Heart's Desire VII - The Way Home

~~~

Dean felt that weird, familiar mix of exhausted and caffeine-wired as he pulled into the parking spot beside Dad's truck. He'd finished off the thermos of coffee hours ago, refilled it at a truck stop, and now had enough caffeine in him that he might be able to sleep sometime before the day after next -- if he was lucky.

He'd made the drive in just under fourteen hours, though given his late -- delayed -- start, it was later than he'd expected to arrive. He'd called his dad when he'd been a few hours out of Clayton, letting him know. Dad hadn't mentioned his being late, so Dean was hoping it wasn't a problem.

He'd had a lot of time to think on the drive. About Sam, his dad, what the hell he would say if he found himself having that conversation. He still had no idea and he was hoping that he could just ignore the whole issue and it would never, ever come up. Certainly he didn't plan on being stupid and saying anything, but the more he tried to act normal, the more he was afraid Dad would read it written on his forehead or something.

Telling himself he was seriously over-reacting, Dean got out of the car. Grabbing his duffel, Dean headed for room #21. The door opened just as he got to it, revealing his dad who had a faint smile on his face as he stepped back to let Dean enter.

"Hey." Dean gave him a nod, excuses ready in case his travel-time was called on. Not lies -- there was no way he'd get away with outright lying. But there were plenty of half-true reasons why he might be an hour late.

Dad looked him over closely, searching for... what, Dean didn't know. Before Dean could get too paranoid though, he smiled and said, "You're looking good."

"Thanks." Dean smiled back, suddenly feeling nothing more than happy to be with his dad again. "You find anything interesting about the poltergeist?" His dad had planned to spend the day trying to gather information. Dean set his duffel down by the second bed, pulling the laptop out of the top.

"I've got us a few leads to check out tomorrow," Dad told him, frowning at the laptop. "That's not Sammy's computer, is it?"

"It's mine--" Dean stopped, realising he hadn't told his dad about any of this. "We, uh.. I needed one," he began, nervously. "For, er... I'm going back to school," he said, in a rush.

Dad's stare transferred from the laptop to Dean. "You're what?"

He'd been trained to look his father in the eye when spoken to in that tone. Back straight, head up, no lies, yes sir, no sir. Dean managed the tone of respect, but failed everything else as he said, "I'm going back to school." He stared at the laptop, and the Metallica sticker that had appeared mysteriously in the time between when he'd finally picked a wallpaper and unpacked the computer this evening.

Sam had packed his duffel, after all, but it wasn't like he didn't know who to blame. He wanted to smile at the thought of his brother's show of support.

"I didn't know that you wanted..." Dad's voice was softer; deliberately so, it sounded like.

Dean shrugged, still not able to look his dad in the eye. He'd never questioned anything his father told him -- that included the decisions he'd made about missing school for other things. Sam had been the rebellious one, questioning everything and standing up for what he wanted. When his dad had taken Dean out of school, every single time Dean could recall, he'd gone without argument.

Now it felt like he was criticizing all that, complaining about what his dad had asked him to give up.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

Dean looked at his dad, surprised -- then surprised to find himself so surprised. "I... have no idea," he said, with a laugh. "Sam's doing all the... you know. Getting me enrolled and stuff. The program's online, which is why--" He gestured at the laptop. Dean shook his head. "I... you really....?" He trailed off as he realised it was probably a stupid question; his dad wouldn't have offered if he hadn't really meant it.

Dad smiled a little and nodded. "Sam seems to be pretty good at that kind of thing. And knowing it needs to be done." He paused and said, more seriously, "I'm sorry, son. If I'd known you wanted this... I would've..." He laughed a little. "I would've asked Sam to take care of the paperwork on it."

Frowning, Dean asked, "Why would you have known? I didn't want to until.... once Sam got to college, I mean, I guess... it just seemed stupid. Him getting his degree and me...." He trailed off again, shying away from actively calling his dad's choices into question.

It felt so weird to have his dad talking to him the same way he'd been talking to Sam, all summer. Ever since Sam's freaky vision thing had changed everything.

"So you decided to go back to school and get your own?" Dad finished.

"I figured I might as well," Dean said, forced a light tone he didn't feel. How was he supposed to tell his dad that not having graduated made him feel like a failure? "Better than watching soaps all day," he added with a grin.

But his dad seemed to catch what was under the light tone because his frown deepened. "Dean, I..."

Turning away, Dean looked at the bed. Wired as he was, he probably wouldn't sleep well. But he should try, and sleep sounded better than the conversation he knew was coming. "If we're gonna stop this poltergeist, I should hit the sack," he said.

"I'll pay for it."

"What?" Dean found himself staring at his dad again -- and fuck, he hadn't even thought about the fact he'd have to pay for the program. Sam hadn't mentioned it, but he should have thought of it himself. Should have realised, and.. fuck, how much would something like that cost? Would he be able to put it on one of the fake cards, or...? Fuck.

Dean wondered if Sam would tell him, if he emailed. Maybe over the phone? No, chances were Dean would need to be in the room, threatening to strangle him, in order to get a straight answer.

Maybe school wasn't such a hot idea. He could probably take the G.E.D -- they'd charge a lot less to just take a test, right? Get a few books from the library to study, and not bother with actual classes. "I'll have to ask Sam," he said, absently. "I don't...."

Dad nodded. "Right, Sam's taking care of all the details. I'll get the cost from him. But not just that. You'll need textbooks and..." His eyes lighted on the computer again. "I'll pay for that too, of course."

Stunned, Dean stammered, "I...paid already...." Then he wanted to smack himself, because of course it was paid for, otherwise he wouldn't have it. "I mean, I had cash," he tried again, thinking that his dad might have guessed they'd put it on one of the credit cards -- or maybe that's what he was planning to do when he said he'd pay.

Christ, textbooks. He hadn't... He really hadn't thought this through, at all.

"I'm supposed to let Sam know I'm here," he muttered, and opened the laptop to send an email. He could let Sam know he'd changed his mind before Dad had a chance to talk to him.

"Dean," his father said, in that voice that had always commanded complete and instant attention from him.

Dean was looking up before he even considered what his dad wanted, hands resting on half-open laptop. "Yes, sir?"

"Just... stop. Slow down and whatever it is that's got you so..." He gestured at Dean in lieu of actually describing how Dean was acting. "Just stop it and talk to me."

And that did stop him, completely. The last time his dad had told him to talk about anything it had been about either a hunt, or Sam.

He didn't know what to say. Glancing down at the laptop, he tried, "I told Sam I'd email him when I got here -- to prove I know how, I think," he said, smirking a little. Dean knew that was almost lying, because he knew what he was going to tell Sam. "I didn't realise.... it isn't anything I need," Dean said, quietly. He'd always understood the difference between things you needed, and things you couldn't afford.

Dad sat on the edge of the closest bed and looked at him. "Is it something you want?"

"You sound like Sam." Dean laughed, realising it was probably the other way around. He leaned away from the laptop, waved a hand in the air. "I'm sorry, I should have... I didn't think about it costing...." Inwardly he flinched, knowing that he'd pretty thoroughly broken rule number one -- don't go into anything unprepared.

"You shouldn't have to."

"Yeah." Dean nodded. There was a short list of things they needed -- the things their money had always gone for. Weapons, ammo, upkeep on the vehicles. Food, whatever rent they had to pay if it wasn't a motel room on a credit card.

Shoes for a little brother who simply would not stop growing.

Dean glanced down at his boots. New footwear for school. He wondered where Sam had got the money for them. He'd priced them once and knew they weren't cheap. Well, he knew Sam had money from his scholarship, but all that was supposed to go for his own school expenses.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, stomach clenching. "I need to tell Sam he wasted--" He was reaching for the laptop -- that, at least, he could return and get the cash back to use for better things.

"Dean," Dad said again, drawing him up short. "Do you want to do this?"

Dean blinked, focused on his dad. He knew the right answer, even if it was hard to say. He swallowed. He felt -- something, which he refused to look at and refused to even feel, because he knew what mattered. He knew what he wanted: he wanted to help his dad hunt, he wanted to get rid of as many evil things in the world as he could.

He wanted to be able to go home to Sam, as often as he could manage.

"No, sir." He was proud of himself for saying it decisively, without any trace of regret on his face.

Something flickered in Dad's eyes that Dean couldn't identify. "You know, I can't remember the last time you lied to me."

The accusation was like a slap to the face. Dean flinched, mouth open to deny it, even as he knew he couldn't. Unable to face his dad, he stared down at the ugly brown carpet, ashamed of the fact he couldn't repeat himself and mean it. "We don't need to waste money on this," he said, able to say that much, truthfully.

"That wasn't what I asked you," Dad pointed out, in a strangely gentle voice.

Weirdly, it made him feel like one of the people they helped -- spooked, confused victims, and Dad being all soothing and reassuring. He opened his mouth to answer, though he knew his dad knew what the answer was. He'd just have to look at the program brochures again and pick the one that was cheapest.

Still not raising his eyes, Dean nodded.

"All right," Dad said, sounding like everything was decided. "Then you do this. And don't worry about the cost. You shouldn't have to -- that's my job."

"I don't--" Dean wanted to tell him he didn't have to take care of this. Of him.

He couldn't make his jaw work.

"I'm your father. This is part of what I'm supposed to do."

Dean just frowned. That hadn't been an issue for years. Dean had always been just as responsible, taking care of himself and Sammy. He was an adult, now, for god's sake, and he shouldn't need his Dad to do something like pay for school.

Pay for high school, Dean thought, Twenty-two years old and-- and he really just couldn't think about it anymore. He pressed his hand to his eyes, and maybe the caffeine had worn off because he just wanted to curl up and not think about it at all.

"I need to let Sammy know I made it here." He must be wondering, by now.

Dad sighed and nodded. "All right. Just..."

Dean opened his laptop, glancing up to wait for his dad to finish. But he didn't say anything more, so Dean clicked on the email program Sam had set up for him. Sam was the only name in his addressbook, and he quickly typed a message.

Sam-

Made it to Clayton alive and well. Poltergeist not alive, probably not well. Will find out tomorrow. No speeding tickets, still wearing pants.

He paused, then typed the rest, as quickly as he could.

Don't enroll me in that program I picked. Forgot to check something -- need to look at them again. No big deal.

Dean

He hit 'send,' then closed the laptop and felt the last several hours hit him like a sack of bricks. He looked over at his dad. "It all right if I turn in?" he asked, feeling rather subdued.

Dad gave him another of those looks he couldn't quite decipher. "Sure," he said.

Nodding, Dean headed for the bathroom for one last piss before crawling into bed. When he came out, Dad was sitting at the table, looking over what was probably the research he'd done for the poltergeist. Dean just headed for his bed and sat down heavily, leaning over to pull off his boots.

After he dropped the first one on the floor, his phone rang. Dean groaned and reached for it, not surprised at all to see the call ID listing Sam's number. He set the phone back down -- he knew beyond a doubt that he did not want to talk to Sam right now.

His dad looked up. "Aren't you going to answer that?"

"It's just Sam."

Now Dad was frowning at him again. "Usually that makes you pick up before it's finished ringing once."

"I don't--" Dean stopped, and figured that maybe talking to Sam would be the lesser of two evils. He opened the phone then realised that he must be brain-dead to think it would be easier to explain his email to Sam than explain Sam to Dad.

He didn't even get "Hello" out before Sam was demanding, "What the hell do you mean don't enroll you?"

"Hey, Sammy, you're up late," Dean said, sighing. First Dad, now Sam. Did he have a 'kick me' sign on his back? "I just forgot to check something, is all," he said quickly, before Sam could get stubborn at him.

"What could you have possibly forgot to check? We both went over everything backwards and forwards. You could probably recite the entire brochure."

"I just...." Dean didn't glance over, knowing full well his dad could hear every word he said, and probably every word of Sam's. "Never thought to look at how much it was. Dad said... he offered to pay and I wanted to make sure I hadn't picked the most expen--"

"Is that what this is about?"

Dean was taken aback by Sam's interruption -- by the way he said it, like he was relieved that it was something silly. He glanced over at Dad, knowing that there were things he wanted to say to Sam but couldn't with Dad overhearing. And there were things he wanted to say to Dad, but couldn't say in front of Sam. He felt stuck between them, and wasn't that a familiar place to be. Dean sighed. "Well, yeah. I forgot to look at it and I want to make sure--"

"Dude, don't worry about it," Sam told him, voice equal points of warmth and exasperation. "I looked into the costs when I looked into everything else. We can cover it, even without Dad's help. With it--"

"It isn't that," Dean said, quietly. It wasn't that he cared if Dad paid or he did. Not really. It was just... he should have taken that into consideration before he'd even started this. Now his dad and his brother were going to be trying to cover his ass for something he'd somehow convinced them he wanted badly enough to pay...however much it was.

Because he knew if he'd thought about it and taken a look at the cost, he wouldn't have ever brought up going back to school in the first place.

"What is it then?" Sam asked softly.

He glanced at Dad again, and knew he didn't want to tell Sam the truth. He tried to brush him off with what sounded good enough, and hoped his brother wouldn't press him. "I just wanted to know what it cost," he said, trying to sound sincere.

Sam snorted. "That isn't it," he said with conviction. "At least not all of it." He paused. "You don't want to talk in front of Dad, do you?"

"Well--" Dean stopped himself, because it wasn't like he could say 'I don't wanna talk in front of Dad,' in front of Dad.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Okay, here's what you're going to do. Get back on your computer and make sure you're online."

"I'm what?"

"Get back on the computer. I'll message you and we can talk that way."

"Oh. Right. OK... thanks, Sam," he said, casually, as though he were just saying good-bye and we'll talk after we blow up some buildings.

"You're welcome," Sam said, then added in a more threatening tone, "And if you don't get on the computer, I'll call back. On Dad's phone."

"Dickwad," Dean said, still casually, then he hung up. He picked up his laptop and settled back on his bed, leaning up against the headboard. He carefully didn't look over at his dad while he waited for it to boot up, half-afraid he would ask Dean what was up.

He could see his dad out of the corner of his eye though and he was still going over his journal and the other papers he had spread out over the table. He didn't even look up.

Dean turned his attention back to the laptop and saw the messaging icon. Hand over the mouse, he had to remind himself that Sam would call, and on Dad's phone so there would be no way Dean could stop Dad from answering. He opened the program, almost able to hear Sam's exasperated sigh.

As with the email, Sam was the only contact he had listed. Dean waited, though, not quite willing to be the one to start the conversation.

lawboy: You there, Dean?

with_boots_on: Bitch. 'with_boots_on'?

lawboy: Got a problem with it?

with_boots_on: how am I supposed to have a conversation when I'm thinking about being fucked so hard I fall asleep with my boots on?

