Lost Time Ch. 11
Jan. 3rd, 2013 11:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dime_lioraWordcount: 6,545
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Dean/Sam
Warning(s): Violence, Sex, Expletives, Mentions of an Abusive Relationship
Notes: Still very AU. If you like this, thank
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif){kind=small}
sammichgirl, who told me it was time to make it public. :) If you don't it's totally not her fault.Summary: Sam Burton has an average life, a foul-mouthed sister, and a dream of putting his past behind him. All of that changes when Dean Winchester comes to stay.
First part
Previous part
When Sam woke up his right hand had somehow become buried under Dean’s solid bulk, and he pulled it out before massaging blood flow back through it with his other set of fingers. After the tingling finally stopped he slid out of the bed, pulled sweats and a flannel on, and padded out to the kitchen. He cursed once, low and sharp, when he realized he’d forgotten socks and the tile floor was freezing cold.
Ophelia looked up from her book, a bagel in one hand and an eyebrow arched high. Color suffused her cheeks, her grin split broadly across her face, and then she leaned back and put both items down. Her eyes looked raw and tired, bags underneath each, and Sam knew she’d been in the basement all night again, but her smile was honestly delighted. “Sam Burton. You dirty man you, how was it?”
He purposefully didn’t meet her eyes, moved across the kitchen and wondered if his knee was repaired enough to go for a long walk since running was still out. He poured himself a cup of coffee, sat next to her and watched her light a cigarette. “Ope. I know this is hard for you to remember with all the sleep deprivation, but I’m not a girl. Men don’t sit around and gossip about that.” He saw her sardonic look and then broke out into laughter.
Sam felt good, really good, and a part of him did want to tell her that, but there had to be boundaries even in their relationship. Sharing what happened the night before would cross one of those imaginary lines. She sighed sadly and tried to look wounded. “Alright Sam, alright, I’ll just ask him when he gets up.”
She took a long drag, offered him half of her bagel, and he accepted it gratefully. A mouthful of cream cheese was a pretty good way to start the morning. “Got any plans today Ope?”
Ope glanced once ruefully at the book and then smiled at him. Less honest this time. “I’ve got a trip to Waterville today and then a visit with Hanna. Why, do you want to come?”
He didn’t, not really, because another day alone with Dean sounded wonderful. They only had so much time left. “I dunno. I’ve got some paperwork to finish here, some studying, that kind of thing.”
Her smile still isn’t quite right, but Sam lets it go. There’s a lot going on in her head right now and she can analyze it first and explain it later. “Ok. I'll be out of your hair for a while. You two gonna be ok alone with that computer geek of yours? I could take him.”
Sam shudders and catches her eyes fully. "With Hanna? Won't that mean he'll meet Alan?" He's tense at the thought. Ophelia seems to understand and dismiss it, and Sam wonders for the hundredth time what went wrong with her and the ex, and why she's so casual about a man that would do that to her. Dean walks in on that moment and green eyes send him a question as they take in his posture.
“Well I can't promise the universe won't explode, but I'm pretty sure Alan will behave himself at least. No promises for the keyboard jockey.” She turned her head to fully take Dean in. “You look rested this morning.” Her grin is lascivious, easy, and Sam envies her for the ability. “I’m going out for a day or two. I’ll be back before you leave. We'll tuck one more session under our belts before then.”
Dean pours himself coffee and then sits across from her at the table. Sam feels Dean rub his foot against Sam’s ankle for a moment, and then the contact is over. “Bobby won’t like you going off for a few days on your own. Not so close after you got hurt.”
She tilts her head once and studies Dean. “I'm taking Loki.” She stands and taps Sam’s shoulder. “I’m gonna grab my shit and change.”
After she’s walked away Dean looks Sam’s way. “She mad at me?”
He has to work his jaw once or twice to get it moving again, he’s had it clamped shut too hard for too long, and then he shakes his head. “She’s gonna visit her former best friend and her ex boyfriend."
“They live together?” Dean’s voice is forced casual and Sam looks up to see the way the other man is studying the view of the yard out of the window.
