a group of people or a fairy tale?"
Sam bites his lip for a second, because this is the crux of their conversation. This is the turning point. "The first."
She nods once and then leans back in her chair. "And Clewsky told you that I teach that class because I did it."
Her hands are spread on the table in front of her, and Sam studies the sigils again. "Yes. He told me that."
"So you came here because your brother, the one you love more than a brother, is going to Hell. You think I'll just be able to teach you how to walk in and take him out."
Sam swallows, but her tone isn't condescending or judgmental. She honestly sounds curious. "You're my last hope. If Dean dies I-please you have to understand. He's all I have. I can't lose him."
"What you're asking Sam-it's not as easy as all that. How many of the descent myths do you know?"
Sam's always been good at storing lore. It's not uncommon for him to be able to spout off a story or two that seems insignificant or arcane to the layperson. This woman is anything but a layperson, and he knows that, but he's become almost as much of an expert as she has at this one. "I know it's part of Campbell's Hero Theory. I know the Mwimbo, Inanna, Ishtar, Orpheus, Dante, Odysseus, Osiris-"
She raises a hand and Sam abruptly stops. There's no smile now, not even a twitch of lips, but she seems to have relaxed a little more. "Alright. Not a bad list. You probably would have passed my class. Now tell me, what are the two reasons a hero makes the katabasis?"
That throws him for a second, and Sam flounders for an answer. Love. Love was the reason he always read, but if there's a second then… She's watching him carefully and Sam swallows again before he makes a guess. "Power."
Her eyes go a shade darker as she watches him. "Which reason is better Sam? Power or love, and be specific as to why."
"Love. Love is better, because their intention is pure. It gives them more focus, and they come out better in the end."
"Orpheus failed Sam. He looked back. Mwimbo and Heracles came out unscathed because they had nothing to lose. Is love really your answer?"
This is a trick question. If Sam gets it wrong she'll shut down, and the chances of getting it out of her are slim to none. He's seen the crime scene photos of what the kid did to her during his interrogation. Sam doesn't want to hurt her, but he's willing to if it's his only chance to save Dean.
"Yeah. I'm going to stick with love on this one." He watches her fingers push a strand of hair out of her face, and that's when he gets just the right angle to see what the sigils mean.
"Sam? Are you alright?"
------
Union Springs, Alabama July 10th, 1999
"Sammy? You alright?" Dean's eyes are still narrowed, slightly glazed, but beautiful nonetheless. Sam has to take a deep breath and try to look away. Dean sees too much, and if he studies Sam for long he may get past that dopey little brother exterior and dig out something Sam doesn't want to be exposed.
"Yeah man. Just wondering why you got plastered in the morning?"
Dean keeps studying him for a second before he begins a rather amusing and futile attempt to remove his shoes with a series of deathly glares. "Nah, Sammy. Got drunk at night. Just stayed that way. Shouldn't you be in school?"
It takes every bit of his willpower not to look over at the laptop. "Yes Dean. I was a bit preoccupied."
His brother's face gets a distasteful look, and he gives up and tries to struggle his shoes off with his hands. "It's that kinda vocab that'll get you everywhere man. Smart kid. Always said so." Dean manages to remove one boot and starts to fight with the other one. "Proud of yah."
That's the last straw, and Sam stands up and grabs for the laptop before a big callused hand lands on his wrist. He turns to see those green eyes focused on him, and knows that Dean was never distracted. Never bought his stupid excuses, because he's Dean and nobody knows Sam better.
"What is it Sammy? What's buggin' yah?" He begins to wonder if Dean is even as drunk as he's acting.
"What's bothering me Dean? You and Dad stay out all night, and then he lets you drive home drunk without a care in the world. Bad enough I have to wonder when something is going to gut you, but do I have to sit around wondering when you'll wrap your dumb ass around a tree?"
There's a moment when aggravation wars affection on Dean's face, but the second feeling wins out in the end. "You really worry 'bout me that much Sammy? That's sweet."
