He says the hig...

He says the highway dust is over allWC: 1620Dean/Sam, PGFor spn_50states: Tennessee. Sorry for fucking up your urban legends.Thanks to hansbekhart for saying, "I've read better." The title comes from the Robert Frost poem, The Oven Bird.1. A storm’s brewing outside the car windows and Sam quells the urge to push them down and stick his head out like a dog. They've been through these parts before, some kind of familiarity that's closer to deja vu than home, but the sky wasn’t this shade of gray and everything looks different now under the faded light.“We gonna stop soon?” Sam hates when his voice goes whiny-high and bitchy likes this, but he can't stop it. There's no manly way to say you need a pee break.“Yeah, soon,” Dean says without looking over.2.Dean grudgingly pushes the plate across the table towards Sam the third time he glances longingly at the half-finished pancakes. “What’s up with you, man? You haven’t eaten this much since you were fourteen. God, I hope you don’t get another growth spurt.”Sam grins around a mouthful of syrupy pancake. “What’s wrong, can’t handle me being any bigger than you?”“It’s hard enough to get you in the car as it is. God, you try traveling across the country with the jolly green giant.”“You say the sweetest things."Dean mutters something like "kiss my ass" but Sam ignores him in favor of turning the laptop around to show Dean the article he found yesterday. "I think we should stop in Tennessee next. There’ve been three murders in the last two months.”“Yeah, and?” Dean prompts, tearing his napkin into little strips and stacking them into a box shape and looking bored already with this city. His boot hammers a staccato beat against the table leg.“All the victims were men and they were all killed the same way.”“So some crazy’s chopping guys up. Doesn’t mean it’s our kind of problem.”Sam puts down his fork and slaps a hand so quickly over the napkin strips that half of them escape, fluttering haphazardly to the ground. Dean's foot stops and he can hear the plates and silverware rattle together in the kitchen. “The police never found their heads.”“You think crazy people don’t do crazy things?”“I think this is something,” Sam says and hold Dean’s gaze. “Dean, please.”“Tennessee it is,” Dean says evenly.3.It’s always hot here in July, Sam remembers. It’s like the moment they roll into the state, their clothes stick to their bodies, matted with sweat and all the shit they never could say out loud.When they were here last, Sam fell and scraped his hand, ass to the ground, and angrily fisted handfuls of dry dirt between his fingers. "I'm sick of this bullshit, Dean," he said. Blunt fingernails scrabbled against his shirtfront, pushed him back down again. Desperately, he threw a leg out and heard it connect with a solid grunt. "If you want to go, then get the hell out." Breathless, angry words hissed in his ear.His lungs hurt, scorched from the heat inside out. "Fuck you, I never said I wanted to leave, ever.""Dad's gone, the demon's gone. Why the hell would you stay?""You think I'm only here for the demon? God." A fist to his stomach cut off the last curse and he doubled over and hit the ground.Dad always taught him that some fights just weren't worth it, that sometimes it was better to live to fight another day, but that lesson didn’t take with him or Dean.Sometimes Dad gave shitty advice.4.“So I looked up the area where the victims all died and there’s a local legend about it.”“I’m shocked.”“At the Big Sandy Railroad Junction, a conductor supposedly fell off the train and his head was torn off by the wheels. During foggy nights, people claim to see him searching for it.”“That’s gross, dude,” Dean says, shading his eyes with his hand against the harsh sun. His sunglasses got eaten by a hellhound somewhere back in Kentucky.“We’ve seen worse.”“So what makes this guy suddenly go crazy and decide rather than look for his own, he’s gonna go looking to try on others?"Sam shrugs. “They’re doing some construction on the railroads and making a train museum. Maybe that’s what set him off.”“Why do we always get the nasty ones?” Dean complains. “Never something like a succubus. They’re cute.”“They’re evil,” Sam reminds him. “And they have sex with you until you die.”Dean looks misty at the thought. “But what a way to go.”5.“Goddamn,” Dean says, rubbing his neck. “I knew this was a bad idea.”