“Yeah.” Sam stands slowly and then heads for Ophelia’s room.
She’s packing an overnight bag with clothes and there’s a larger duffel that usually holds her climbing gear on the bed. From the bulk of it he doubts gear is in there now, and she’s still not supposed to be climbing anyway. He watches her for a long time, and when she looks up from the pants she’s tightly rolling she offers him a smile so fake it’s painful to see.
“Packing is a bitch you know? Never know what you'll need.”
“You don't have to do this for me. I'm ok with you being around.” Sam’s voice isn’t nearly as fervent as it should be. If anyone deserves to be basking in the afterglow it’s her. Still he can’t help the small smile that plays across his lips when he thinks of Dean sitting in the kitchen right now with his mug of coffee.
She waves a hand carelessly and zips up the bag. “It is what it is.” She steps around the bed and hugs Sam tightly. “Be good Sammy. Eat well, rest, enjoy yourself. Go to class Monday ok?”
He nods and puts on the long-suffering face that always makes her laugh. “Yes mom.” It works the way it always does, and she lightly slaps his shoulder before leaving the room.
He watches her say goodbye to Dean. It’s amusing really, because they both briefly look like they’re going to hug each other, and then instead he nods and she gives him a half-assed salute. She’s out the door quickly, blue hair shining in the sun and Loki trailing along behind her. Sam hears the Jeep start up and take off.
After she’s been gone for a while Sam turns to find Dean staring at him. He waits but Dean says nothing, waits until the pressure is just too much, and then Sam raises his eyebrow and Dean’s crossing the space between them so fast it’s surprising. His hand takes Sam’s chin and pulls him down the few inches necessary for Sam’s mouth to be consumed. He lets Dean take control, lets Dean lead him backwards against the wall and plunder his mouth for several long minutes. When Dean lets up Sam has to take deep breaths, his eyes locked on the green ones across from him. Dean’s face is harsh, almost brutal, and Sam feels a shiver of fear before he pushes it back.
He’s pretty sure Dean won’t hurt him, but he doesn’t know what’s going on here. “Dean?” It sounds stupid, unsure, but it’s all he can say.
“Never do that to you Sammy. Understand?” Dean’s voice is hard, as hard as the line of his jaw, and Sam takes a minute to figure out what he means. When he gets it he wants to laugh, at least part of him does, but the rest of him is desperate to taste Dean’s promise. His whole life no one has ever given him what Dean has so far, and the promise of more kept only for Sam is hard to resist.
Hands grip his elbows tightly, and he lets them hold on to him because suddenly his knees don’t feel so steady anymore. He wants to tell Dean that he feels the same way. That he’ll be faithful, that he’ll never make a fool out of the older man, and that this oddly consuming desire in Dean’s eyes is something Sam feels too. Instead all that comes out is, “Let’s watch a movie.”
----
They’re on their fifth movie for the day, breaking for the bathroom and snacks but nothing else. They watch one from every genre in Ophelia’s arsenal. Sam’s surprised at how new they all seem with Dean sitting near him on the couch. They don’t touch for the most part, and every now and then they laugh at the same time, or share a look, and Sam can’t comprehend how he got so damn lucky so quickly.
Part way through Unforgiven Sam looks over to see Dean’s look of concentration on the screen, the rapt way his eyes move over Clint Eastwood’s face and the bleak desert around him, the way his mouth moves silently with the lines. Sam is overwhelmed with the urge to explore Dean the way Dean explored him. He reaches over, long fingers hesitantly brushing Dean’s midsection, and the older man’s eyes narrowed down to slits. Dean held perfectly still, his gaze barely moving before he spoke. “Sam?” A world of questions there and Sam answers none of them, slides back on the couch to give himself more room and lifts the hem of Dean’s shirt so he can see skin.
“It's a hell of a thing, killing a man. Take away all he's got and all he's ever gonna have.”
Sam’s fingers quest over the definition in Dean’s abs, along the ridges and lines and scars, and then his tongue follows and tastes each one. Dean’s breathing has sped up, his hands are fluttering at his sides not quite touching Sam, and his muscles tremble under Sam’s tongue.