Which is when Sam punches Dean. Drunk. He's definitely drunk, because he doesn't dodge and the full force of the hit catches his jaw as Dean goes sprawling backwards onto the bed. Sam climbs over him and starts to punch harder, years of concern and worry and grief pouring out of his fists, and Dean just lies there and takes it as if the whole thing is a foregone conclusion. It takes Sam several minutes to realize that he's talking, and the words coming out of his mouth are both revealing and senseless.
"Fucker…crazy fucker….make me love you…worry…won't stop until you're fucking dead…then what Dean? Then what asshole?" He's not hitting anymore. He's crying too hard and Dean's underneath him spitting blood and lying still. Sam expects any second Dean will be sober enough to knock him off and give him the beating he deserves. Sam's not as trained as his brother, doesn't have the muscle mass, and the growth spurts he's been experiencing still haven't gotten him quite to Dean's level although he's close.
So it's even more shocking when arms come up and around him, and then Sam's face is pressed against Dean's neck. He can feel the soft cotton of Dean's t-shirt, smell alcohol and the lingering trace of someone's perfume over the gunpowder and aftershave scent of Dean. There's sweat and the citrusy scent of soap, and Sam briefly wonders if Dean tried to wash some of those smells off of himself before he came back to their latest temporary home. All of it is secondary though to the fact that he's crying like a fucking baby in Dean's arms, and his older brother is letting go of the fact that Sam's seriously dented his face.
"Shhh Sammy. It's ok. I got yah. I got yah kiddo."
--------
Eaton, Colorado October 1st, 2008
"Shhh Samuel. It's alright now. You're safe here." Dean's come back from getting a snack from the fridge to find her kneeling in front of his brother. Sam must have broken out of his vegetable state for a few seconds, and Dean's annoyed he didn't hear it from the kitchen. He crouches beside her, but Sam flinches away from his touch even as he leans into hers. Dean hates her a little bit right then. More than he already did for putting this stupid fucking idea in his baby brother's head. For giving Sam the ability to destroy himself. He studies the tear tracks on Sam's face. Remembers the first time the kid broke that staring nothingness to begin keening and rocking. He'd tried to hold Sam then, and the response had been Sam almost breaking his nose in an attempt to get away from Dean. It was the last time he did anything more than getting near and making soothing noises.
"Why the fuck does he let you touch him?" Dean's surprised honestly when it comes out of his mouth. He'd meant to ask her something unconnected. Something that bared less of their unconventional relationship, but his mouth has been moving on its own for days now. With Sam as his captive and unresponsive audience Dean has been talking about everything and anything in a desperate attempt to give Sam a reason to come back.
"I don't feel substantial to him. Or at least that's my theory because I'm not really sure. Like I told you I'm not qualified to fix him." Her fingers keep stroking Sam's face for a moment, and then there's this dreamy far-off look. "It's amazing really. He's the first thing I've touched since I got back that feels natural."
Dean swallows his anger and considers that for a moment. "So Sam told you he loved me and you spilled the beans? Not a state secret then."
She steps back from Sam and takes the armchair again, her hands clasped together under her chin. "No. Sam told me he loved you, and I told him that love wasn't the only reason people cross that line. Was he sure it was what he wanted? He assured me it was, and then he became very upset."
"Why was he upset?"
"He read my hands." She glanced down in their direction and her lips tightened. "That was enough to dull the edge of his interest in my technique. At least for a few minutes."
Dean can picture it without being told. Knows already the half-second look of Sam realizing that his plan is a bad one, and then going for it anyway. That's Sam through and through. He imagines his brother had felt that the night they spent in Pennsylvania, known he was making a mistake and made it anyway, but that can't be changed now. All Dean has to hang on to is the possibility that Sam can be fixed. That he can be brought back so Dean can kick his ass and Sam can know he earned it. Apologize for his half-assed self-sacrifice. It's Dean that's supposed to be sacrificing.
"What do they say?"
She looks over to Sam's hands now, and her lips curl slightly downwards. "It doesn't matter for your purposes. Just know that they paint a very vivid portrait of what your brother is currently experiencing. They were the key to open the doorway into the Underworld."
"Humor me sweetheart." It sounds flat and dead, but she looks up and the surprise is evident on her face.