lawboy: You think about it most of the time when we're talking already, don't you?

with_boots_on: ... Maybe.

lawboy: Well then.

with_boots_on: I still say you're a bitch. Dickhead.

lawboy: Yeah, yeah. Bitch, bitch, bitch. So you going to tell me what's really going on with you now?

with_boots_on: No, I'd rather sit here and call you names.

lawboy: Let me rephrase: Tell me what's really going on with you, Dean.

Dean glared at the screen, knowing his brother couldn't see him -- but Sam probably knew him well enough to know that Dean was glaring. He started to type out a phonetic version of Kwan's better insults, but realised that Sam probably had his phone in hand, and Dad's cell on speed dial.

with_boots_on: I just want to know how much it costs, all right?

lawboy: Why? Seriously? I told you I worked out all the costs. We can afford it.

Dean glared at the screen again, angry that Sam was making him have this conversation at all. Angry at himself for having done this in the first place.

with_boots_on: Because I should have thought about it before I picked one.

lawboy: Don't you trust me to be able to handle all of those details?

The stab of guilt hit him low, in the stomach, and Dean had to force himself to type.

with_boots_on: I trust you. I just should have I mean I should have thought about it. Before I decided to do this.

It took him a moment to hit 'send', wondering if he really wanted to say any of this at all.

lawboy: If you had you wouldn't have even let yourself consider doing this.

Dean stared at the screen for a moment, wondering how he could respond to that without saying 'yes' - or 'no'. He had a feeling either answer was going to get him yelled at.

But at least over the laptop, he didn't have to see Sam giving him that Look. Dean grinned, briefly.

lawboy: Yes, I know you that well, and you can stop grinning any time.

with_boots_on: Bitch.

lawboy: You know I'm right.

with_boots_on: That doesn't mean I'm going to admit to anything. Why is everyone making a big deal about me wanting to know how much this is gonna cost?

lawboy: It's not you wanting to know how much it's going to cost that I'm making a big deal over. It's the fact that you asked me to not sign you up because it costs *something* at all.

with_boots_on: I asked you not to sign me up so I could find out how much they all cost so I don't get the most fucking expensive one.

Dean jerked his hand away a second too late, and sent the message.

lawboy: Yeah, that's what I thought. Why shouldn't you get the most expensive if it's the one that fits you the best? And don't tell me because we can't afford it-- I've already told you I made sure we could afford any of them and that's before Dad offered to help.

with_boots_on: But it's not something we need.

Dean stared at the screen for a moment, hands above the keyboard and trying to figure out what he needed to say to make Sam understand.

with_boots_on: It doesn't make sense to waste money on something I'm not going to use.

lawboy: Who says you're not going to use it?

with_boots_on: Who needs a diploma to kill evil things? It isn't like anyone's hiring demon hunters.

lawboy: There's more to life than hunting. But even if that's your life's work for your whole life, this is still something we need. Because *you* need it.

with_boots_on: There's more to your life, Sammy. You want more, you can get more. This is all I want to do. I don't need a piece of paper that says I finished all my classes to say I'm good enough.

lawboy: Don't you?

Dean glared at the screen, wishing his brother was there so he could smack him -- though if Sam were there, he'd be giving Dean one of his earnest, soulful looks. He tried to think of something to say, and the only thing coming to mind was nothing he wanted to put into words.

He remembered sitting in the car in Reno, confessing to Sam that he wanted to go back to school. The things Jorge had said, about the simple things that build a man's pride -- how a person is nothing unless he believes himself something. And how having options was always the smarter thing -- that no one went into a fight with only one weapon and no one to back him up.

Dean finally typed.

with_boots_on: I don't know.

lawboy: Dean, you want this. That means I want you to have it. Stop acting like you're not important enough to expend our resources on. You are. You're the most important thing in my life.

Dean continued glaring as he read -- until he hit the last line. He felt his throat clench and he glanced over at Dad, in case, bizarrely, Dad was watching and could somehow read through the back of the laptop.

Fortunately, Dad was still pouring over his research, and Dean looked back down at the screen.

with_boots_on: I want to hide in the bathroom.

lawboy: Go ahead. As long as you take the laptop with you.

with_boot_on: And you'll explain to Dad why I'm hiding in the bathroom with my laptop, huh?

lawboy: You want me to call him and tell him you've developed a deep emotional attachment to bathrooms?

with_boots_on: You say 'deep emotional attachment' to him and I'll break...something. Fuck, it was bad enough having this conversation with him, too.

lawboy: You had a conversation with Dad about hiding in the bathroom?

Dean flipped off the screen, keeping his hand hidden from Dad.

with_boots_on: About school. When he said he'd help out. He

Dean froze again, wondering if this whole conversation over the computer was really such a good idea. It was hard enough talking to Sam sometimes, but it was even harder this way because he felt almost obligated not to bullshit too much.

with_boots_on: About school. When he said he'd help out. He said he'd pay for it, and for books and the laptop, and he didn't yell at me for not having thought about classes costing anything.

lawboy: Why would he yell at- No, wait. I don't want to hear the answer. Why does the idea of Dad paying for it make you want to hide in the bathroom?

with_boots_on: It isn't him paying for it. It's the fact I didn't think of it. It's like going after something without finding out first what kind of ammo you need to use. Unprepared. You know how he gets about shit like that.

lawboy: Did you tell him I was taking care of the details?

with_boots_on: Yeah.

lawboy: Well then. You gave the details to me to handle, you were prepared. Unless you think Dad doesn't consider me trustworthy enough to do that.

Dean smiled, and typed quickly, cursing silently as he had to go back and fix half a dozen typos.

with_boots_on: Dad said that if he'd known I wanted to go to school, he would have helped by asking you to take care of the details.

lawboy: See? He'd do it himself. Can't get upset at you for something he'd do himself.

Dean sighed, and risked another glance at Dad. He knew Sam had a point, but... the trouble was, Sam's point wasn't addressing the problem. He was concerned about Dad thinking he wasn't able to take care of things -- he'd always done everything he could to take care of himself and Sam and anything else Dad threw his way.

But he knew that Sam couldn't say anything about the real problem until Dean admitted to him what it was. He scrolled back up through the conversation, and realised that he had. It was hard to read -- distracted by Sam's declaration that really did make him want to shut the laptop and go hide somewhere, if not the bathroom then maybe the wilds of central Washington.

with_boots_on: What if we need the money for something else?

lawboy: Like what?

with_boots_on: Bail. Ammo. Car repairs. Traveling to China to kill something that's eating people. Rent during the summer when your scholarship's gone.

lawboy: We do have an emergency stash, it's been budgeted for, we do have an emergency stash, you wouldn't get on the plane anyway, and I can get a job.

Dean stared at the screen before typing.

with_boots_on: What the fuck do you mean I wouldn't get on the plane anyway?

lawboy: You're scared to fly, remember?

with_boots_on: I know I'm scared to oh. You saw that?

lawboy: Yeah. Dude, you were humming *Metallica*.

with_boots_on: Of course I was humming Metallica. If you -- I got *on* the fucking plane?

lawboy: Yep. :-)

with_boots_on: How the hell did you get me on a plane? And how'd you make that face?

lawboy: I think the plane was going to crash and we had to stop it.

with_boots_on: Oh. Yeah, that would do it. Man, sometimes I *hate* evil sons of bitches.

lawboy: Which would explain the whole hunting lifestyle.

with_boots_on: Smartass. There was a time I wanted to be a fireman, you know.

lawboy: I know.

with_boots_on: Glad you know you're a smartass. Did you also know I wanted to play hockey?

lawboy: Yes.

with_boots_on: Now I know you're lying.

lawboy: I'm not lying.

with_boots_on: When did I tell you I wanted to play hockey?

lawboy: You didn't tell me. I just have eyes. When we were up in Minnesota that winter when you turned 16 and there were all those puck bunnies.

with_boots_on: Dude, I hate to tell you this, but that really didn't have anything to do with *hockey*. Well, tonsil hockey, maybe.

lawboy: You had a burning desire to play hockey that winter though. So you could get to the tonsil hockey. Especially that one girl, the cute little blonde... what was her name? Betsy? Becky?

Dean frowned for a moment -- not because he didn't remember the girl. But he suddenly remembered how, all that winter, Sam had been more...annoying, than usual. Following him freaking everywhere, and every time Dean had gotten a chance to talk to Bethany, Sam had shown up seconds later full of 'Dean, will you' and 'Dean, can I'.

At the time he'd been willing to stuff his little brother in the trunk of a random stranger's car. Now he was suddenly wondering if Sam had just been jealous.

with_boots_on: I didn't think you liked her very much.

lawboy: She was okay. But she wasn't good enough for you.

with_boots_on: Sam, she had a C cup! What else does a guy need at 16?

lawboy: Someone with a brain?

with_boots_on: This is why you had so much trouble getting laid. At 16, you don't need brains, you need someone who'll let you take off their shirt. And possibly everything else -- though skirts are really nice for when she wants to pretend she doesn't do that sort of thing.

Dean glanced up at Dad, saw that he was still reading over the articles. It wasn't that, that was making him feel uneasy with the conversation. He thought about Bethany, and her white-blonde hair and quick smile, her C cup and the way she'd slide up next to him while they were watching hockey games.

She'd been so normal, the girlfriend every red-blooded straight guy would kill himself trying to date. That winter, Dean had caught a glimpse of what his life could have been like.

lawboy: You could've taken my shirt off when I was 16.

Dean scowled hard at the computer screen, trying not to look guilty, trying not to look up at Dad to see if he was looking over to notice Dean trying not to look guilty.

with_boots_on: Shut the fuck up.

lawboy: Granted, you probably couldn't have talked me into wearing a skirt, but that never has seemed to slow you down any.

Dean wanted to reach out and smack his brother -- that would have to wait 'til he got home. He told himself that Dad could easily walk over here any time and ask what they were talking about. Ask to talk to Sam. Anything which meant reading the conversation so far.

with_boots_on: Dennis has a friend -- chick's got a black leather mini skirt that doesn't quite cover her assets. Remind me never to introduce you.

lawboy: Dad's not going to start reading over your shoulder, Dean. Relax.

with_boots_on: You're not the one he's going to kill if he *does*.

lawboy: No one is going to be killing anyone. Well, anyone with the last name Winchester at least. Promise.

with_boots_on: You have no idea what you're talking about. You don't--

He knew Sam was probably just trying to calm him down. But - with all the fighting Sam and Dad had ever done, surely Sam knew the difference between Dad getting pissed off and Dad getting so righteously angry you were better off just shooting yourself and saving him the trouble.

with_boots_on: You have no idea what you're talking about. You don't-- I guess I can just slam the laptop closed if he walks over.

lawboy: He's never read over my shoulder. And there were times I was looking at porn and trying to be casual about it.

with_boots_on: Sam, we always knew when you were looking at porn. Hell, I learned how to use a web browser because I wanted to know what the hell you were looking at. In Dad's day, they had these things called 'magazines' that they kept under the bed.

lawboy: My point is, he never read over my shoulder, no matter what he thought I was looking at.

with_boots_on: Because we *knew*. We didn't have to look to know you were looking at naked girls. And naked guys, and there was that one site with threesomes -- which reminds me, I need to copy your bookmarks onto my computer.

lawboy: Can do that as soon as you get back. Though most of my bookmarks aren't nearly as interesting. But I suppose some of them might come in handy with your homework.

with_boots_on: How is porn going to help with my homework?

Dean typed and hit 'send' before he even remembered that the whole point of the conversation was that he wasn't *going* back to school.

He wanted to smack Sam again.

lawboy: I was thinking of the less porny bookmarks I have, but porn can give you something to look at during study breaks. The ones when I'm not around to distract you.

with_boots_on: I want to know how much the program costs first.

Dean scowled as he sent the message, knowing that Sam was going to, somehow, end up making Dean do exactly what he wanted: enroll in the program he'd already picked.

lawboy: Not enough for you to give it up before you've even started. Dean, please. Let me do this for you. Let *Dad* do this for you.

He rested his hands on the edge of the laptop, knowing what he wanted to say, but knowing that if he did... he'd just have the same argument all over again.

The truth was, he wanted this. He knew it, and apparently Dad and Sam knew it just as well. Even if it was maybe a stupid thing to want. He stared down at the keyboard.

with_boots_on: I

He stopped and stared at the screen. He wanted to type it, that he couldn't do this. He didn't think Sam would believe him -- and it was a pretty fair bet, Dean realised, that if he said no -- Sam would pester him until he gave in, anyway.

with_boots_on: It's hard

lawboy: I know. But it's okay, Dean, really. It's okay to want this, to take this. I promise.

with_boots_on: How can you know that? How do you know this isn't going to be a huge waste of time? What if

Dean yanked his hands back, noticing that he'd accidently hit the enter button and his message had gone through. All he could think about was Kwan. Video games, and Sam, and...everything else he'd ever wanted.

lawboy: I know that because I know you and what you're really worth.

with_boots_on: Fifty bucks.

lawboy: You're worth a lot more than that.

with_boots_on: Not cash. I've had more in trade -- though I swear that couch wasn't worth even the hundred they were asking for.

Dean knew he wasn't being fair -- he'd promised not to throw this in Sam's face. But he was tired and annoyed and...couldn't stop himself.

lawboy: You're worth a lot more than that too.

Dean sighed; trying to keep it quiet a second too late, not wanting to arouse his dad's attention. There was an urge -- a cruel streak, if he had to be honest -- to add up the list of everything he'd done. Throw it in Sam's face...and make him admit maybe he wasn't worth it.

with_boots_on: I wish I were home.

lawboy: I wish you were here too. I miss you already and you haven't been gone even a day yet.

with_boots_on: This poltergeist probably won't take long. But yeah. God, I think we're both girls. Can we get sappier?

lawboy: Probably if we put our minds to it. Or we could just have cyber sex.

with_boots_on: If you make me want sex while Dad's in the room I swear I will kill you. I'm not joking.

lawboy: Phone sex?

with_boots_on: You think I'm kidding. I will KILL YOU and I will never, ever fuck you EVER again.

Dean hit 'send,' then realised what he'd just typed, and he glanced up at his dad. This time, Dad caught his eye, and he said, "You should think about getting some sleep, we've got a lot of work to do tomorrow." He didn't say it like he was chastising Dean, just...that same, weird, casual tone he'd used earlier.

"Yeah, lemme just tell Sammy which end gets the rubber bit," Dean said, grinning.

lawboy: Sure you will. Or I'll fuck you. More likely both. Call me when you get a chance and Dad goes out.

with_boots_on: I gotta crash. Wish us dead things. Er, destroyed dead things. Love you.

lawboy: Love you too. Be careful.

with_boots_on: I'm always careful. Besides, I'm too pretty to ever be in real danger.

lawboy: Yeah, right. Go to sleep, Dean.

with_boots_on: Don't steal my pillow while I'm gone.

Dean mock-glared at the screen, as though Sam could see, then he quickly logged off the chat. His dad was already moving around, getting ready for bed, and Dean was beginning to realise that he really, really, really wanted to be asleep.

He closed the laptop and slid down until his head hit the pillow. He closed his eyes and tried to think about poltergeists, and nothing else.