“Yeah, well, I guess they had it coming.”
Sam tastes higher, mouth clamping over one nipple as the hand that’s not holding him up struggles with Dean’s belt buckle and then gets it open with a loud snick. His tongue licks over the black spot and the lines the come from it. The skin there tastes odd, the remnants of burnt, and Dean shivers strangely and makes a low noise Sam doesn't recognize. He’s already popping the button, sliding down the zipper, and he can feel the heat coming off of Dean. That ever present heat. Dean’s voice comes again, hesitant and unsure, but certainly aroused. “Sam?”
“We all got it coming, kid.”
Dean’s cock springs free and Sam licks it once, experimentally, and then takes the head in his mouth and rolls his tongue around it. He hears the gasp, a shaky hand strokes his hair, grips once lightly and then pulls back suddenly as if it was burned.
Sam can practically read Dean’s thoughts even as he’s tasting his flesh for the first time. Dean thinks Sam will bolt if he takes control, if he shows even the slightest sign of domineering or aggressive tendencies, and Sam doesn’t want that. Doesn’t want to be treated like he’s fragile right now because he hasn’t felt this powerful since the last time Brady gave him a fix. He sucks hard, feels that hand rifle through his hair again, and then growls low in his throat before biting lightly.
Dean’s hand clenches in his hair, half encouragement and half warning, and Sam gives him more. Long licks and light brushes of his teeth. The sound of the movie dims away and Sam’s world is narrowed down to the feel of Dean’s skin in his mouth, the tight grip in his hair, and the sense of Dean’s heavy gaze on the back of his head. He tilts his face so that he can peer up with one eye and Dean’s face is exactly how Sam pictured it last night.
Lust, lust is blowing out Dean’s pupils, and the pink lips are slick with Dean’s spit as he licks them again and groans out Sam’s name. It seems to be the only word he knows anymore. All of that focus, all that power, is right here at Sam’s disposal and he feels it boosting him upwards. Dean wants him, wants him, and Sam wants to be wanted. He pulls back, locks lips with Dean and feels those strong fingers dancing along his spine and downwards. They have to move off the couch if they go further because there’s no lube out here. Nothing to make this bearable but Sam doesn’t want to move, will take the pain, if it just means Dean’s heat will be a part of him faster.
They get up though, Dean pushing and pulling him without ever losing contact, and they’re in the bedroom with Sam on the bed faster than he can process. His clothes are removed with haste, Dean’s following shortly afterwards, and Sam struggles momentarily with covering himself because the lamp is on and Dean can see him.
“Fucking perfect Sammy.” And it’s that, the use of the nickname and the sound of Dean’s gravelly voice that puts Sam’s fears to bed. When Dean settles between his legs, uses the lube and his fingers to open Sam up again, all he can do is cry for more, for Dean, for this overwhelming sense of safety.
Sex for Sam has been linked to violence for years. Brady was never a foreplay kind of guy, even when he was pretending to be nice, and Sam’s not used to being cherished in bed. He half-expects the tone to change but it never does. Dean doesn’t talk much, and that’s ok with Sam because he can’t make his mouth form words that make sense other than Dean’s name and the word fuck, but that’s ok. It’s all ok.
When Dean finally enters him he does it carefully, one hand holding Sam’s knee stable and the other propping Dean upwards. He can see the half-black, half-green eyes staring into him. He can watch the play of muscles over Dean’s stomach, the way he bites his lip and tilts his head back with a particularly deep thrust, and when Dean hits his prostate he can see the way the flesh dimples under his grip and the bruises he leaves on Dean’s hips.
Sam wants it to be this way forever, wants to simply be a part of Dean, an extension of his strength and goodness until Sam is no longer a separate entity, but he’s building to climax so fast it’s taking his breath away. It takes two pumps of Dean’s hand and Sam is spilling over, shouting Dean’s name and watching as Dean follows moments later.