“Are you okay?” Sam calls out, lowering his shotgun and running towards Dean, who for once, doesn't object to the question. It probably has something to do with the fact that some crazy-ass ghost just tried to pop his head like a coke tab.Ignoring Sam’s question, Dean looks around at the shallow grave. “Did you burn the bones?” Sam rolls his eyes, even though Dean can't see it in the dark.“Of course-” he trails off as a figure appears over the hill, through the unnaturally dense fog. Dean looks up in time to see the goddamn ghost lumbering towards them, body twisted and broken from the fall it took before it died, its neck ending in a bloody stump.“I thought you said you burned it,” Dean accuses, eyes wide and reflective in the dim light. “I did,” Sam insists, “I- shit.”“I’m not going to like this, am I?” Dean asks, getting unsteadily to his feet.Sam lets every curse word he knows fly and even makes up a couple on the spot. "The head is still missing."“I caught that, Sam! That’s kind of why this ghost is out looking for fun, new ones to try on.”“We can figure this out later. But right now,” Sam says, “we need to run.” He grabs Dean’s sweat-soaked gray tee shirt and hauls him to his feet.6.The air conditioning works overtime, rattling and wheezing in the window, making it cold enough to raise goosebumps on their arms when they stumble into the room. Dean rifles through his duffle bag until he pulls out the battered first aid kit Dad gave him with a stern warning to take care of it because it could mean the difference between life and death. He pops the latches, searching for some kind of pain killer, any kind. There’s Tylenol and he swallows four dry before toeing off his boots and flopping face first on the bed.“You nearly died,” Sam says quietly from the window. Outside it’s hot and muggy and Sam’s hair curls slightly around his neck and ears. Dean wishes it would rain to relieve some of this heat pressing down on them. At least make it bearable for a week, long enough for them to find this bastard and get the hell out of dodge.“I nearly a lot of things, Sam. And none of ‘em count for shit.”“You’re a real poet in the evenings.”“Nearly getting my head ripped off does that to me,” Dean mumbles into his pillow without looking up, not the least interested in seeing Sam emo out. There isn’t enough glue left in him to keep himself together and Sam too.Sam leans against the windows as it fogs up until he can’t see anything outside. “We passed a museum on the way here. There’s a gallery of old train memorabilia.”“And you think they kept his head there for kicks?”“No, but I bet they kept something of his that he's attached to, something he can't leave behind.”“Worth a try.”Dean still doesn’t look at him, but he doesn’t sleep either, instead lying there with his face in the pillow, tense, waiting.“I’m not going to leave this time,” Sam says suddenly. He rounds the bed, stops next to Dean. “Move over.”“It’s too goddamn hot.”“Please, Dean,” Sam says, scooting in close as he can until Dean rolls over and makes room for him.7.He wakes up in the middle of the night and instantly knows Dean isn’t asleep, even though the whole room is silent. On the nightstand, a local brochure welcomes them to the beautiful state of Tennessee, but he doesn't need to be reminded where they are.Tennessee is where they fought, where Sam cursed and swore he’d never be back. It's where he got ten paces away, turned around to get a last angry word in and saw Dean sitting in the dirt where he'd left him and realized Dean had no intention of getting up.It's where he had the option to leave again. The kind of opportunity that was only supposed to come around once in a lifetime but had come twice for him, like death for Dean, like everything that was supposed to be dice against a table. Tennessee is where he sees the door, the tense set of Dean’s shoulders, even as he pretends to sleep and thinks that for Dean, Tennessee has become another place he’ll never find peace. We’ll keep running, Sam thinks. And this time I’ll stay with you.He settles in close to Dean, thinking about all the shit they have to do in the morning and how exactly to break into a train museum, and smiles as he smoothes a hand over the pale skin of Dean’s back and Dean doesn't pull away. The room’s cooled off some and the pitter-patter against the roof lulls him some place between sleeping and waking, comfortably hazy and half-asleep.“Dean,” Sam leans over and whispers, even as he knows Dean’s listening silently, waiting. “Go to sleep. It’s raining now.”The end.