~~~

It was early morning when Sam's phone rang. Sam was already awake mostly because the absence of Dean beside him in the bed was enough to keep waking him up every time he moved and noticed it. So he was conscious but grumpy when he picked up the phone and muttered something that would pass for "Hello."

"Sam?" It was his dad.

"Dad?" Sam found himself sitting up straighter in bed even though of course his father couldn't see him. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes, yes, it's fine. Did I wake you?" Dad sounded slightly confused.

"Not really," Sam said. "I was about to get up anyway. So Dean's okay?"

"He's asleep," Dad said. "I figured...after last night we'd get a bit of a late start. I wanted to ask you... this school program. It's a good one?" He sounded hesitant, which didn't really surprise Sam at all. This wasn't the kind of conversation they were used to having.

But it was the kind that Sam was all for encouraging. Talking with his Dad about something other than a hunt was something that he once thought would never happen. He was happy every time he was proven wrong on that.

Especially when they were talking about Dean. "Yes, sir," he replied. "It's the best of all the ones I could find."

"Good, good. I know you wouldn't let him pick something that was a scam, but.. well, it should be a good school." From the way he said it, Sam could hear what his dad was thinking. Nothing but the best for my boy.

Normally he said it about handguns and ammo.

That he was saying it now about this made something inside Sam relax just a tiny bit more. "He let me do the initial research and I didn't give him any choices but the best I could find. I didn't want him... settling, y'know?"

There was silence for a moment. "Yeah. Sam, you.. you make sure you get him enrolled."

"Already started on that," Sam replied, relaxing even more as it became evident he had an ally in his father in this. "All the paperwork is done, just need to submit his transcripts and a check to pay for it on Monday." He paused and added softly, "I won't let him back out."

"Good. Just...sit on him if you have to." There was a soft sound, almost like a chuckle. "And you'll probably have to." The amusement died away, though, and his dad sighed. "God, I really...." He heard his dad take a deep breath. "I screwed up pretty badly with him, didn't I?"

There was a time in the not too distant past when Sam would have agreed wholeheartedly, but not now. Between the perspective he'd gained from his vision flashes and his own growing closeness with both Dean and their father in different ways, Sam saw things differently now. "You've always done the best you could with us," he told his father. "We didn't turn out too badly all things considered."

Dad laughed, once -- not from real amusement. "All things considered. Yes... Sam, I-- I'll put some money in your bank account, to cover the program. It might not clear right away, but it should only take few days, a week at most."

"Thanks," Sam said, not arguing now any more than he had considered going to their Dad and asking for money before. "It'll help." He paused and then confessed to the one person who might understand, "My whole life he's done everything for me. I just want him to be able to do some things he wants for himself." Sam gave a bark of laughter that wasn't quite humorous. "And I have to fight him harder on that than anyone else."

"I know. I... Sam," Dad said, voice soft. "Did you...know about what he was doing? I mean, before you told me?"

Sam didn't need to ask for clarification on what Dad was referring to. "Some," he admitted softly. "Not exactly how bad it was or how long he'd been... But I knew he was... taking things out in trade sometimes."

"God. I had no idea. I... why would he.... We didn't need anything that badly." He was speaking quietly, and Sam couldn't tell if he was just overcome with emotion, or just trying not to wake Dean.

"Dean... never seemed to consider it a big deal," Sam said, trying to explain something he wasn't sure he fully understood himself. "It was just something else he could do, another way he could help."

There was silence for several moments. Then, "Sam, if you boys ever need anything, don't.... Tell me, OK? Don't let him...."

"Believe me, I won't," Sam replied, letting some of his fierce determination show in his voice.

"Thank you." Dad said it, heartfelt as Sam himself felt. "So," he said, clearly trying to regroup. After a moment it became clear he had no idea what to say, though.

"So have you got a lead on the poltergeist yet?" Sam asked, quite happy to shift the conversation to more familiar territory. That his Dad had even made the effort for more was enough.

"I think so. We have a few places to check out -- there are some reports of something similar happening at three different locations over the last twenty years. We need to find out if they're related."

Sam listened to his father talk with his usual enthusiasm about the hunt and even threw in an idea or two of his own. He found himself actually kind of missing being there and not just because of missing Dean. One thing his vision flashes had taught him was that however much he might yearn for normal, somewhere deep down inside he was as much a born and made hunter as his brother and father.

Soon enough it was time to say goodbye; Dad and Dean needed to get on with the job, and Sam himself had things he needed to do. It was surprisingly easy to end the conversation without any awkwardness or gruffness. No more was said about Dean, or school, though Sam was pretty sure it wasn't anything his dad would forget anytime soon.

Sam finally hung up the phone and was faced with a quiet apartment and a day spent alone.

Well, Deanless at least; he would probably run into other people when he headed out to the library to study. But in some ways it pretty much amounted to the same thing.

At least he had things to do today; if he'd had nothing at all planned, he had a feeling he might end up sitting around the apartment completely wasting the day.

Or checking out flights to Spokane.

He would have to do that some hunt, just to see Dean's face when he showed up.

He told himself that this first time, he'd have to let Dean and Dad hunt alone, just to prove... well, something. That he could let Dean go and do this, so he'd feel free to do it again. Sam didn't want Dean to feel stuck here, no matter what the original excuse for his coming along had been. Sam knew how much Dean loved hunting -- watching his face light up when Dad had invited him had been evidence enough of that, even if Sam hadn't already known.

Even if he didn't really want Dean to go off and leave for days on end, neither did he want Dean to ever feel trapped.

The most important thing he wanted was for Dean to be happy -- really happy. Everything else fell second to that, even his own happiness. Not that that had been a hindrance so far; seeing Dean happy made Sam happier and more content with his life than he had ever dreamed he'd be. It meant things were right in the universe in a very basic, intrinsic way.

Sam realised it was maybe a good thing Dean wasn't there; he'd be laughing at just how sappy Sam was getting.

On the other hand, if Dean were there, Sam wouldn't have to get sappy because he'd be sleeping off some early morning fucking. Or possibly in the middle of mid-morning fucking, it was a close call. Stopping that line of thought before it could get... uncomfortable, Sam got up and headed for the shower.

He managed to keep himself busy with one thing or another until after lunch, when it was time to head out to the library to meet up with Mat and Kerrie from his economics class. He didn't remember them from... before, but Sam wasn't really sure if he would or not.

Things were different now and getting moreso with every passing day; Sam wasn't sure how much relevance what he saw in his vision flashes still had. Considering some of the things he'd seen, that wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing.

Sam headed out, catching the bus up to campus.

The ride was pretty short, even with a dozen stops along the way. Not nearly as nice as Dean driving him -- but that had more to do with Dean, than the fact they could drive directly to campus. When he got to the library stop, Sam saw Kerrie and Mat by one of the benches lining the sidewalk.

He got off the bus and headed over to meet them. "Hey guys."

"Hey, how's it going?" Kerrie smiled, hitching her backpack up on her shoulder. Then she glanced past Sam and frowned. "Did you just get off the bus?"

"Yeah. Keen powers of observation, Kerrie."

"Is your boyfriend sick? Or--" Her face suddenly lit up. "Did you break up? Can I call him? I mean, I'm really sorry, that sucks, but you don't mind, right?"

Mat shook his head. "I think you have to wait a couple days before you swoop in."

Sam smiled slightly, not being able to fault Kerrie's taste at all. "Dean's fine. Just had to go out of town on business."

"Oh." Kerrie pouted. She'd never even tried to hide her attraction to Dean -- though Sam knew she respected the fact that he and Dean were together. Sam wouldn't have considered her a friend if he thought she would really try something. Dean, he wasn't worried about.

Not just because Dean knew how good a shot Sam was.

"But if you do ever break up, you'll let me know, right? So I can comfort his broken heart?" She grinned, cheerfully.

"Not going to happen, Kerrie," Sam assured her cheerfully, with the utter confidence of his visions.

"But we're friends! Don't you think I deserve a guy like Dean?" She gave a small pout. "Someone who'll drive me to school, carry my books, make me breakfast..." She shook her head. "If he does the laundry, Sam, I swear I will kill myself. Or you, so I can comfort his broken heart." Kerrie winked.

"We take turns doing the laundry."

"Huh." Kerrie seemed to be considering this as they headed into the library.

Mat, trailing behind Kerrie and Sam, said, "You really can ignore her, you know. She was at the Carburetor last night with some guy named Phil."

"Yeah, but Phil is no Dean." She looked at Sam. "How'd you score someone like him, anyway? Does he have a brother I could have?"

"His brother's just as involved in his relationship," Sam assured her with a straight face.

"There really is another one just like him at home?" Kerrie's eyes widened. "And they're both taken? How is that fair?" She shook her head, angrily. "And I'm stuck with jerks like Danny and Chris and Travis and Marcus."

Sam stared at her. "All at once?" Knowing Kerrie, it was a distinct possibility.

"Eew!" She wrinkled her nose, but she didn't, in Sam's opinion, look entirely put off. "I mean, yeah, I was dating Marcus and Danny at the same time, but not.. you know."

"We don't know," Mat put in. "Please, explain. In detail." They reached the elevator, and Mat hit the button for the third floor, where the study rooms were.

"Please don't," Sam put in, looking at Mat. "Ever heard of TMI?"

"I dunno," Mat said. "I don't have a girlfriend. I have to get my pleasures vicariously."

"I could tell you about how I said goodbye to Dean..." Sam offered helpfully, knowing Mat would turn him down.

"Thanks, but really, I'm not that desperate." Mat shook his head and held up one hand, warding him off.

Ahead of them, Kerrie had found an empty study room, and was holding the door open. "Ooh," she said. "Can I hear?"

"No."

Kerrie looked at Mat. "Tell him you want to hear about it."

Mat dumped his backpack on the table. "Not a chance in Hell."

Sam let a smug expression settle on his face as he sat down and pulled out his laptop.

"Grr. My life is so not fair." Kerrie pulled her books out, letting them slam down onto the table with a loud thump. "And we have this stupid test on Monday, which means my partying time is being seriously cut into. I could be visiting the Bay right now."

"I could have gone with Dean," Sam pointed out. "We all have to make sacrifices."

"I'm really not sacrificing anything," Mat said. "I have no life. I'm a pathetic loser." He gave a determined nod, and opened up his textbook. "A pathetic loser who is not listening to you talking about the fun things you could be doing."

"Yeah," Sam said, thoughtfully looking at his friend, knowing how very easily that could be him saying those things if the vision flashes hadn't changed his choices. "Y'know, Dean would say we need to get you laid."

Mat sighed. "If he's got a friend, send her my way."

They settled down to study. The class wasn't one Sam remembered from before -- it would have been nice if his visions included the stuff he'd learned the first time around. But understanding the information was still pretty easy, if dry and more than a little boring.