He feels loose, relaxed, lost in the fog of the pleasure when Dean pulls out and lies beside him. They pant in time with one another, shoulder to shoulder, and Sam is momentarily tempted to lay his head on Dean’s chest. He tries to control this by rolling out of the bed, but Dean stops him with a firm hand and gets up himself.
The clean-up process is awkward when lit, but Sam’s careful to remove any trace of himself on his stomach in the interest of not being itchy later. Dean lies back down and Sam joins him. After a stretch of silence Dean finally speaks. “Movie not interesting enough?” It’s light-hearted, full of laughter, and Sam’s so taken aback for a moment by this he can’t respond.
When he finds his voice it’s choked with gratitude. “Eh. Not his best.” It doesn’t sound relaxed, but that’s ok. Dean knows what’s going on in his head. He can see the understanding on the face beside him.
“Sam,” his tone is uncomfortable, and the green eyes shift away, “I’m not pressuring you am I?”
Sam has to chuckle at this, at the look Dean sends him when he does, and then he reaches over and smacks Dean’s thigh hard even as he bursts into belly-shaking laughter. “Pressuring me?” He can barely breathe he’s laughing so hard.
Dean looks like he wants to get the joke but simply can’t. He smiles crookedly and quirks his eyebrow all at the same time. Sam rolls his eyes once his breath is steady enough to speak again. “I’m not made of glass Dean and I’m not a child. I know what I want and I went for it. You’re allowed to enjoy that, to ask for what you want.” He leans in and kisses Dean once lightly, close-mouthed and soft. “You can even take it sometimes. If I don’t want it I’ll stop you.”
When he catches Dean’s eyes again the green is sharp and warm all at the same time. “Ok Sammy. Got the message.” Dean wraps fingers in his hair and pulls him down hard to kiss him. It’s not violent but it’s different than all the ones that came before. The passion there, the hunger and need leave Sam stripped more raw and vulnerable than he’s ever been with Dean.
Even after his confession the night before, the one Dean brushed off, Sam has never felt this exposed in front of the older man. It should scare him, send him running, at least have him pulling back. Instead Sam answers in kind, returns Dean’s aggression and finds that only makes it better. Warmer. Safe, in a way he's only ever felt in his dreams.
It takes two hours for them to get back to the movie.
----
Loki's eyes travel over the interior of the cabin slowly. "So that guy was a douche. Why'd we visit him?"
She emptied the bag methodically, booze beside sandwiches and glasses. Sam's sedative came out while Loki poked one of the stuffed heads Jeff had left up. The capsule popped open easily and she poured the contents out before dropping whiskey on top. He took the glass with a smile and a wink, and Ophelia felt one bright moment of guilt before she buried it deep. "Old habits. Tonight we're getting blasted with nature. It's a fucking family tradition."
His bright eyes traveled over the glass, her face, and then tilted with a smirk. "Sounds good."
It takes longer than she thought it would, but when he's out she arranges him comfortably on the couch and then covers him with a blanket before reaching for the bag. Something, something she can't quite explains stops her hand for a moment. His breathing is deep, body totally relaxed, and there's no reason to believe he's awake. He's too dosed for that, but she stops anyway and studies him. Whatever weird thing it is that's there she can ignore it. He's Sam's friend, and he's a hassle, but for some reason she bends down and drops a kiss to his forehead before re-adjusting the blanket. Then she sets up the circle.The summoning doesn't take much time at all. She's never done it before, but she knows the process. The old man that taught her, her uncle's third favorite mooch, spent a ridiculous amount of time explaining summons because of how dangerous they could be. She figures this applies. When Hel arrives the goddess stares blankly at Ope for a moment, and then her eyes travel over the couch and Loki's prone form before a smile curves her desiccated mouth.
"Normally I would punish a speck like you for bothering me."
Ope swallows down her temper and tries to be respectful, but she's never been the best at that. Instead she squeezes her bleeding hand and tilts her head in response. "If you can break that circle you can do whatever the fuck you want. In the meantime, I have questions." The eyes are still locked on the hacker behind her, and Ope feels a cold chill she can't explain. "Hey, hey, eyes over here. He's not fucking involved in this."