"They're Egyptian. They state that the bearer belongs to something, and as such takes on all of that thing's responsibility and debt. Your brother's have a different name than mine, but they have the same message."
Dean gets it instantly, even if he doesn't want to. It is exactly what he was afraid of. He goes to speak but her head is shaking already and her eyes are closed. He watches as she tightens and loosens her marked hands before she finds the words she wants.
"Time is a free-flowing thing that we try to imprison. We trap it in watches and clocks, give it a face and a meaning as if that could hold it in. You know the concept of eternity Dean, but the meaning? It's ephemeral. Cannot be grasped by human conception. It's just a word with no concrete form and no ultimate definition. Except it is a thing, and it works in a way that can't be ignored. If you could though-" her breath hitches in sharply, "if you could ignore it once you grasped it that would be everything. Except once you know what eternity is you can't escape it. Everything happens in circles, but it's all layered on itself so that what you're experiencing now is happening at the same time as what you went through a year ago and what you'll go through in ten. It's always happening. Always." Her voice breaks and she looks away. "The difference between science and religion in theory circles is that science can be put into practice."
------
Palo Alto, California September 8th, 2002
"So the difference between a scientist and a humanist, other than one being a machine, is that their theory is put into practice and ours is…theoretical."
Sam simply nodded, because at this point he'd realized there was no stopping Clewsky. Plus he was getting a lot of free beer out of it. Definitely way too much.
"That's where my girl comes in. She's on the fast track right? Making this crazy leap to connect Quantum Mechanics with Philosophy, and everybody is buzzing about what she's going to do with it. She's got funding coming at her from all sides, and she's really going to do it. Except then she gets into this car wreck, near death y'know, and her focus changes. Now you don't tell a kid like that no when they want to change focus. Got a damn IQ of 189 or 190, and she's barely old enough to be emancipated, but there she is going for her doctorate and she's gonna remember who snubbed her when she wanted to change dissertation topics. So they hook her up with me to be her advisor because she's coming into our ring and she needs a guide." Sam wonders if a person with an IQ that high would have anything they needed Clewsky to teach them. He keeps his mouth shut and nods when Clewsky pauses. "So I take her in. Turns out she needs to know about Campbell and the damn hero theory. Nobody's doing mythology anymore. I warned her, but she insisted. Everything I could tell her. Everybody that would be able to give her more. She works with me and three of the best damn mythology scholars out there. Then it all gets weird."
This is where Sam's ears really kick in. He's spent a lifetime waiting for that phrase. Listening for it in witness interviews, reading it in reports, and waiting for the moment when the civilian thinks things are strange. If it's that obvious generally they've long since crossed the Rubicon.
"She starts asking about this crazy mix of stuff. Talking to demonologists and paranormal researchers. Next thing we know she's paying off these crazy ladies that claim they're witches. She's two years into her research at this point and nobody's sure where she's going with it, but it's exciting stuff. Way past what we consider interdisciplinary, and into some new universe. Then it comes in and she has to defend it. Which is when we get to read it. The title? This is why I thought of it Sam. 'I Misunderstood the Meaning of Goodbye'." He's grinning like a loon, but there's an odd chill climbing Sam's spine and suddenly he wants to be home with Jess. Wants to be lying in bed with her and considering the classes he's going to be hungover in tomorrow and the test he has at the end of the week. He's so much more responsible than this, and he can't remember why he stayed and listened to Clewsky's crazy bullshit. He's gotta tell him he needs to leave. That he needs to get some rest. Dean would have the perfect way to say it, but Sam can't channel Dean the way he used to. Instead his brother is this presence in the back of his head that occasionally reminds Sam the many different ways he abandoned the family.
"Nobody wants to ask her what it means because the damn thing is so far beyond what any of them are capable of, and they're all ashamed to admit it. Shortest dissertation defense I've ever seen. When it's over she walks out with a doctorate and a thousand options. She picks a pretty good school, but not any of the ones she should have gone with, and then she settles down there. But not like, there there, outside the city. Gets some crazy big piece of property with the university's sign-up incentive and starts living isolated while she's working. Then she demands this sabbatical, and shortly afterwards she comes back all wrong. Nobody can explain it, but I asked her once. Know what she said to me?"