Finally, after about an hour, Kerrie leaned back and tossed her pencil down. "My brain is stuck. I need a break. Preferably on a beach with a surfer boy bringing me a Pepsi." She sighed, shaking her head at the books spread out over the table. "Your boyfriend is lucky he doesn't have to do this stuff anymore."

"Actually," Sam said leaning back in his own seat, "Dean's thinking of taking a couple of courses online. Getting his feet wet." He didn't mention that it was for his high school diploma, but the idea that Dean was taking classes too might help him fit in with Sam's friends better. Not that he had seemed to need much help in that direction so far, he had to admit.

"For grad school?" Kerrie asked.

"He's not that old," Mat put in.

"He totally is," Kerrie retorted. "I saw his driver's license."

Sam stared at Kerrie. "When were you looking at Dean's license?"

"He was buying us beer." She waved a hand, then looked guilty. "Unless you weren't supposed to know about that in which case I didn't say a word?"

"Only if I didn't get any of it myself," Sam said solemnly.

"He said something about it being girly beer," Kerrie said.

Dean would. "When was this, anyway?" Sam asked, trying to figure out when Dean could have been hanging out with his friends when he wasn't around.

"Couple weeks ago. I stopped by to pick up those notes you said I could borrow and I was talking about the party Cherise was having and how Marcus wouldn't buy us any beer because his fake ID is crap and he's scared of getting arrested. I wasn't.. you know, I wasn't thinking about him buying it but he offered. Who am I to turn him down?" She smiled, and Sam had a feeling that one of Dean's charming smiles had been involved in Kerrie's willingness to let him help.

"He always has been ready to help corrupt people," Sam said with a fond smile.

"See! I keep volunteering, but you won't let me," Kerrie said.

"Kerrie, you don't need any more corrupting," Mat put in. "Maybe you should try going after someone who isn't happily married."

Sam blinked; no one had ever referred to him and Dean as married before.

"You are," Mat said, sounding like he was breaking news. "Maybe not legally, but.. dude, you are totally married."

Kerrie was nodding. "The way he looks at you when you aren't looking -- my grandma looks at my grandpa like that and they've been together for forty years. Not in a 'wanna have sex' way because eew. But... like you're the best thing ever."

Sam felt his face heat a little at Kerrie's description, but it wasn't one he could gainsay. He knew how Dean felt about him with almost the same certainty as he knew his own feelings for Dean. "He's the best thing in my life," he admitted with a small smile.

"Yeah, we know," Mat said, rolling his eyes.

"You look at him the same way." Kerrie explained, and smiled -- dreamily, which was actually a little frightening. "It's so romantic. You act like you've been together forever, and it's only been, what? I mean, you're only eighteen." She leaned forward, elbows on the table, eager for details.

"We've known each other since we were kids," Sam said carefully, giving as much of the truth as he could. "It feels like I've always known him, really."

"Oh, yeah?" Kerrie asked. "So your parents... they know?" She paused, clearly realising she'd stumbled on a potentially difficult subject.

Sam stumbled over the response too, mostly because they hadn't discussed whose Dad they were going to say their father was if he ever came visiting. "It's known we're living together," he finally said even more carefully.

"But they don't realise you're sleeping together?" Mat said, looking at Sam carefully. "They think you're just roommates?"

"It's known we're living together," Sam repeated again, refusing to give any more details that they'd have to live up to later.

Both Kerrie and Mat stared at him with similar expressions of confusion, though Kerrie's cleared a moment later. "Your parents know and pretend they don't know? My mom's like that with my older sister -- she's a Wiccan, and Mom is all 'oh, and church this, and Pastor Jim that' whenever she comes home." She waved a hand, as if encompassing the inanities of parents everywhere.

"Pastor Jim?" Sam asked. It was most likely that it wasn't the Pastor Jim he knew, but it never hurt to ask.

"Yeah, I know - seems weird to call your Pastor by his first name, doesn't it? But.. Pastor Jim has always had us call him that." Kerrie shrugged. "He's cool, though.. sometimes he's a little...strange. Not bad strange, just...he gets really intense, sometimes when he talks about...stuff. But maybe that's why he's a pastor, I guess."

"What... Is his name Jim Murphy?" Sam asked.

Kerrie boggled at him. "Oh my god, yes. Do you -- how do you know him? The congregation is tiny, I've never...." She frowned, and tilted her head. "I've never seen you there before. How do you know Pastor Jim?"

Beside them, Mat began humming the theme to the Twilight Zone. Kerrie stuck her tongue out at him.

"He's an old friend of my Dad's," Sam said honestly, a little boggled at this connection. And possibly also a little freaked out.

"Oh my god!" Kerrie looked a little freaked out, herself. "Is your dad from Blue Earth?" She frowned, and Sam didn't blame her -- the last time they'd been to Blue Earth, the town's population had been something like 3,000 people. "I don't know any Winchesters," she said thoughtfully. "Was he a war buddy? Pastor Jim never talks about it, but he was in Vietnam."

"Yeah," Sam said, grateful for the simple explanation. "My dad's an ex-Marine."

"That's so cool!" Kerrie bounced in her seat. "I can't wait to tell Mom, and she'll be so thrilled to tell Pastor Jim I know one of his friends' kids. How weird is that?"

"Yeah, the world is really small," Sam said, forcing a smile. He wasn't go to freak out. Even if the thought of Kerrie telling Pastor Jim all about going to school with Sam Winchester and his boyfriend Dean had his stomach clenching.

Maybe -- possibly -- the message would get so garbled that Pastor Jim would end up only hearing that Kerrie knew Sam and Dean, and any of Kerrie's romantic notions of how wonderful it was that Sam and Dean were in love would...

He needed to call Dean.

"I..uh..." he said, standing up. "Just need to..." He gestured in the direction of the bathrooms.

Kerrie and Mat didn't say a word as he left -- which made sense, there was nothing wrong with having to go take a piss. Sam walked past the bathrooms and into an empty study room, already pulling out his phone and dialling as he walked.

It didn't take long -- halfway into the first ring -- before he heard Dean's voice. "Hey, Sammy." He sounded happy.

Just hearing Dean's voice steadied Sam. "Hi Dean," he said. "Hunt going well?"

"Oh, yeah," Dean said, completely sarcastically. "We've been going from one end of town to the other, digging through news archives and county records and surveyors' maps. Real thrill-a-minute stuff."

Those were the parts of the job Dean had never really enjoyed -- he liked dealing with people, and things he could destroy. Still, even if this wasn't the part that was Dean's favourite, he sounded like he was enjoying himself, and Sam was struck not for the first time by just how much hunting meant to his brother.

"Hang on a sec," Dean said, then he heard his brother saying something -- sounded like he was talking to Dad. That was confirmed when he heard his dad's voice, then there was a pause -- then the noise of traffic and wind and Sam realised Dean had gone outside. "OK. Hey. Miss you."

"Miss you, too," Sam said, the words coming out more heartfelt than he'd intended. "I don't like waking up alone anymore."

Dean laughed. "Yeah -- thought about saying you should have come with me, but.. sharing a bed with Dad in the room? Not a good idea." Dean sounded more amused by the prospect than freaked out.

"Yeah, that could be... problematic," Sam agreed, and took a deep breath before moving to the reason he felt he needed to call. "Speaking of possible problems, we might have one. Or maybe not. I could just be overreacting and freaking out over nothing..."

"What's up?" Suddenly Dean was all business.

"You know Kerrie?"

"Cute blonde, from your economics class? Yeah -- hey, if this is about me buying her beer... what the hell do you care? I buy you beer all the time."

"She's from Blue Earth," Sam said.

There was the slightest pause, then, "She knows Pastor Jim?" Dean said, with audible trepidation.

"Yeah. And she thinks we're cute. Cute enough to talk about."

"We are cute enough to talk about," Dean retorted, but from the stunned way he said it, Sam knew the impact was not lost on him. A second later, Dean said, "Fuck. Fuck me. Fuck us both, sideways."

"Yeah. And I was so surprised to hear her talking about Pastor Jim that I told her I knew him," Sam admitted, realising now that that had been his mistake. "I'm sorry."

"Would that matter? If she knows him, she'd talk about us anyway sooner or later. Blue Earth is a tiny fucking town, everyone knows everyone else."

"We're lucky we never ran into Kerrie when we were staying with Pastor Jim," Sam said, thinking what a mess they'd been in now if she'd had.

"Yeah. She's gonna tell him all about us, isn't she?" Dean asked, in a hushed tone.

"Probably, yeah. Dean..." Sam trailed off, not sure what he wanted to say.

"Soon as Pastor Jim hears, he'll tell Dad."

"Yeah. We have to..." Again Sam trailed off, feeling lost.

There was a pause, then, in a quiet, tight voice, Dean said, "I have to tell Dad."

"No," Sam said immediately. He swallowed hard. "Not... at least not alone. If we have to tell him, we do it together."

There was no response, and Sam knew what Dean was thinking -- that he'd protect Sam. Give himself up as the target.

"Together, Dean," he repeated. "Promise me."

"What if he asks?" Dean asked. "Sam, I can't lie to him." He laughed, once, harshly. "I tried last night; I suck at lying to him."

"It's not likely to come up in random conversation," Sam said. "Not in...however long it'll take me to get there. I doubt Kerrie's making a special phone call right now to tell Pastor Jim about us or anything."

"You're...coming up here?" Dean sounded surprised -- but also quite clearly hopeful. Though maybe the longing Sam heard was as much due to the fact that they missed each other than anything else.

"Well, this isn't really something we can break to Dad over the phone, and I'm not letting you do this by yourself," Sam pointed out. "So yeah, looks like I am."

"I--" Dean sounded happy, then, "How are you gonna get up here? Sammy, if you hotwire a car....make it a good one."

Sam chuckled at this typical Dean advice. "I was thinking I might fly up. Could you pick me up at the airport if I do?"

"I dunno, Sammy," Dean drawled, voice thick with sarcasm. "Maybe I'll just go grab a pizza instead. Moron."

"Just checking," Sam defended himself. "You could be really hungry for pizza, after all."

"Sam, you're a dickhead." Dean's voice changed, then, casual and friendly and distant. "I gotta get back to work. Some of us have important things to do."

"I'll call when I know when I'll be getting in," Sam promised, then after a pause added, "Love you."

"Asshole," Dean responded, in a cheerful tone. Then the call was disconnected from Dean's end.