The goddess's mouth moves into a broad grin, too many teeth uncovered by splitting and rotting flesh. "He is always involved. Ask your questions insect."
She'll analyze that later. In the meantime, she begins the list she's spent the last few days carefully building.----
Dean has three days left and they spend this one mostly outside of the house after Sam gets home from classes. He directs Dean to a series of nature trails and they take one of the intermediate ones in deference to Sam’s knee. Dean insists on stopping fairly often, claims he’s tired but Sam sees the protective looks Dean keeps shooting him. He gives in because if he indulges it now he won’t have to deal with an argument. There’s not enough time to argue. Despite Dean’s promises Sam half-expects to never see those green eyes again.
They end up at Sam’s favorite Italian restaurant, and Dean has a field day with the name of the place. It doesn’t matter how many times Sam tells him it’s a family name Dean still thinks it’s hilarious. He shuts up when the food arrives and all he can do is moan over it and shovel it into his mouth. He looks around hopefully at the dessert menu, but there’s no pie and it’s Dean’s only complaint.
When they get home it’s getting late, and Sam’s almost surprised when Dean's phone rings. He gets only one side of what seems to be a terse conversation, and then Dean hangs up and rubs at the back of his neck angrily as he stares out the window. If he was a normal guy he'd step forward, put a hand on Dean's shoulder, but he's Sam. Damaged Sam. So instead he stands perfectly still and waits for the explosion. For the blowback. It never comes though, and instead Sam ends up on the computer in his room tapping away at a paper as Dean lounges on the bed and reads a book.
The tension ebbs away and then it's Dean who breaks the silence.
“We gotta get you to bed kiddo. You got school and work tomorrow.” Dean ducks the book Sam throws easily.
----
Two days left and Sam is sitting at the help desk while Dean is off wherever he is. Sam assumes it’s at home, but he's afraid to ask what Dean gets up to when he's alone. He watches the phone and wonders if it will ring soon and distract him. The Cisco book is open on the desk in front of him, but he hasn’t read a word of it in hours. A bright voice from behind him shocks him out of his stupor.
“Hey Tiger. That’s quite a love bite. Your girl must be feeling better.” Sam turns to see Ruby’s broad grin, blonde hair hanging in her face as she tilts to look at Sam’s neck.
His fingers cover the spot instantly but his mind is already traveling to the night before and Dean’s stupidly talented mouth. That cocky grin he got when Sam complained about the mark. He could tell Ruby the truth, that’s she’s misinterpreted his relationship with Ope and that it’s a man he met, but he doesn’t. Whether it’s from a desire to keep distance between them or an urge to avoid potential fallout if Ruby is close-minded Sam doesn’t know. Instead he shrugs softly and turns back to the book. “She got a little overly zealous.”
Ruby pulled a chair up beside him and leaned in, brushing against him as she peered at his study material. “I see. Can’t blame her. I’d mark the hell out of you if you were mine.” He slides just enough so that she’s not touching him anymore and flips the page she’s reading.
“Well…thanks I guess. Any good calls tonight?”
Ruby rolls her eyes and leans back in her chair, recounting a call from a young man who wanted to know how to clean a sticky keyboard. The guy apparently thought Ruby’s voice was attractive because after explaining his need, in every way possible without admitting what was making the keyboard sticky, he asked her out.
Sam laughs in all the right places but his mind is somewhere else. On someone else. When she’s finished he shares his own best call of the night, a faculty member who needed to erase browser history desperately before their tech support guy updated her computer the next day. Sam didn’t remind her that he was an extension of tech support and required to repeat this request.
It takes a while, but the calls pick up again and Ruby takes off to her own space to help with the load. Sam fills the time in between with studying. He has a future to protect after all, and this is the way to do it.