"What?" Sam croaks it out while draining the last of his beer. He's going to leave any second. Just listen to the punchline and then take his leave. Clewsky isn't teaching him anymore, and he can't lower Sam's grade for being uninterested in academic gossip and fable.
"She said that she'd found a way to practice her theory. That she'd gotten empirical data. Damn crazy right? Except she was so different then. So damn different it was scary really. She'd been this bright-eyed little genius and suddenly she was like a pod person."
Sam finds his feet and stumbles his way up. "I gotta go Professor." He nods in Clewsky's direction and then stumbles away. All he has to do is find a cab. It's not a case, and if it was Sam wouldn't do anything about it. He's not a hunter anymore, and he hasn't spoken to Dean in over a year. He's not allowed to come back. Dean doesn't want him to come back. They never talked about it, but they both know he left because of Union Springs.
-------
Eaton, Colorado May 5th, 2008
"Then I made a mistake in Union Springs, Alabama, and that's why I left."
Her eyes are distant, dreamy, and she rocks gently in the porch swing beside him. He can see the way her scarred fingers drag through the air, and it hurts to look at them because if she gives him the secret that will be him. Owned and marked appropriately. That's Sam's destiny if he follows this plan. Except how is that any different from now?
"But he definitely knows how you feel? There's no question he knows you love him like that?"
Sam looks away, over the sprawling lawn and into the distance where mountain ridges are outlined in clear air. No wonder she doesn't want to live in the city. Boulder has nothing on this, and Sam wonders how beautiful the stars are. He fell into a sleep so deep last night that he can't recall the transition, and when he woke up the sun had already risen. Dean would love it out here.
"No question." Which isn't necessarily true, but Sam gets the feeling she's just filling time. Dean could think a million things about that hot afternoon in July, or he could think nothing at all. It's impossible to know the difference with Dean. It's taken Sam years to figure out that what he sees of his brother is only partially interpretation on Sam's part and mostly show on Dean's. It was a difficult lesson.
"I've never wondered a single moment as to whether or not I made the right choice. I only wonder if the price wasn't a bit more than I could bear. You understand that if you do this your life as you know it now is over?"
"If I don't it's just as done. I can't live without Dean. I won't."
Her lips purse thoughtfully as she stares out at the landscape. "Then we'd better start teaching you. There's not a lot of time left."
It begins with sigils. She warns him that to even understand the theory of it he'll have to know the language. He's getting calls from Dean daily, and he keeps answering them as best he can. That he'll be back soon. That he just needed a little time to research one or two more possibilities. Dean's anger is mitigated by something that sounds suspiciously like hope, and Sam is going to hate crushing that. Still, he knows there's no way to sell this idea to Dean that his brother will accept. Sam needs Dean to be willing and pliant, and that's going to require some deception.
It only takes him two days to memorize each of the marks he has to carve into his hands, and then the responding sigils he'll use to open the gate into Hell. Once that's done she starts with the theory, and that's where Sam has trouble. He tries to follow all of it, but it's become obvious the more time he spends with her that she's not entirely connected to the process of teaching him. He has to remind her what lesson they're on, how long he's been there, and most importantly sometimes he has to remind her who he is. One morning he enters the kitchen and she drops her coffee cup and starts screaming. It takes him fifteen minutes to get her to quiet down, and even then she spends the rest of the day shaky and unsure about what they're supposed to be doing. He remembers Clewsky telling him her IQ level was way beyond the borderline genius level, and it's hard to remember sometimes from the way she drifts off, or the wounded little girl look she gets sometimes when Sam gets frustrated. He tries to stay even and calm.
The worst part is the thought that if she's been this affected what will happen to Sam? Will he even have a mind when this is over? She can't tell him how she got back to herself, just that she was led there by the hunter she went to retrieve. When she talks about him her throat works vigorously and her hands shake. Seeing her like that kind of scares the shit out of Sam, and he fixes Dean's face firmly in his mind whenever the fear comes on. She leads him through the steps, but it's when she gets to the first one that he stops her. She's explained what will happen when he crosses over, and how he'll open the door, but this part is new.