SPN Overview (Commentary! With Caplocks!)

Wherein I attempt to explain the more perplexing aspects of the Supernatural fandom.On Dean Worship:Sam: *makes a valid point, like the fact that he would like to live a normal, safe life* (Like it’s UNHEARD OF for teens to crave normalcy in their lives)Fandom: YOU ABANDONED YOUR FAMILY.Sam: Dean, I’m hungry. We’ve been traveling for a week on Ding-dongs and Twinkies.Fandom: WHAT A WHINY BITCH.Dean: *says something semi-clever*Fandom: D’awwww.Dean: *angsts about family not needing him and leaving him*Sam: *is blithe* Boy, I’ll be glad when this is all over and I can get back to my normal life, therefore leaving you and confirming all your worst fears.Dean: *shatters*Sam: Was it something I said?On Evil Pimp Daddy!JohnJohn: It is clear I love my children because I couldn't bear to part with them, even though they had a ready made home with Pastor Jim and it would have made hunting easier on me.Fandom: YOU ARE A BAD FATHER THAT HATES YOUR CHILDREN.John: *weakly* No, really...Fandom: POOR DEAN.Dean: *eats Twinkie* I'm okay.Fandom: YOU ARE HEARTBROKEN AND UNAPPRECIATED FOR YOUR SACRIFICES.Dean: IN MY PANTS.Sam: Why is it that you don't have syphilis yet?On the IncestDean: Sammy - for that is my special pet name for you - let’s share a hotel room!Fandom: SO GAYSam: Totally not gay. *prances around in a towel*Dean: *slaps Sam’s butt and calls him honey*Fandom: SEE?Dean: I do NOT know what gives that impression. *to Sam* Come on, baby, let me hold you while you have your nightmares.On the Music/Impala frontDean: See how cool and retro I am? I drive an old muscle car and listen to oldies.Sam: Kansas is SO LAME.Fandom: WE AGREE.Dean: I like them...Fandom: *THROWS OUT BRIGHT EYES CDS AND BUYS METALLICA AND KANE*On the Monster of the WeekSam: Here is a spooky house that is killing everyone that goes into it. I think it might be paranormal!Dean: *still not convinced* I don’t know, Sam.Sam: I’ll give you a blowjob.Dean: M’kay.Haunted House: *is spooky*Fandom: DON’T GO IN THERE!Dean: Let’s split up!Fandom: NOOOOO!Sam: Even though I have a very good degree and am brainy, I agree!Fandom: YOU CANNOT DIE, BECAUSE THERE ARE ONLY TWO CHARACTERS AND ONE BROTHER TRAVELLING ACROSS THE COUNTRY, TALKING TO HIMSELF, IS BORING. AND KIND OF CREEPY.Sam: *is taken down by the MotW in about five minutes flat*Dean: *angsts prettily* Where is my brother, with whom I have a curiously gay relationship?Haunted House: You are kind of fruity...Fandom: SEE?Dean: *saves Sam*Sam: Thanks, Dean. I really love you and I’m sorry about that callous remark I made, even though I’m supposed to be the sensitive one. But like I told you earlier, I would seriously die for you. Dean: *cuts Sam off with a glib remark* Secretly thinks: NOBODY LOVES ME AND EVERYONE I HAVE LEFT IN THE WORLD WILL EVENTUALLY LEAVE ME.Fandom: OH, DEAN!Haunted House: No, really, Dean. Your family totally loves you. They may not GET you, but they love you.Dean: *burns down house*Haunted House: Guess my agent was right, guess I really was only a plot device to woobify Dean. *burns*The END. Questions?(Okay, not so much the end. Remix: Sammy style)

Every year but the last (implied Sam/Dean) PG-13

Every year but the lastWC: 1290Warnings: Please see the cut and don't get pissy.He finds the book - leather bound and frayed around the edges - tucked into the right side of Dean's duffle bag, next to his dirty socks and a rolled up t-shirt.Sam's fingers skim over the complicated pattern on the front: a crazy, twisted leaf-pattern that’s as much of a mystery as Dean is/was. The faint smell of tobacco clings to the pages. All the cigarettes Dean smoked that he never told Sam about, that Sam feigned ignorance of. Why hadn’t he said anything when he had the chance? Maybe tell Dean he didn’t have to hide that part of himself.He clutches the book tightly and thinks, Oh, Dean.***He doesn't open it til the seventh day, when dust begins to gather on the TV and he feels like crawling out of his skin from sheer boredom but can’t bring himself to face a world without Dean in it. As long as he sits here on his bed, he can pretend like Dean’s just out for coffee and will come back any minute, bitching about the weather. The channel changes with a click. No cable. Goddamn PBS.