----
Dean wakes up to the vibrations of his phone. He’s instantly alert, this is the early hours of his last day after all and he’s expecting a call from his dad. Sam is sleeping deeply beside him, face relaxed and hair in his eyes. It takes hours for Sam’s skin to warm up, and Dean’s careful to not expose it when he slides out from under the comforter. He grabs the phone up and opens it to see the text message waiting for him. He doesn’t recognize the number attached to it, but the area code is local.
“Meet me outside.-Ophelia”
The phone and the clock radio agree, it’s 2:30 in the morning and she’s standing outside the house in what must be fairly cold weather sending text messages. To Dean. He compares the number in his phone against the one stored in Sam’s phone and that part checks out. He rifles through his bag before finding the little flask of holy water and his gun. He throws on the clothes from that day and heads out silently through Sam’s door and towards the living room door that leads onto the porch.
Dean’s on high alert when he sees her, she looks terrible in the harsh floodlight. Her eyes are bruised and tired, her face heavily lined with stress and sleeplessness. She has a cigarette burning in between her fingers, the ash long and untouched, and she doesn’t look up when he comes out. He can see a bandage wrapped clumsily around her left hand and the way she is fighting to compose herself.
He sits beside her and holds out the flask, she takes it willingly and swallows once before shooting him a strange look. “That’s not liquor asshole.” Her voice is hoarse, tired, and badly paced as if she’s not sure what speed is appropriate for the phrase.
“Holy water. Had to check. You need to ash there Ripley.” She glances downwards once, a wry smile twisting her lips before she crushes the cigarette under her heel and lights a new one. Her fingers tremble when she does. He’s briefly tempted to pat her knee, something comforting, but he holds back. “Bad visit?”
She looks confused for a second and then her eyes clear and she shakes her head once. Brutal, firm, a no to Dean’s question and to something else. She holds out a sheaf of papers and rubs tiredly at her face. “It’s all there. The demon’s name is Azazel.” She meets Dean’s eyes briefly before her glance goes skittering away. “Your mom wasn’t the only victim.”
Dean’s breathless instantly. His father has spent twenty-four years looking for these answers. God only knows how long Bobby has looked. In the span of a few days Ophelia has gathered more information than any of them. He flips through the papers and finds her notes, scrawled across the pages in a slanting hand. They’re disorganized until the end, no doubt in a system only she understands. She summarizes in the last few pages and Dean’s heart clenches when he sees the drops of blood on the last page.
It never occurred to him that asking for help from someone with as much occult knowledge as Bobby but none of the caution or experience would be a bad idea. It’s hitting him hard now. He can’t look at her, can’t make eye contact, can only stare at the blood drops when he asks the question. “How did you get all this?”
He watches out of the corner of his eye when she jerks momentarily. Her voice comes out more controlled than before, but her face shows guilt. She’s getting herself together again and Dean’s almost glad for it. “I summoned something with answers.” He sees her tap the cigarette she’s holding before it disappears from his lowered sightline. “It worked.”
“Summoned something? What the fuck did you-Ophelia what were you thinking?” She doesn’t flinch or jerk at his harsh tone. She seems to draw upwards, and that defiant mask is all he can see when he finally looks up.
“You needed answers. I got them. What does it fucking matter where?” She shrugs almost angrily, holds his gaze even as he’s trying to stare her down.
“It matters because this is serious shit. You’re lucky you’re still alive! You should know how damn dangerous summoning-" He has to quit, force himself to shut his mouth and stop the rising volume of his words. “Don’t ever do this again. Promise me.” She hesitates too long and Dean uses the best weapon against her he has, because otherwise he believes she'll renege on this one. “Promise or I tell Sam.”
She flinches at that. Her eyes meet his and he knows she’s being honest. “I promise.” She pauses for a moment and looks to the notes before looking up. “Dean. There’s a lot of stuff there and you should go over it carefully. It doesn’t totally add up.”
He cocks his head and waits for more but she doesn’t give it. Instead she leans back against the bench and closes her eyes. He finally breaks the silence. “I'm assuming this means you didn't visit your asshole ex?”