"Dean will never go for that. I told you about Union Springs. There's no way."
She doesn't look over at him, focuses on the papers she's been drawing sigils on. "Drug him or convince him. Those are your two options."
"What did you do?"
"I got him drunk. Got naked. Let his penis do the rest." Her fingers cover her eyes for a second and then she looks through them at Sam. There's nothing coy about it, and he gets the feeling she's not trying to hide herself so much as figure out a way of looking at Sam that will make him make sense.
"I don't think there's a way to get Dean that drunk. He has a fairly high tolerance level."
"You'd be surprised what the right amount of alcohol can do. Although too much and the whole thing becomes kind of pointless. There's always roofies. I mean you're lying about some pretty intense stuff, so drugging might not be too much further over the line. I'm not the best judge of morality."
Sam's surprised when he laughs, and even more surprised when she joins in. They sit that way for a while, the sunlight wrapped around them and the purpose of their meeting almost forgotten. Then her face hardens and the laughter is all gone.
"You have to do this right. I'm counting on you to do this right."
"Will it matter for you if I don't?"
She studies him for a long time. "I'm teaching you the most insanely effective and damning method of suicide humanly imaginable. There's a lot of responsibility attached to that."
"And afterwards? What happens afterwards?"
There's a moment where he thinks she won't answer. Then her lips go slack and she looks off into some distance Sam can't even imagine. "Dean will have to do the heavy lifting afterwards. You'll need to leave him clues on how to get here. I don't know how you'll do that."
"I'll figure it out. I always do. So after the bonding part then I wait for the hellhounds to take him, cut my hands, open the gate and descend. Then what?"
"Then you stop bargaining for Dean's life and start demanding it."
Sam follows her upstairs to the bedroom she uses as a distance learning classroom and watches as she begins to draw diagrams on the dry-erase board. Dean has made fun of him for the college thing more than once, but being here isn't like those days at Stanford. Doesn't really remind him of his time as a student, or the short period of time in which he'd talked himself into believing he could live without Dean. That he could escape the life. As most things do it reminds him of Dean. Dean sitting across from him countless nights while Dad was out doing one thing or another and lecturing him on the most insane shit anyone could have hopes to learn in a classroom. He remembers the way Dean's face would get studious. How strange it was to see the green eyes he usually connected to affection or merriment looking so sober and adult. Dean had been a great teacher, and for a little while when Sam was a teenager he'd really thought that was what Dean should be. That if he could get Dean to come with him maybe he could talk his brother into using his G.E.D. for something, or maybe going back for a real diploma.
It wasn't like he pictured some weird sitcom, but the image of him and Dean in some crappy little apartment looking out at the ocean from a porch with two beers… It was a dream Sam had indulged in too much leading up to that horrible day in Union Springs. It was Sam's secret comfort when things were really bad, when he'd sit up at night waiting in terror and thinking about the possibilities of injury and death. He'd imagine coming home from classes to see Dean staring angrily at some textbook. Claiming he didn't understand when Sam knew damn well Dean got every fucking word of it he just hated being told what he thought was inconsequential by stodgy old establishment members. It'd been the argument every year of Dean's high school experience. Why he needed to learn algorithms and sentence construction when there were monsters out there.
Which, in hindsight, should have been Sam's first clue that his dream was faulty. Dean didn't want to be that person, because he didn't think that learning those things and giving himself a good job and a safe life was as important as saving people. There was a time Sam thought he'd never understand his brother, but the last two years of hunting without Dad always around to remind Sam of his faults had taught Sam a fairly important lesson. Dean, as he so often was, was right. There was nothing quite as satisfying as saving a life, or giving a family justice. When he'd handed that little girl off to her mom, dripping wet and terrified but alive, Sam had understood. Everything else came second.