Sam stood there listening to dead air for a moment, before shaking himself and taking a deep breath. Dialing another number, he set about booking himself airline tickets to Spokane.

~~~

Dean was sitting in the airport terminal of what he thought was a pretty small airport. He'd only been in one airport before -- Chicago -- and that one had been a huge, freaking, confusing mess. Spokane's International Airport had four terminals and barely more than 30 gates. Sam was coming in at gate 2 according to the monitors, and Dean had been sitting there waiting for him for probably an hour longer than he'd needed to be.

He'd already figured out exactly where baggage claim was -- though he didn't know if Sam would bother with checking a bag. He'd paid way too much for a crappy cup of coffee, and was trying to browse a newspaper when really all he was doing was trying not to freak out.

It was a really good thing he didn't have to get on a plane. His head would have exploded.

Finally they announced the arrival of Southwest Airlines flight 251 from Oakland. Dean set the paper aside and stood up, hovering -- not too closely -- and waited for Sam.

Sam was one of the first people off the plane, backpack slung over his shoulder. He looked around, eyes lighting up when he spotted Dean and made his way over to him. Dean had to hold his hands down at his sides -- wanting to grab Sam and kiss him senseless. But even with Dad waiting for them back at the motel, he didn't feel safe letting himself touch his brother. "Hey."

"Hey," Sam replied and Dean could see the same desire in his expression. It made Dean almost go ahead and grab him -- but the whole reason Sam was here was not because they were pussies who couldn't stand to be apart for 24 hours.

Even if Dean was really, really happy to have Sam here.

He was here because they had to tell Dad. Dean felt all his amusement die away. He reached out for Sam's bag -- not quite like hugging him, but good enough. "How was your flight?" he asked, not that he really cared.

Sam's fingers brushed deliberately against Dean's as he let him take the bag. "It was fine. How's the job going?"

Dean shrugged. "Fine. Dad-- he thinks you're coming up to help. He's really...happy about it." Dad hadn't said as much, of course, just 'fine, all right' when Dean had said he was picking Sam up. But he'd looked happy, in that silent way Dean had learned to interpret.

He turned to lead Sam out, wanting to get out of the airport and back to the car.

Maybe they could run for Mexico.

He felt Sam following right on his heels, almost close enough to feel the heat of his body. Neither of them said anything else until they got back to the car. The moment they were both inside, Sam was sliding across the front seat to hug Dean like his life depended on it.

Dean held onto him, pressing his face into Sam's shoulder and feeling like they'd been separated for months. Maybe it was just fear.

"What the hell are we going to say?" He couldn't tell if Sam could even hear him; he could barely make it out himself with his voice muffled against Sam's jacket.

If anything Sam's grip tightened. "I've been thinking about that. Maybe... maybe we don't have to tell him."

Dean froze, then whipped his head up to stare at Sam. "What?" His fingers tightened on Sam's arm. "Sam, I told you -- I can't lie to him."

"It won't be lying," Sam said, speaking quickly as if he was trying to get the words out before Dean could stop him. "We just don't tell him the whole truth. We tell him that we're living as a couple, but we don't tell him we are... y'know. Not pretending."

It sounded like a good plan -- except Dean knew what Dad would say. "Why are we pretending in the first place?"

"Because 'I'm living with my brother' isn't a good enough reason to get out of having to stay in the dorms to get my scholarship, but 'I'm living with my committed life partner' is," Sam answered immediately, showing that he really had been thinking about it.

Dean stared at him. "Did you say that to the university people? I mean, when you applied? Or did you just make that shit up two seconds ago?" Dean had always been impressed by his brother's ability to bullshit. But he didn't always feel surpassed by said ability -- like he did now.

He wasn't going to tell Sam anything of the sort, though.

He tried to ignore how the words 'committed life partner' made him want to grin like an idiot.

"Well, two hours ago," Sam said with a tilt of his head. "Though I think the admissions people just assumed when I filled out the paperwork with your fake name as emergency contact and all that."

"You think Dad'll buy it?" Dean frowned, and pulled away from Sam before the muscles in his back could tighten up any further.

Sam shrugged. "It has the advantage of being true," he said. "Well, probably true. True enough anyway. And if he does, it gives us the perfect cover for anything that gets back to Dad or that he sees or hears if he comes to Stanford. We're just playing the roles we have to."

"And since we have to live off-campus because of the whole demon thing, it sounds like... well, something he'd approve of." Dean tried to think it over, shoving away the voice in his head that was still trying to freak out about the idea of Dad knowing. He glanced over at Sam. "And the reason you dropped everything and flew up here?"

"I finished my paper early and I missed you," Sam said. "Both of you. Which is mostly the truth, too."

Slowly, Dean nodded. It sounded like this was going to work. But he reached over and took Sam's hand, threading their fingers together. "Sam... if he asks. If Dad looks me in the eye and asks -- I can't lie to him." Dean looked over at his brother, hoping he could make Sam understand. "Not because I want to and I suck at it, even though when it comes to Dad I really do. But -- I can't... I can't lie to him. I'd rather tell him and have him disown us both and have to spend the rest of our lives hiding from him, than...." He shook his head, not able to think of the words to explain how he felt.

"I know," Sam said softly, tightening his grip on Dean's hand. "I'm not sure I could lie to him if he asked me directly, either. It's okay. If that happens, we'll deal. Together." He gave Dean a faint smile. "The trick is to try and keep him from asking."

Smiling back, Dean asked, "And what do we say when we wake up in the morning and we're wrapped around each other like usual?" Dad aside, he was looking forward to that -- although he had a feeling it might be safer all around if he and Sam slept in separate beds.

Sam chuckled. "Dean, we've always woken up that way when we shared a bed. Even before we...."

"Yeah, but lately when I wake up plastered against you, I've already got my hand down your boxers." He gave his brother's crotch a leer. It wasn't precisely true -- normally he was awake before he started playing around. But not always.

"Guess you'll have to concentrate extra hard on keeping your hands to yourself," Sam told him breezily, then shifted in his seat in such a way as to make his jeans tighter in the area that Dean was leering at.

"Or I'll just remember to call you 'Doug'." Dean thought about reaching over and helping Sam with his jeans, but he figured maybe the airport parking lot wasn't nearly as private as it ought to be for that sort of thing.

Luckily, the drive to Clayton had several places where they could pull off.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?" Dean started the engine, and only as he was pulling his hand back did he realise that he'd stroked the dashboard.

"We're going somewhere to have sex, aren't we?"

"There's a couple places we can stop along the way, yeah. Can you hold it for fifteen minutes?"

Sam laughed, the sound low and deep and going straight to Dean's cock. "I was going to ask you that."

"I know I can hold it," Dean said, with a confidence that was completely faked. But he was already pulling the car out of the parking area, and it wouldn't be impossibly long before he got them someplace reasonably private. He glanced at Sam and thought about what he wanted. "I could tell you about the blow job I'm gonna give you," he offered casually.

He watched Sam's eyes darken at the offer. "Well, we have to talk about something while we're driving," he replied just as casually.

"Yeah." Dean nodded. "Although...what I'd like, you shouldn't do while I'm driving."

"I remember the rule. No blowjobs while the car is in motion," Sam recited.

"No, no, this isn't a rule. Yet. It's gonna have to be, though." The cars around them were really starting to annoy Dean more than a little -- every ounce of attention he had to give them was attention away from Sam, and sex. Which, OK, while driving was a good thing. Hence the no blowjobs while the car is in motion rule. "When the hell did we make that a rule, anyway?"

"Day after we almost ran into the ditch when I was... exploring." Sam made 'exploring' sound like the dirtiest word ever.

Right, Dean remembered that day. He tried not to think too much about it because -- driving. "Well, here's another rule: no talking me to orgasm while I'm driving."

Sam was silent for a moment. Then asked curiously, "So you think I could really do that then? Make you come without touching you?"

Dean whimpered, because he knew Sam could. "New rule: no talking about talking me to orgasm, either." He wanted to pull over and grab his cock, but there was no place to do so that wouldn't get them arrested five minutes later.

"I really could?" Sam repeated. He seemed to be fascinated by the concept.

With a strangled laugh, Dean said, "You remember when you were practising your lines for Our Town? And I pretty much left the room whenever I could?"

"Yeah. I know I was driving you crazy with it, but you never said a word." Sam smiled. "I always appreciated that."

"Dimwit. I was in the other room, jerking off."

There was silence from the other side of the car.

Plowing ahead, Dean admitted, "When you were practising that speech on voter rights for your history class? Every time you ever worked on your Latin exorcism rites...." He glanced over. "So you talking to me and trying to get me off? Yeah. Is gonna work."

"Dude you got off on me talking about voter's rights?" Sam asked disbelievingly.

"I had my hand on my dick," Dean pointed out, defensively. Sam was right, though -- the speech hadn't been exactly stimulating. But-- "I like your voice," he said.

He'd once deliberately gotten Sam pissed off at him, then he'd locked himself in the bathroom with Sam on the other side, banging on the door and screaming at him. Screaming, so that his voice dipped way down 'til Dean could practically feel it in his cock. He'd jerked off, listening to his brother shout -- at the time he'd hated himself for it, and Dean had spent the next several weeks trying to make it up to him.

"Huh," Sam said in a tone of enlightenment. "So phone sex would be....?"

"Not when I'm driving. Or on a hunt with Dad. Or when I'm about to run out of minutes," Dean listed. "Otherwise, yeah. It'd be good." Given how hard he was, Dean thought it was maybe obvious that 'good' was an understatement.

Sam took that in and nodded. "We'll have to do that then."

"Sounds better than ice cubes," Dean said. He still wasn't sure Sam hadn't been putting him on with that.

"I could talk about ice cubes."

"That would be safer than trying to stick one in my ass," Dean told him. "You can talk about anything you want." It occurred to him, too late, that he might not have wanted to admit that. Well, then, if Sam hadn't realised it from Dean's confession about the speech on voter's rights....

"Even how much I love you?" Sam asked.

Dean tensed, without meaning to. Hell, talk about being blindsided. He unclenched his jaw, because he didn't want to piss Sam off -- but there wasn't anything he could say to that.

Sam reached over and patted Dean's leg. "That's okay," he said kindly. "We'll work up to it."

He tried to make himself relax; the turnoff was coming up in a couple miles, he remembered seeing it on the drive to the airport. Made note of it, because he'd had a feeling there would be some sex in the car on the drive back to Clayton. He felt like jumping out of the car and shooting something, though. There was even a sawed-off shotgun in the trunk that would be perfect. All he needed was a ghost.

If Sam was aware of his sudden twitchiness, he didn't let on, continuing on in a casual tone, "I guess I'll just have to talk about some of my fantasies then. Like, say, you fucking me over the hood of the car."

Dean coughed. "You could. I could." He had a sudden image, and he knew that right at that very moment the hood was probably not too warm. Fucking traffic. He glared at the Spokane outskirts, wishing they would go the hell away already.

Sam smirked. "Figured that would be one you liked, considering how you feel about your car."

Shifting his glare to Sam, Dean said, "I thought teasing me about the car was off-limits."

"Who's teasing? I'm just stating a fact."

Dean squirmed in his seat, mostly because the conversation wasn't doing much for his ability to drive comfortably -- and he knew if he tried to unzip and give himself a little room, he'd better be ready to slam on the brakes and stop driving all together.

"How much longer until we can stop?" Sam asked.

"Six and a half minutes." Dean glanced down at the speedometer to confirm his speed, and checked his calculation again. "Six if we don't get Ma and Pa Podunk leaving town in their 1932 pickup."

Sam nodded, looking he was doing mental calculations. "I better stay quiet for at least the next four minutes then."

Dean frowned. "Two minutes."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Two minutes?"

"Stay quiet for two minutes."

"You think you can handle me talking dirty while you're driving for four minutes?"

"I think it's better than the alternative, which is me thinking about you talking dirty for four minutes." Dean glanced down at the speedometer again; going a little faster. They'd probably make it to the turnoff in four and a half more minutes.

"Don't think about it then," Sam said in his utmost reasonable tone. Which didn't make it any less unreasonable.

Dean gave Sam a dry look. "Yeah." Because he hadn't stopped thinking about it since they'd got in the car -- well, since he'd left the motel to pick Sam up and he'd taken note of all the places they could pull over. There were three good spots, and two more 'will do if we're desperate' spots.

Clayton was only 35 miles away from the airport.

"Think of something else," Sam suggested. "Something.... unsexy."

Dean gave him another raised eyebrow, asking Sam if he was kidding. "I could think about what Dad will say if he catches us," he said, sarcastically.

Sam made a face. "That might be a little too unsexy," he said mildly.

"It's all I got," Dean told him. "I'd say you could tell me about something unsexy, but that would still be you talking to me, and I think voter's rights have proven it really doesn't matter what you say. Not that it wasn't a good paper," he added.

"It got an A," Sam said just a little bit smugly.

"Did you ever not get an A on a paper?"

Sam frowned, obviously thinking. "I got a B once in 4th grade."

Dean glanced over, saw the look on his brother's face. "You're serious. You got one B? Ever?"

"Well, that I can remember," Sam admitted. "Maybe in kindergarten..."

"Your kindergarten teachers loved you to pieces and always gave you those gold stars on your papers."

"Then no, no other B's."

Dean didn't say anything for a moment. Sometimes his brother was just...scary.

"Dean?" Sam asked after a moment.

"You sure you won't do my homework for me?" He remembered getting A's in his math classes, sometimes. And he'd always got A's in elementary school when he told the teacher how his dad had been sick or out of town and he'd been taking care of Sammy and hadn't had time to do his homework.

"You don't need me to do your homework," Sam told him with complete confidence.

"But it'd be easy for you," Dean said, wheedling just a tiny bit. It occurred to him a second later that of course it'd be easy, because it was high school and Sam was-- Dean slammed the brakes on that train of thought, then saw the turnoff up ahead.

What he wanted was sex to take his mind off it.

"It's going to be easy for you, too," Sam told him. He looked out the windshield. "Is that the turnoff?"