It’s none of his business and he knows it, but he can’t stand the way Sam looked and he can’t stand the thought of this woman, who barely knows him but risked her life, taking that sort of treatment without complaint. He watches her face stay flat and featureless. Watches her fingers twitch once and rest. “I did. He sold me a ritual item. No big deal.”
She stands suddenly, throws the cigarette over the porch railing to the pavement below, and then turns towards him. She’s illuminated so well the floodlight may as well be a spotlight, and she’s certainly acting when she smiles. He waits but she doesn’t speak, just weighs him with her eyes while her lips smile. “You should get some sleep Ophelia.”
She nods, looks past him at the door, and then back again. “Yup. We gotta work on your shit tomorrow before you leave. I have an idea.” She breezes past without waiting for his response.
When he crawls back into bed with Sam the bigger man throws his arm around him like a kid with a teddy bear and buries his face in the side of Dean’s neck. Dean feels the wet heat of Sam’s breath, the weight of his arm, and tries to sleep despite the thoughts racing through his brain. He shouldn’t be in bed here. He should be reading those notes for more information so he can use tomorrow to ask her questions about them. He should be heading out right now so it’ll take less time to hook up with his father and share what she’s found.
Instead Dean takes a deep breath of Sam and kisses the soft hair gently. His priorities are rapidly falling apart, but Dean can’t make himself care right now. This bed, this man, this life is something Dean suddenly wants more than anything, and that’s why he can’t have it. The weight of his responsibilities, the possibility he’ll never be here again, and the guilt he feels at abandoning his life’s work for comfort. All these things keep him awake 'til Sam’s alarm goes off.
----
Sam wakes to Dean talking softly on his cell phone. “-got some info on the Yellow Eyed Demon. Yes sir. I’ll be there in twenty hours.”
Dean glances his way, sees his eyes are open and sends him a tired smile. Sam weighs that look carefully, realizes Dean is discussing where he’s leaving for, and wonders how much Dean slept last night.
He rolls out of bed and grabs for sweats and a flannel, remembering this time to put on socks, before padding out of the room to give Dean privacy. He finds Ophelia in the kitchen with Loki, her eyes lined with concealer to hide the bags and a smile so tight on her face it's a wonder it doesn't crack apart. Loki is telling some story with his hands, and he nods once to Sam before going back to it.
Sam pours his coffee, slides into the seat behind her and wraps one arm around her chest before pulling her back into an awkward hug. She squeezes his forearm once and then settles into his grip as Loki shuts up abruptly. He’s released her before Dean comes out and Sam studies Dean’s serious face. Sam pushes a cup of coffee towards Dean, black the way he likes it, and absorbs the smile he gets for it.
The table is silent for a long time, and then Ophelia lights a cigarette and looks out the window before speaking. “When do you leave?”
Dean’s watching her carefully, an odd look on his face that Sam can’t fully read. “In a few hours. I'll stay 'til Sam goes to school and then head out. You get any sleep after you got home this morning?”
She shakes her head once and sips at her coffee. Dean was awake for her getting home? Sam didn’t remember hearing her come in. He should be asking her when she got there, how much sleep she’s had in the last few days. He doesn’t do any of those things. He settles for touching her shoulder once and asking her his questions with his eyes. She gets serious, shakes her head, and then stands and stretches. “I’m going to change Sam. I’ll see you before you head out.”
Sam’s left alone in the kitchen with the two other men and there’s an odd tension there he doesn’t want to be a part of. He sips some more coffee, sticks an English Muffin in the toaster and heads back to his room to change. When he comes home tonight Dean will be gone and Ope will be working. He thinks maybe he'll talk systems with Loki. Try to be normal.
It’ll be good to put distance in between himself and Dean. He’ll have time to analyze these feelings, to figure out what they are and why they’re so intense. There’s always a chance that without the closeness, the confusion of lust and need, Sam will see the whole thing differently. He doubts it though. He dresses carefully, throws books and printed papers into his book bag with his laptop, and then heads out to the kitchen again. Loki and Dean haven’t moved, are apparently having a staring contest if Loki's smirk is anything to go by, and Sam grabs his muffin from the toaster and butters it before eating it standing. When Ophelia comes back in she looks more put together than she has since the attack.