-------
Union Springs, Alabama July 10th, 1999
Every thing else came second to the sensation of Dean holding him. To the feeling of lips in his hair and strong hands soothing circles into his back. Sam leaned into it, soaked it up, and waited for the other shoe to drop. Any minute now Dean was going to crack a joke about Sam being a girl, shut down and disengage, and Sam just didn't want it to happen this time. Didn't want to be parted from Dean, because this was as close as he could get these days. When they were little it was all about physical touch. They shared a bed all the time, Dean was always holding his hand to lead him places or ruffling his hair. The problem started when Sam realized he wanted Dean's touch to last a little longer. Wanted Dean to keep touching, and in more places, be more than just the affectionate sibling. The first time Sam achieved an erection thinking about his older brother was the end of his allowing Dean to touch him. He'd started to pull back, to jerk away and practically hiss at the contact, and Dean had taken the hint and stopped.
Now though, now Sam was getting full body contact and it amazed him how badly he wanted it. How much he had missed it. He soaked in Dean's warmth, and then realized Dean was still talking to him.
"Not gonna die on you Sammy. Always come back so stop crying." But Dean can't promise that and Sam knows it. Knows it and can't stand the idea of having to give this up. Having to say goodbye to the one thing he's always wanted. He could run away tomorrow really, if he wanted to, and probably figure out a way to finish high school and go to college without Dad and Dean. He's worked out the particulars of it more than once. Hire some homeless guy if he needs a father. He's more than adequate when it comes to forging and funding himself. None of that changes the sudden stark reality of never seeing Dean again. Which is when Sam's mouth gets away from him.
"Come with me. Dean come with me. I don't want to do this anymore. I don't want to watch you getting hurt like you're supposed to die for strangers. Come with me."
There's silence for a bit, and then Dean's grip tightens almost painfully. "What? What the hell you talkin' 'bout Sammy?"
He's started, and he can't seem to stop. "I'll finish high school. Go to college. Somewhere nice and we'll get an apartment. You don't need to do this anymore Dean. You can do other things. Anything. You're smart and I'm smart and we can do this. Just come away with me. Just come away."
Dean pushes him back a bit so he can look at his face. Sam winces when he sees the damage, but Dean doesn't seem interested in that at all. "Sam what the hell man? Are you seriously suggesting that we run off? What about Dad? What about all those civilian lives man? We have a job to do." He doesn't look as angry as Sam always suspected he would be, but he does look hurt. More emotionally than physically, and that pulls at Sam like he never thought it could.
"They're not worth you dying Dean. Not worth giving you up. I can't do it, and you can't expect me to. Please Dean. Please." He knows he's pushing it. That pulling out the puppy dog eyes Dean makes fun of him for is a step too far, but he tries it.
"Then what Sammy? What's the end game here, because man I don't understand it. You wanna abandon Dad and the life? Why do you need me for that?" He growls it bitterly, and Sam figures he's already done too much. May as well throw in all his chips and go for broke. So he leans in and kisses Dean.
It's not how imagined it. Dean tastes like liquor and blood, with an undercurrent of desperation Sam wasn't expecting. He also wasn't expecting the lips to soften, to part, and then he's sliding his tongue inside and really tasting Dean for the first time while he fists Dean's shirt and holds on. Dean's responding though. Kissing back and there's desperation on both their parts as they eat away at each other's mouths. He can feel Dean hardening underneath him, but when Sam shifts to thrust against Dean, to show he feels the same way, that's when the bubble pops. Suddenly Sam's on the floor and Dean's standing, wiping blood and spit from his mouth as he looks anywhere but at Sam.
"This is-oh fuck Sam I'm sorry. Mistake. This is a mistake." Dean takes a shaky step backwards and looks around the room. He huffs out one mirthless laugh and then lowers his eyes and hides from Sam's gaze. "You're confused Sammy, and I'm drunk. Let's put this one in the 'forget it' pile and just move on ok?"
Two days later Dean's on a "Five States in Five Days" trip, and Sam's hunting a banshee with Dad in Florida. He uses the downtime while Dad's resting to start applying for scholarships and colleges.
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Date: 2013-05-20 12:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-05-20 06:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-07-31 06:56 am (UTC)""That was enough to dull the edge of his interest in my technique. At least for a few minutes." Of course only for a few minutes 😅
Oh, that's sure one first kiss hgddvghs