***Inside the book is a list of cities with a few notes underneath. There aren't any dates or anything, but Dean’s all over these pages - from the surprisingly neat handwriting to the doodles in the margins. This isn’t like Dad’s journal, an equally descriptive and puzzling glimpse of a mysterious, troubled man, it’s no more than travel logs, perfunctory notes on what Dean saw and how he kicked its ass. It isn't until he sees Palo Alto appear multiple times that he realizes that this is Dean's journal of years Sam was gone, busy trying to live someone else's life.Sam's stomach clenches in a funny way when he realizes Dean never stayed at any more than six cities without stopping by Palo Alto again. He rubs his chest absently and keeps flipping through the pages.***When Sam starts the Impala, it groans around him like a tired old thing on the last leg of its journey, which it probably is. He pats the steering wheel softly just as Dean would have done and says, “Just a little further, I promise.”***The first stop isn't far. Sam turns on the radio to a top 20 station that would of made Dean bust something. Sam grins at the thought, imagining all the insults Dean would fling at him: Your hair is stupid; you suck up all that crap 'cause you don’t know better, which is pretty sad for a college boy; you wouldn’t know good music if it tattooed its name on your ass.Dean had once promised to haunt Sam and Sam figures this shitty music is as good a grounds for haunting as any.Come on, Sam pleads silently. I dare you to haunt me.After twenty minutes of boring music, Sam shuts off the radio and drives the rest of the way in silence.***The air is so hot, it feels like cotton in his mouth. In the far distance, he can see dirt clouds coming closer. He feels the staccato beat of some mullet-haired band before he hears them. Sam keeps his head down and keeps walking.Eventually the car reaches him and slows to a rolling stop. "Thought you weren't coming back," Sam says to the driver, finally looking up and squinting through the sun’s glare.Dean rolls his eyes. "Yeah right, dude. Get in the car."And this is what they keep fucking arguing about - Dean's constant need to bark orders, but the fact that Dean came back for Sam says...something.Sam’s not an idiot. He’s not going to change Dean, nor is he ever going to get a real apology, but this whole thing means something to him too, even if he doesn’t want to think too hard about the what of it.He opens the door and slides over the sticky leather. "Yeah," Sam admits finally. "I knew you’d come back for me."***There's a handwritten receipt for a local body shop tucked inside the front cover. Earlier, Sam googled the city to find that there had been some vicious bear attacks in an oddly regular pattern. There hadn’t been any witnesses but a whole bunch of scared people, and Sam guesses that would have been enough to get Dean. He can imagine the Impala roaring through town with some kinda attitude, Dean asking around to find out a body shop that wouldn’t stick it to travellers too badly. Like Sam, he'd pull up and ask for a Mr. Guy. The man would step out of the backroom, scratch his head and eye him assessingly, nod his head and ask what the hell he wants. This is where their stories diverge: Dean was looking for parts for the car and Sam is looking for parts of his brother."Hi," Sam says nervously, holding out a well-handled picture of Dean from his wallet. "I’m looking for my brother and I think he might have passed through here. Do you remember him?"Mr. Guy scratches his head, grimy from sweat and shop grease, and studies the picture before shaking his head. "Can’t say I do.""It was a few years ago," Sam supplies, begging this man to know more about his brother, to be able to tell him something.Mr. Guy shakes his head again and it’s somehow worse this time because he really does seem regretful. "Sorry, son. I hope you find him.""So do I," Sam says, a heavy weight settling somewhere in his stomach and lodging there. Before he turns to leave, he asks, "Hey, do you remember those bear attacks here some years back?"The man seems startled. "Course I do, boy. You don’t think that had anything to do with your brother?""No," Sam assures him, "not really. You remember when the attacks stopped?""Sure do, some time back. Weirdest thing, they stopped without any explanation, like they started."Sam smiles, just a bit. "And you don’t remember my brother?"It’s not a question, Sam's already turning away, but he hears the guy’s response anyway. It just makes him feel worse, is all.