She steps up to Dean and waits for him to stand. “Let's get this shit out of the way now. I’ll see you when I see you. Don’t die.” She goes to punch his shoulder or some equally casual thing and instead simply twitches her hand his way and then steps back. She looks surprised when Dean grabs her into a tight hug. To be honest, Dean looks surprised too. He releases her and she steps back and gives him a real smile, brief and bright, before it’s gone and she’s stepping back and into the living room dragging Loki behind her. Leaving Sam to say his goodbyes alone.
Now it’s just Sam and Dean, and Sam swallows his breakfast harshly and steps forward. They stand awkwardly for a moment, as if unsure of how to proceed, and then Sam closes the last of the distance and kisses Dean. It’s as good as it’s always been, mouth to mouth and Sam can taste coffee again. Dean smells like leather, cheap aftershave, musk and a combination of Sam and Dean. It’s a good smell, one he’s come to associate with warmth and safety, and Sam takes a deep breath of it before he steps back and catches Dean’s green eyes.
“Come back.” It’s meant to be casual like Ophelia’s, but it sounds like pleading even to him. Dean squeezes his hand once, brief and tight, before letting go of him completely.
“I’ll see you as soon as I can.” Sam turns away from that, away from Dean, and heads out the door. When he gets to the car he doesn't look back. Turns up the radio and speeds off without ever looking back.
-----
Ophelia is eyeing his chest thoughtfully before she lays out the ritual items. "This isn't a fix Dean. I need more time for that. This is a stop gap you got me?"
He nods and tries to relax into the yoga mat. "You'll watch out for Sam?"If looks could kill…
The oils smell terrible this time. No more soothing lavender, no musk, something acrid and harsh. His skin burns in the trails of her fingertips, and it's more sensation than he's had there in some time, but it's not good sensation. He tries to imagine this is Sam's touch and Sam's tongue. Which is…creepy now that he thinks about it, but anything is good if it's a distraction from the low rough chanting and the burning that is rapidly increasing.
Then it's not just unpleasant. It's some sort of torture, and Dean can't hold back the sound anymore. He lets out a moan of pain that becomes a harsh bark, and when his eyes open he sees that she's staring in rapt fascination at her fingers as she traces sigils into his skin. She finally disconnects, and the burn lingers behind even when her skin is gone. "Stay still." Her voice is harsh, and Dean catches a glimpse of her fingers lobster red and painful looking before she's gone from his easy sightline. He doesn't try to follow her. Gives her privacy until he hears the rasp of the striker wheel on her lighter and the deep inhale.
He finally looks down, and sees that the lines have gone gray and indistinct. Which is almost promising. He finds her then and sees that she's staring almost blankly at her burned fingertips as she slowly exhales pot smoke. Something odd occurs to him. "Is that a pain reliever?"
Ope's pierced eyebrow swoops halfway up and then collapses as if it's exhausted. "Nope. Stress relief man. All stress relief." She takes another hit and he watches her face loosen and turn into a smile. "Fucking everything in this whole world gets broken sometimes. Inanimate objects never know it though. Full of cracks and the only people who care are the ones who can see it."He nods. Stoner logic, probably a conversation half in her head, and Dean just lets it ride. "I really want to come back."
"Then do.";
no subject
Date: 2013-01-04 02:14 pm (UTC)Ope, wow, she's into and knows a LOT more than I would imagine. And she's certainly invested more than would be normal. To the point of her own detriment.
And the goddess knows Loki isn't just a person - he's always involved? So now I'm thinking...the names of the characters I'm finding have some kind of something going on mirror what we see in canon - like, Brady was a demon and I think he is a demon here. Ruby I don't trust - like in canon, before we knew she was a demon. And now Loki...is he Gabriel?
no subject
Date: 2013-01-04 02:54 pm (UTC)I played so fast and loose with the canon in this thing I'm pretty sure a lawsuit would be a convoluted mess.
This reply comes before caffeine. I am so sorry.