"It wasn't easy the first time," Dean said, and he checked the traffic in every possible direction because there was no way he was going to risk being hit by a truck this close to his blowjob.

"The first time you were spending all your time looking out for me," Sam pointed out.

"There was one week I missed school because of Rebecca." Dean smiled at the memory. Hell, but she'd been hot. Sassy, agile, and her daddy had had a freaking mansion. Parents off to Europe, and Rebecca had been bored, poor girl.

"Well, that's not something you have to worry about anymore either," Sam said darkly.

"She was hot," Dean said, giving his brother a cocky grin. He knew Sam got jealous, but... he found himself wanting to reassure Sam that Rebecca hadn't been one of those partners. "The only thing I got from her was a week of great sex, free drugs, and missed school."

Sam frowned faintly. "There aren't going to be any more Rebeccas."

"You're saying you won't distract me from my homework by walking around naked?" Dean saw the abandoned gas station ahead, and he headed for it.

"Was that what she did?"

"The first day she was in a bikini. After that, she didn't really bother getting dressed." Dean shook his head, as if thinking of it fondly. In reality, his cock was damn near jumping at the way Sam was almost growling at him.

"Y'know, you really don't need to sound so much like you want to repeat the week," Sam said, crossing his arms over his chest and staring out the window. Oh yeah, his brother was definitely pissy.

"You don't wanna have sex for a week and skip class?" Dean asked, confused. He wondered just how serious Sam thought he was, though, about caring at all about Rebecca. As he pulled the car behind the gas station, hiding them perfectly from the road, he asked carefully, "Sam? You know I meant it, when I said I wasn't going to sleep with anyone else?"

Sam sighed and the tension seemed to ease out of his shoulders a little. "I know," he said in a softer voice.

"So are we cool, or are you gonna sit over there wondering if I'd rather be out there with some chick with a C cup?"

Sam looked over at him with a faintly worried frown. "You're not...?"

Dean rolled his eyes, and resisted the urge to smack his brother. "Sam, if I wanted some chick I'd go get one. But, god help me, I want you. If I didn't, I wouldn't be with you."

"You flirt with Kerrie," Sam blurted.

"I what?" Dean was glad he'd already stopped the car. He switched off the ignition and turned to stare at his brother. "When did I... wait, the beer thing?" He tried to remember if he'd done anything more than just be friendly. He hadn't; hell, Kerrie knew that he and Sam were a couple, so she shouldn't have thought he was serious.

Sam shook his head. "Forget it. I'm being stupid, I know."

"Hey." Dean reached over and put his hand on Sam's arm. "It isn't stupid. Well, it is stupid, because I didn't mean to flirt with her. I was just-- she's a friend of yours, I was trying to be nice."

"She has the hots for you," Sam told him, though he leaned towards Dean just a little.

"Sammy, everyone has the hots for me. Mr. Drake down the street has the hots for me, and he's 82." He shook his head, wondering how to get it into his brother's brain that he wasn't going anywhere. He reached up and tugged Sam's chin around to look at him. "Sam, I'm willing to risk losing the second most important thing in the fucking world, in order to keep you."

Sam sighed and moved into Dean's arms. "I know. I do. I just... I'm being stupid."

Pulling Sam close, Dean pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "Is there something I can do?" He should probably offer to stop flirting, but half the time he didn't even know what he'd done until Sam called him on it. But it seemed like it always upset him, so maybe he should at least try to stop doing it.

"I dunno," Sam said, snuggling closer. "I mean, it would probably help if I didn't have to hear how great Rebecca was and how much you loved sleeping with her with so much enthusiasm. Like... you miss it."

"Sam." Dean pulled Sam around so he could look him in the eye. "I don't miss Rebecca. The great thing about that was taking a week off school and doing nothing but enjoy myself. Hell, it coulda been anyone. It could have been no one."

Sam leaned in, resting his forehead against Dean's. "I told you I'm being stupid," he said softly.

"Yeah, you are." He gave Sam a quick kiss.

"I don't even know why this is bugging me now," Sam said sounding exasperated, but not at Dean. "I mean it's not that I think I have anything to worry about with you or anything."

"Don't you? You're not worried about me...picking a nice girl because it'd be a hell of a lot easier to tell Dad about? Or even a nice boy? That maybe I was right to hate myself for wanting you like this?" He swallowed, and said, "You're not worried about us needing something we can't pay for and me deciding to sleep with someone to get it?"

In retrospect, Dean thought maybe Sam had a lot of reasons to worry about what Dean was going to do.

"No," Sam said sharply. He leaned in and kissed Dean gently. "I know where your heart lies."

Dean waited until it seemed like Sam was willing to stop kissing -- it took a minute, and Dean thought maybe the conversation could be over, instead, and they could have sex. But then the kiss broke off, and Dean looked at his brother. "So why are you freaking out about it?" he asked, willing to forego sex to keep having this conversation, if Sam really needed to.

"I don't know," Sam said, shrugging with bewildered honesty. "Guess this whole potential crisis is getting to me maybe? Or maybe it was Kerrie going on and on about how if we ever break up she wants first crack at you..."

Dean wrinkled his nose at the thought of dating Kerrie. "Wait, who said we were breaking up?" Maybe there was another reason Sam was freaking out? There was no way Sam could have been thinking about it, without Dean having had some kind of clue before now.

"Kerrie and Mat were teasing me about it when I showed up on the bus instead of you dropping me off," Sam explained.

"Oh." Dean thought about it, then grinned.

"What?"

Dean shrugged. "I like.. that they think we're attached at the hip." He nudged his hips upward, emphasising the point. "So they tease you about us breaking up just because I'm not dropping you off." It wasn't quite like writing his name on Sam's ass, but it was close. Maybe he could write it on some of Sam's books, though. "Hands off - Dean W."

"We are practically attached at the hip," Sam pointed out, sliding a hand down over Dean's hips as he spoke. "Mat thinks we're married."

Dean smiled, and was seized by the urge to kiss his brother, hard. "Aren't we?" he asked, instead.

"More or less," Sam agreed. "I never really thought of it that way though. You're -- we're -- just a given. Inevitable and essential. Like oxygen."

"Water," Dean corrected. "Oxygen and hydrogen, and don't bitch at me about being one oxygen to two hydrogens. You're not that much taller than me." He gave Sam a kiss, then said, "We must be married; we have the same last name." He tried to fight the grin -- because Dad was only about twenty five miles away, and in a couple hours they were going to have to pretend they were brothers who would never even dream of this sort of thing.

Sam kissed him then shook his head. "Married isn't a big enough word for what we are." He smiled slightly. "I suppose it'll do as a description for lack of a more accurate one."

"Carbon monoxide."

Sam chuckled. "Something a little less deadly."

"Hey, we're deadly. And there's one carbon, one oxygen... you wanna be nitric oxide?"

Sam just stared at him then shook his head. "You are so weird sometimes."

Dean frowned. "How am I weird? Sam, did you sleep through all of Dad's lectures about fuels and flammable gases?"

"You're comparing us to one of Dad's lectures on fuels and flammable gases," Sam pointed out.

"To make it one atom each, not -- fuck, I am a moron. Sodium chloride."

Sam chuckled. "And you don't think you're smart."

Frowning again, Dean said, "Sam, we learned about salt when we were kids. I was five the first time Dad showed me how to pour a ring around the bed."

"You're smart," Sam said, then leaned in to give Dean a long lingering kiss.

"Whatever." Dean thought Sam was trying to distract him, but from what he couldn't figure out. Being married? Kerrie? Finally having some sex so he could walk into the motel room without sporting a hard-on?

"And I?" Sam said in between kisses. "Like smart guys."

"Don't you mean smartasses?"

"If that's where your brains are..."

"I can tell you where all my blood is," Dean said, hopefully rubbing his crotch against Sam's hip.

Sam grinned at him. "Still want to fuck me over the hood?"

"You think you can hide it from Dad?"

"Unless you're planning on getting a lot kinkier than I've been thinking..."

"Dirty laundry? That well-fucked smirk?" Dean gestured at Sam's face, but really he was hoping Sam would say yes, he could hide all traces of Dean fucking him.

"I'll just have to make sure there's no clothes in the way to get dirty," Sam said. "As for the other," he shrugged. "Maybe I joined the mile high club on the way here."

"Sammy!" Dean gasped. "You dog!" He gave Sam a gentle push. "Get out. Hood." He scrambled behind him for the door handle, because if he was going to get to fuck Sam, he wanted to stop talking and start fucking, already.

Laughing, Sam complied with Dean's orders, getting out and leaning casually on the hood of the car.

"Hood cool enough?" Dean put his hand on the metal, and it seemed OK to him, but it wasn't going to be his bare ass -- though it could be, if Sam said it was too warm still. Dean didn't care about a little contact burn.

"Yeah," Sam said. "Good thing it's cloudy."

"You wanna lie on the hood, legs in the air? Or just stand up and lean forward against the car?"

Sam's eyes darkened at the question. "You have a preference?" he asked, voice going low and husky like it always did when he was aroused.

Dean shrugged. "When it's me, I like to be standing. Um--" He decided not to say that was maybe because he'd never been fucked on a car by Sam. He tried to picture his brother in either position.

Christ, he needed to fuck Sam. Right fucking now.

Sam's gaze on him was almost like a physical touch. "Yeah, but how do you want me?"

"On the hood." He got a hand on Sam's chest and pushed him backwards, and fumbled for his zipper. Then again, he'd rather be undressing Sam. He got his hands onto Sam's waistband and fumbled with the top button.

"You want me naked?" Sam asked in a low voice that had more than a hint of growl to it.

"Pants down'll be fine," Dean managed. "You don't have to waste time stripping."

"But might be good to make sure my clothes stay clean," Sam said thoughtfully, then pulled his shirt up over his head.

"Fine, fine, strip, I'm not complaining. Unless you take your sweet fucking time." Dean had his jeans unzipped and his cock in his hand and Sam wasn't on the hood yet.

Sam chuckled as he quickly set about undressing. "You're just so romantic," he teased.

"I'll buy you some flowers later. Get naked so I can fuck you, unless you wanna watch me masturbate on you."

"Pushy," Sam accused, shedding the last of his clothes and then moving back to leaning against the edge of the hood.

"I'm not.. Jesus Christ." Dean stared. Sam, naked, on the hood of the car. Looking like he was just waiting to be fucked -- Dean was kinda surprised he didn't come, right there.

He swallowed, and fumbled for the inside pocket of his jacket. He'd stashed some packets of lube, thinking -- looking for places they could have sex on the way to Clayton, because he'd thought that one way or another this would be his last chance to touch his brother.

Sam looked amused. "No, you're not Jesus. I don't want Jesus to fuck me, I want you to fuck me." He slid back a little until he was more firmly sitting on the hood.

Dean took a step forward, then another until he could get his hands on Sam's thighs. Squeezed them, then pushed, gently, because he didn't want to force Sam, just...encourage him to lay down, spread for him.

Sam leaned forward and kissed him, devouring his mouth roughly before pulling back and, with a smirk, leaning back against the hood, his entire body an invitation.

"And you call me a slut," Dean said, and he got the packet of lube open, and spread some on his fingers. One hand on Sam's leg, again, gripping the hard muscles and pushing the leg up. Opening Sam even more when he slid his fingers inside.

Sam gasped, his head falling back. "Just following your lead," he said, voice catching as Dean's fingers moved.

"I think you have a... sex outdoors kink," Dean said, knowing he wasn't making much sense but not really caring because Sam was naked on the hood of his car and Dean could feel parts of his brain breaking.

He made a noise that almost felt as painful as it sounded, and he gripped his cock, smearing lube on it as fast as he could. He couldn't take his eyes, or his hand, off Sammy.

"I have...." Sam groaned. "I have a sex with you kink."

"We can work that in," Dean said, trying to sound casual, but the way he was gasping and moaning made it sound like he was about to come. He slid his cock into Sam's ass, and groaned.

A groan that his brother echoed. "Dean..."

He pulled part way out, and thrust in again, harder. God, he was at the perfect height -- Dean realised he could stand here and fuck Sam all day. The whimper that accompanied that thought made him fight to hold back -- maybe he couldn't manage all day, but he could make it last as long as possible.

Maybe.

Sam lowered his legs as much as he could, wrapping them around Dean as if trying to keep him from escaping. His hands were flat on the car hood, bracing himself against Dean's thrusts.

Thrusting in once, as hard and deep as he could, Dean stopped there, and when he pulled back he began fucking Sam as slowly as he could stand to. He could feel his throat tighten, and he tried to unlock his voice to let the words out. All he could hear was meaningless groans as his voice caught.

Sam didn't seem to be having the same problem as a steady litany of "Dean," "good," "more", and "harder" fell from his lips.

Dean tried to ignore him, concentrating on slow and deep. But he couldn't take his eyes off Sam, spread out on the hood, and yeah, so he had a fucking fetish for his car, and a fetish for Sam, and it was maybe more than a person should ask that he make this last any longer.

"Sam," he breathed, and he let his head fall forward, and that breaking thing he'd felt before was shattering harder.

Sam reached up and rested a hand against Dean's cheek, tracing his lips with his thumb. Dean kissed it, then gave it a lick. Opened his mouth to pull it in, and he lost himself for a moment in just fucking Sam. Fucking him hard, and Dean was still making those noises that he couldn't understand, harsh and painful and like he needed something that he wasn't getting.

"Sam," he begged, and had no idea what he was begging for, just kept fucking Sam and reaching for his hand, trying to get more of him inside Dean.

"Dean," Sam replied, voice catching on the name. "God, you're..."

He wanted to know what -- couldn't ask, because he couldn't get his voice to work. Godawful sounds coming out of him now, and his one hand clenched Sam's thigh, hard enough he didn't know if Sam would be able to walk without wincing. The other hand flat on the hood of the car, warm metal soaking into his skin. The same metal he could feel every time he moved forward, banging his legs against the fender.

Dean cried out and slammed into Sam again, and felt himself about to come. Arms shaking, legs threatening to give out, Dean felt himself starting to fall forward even as he fucked Sam, still, hard as he could.

He heard himself saying Sammy's name, over and over, caught in whispers and each twisted breath that escaped. Sam groaned loudly, the sound taking on a desperate quality as he slid a hand between their bodies and grabbed his own cock, jacking himself off in time with Dean's thrusts.

He wanted to make this last -- knew that was nothing short of impossible because he was losing his fucking mind, but he looked at Sam, watching him as he fucked him, harder, slamming him back against the hood of the car and Dean felt his throat lock, not even breathing as he came. He was aware of Sam watching him the entire time, his gaze holding him, urging him on.

He felt his knees bang into the fender, wondering vaguely if he'd have bruises. How he'd explain them if he had to -- who ever saw his knees but Sam, anyway? He thrust into Sam again, legs and ass shaking with the effort, then Dean froze for a second before falling slowly forward. Arms grabbed him and pulled him close, held him steady, held him tightly, Sam's voice murmuring things to him he wasn't together enough to make out.

Dean tried to tell Sam he was all right, but all that came out was a strangled 'urk' noise. He tried to move his hand towards Sam, wanting to hang onto him. Sam just held him tighter.

After a minute, Dean turned his head and gave Sam's arm a kiss. Then he pried open his eyes and realised that the world hadn't quite stabilised yet. He groaned, loudly. One of Sam's hands found its way into Dean's hair and stroked it lightly.

Much as he wanted to fall into a coma, there was vivid evidence pressing into his hip of something still waiting. Dean moaned as he pushed himself up enough to get a hand on Sam's cock. The sound that came out of Sam's mouth at that first touch was more of a needy whimper than anything else, as Sam pushed his hips up into Dean's grip.

"Love this," Dean said, leaning down. "Your cock in my hand. Get to touch you...." Dean jerked him off with a tight grip, being careful not to jostle his own softening cock out of Sam. Sam was still holding onto him, but now it felt like he was doing it to keep himself from flying apart instead of Dean, fingers digging tightly into flesh.

"You gonna come like this? Bare-ass naked, on the hood of our car? Out here where just about anybody driving by could see your legs in the air, my dick still inside you?"

Dean actually had no idea if talking dirty would turn Sam on or off, but now seemed like as good a chance to find out as any. Sam made this desperate sounding whining moan in the back of his throat as he bucked up into Dean's hand almost violently. Dean reacted quickly, moving his hand to get Sam to come; he made a mental note to find out if what he was saying was having any effect, or if he could be reciting the phone book and Sam would still be this close to coming.

He decided not to risk finding out right then, and instead he leaned down and found a spot of skin near Sam's collarbone, and bit. Sam came, moaning loudly.

Dean moved, a second too late, then just leaned back down and licked the spot he'd been biting. Hell, they'd need a shirt to clean up with afterwards, might as well be this one and hope Dad didn't ask why Dean had left wearing one and returned wearing another.

How many times could he claim to have spilled soda on himself?

Sam had gone completely boneless as he came down from his climax, letting his head fall back to rest against the car's hood. Dean took a moment to just look at him. He was always gorgeous, but like this... Dean leaned down and kissed him, softly.

Then he laid his head on Sam's shoulder and closed his eyes. Possibly not the greatest place for a nap, but Dean didn't care. After a few moments, Sam's hands began to run over his skin lightly, soothingly. He had the vague impression that it should be the other way around -- if Sam had already bounced back, Dean thought maybe they were going to have to use all five stop-for-sex spots he'd scouted out.

He heard Sam sigh in that completely-content-with-the-world way he had, usually heard just before he fell asleep. Dean didn't move a muscle, because if anyone deserved a well-fucked nap, it was the guy who had just been fucked. Sam didn't move either, save to shift his grip on Dean to keep him close.

He'd slept in worse places, Dean figured, as he let his weight settle on his brother.

What felt like a minute later someone was poking him. "Dean. Wake up."

"What?" Dean snapped, or tried to - it sounded like his mouth was taped shut. His back hurt like a bitch -- and he suddenly realised he'd been sleeping bent over on Sam.

Outside in the middle of bumfuck Washington. Literally.

Dean snickered.

"Yeah, laugh it up all you want, just get off me," Sam demanded. "My legs have fallen asleep."

"Sorry." Dean started to shove himself backwards, then pulled away more slowly as he realised he'd still been inside Sam. His back hurt, and he stretched, then pulled off his shirt and used it to wipe himself off. When he was finished, he tossed it on Sam, and zipped up his jeans. More or less clean. "I'm gonna borrow one of your shirts."

"Knock yourself out," Sam said, still sprawled on the car, though he was lazily cleaning himself up with Dean's shirt.

Dean walked around to the trunk, digging for his keys. He'd planned this pretty well, except for bringing a change of clothes. He popped the trunk and grabbed Sam's duffel. Once upon a time, Dean had kept a bag in the car all the time. Not his hunting kit, but just a bag with enough clothes and shit to keep him going for a week -- or forever, if he hit the laundromat.

He grabbed one of Sam's less offensive shirts and put it on. By the time he was closing the trunk up again, Sam had got down off the car and was putting his clothes back on.

Dean stopped and watched him for a moment. There was a moment of something, a feeling that came and went too fast to recognise. He was used to feeling a lot of things when it came to Sam -- love and lust and anger and amusement and pride. This was something new.

"You ready to hit the road?" he asked, and he heard the distant tone of his voice and wondered if it had anything to do with the strange feeling.

Sam gave him a strange look. "Almost," he said, closing the distance between them and kissing Dean long and deep, his hands cupping Dean's face between them.

Dean slipped his arms around Sam's waist, not letting him go when the kiss ended. He looked at Sam again, poking at the weird feeling -- it was there again, or still, quiet and weird and he wasn't entirely sure he liked it.

Then he found himself saying, "You're gonna be here."

The strange look was still on Sam's face. "Yes?"

He shook his head, and tried to explain. "I think...I just realised. You're gonna be here." He swallowed, and decided that he might as well just say it. "Pretty much always."

Sam smiled at him and kissed him again. "Yeah, I am."

It was strange. Just him and Sam, parked at an abandoned gas station with the scent of old gasoline and fresh sex, and everything around them overgrown and empty. But it was the whole world.

"I guess..." Dean shook his head, not really sure what this feeling meant, since he wasn't really sure he understood it. He shook himself and asked, "You wanna check out the other four stops I found?"

Sam's laughter was all that was light and good. "You're insatiable," he accused fondly.

"No, I'm thinking that we won't get to have sex again until I get home sometime next week." He shrugged, as though it didn't matter -- and he realised it really didn't. "Wanna go chase down a poltergeist?" he asked, smiling, in the exact same tone.

"Yeah," Sam replied, grinning at him and reaching out to squeeze Dean's hand.

"Wanna blow up a house?" Dean asked -- and he took a second look at the building they were standing next to.

"Dean," Sam said in his best don't-be-crazy tone.

"Come on! What's the harm?" Dean gave his brother a wide grin.

"Dean, we are not blowing up a house just because you want to have fun."

"Sa-am," Dean whined. "Just one gas station. No one's even gonna miss it!" He gestured at the abandoned building. There was probably gas soaked into the ground, so actually setting fire to the place would be a very bad, dangerous idea.

But the fireball it would make.

"No."

"Sam!" Dean protested.

"No," Sam repeated, in the same implacable tone.

Dean scowled and folded his arms across his chest, refusing to move towards the driver's side car door. Sam sighed and moved over to him, slipping a hand into Dean's pocket and coming up with his keys and moving to the driver's side door himself.

"You've got your own key!" Dean protested, not that he minded having Sam's hand in his pants.

"Get in the car, Dean," Sam told him.

Still scowling, Dean went around to the passenger side of the car -- stomping his feet once or twice for good effect. When he got in the car, he said, "You never let me do anything."

Sam glanced over at him as he started the engine. "I just let you fuck me over the hood of your car," he reminded.

"Let me?" Dean raised an eyebrow at him.

"Do you prefer 'granted you permission'?"

Dean scowled harder, with just a touch of sincerity. "So you're telling me you didn't like it."

"What? When did I say that?" Sam asked, taking his eyes off the road long enough to give Dean a disbelieving look.

Dean smiled, then quickly composed his face into a scowl again. "You're sitting there acting like you did me a favor, getting fucked on the hood of our car."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Didn't you like it?"

"We're not talking about whether I liked it," Dean reminded him. "We're talking about the fact that you said you let me fuck you on the hood of the car in the middle of nowhere next to a gas station you won't let me blow up."

Dean wasn't entirely sure he followed his own logic there, but since the point wasn't to be logical, but to harass his brother, Dean didn't figure it mattered.

"I did let you," Sam pointed out. "Whether I enjoyed it or not doesn't change that fact, though it might explain it."

Suddenly, Dean felt his stomach clench. "Stop the car."

Sam gave him a puzzled look. "Dean, what--"

"Stop the fucking car!"

Sam did, pulling over to the side of the road.

Dean yanked open the door and pushed himself out -- for a second he thought maybe he could calm the hell down. 'Whether or not I enjoyed it' ran through his head again and he was on his knees, throwing up.

He felt his brother come up behind him, felt Sam's hands on his shoulders, rubbing soothingly. Dean tried to breathe, and had to spit out the taste in his mouth. "Don't--" he managed, breath shuttering as his stomach clenched again.

"Don't what?" Sam asked in that quiet voice he always used when trying to calm Dean down. One hand ran lightly through Dean's hair.

"Don't ever let me...." He coughed, then dry heaved. God, the thought that he could do that to Sam....

Sam made soothing sounds, obviously trying to calm Dean down without actually saying "Calm down." He was trying to, but his stomach kept clenching and he figured he'd be throwing up still if there was anything to bring up. Dean realised his fingers were digging into the dirt like he was trying to pull himself down.

He coughed again, a sick, half-dead sound. Then he was being pulled up and wrapped in his brother's arms.

He had a thought about getting up off the ground, but Sam was pretty much hanging onto him like he wasn't going to let go, ever. Dean leaned into him, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, and let his brother fairly engulf him. Sam held him tightly, his face pressed into Dean's hair, murmuring soft words that Dean couldn't make out but that were nice to hear anyway.

"I--" he began, and stopped as he didn't really know what he wanted to say.

He had a flash of memory -- Dorinda Lee, standing in her bedroom and gesturing at him with a crook of her finger.

"What?" Sam asked softly.

She'd been wearing thick make-up that made her look older, scarier. He could remember her bright green eyelids and the dark red lipstick he'd had to wash off his own skin, after.

"I wanted," he tried again. Inhaling deeply, Dean shivered. A run-down house, wooden floorboards and the smell of something sour from the living room, like nobody had cleaned in there, ever. Dorinda Lee's voice, tired and high-pitched and wheedling, like maybe he'd say no.

He'd wanted to say no.

He felt Sam drop a gentle kiss on his temple. "I promise you, Dean, you can say no whenever you want."

"Don't ever...." He stopped, and had to try again. "Don't ever let me do something you don't want to," he said, voice trailing off in a whisper.

"Dean." Sam pulled away enough to force Dean to meet his eyes. "I don't think there's anything you could do that I wouldn't want," he said, his emotions clear in his gaze. "But I promise if there ever is, I'll tell you."

Dean nodded, knowing Sam meant it. Hoping -- but he could imagine Sam letting Dean do something he wanted, enduring it just because Dean wanted it--

Or would he? How often had Sam ever stayed quiet, really quiet, about something he didn't like? Dean closed his eyes and let his head fall against Sam, and knew he just had to trust that Sam would keep his word.

"Sorry."

"For what?" Sam asked, seeming to be honestly perplexed.

Dean waved a hand, gesturing at the whole sitting-by-the-road-upchucking thing.

Sam shook his head. "Not your fault."

"Not exactly what I planned," Dean said, quietly. He felt tired -- his stomach was still queasy, but he didn't think he'd throw up again. He rested his head against Sam, again, and tried just not moving for a minute.

"Nobody plans throwing up on the side of the road, Dean," Sam teased gently, his fingers threading through Dean's hair again.

He laughed, once. "Could have gotten us out of some of those boring drives through west Texas," Dean said. "Throw up at the New Mexico border a few times...."

Sam chuckled, the sound comforting. "Dad probably would've just given you an airsick bag and kept going."

"Yeah." Dean closed his eyes as his stomach squeezed itself tight again.

"You want your daddy?" she'd said, whispered in his ear, mouth next to his cheek and he'd didn't dare move an inch for fear she'd think he was turning her down.

"Hey." Sam's voice, a little more urgent, one big hand cupping Dean's cheek. "Stay with me, okay?"

Whimpering once, Dean tried to stop remembering -- opening his eyes didn't help much, he could still hear her. Feel her hands--

He pressed his face into Sam's hand, huge and hard and calluses on his fingertips where hers had been smooth, with long fake nails.

Sam was looking at him worriedly, but also calculatingly. He leaned forward and kissed Dean, hard and possessive, seeming unphased by the fact that Dean had just been throwing up. "You're mine," he murmured to Dean in a low growl. "No one else touches you like this ever again. Just me."

"I don't want them to," Dean said, feeling lost and trying to hang onto Sam, trying to focus. He realised he was shaking and he tried to stop, but all he could manage was to press himself even closer to Sam. He wanted to feel that growl, feel it in his chest, let it vibrate through him until he could feel it on the inside.

"I know," Sam said and there was that growl again. "They won't. Not without having to go through me first."

"OK." Dean closed his eyes again, and he felt dizzy, and tired, and he just wanted to let Sam stand guard. Or sit, he corrected, and they should probably get off the ground and back to the motel. Sam made no move to get them up though, just pulled Dean closer and held onto him tightly.

"We...should get back," Dean finally said, knowing that they had a job to do and Dad was waiting for them. He didn't feel much like going hunting, but he told himself he'd messed around long enough, and sitting by the side of the road wasn't getting the job done.

He didn't try to let go of Sam just yet, though.

"We will," Sam told him, not sounding the least bit worried or rushed. And still not making any move to leave.

Deciding that he didn't feel up to arguing, Dean didn't say anything more. The wind was picking up, cool and nice -- it made him think of the snow that, up here, wouldn't be too many more weeks away. He shifted, once, thinking that they really needed to get off their asses and get back to Dad and the poltergeist -- he wanted to go home.

Finally Sam stirred, pulling back a little. "You ready to go?"

"Yeah." Dean was glad to notice he sounded less like he wanted to throw up again -- or stay where he was. He moved away from Sam just enough to see if his brother was going to let him go. Sam moved a little, but didn't relinquish his hold on Dean as he got them both to their feet. Dean felt himself sway for a second, then he got ahold of himself and stood up straight. He looked at Sam and found his brother watching him.

Sam smiled at him and patted his arm.

"God, I need water," Dean muttered. His mouth tasted nasty. He only had holy water in the trunk, but there was an exit up ahead with fast food places and a couple gas stations. He glanced down at himself to check if he'd splattered vomit anywhere, but he looked clean.

"Hang on a sec," Sam said, moving away from Dean for the first time since they'd stopped. He went to the trunk and dug through his bag, coming back with a bottle of water. "Here."

"Thanks." He took the bottle, swigging a mouthful and swishing it around his mouth before spitting it out. He did the same thing again, then the third time he drank some. He made a slight gagging noise and shook his head. "I taste nasty." He gave his brother a look. "I can't believe you kissed me when I tasted like this."

Sam shrugged. "You needed me to."

Whatever he'd been about to say died before even reaching his lips, and Dean just looked at Sam. "Yeah." He coughed, then tried to not go there, and said, "Yet you won't kiss me after I have fish tacos."

"That should tell you something about my feelings regarding fish tacos," Sam pointed out.

Dean nodded, taking another swallow of water. He fought back the urge to grab another cuddle -- he'd planned for a few stops for sex along the way, but he hadn't really expected to waste too much time getting back to Clayton. "There's a Benny's Tacos in town," he said, hopefully.

"Dean, I love you, but I'm not buying you a fish taco."

"I think they have fish burritos." Dean capped the water bottle and stepped towards the car, door still hanging wide open as he'd left it.

"No," Sam said, moving around to the driver's side.

"I thought you loved me," Dean said, forcing himself to not think about what he'd just said. He got into the car and pulled the door closed, reaching forward to give his girl a pat before Sam got in and could catch him at it.

"I do. But that still doesn't mean I'm going to buy you fish tacos."

"Why not? Seriously, what have you got against a perfectly wonderful combination of two of the most perfect foods ever? Add a couple twinkies and those Funyun things...."

"You're trying to make me throw up on the side of the road, aren't you?" Sam asked plaintively as he started the engine.

"Sammy!" Dean chided. "If I were trying to make you throw up I'd remind you about the time Sue Ann tried to kiss you in first grade." He leaned back in the seat, sliding down a little to let his head fall low on the headrest.

"Just because I don't want to think of kissing anyone other than you doesn't mean that doing so will make me throw up," Sam said easily.

"Is that why you were so mad when she kissed you? Because she wasn't me?" Dean grinned smugly at him.

"I was six years old. I thought girls had cooties."

"You made me kiss you to disinfect where she kissed you." Sammy had been scowling like the proverbial thundercloud -- and he'd stayed angry the entire walk home from school. Dean had finally been at his wit's end to get Sam in a better mood; in desperation, he'd leaned down and kissed Sam on the cheek and told him that erased it.

He remembered how Sammy had looked up at him, those damnable puppy eyes wide as they could go, and he'd said that the girl had kissed him on the mouth.

Sam shrugged. "I figured I probably already had your cooties."

"You drooled on me, first."

"No fair bringing up things that happened before I had teeth."

"You teethed on Mr. Ber-ber," Dean told him, scowling. Mom had given him the teddy bear -- leave it to Sammy to decide that was the only proper teething ring he could use.

"You gave it to me," Sam defended. "And what did I say about bringing things up from when I was a baby?"

"I gave him to you because I had something better to sleep with." Dean closed his eyes. He really didn't care about the stuffed bear -- hadn't at the time, didn't now. But there was no way in hell he'd ever stop teasing Sam about it.

Sam's hand squeezed his thigh, there and gone. "You still do," he said.

"Still drool on me sometimes," Dean said. The motion of the car was starting to lull him into a post-fuck-freak out haze. He didn't feel like fighting it; they still had about twenty minutes to reach the motel.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"You have to tell me where we're going."

Dean left his eyes closed and muttered, "First exit, Motel 6. Room 21. Look for a guy who answers to 'Dad'."

There was a pause and then Sam told him, "Jerk."

"Dickface," Dean replied. "Na to--"

As he drifted off, he heard Sam say softly, "Yeah, love you too."

When he woke up, the first thing Dean thought was that his mouth tasted like the inside of a trash can. The second thing he thought was that Sammy was hanging onto him and trying to tug at him to get out of the car. He tried opening his eyes and saw the motel, room 11's door right in front of him. He looked up to the second floor: room 21.

Right. Clayton. Poltergeists.

"Dean?" Sam asked, seeing his eyes open. "You back with me?"

"Muh?" Dean lifted his head and remembered why he didn't like sleeping in the front seat of the car. He looked around again, saw a cheap motel with a mostly empty parking lot and a spate of fast food restaurants and bars scattered along both sides of the street. He looked at Sam again.

Sam smiled at him. "You aren't, are you?"

He flipped Sam off, because it seemed like an appropriate response.

Sam laughed. "Come on," he said, tugging on Dean's arm. "Let's get you up to the room."

He let Sam manhandle him, though he was pretty much awake by the time he was standing up. He leaned against his brother, letting Sam hold a bit more of his weight with every step.

Halfway up the stairs, Sam stopped, looked closer at Dean and then pushed him off with a dirty look. "I'm not hauling you around for your amusement," he said, exasperated.

"Geez, first no blowing up gas stations, now this. Don't I get any fun?"

"Didn't we have this conversation already?"

Dean made a face. "Yeah. Don't really wanna have it again." He continued up the steps, wondering if Dad was here or if he'd walked down to the diner. He tried to get himself settled, just in case Dad was waiting for them in the room.

Sam followed him. "I think we might have to because I think you heard something different than I was saying. But that can wait."

Frowning, Dean looked over at him. "What?" He didn't remember hearing anything... well, of course, he told himself. Sam just said Dean had heard something that wasn't what Sam thought he was saying.

A quick glance around as he opened the door to their motel room showed him Dad wasn't there. He relaxed, a little, and stepped inside. Sam dropped the backpack he'd had slung over one shoulder on the bed furthest from the door. Then he turned back to Dean, eyeing him speculatively.

Dean shifted nervously from one foot to the other. "What?" he asked, a bit more seriously.

Sam grinned. "Just trying to figure out how long we're going to have the room to ourselves."

"The second you try anything, I guarantee Dad will walk through that door." Dean gestured at the door, scowling at Sam. Not that he didn't want to make use of the bed, but they'd just figured out how to keep Dad from finding out. He didn't want to make that a moot point by being caught in mid-orgasm.

"Yeah, probably." Sam didn't stop staring at him though.

"Sam," Dean said, warning him. "Stop thinking that, right now. I mean it."

"Thinking what?" Sam asked, still staring. He didn't even try to sound innocent.

"You're thinking about throwing me face-first onto the bed and fucking me until my brain bleeds out of my skull." At least he hoped that was what Sam was thinking.

Sam shook his head. "Not quite, though that sounds pretty good too."

"You were thinking of stripping down and me sucking you off?" He glanced at his watch as if trying to decide if they might have time. They didn't -- there was no way he was having sex with Sam in a room Dad had the key to.

But talking about it was better than thinking about...other stuff.

"Nope, but also another excellent suggestion."

"So tell me, smarty pants, what are you thinking?" He knew he was asking for trouble, since they couldn't follow through. But he still wanted to hear.

"Oh, I was thinking about stripping you naked, tying you to the bed, then seeing if I could lick every inch of your body without letting you come." Sam kicked off his sneakers and flopped down on the bed, leaning against the headboard. "Then I'd fuck you until your brain bleeds out of your skull."

"We can barricade the door." Dean dropped his hands to his jeans, thinking of all the things in the room they could use for bonds.

Sam shook his head. "No, you're right. It's too dangerous when we don't know when Dad will be back."

"You're evil," Dean told his brother. "I just want you to know. If anyone ever says you're the good brother? They're lying."

"But you love me anyway."

"Right now I want to smack you." Dean glared at him. "Call Dad and tell him the poltergeist went to Seattle. The drive'll give us some time."

"We can do it when we get home," Sam said, eyeing Dean speculatively again. "Mm, yeah, I think I like the idea of you tied to our bed, on our black sheets, totally at my mercy."

Dean held out his wrists. He was hard enough that even if Dad did walk in the door right that second, Dean wouldn't care. Sam crooked a finger in the universal "come here" gesture.

Dean went.

Sam took one of the leather ties he wore as a bracelet off his wrist and tied it around Dean's. "Best I can do for now," he said as he tied it up, he glanced up at Dean, eyes dark and intense. "But this means you're mine."

Looking down at his wrist, Dean didn't try to stop the huge fucking smile that split his face. God, he was so... well, owned. He knew he should be embarrassed as all hell and he ought to try for something to prove he still had balls.

He gave Sam a kiss, deep as he could.

Sam kissed him back, smiling a little smugly at Dean when they broke off. "I should've done that ages ago."

"You could have," Dean nodded. Then he rubbed his bottom lip. "Ugh. Sorry, shoulda brushed my teeth first." He took a step towards the bathroom to do that, and said, "You wanna call Dad and let him know we're here? See if we need to meet up with him?" He fingered the leather tie around his wrist. Thin, almost like a lace -- nothing like the thick band on his other wrist.

"Yeah, suppose we should," Sam said with a sigh, digging in his bag for his phone.

Dean left him to go brush his teeth -- the water had rinsed most of it out, but his mouth still tasted like vomit. He grabbed his toothbrush and the small travel tube of toothpaste, noting that he was going to have to replace it in a day or two. Dad had some, but there was still the problem of dealing with Dad's lectures about being prepared. There was a K-Mart in town, they'd driven past it once.

The thought of K-Mart made him smile, remembering his and Sam's trip when they'd first moved to Palo Alto.

He brushed his teeth quickly, then rinsed a couple extra times before heading back out. He rubbed at his stomach -- maybe he should grab a 7-Up from the machine to make sure his stomach would stay settled.

Sam was on the phone, speaking to, Dean assumed, their dad. "Yes, sir."

He walked up behind Sam and slipped his hand inside Sam's front jeans pocket.

"No, we haven't eaten." Sam smiled at him and leaned back against him.

Dean mouthed a spot on Sam's neck, making it clear that he had a preferred menu. He wriggled his fingers a little deeper into Sam's pocket, looking for anything fun.

"Whatever you can pick up will be fine," Sam said. He kind of... wriggled a little against Dean's body.

Dean didn't really think he wanted to risk real food -- but neither did he want to have that conversation with Dad about why he didn't want dinner. He slid his fingers all the way into Sam's pocket, and found a promising sort of bump under the fabric. He stroked it, to see if it would respond.

Sam's free hand went to Dean's wrist, one finger tracing the leather that he'd tied there. "Yes sir."

Dean stopped moving his fingers, not sure if Sam's touch was meant as a warning that he'd kill Dean if he kept that up while he was talking to Dad, or if it was encouragement in the 'I'll stroke you and you stroke me' sense. He rested his chin on Sam's shoulder blade, remembering a time when he could see over the top of his little brother. He gave Sam's shoulder a scowl. Stupid genes.

"We'll be ready," Sam said. "Bye." He clicked the phone off and tossed it on the bed, before turning around to wrap his arms around Dean and kiss him.

"Hey," Dean said, when Sam finally broke the kiss. "Was that Dad?" he asked, with as straight a face as he could manage.

"Yeah," Sam answered. "He's checking out a lead, then is going to pick up some food before coming back. So he's going to be at least an hour." He moved in for another kiss.

"He want us to do anything?"

"You're supposed to bring me up to speed about what you've already found out and he wanted me to look through his notes," Sam said, in between nuzzling Dean's neck.

"We...haven't found the poltergeist yet," Dean said, trying to think -- but not trying too hard. "Don't know if it's one, or three, or kids making trouble," he added as Sam's tongue started pressing against his jugular. "Um. And an hour's plenty of time to tie me up and fuck me."

"No, it's not," Sam countered, breathing the words directly into Dean's ear. "Not for what I have planned. We'll just have to improvise for now."

Frowning, Dean argued, "It's enough time. We don't have to get fancy. Tie me to the bed, fuck me, hose me off. Forty-five minutes." He gave Sam a kiss, because really he was happy to do anything -- except maybe sit and watch Sam read through Dad's notes for an hour.

"The whole point of tying you up is so I can take my time. It'll have to wait."

"I thought the whole point of tying me up was to tie me up," Dean said. He got his fingers underneath Sam's shirt and focused for a moment on the feel of his skin.

Sam chuckled. "You're really getting off on the idea, aren't you?"

He paused, then shrugged. "I've never been tied up before. I kinda think I'd like it." He suspected he was only turned on by the idea of Sam tying him up -- but that was fine, since Sam was the only one who would be getting the chance.

Sam pulled back and looked at him.

Dean had no idea what the expression on his brother's face meant. "What?" he asked, voice dipping a little sharper than maybe he wanted, if he expected to have sex instead of an argument.

"You've never been tied up before," Sam repeated. He smiled. "I'll be your first."

Grinning, Dean rolled his eyes. "I haven't done everything before, you know." Which meant as he tried to think of another example, all he could come up with was, "I've never had sex in a hot air balloon."

Sam laughed. "Do you want to?" he asked, going back to nuzzling Dean's neck.

He had his mouth open to say sure, when he realised they'd be up in the fucking air. "Oh, hell no. Not unless it's deflated and on the ground."

"That's what I thought," Sam said, chuckling again.

"How about if we have sex now, and we can talk about what I haven't done later?"

"Sounds like a plan. We can make a list."

~~~

They ended up not making a list -- Dean got as far as 'blowjob' then there was being naked and trying not to make a mess they couldn't clean up before Dad arrived. They actually had gotten cleaned up and dressed, and Sam was sitting at the table reading over Dad's notes with ten minutes to spare before the hour deadline was up.

"Hi Dad," Sam said, flashing a quick smile when their father came in, bags of fast food in his hand.

"Boys." Their dad gave them each a nod, then handed over one of the bags to Dean, who was already clearing a spot on the other end of the table from where Sam had Dad's notes spread out.

Sam noticed that Dean was being careful not to actually move any of the papers. Well-trained, the both of them, Sam thought with amusement even as he turned back to their father. "Find out anything new?" he asked.

"Just that our possible second haunting isn't a haunting at all, but someone having an affair with her co-worker." Dad handed over a second bag of food to Dean, who took it, then frowned at the table as if trying to figure out where there was room to put it or the food inside, without disturbing the papers.

After a second, Dean pulled one of the chairs out from the table and set the bag down on it.

"That changes the pattern," Sam said, looking over the list of hauntings and what they