***When he gets back to the room he falls into an exhausted heap on the bed, even though it's only midday. Dean probably saved half these people’s lives and they can’t even be bothered to remember him. The injustice of it all sours in Sam’s stomach and he barely makes it to the bathroom in time to throw up into the toilette.***A neon light outside the window highlights the lines of Dean's back. The air warm and damp, almost unpleasant but not quite. Sam stretches, muscles lazy and humming. He runs a hand down Dean’s back until Dean turns over with mussed hair and sleepy eyes. He never lets himself get this relaxed unless its around Sam, which Sam secretly loves."Hey, Sammy," Dean says, voice raspy and low."It's Sam," he corrects, too relaxed to be really angry."Sorry," Dean says, though he doesn’t look it at all. "I’ll make it up to you."Sam grins. "Show me."So Dean leans in closer and kisses Sam, a lazy swipe of tongue across his lower lip that Sam leans into.***There's a bug-zapper outside the motel door and the sound, a harsh buzz-snap-snap jars him awake. It’s dark outside and the room is cold. Sam bought a double without thinking about it and the empty bed is too much to look at right now. He rolls over, faces the wall and says, "You could’ve called me Sammy. I never really minded."_________________________A/N: I called hansbekhart at some ungodly hour and crowed, “I have an idea! For a fic! And it doesn’t involve porn (immediately)! She mumbled, "What the hell are you smoking? Ahem. I mean, go on, do tell."I gibbered on happily, "Well, you see, Dean dies!""HOW DO WE MAKE THAT INTO PORN?""SHUT UP AND LET ME TALK." Then I explained it and she said, "Oooh, angst! Shiny."That's not quite how it went, but close enough. So this is not really a multi-part fic, though it really kind of is. Each post is meant to stand on its own and subsequent fics will loosely follow each other, hopefully. If we don’t suck too bad and rewrite each others fics. At any rate, that’s the plan. This might actually be all you get.

Two men I barely know (Dean/Sam) NC-17

Two men I barely know (Dean/Sam) NC-17 PWPWC: 2170Dean is pissed off. Like, getting your ass handed to you by a wendigo pissed off. Only worse this time because it was an old woman who nearly killed them both."Fucking crones," Dean mutters, hating the way his boots slosh. Oh, if that old bitch ruined his shoes...Sam shakes the water out of his hair and Dean is all at once reminded of the boy Sam used to be and a stupid shaggy dog. The thought confuses him and he wonders if he hit his head going in the water after Sam."I didn't think she'd try to pull me under," Sam says. "Yeah, well, old women can't resist you. Even if they're evil and just want to eat the flesh off your bones.""Dude, don't be gross."There is water in my underwear, Dean thinks indignantly. We are past the gross stage."Dibs on the shower."Sam stops up short. "You can't call dibs on the shower before we even get there," he explains, trying to sound reasonable, all lawyer-like, but the effect is ruined by the fact that they're arguing over a shower, Sam's hair is plastered his face and Dean does not understand how he can see. Maybe, Dean thinks, the odd bit of freezing-water-induced-paranoia gripping him, maybe Sam has these extra powers that include being able to see through the most jacked-up hairstyles known to man.Then: I might have mud in my asscrack. God."I get the shower because I'm the oldest," Dean says and nearly sags with relief when he sees the car, unharmed and gleaming in the dull light. It's not the car that means that much to him, it's the feeling, as loath as he is to try to explain it. The car means they've lived through another day."Get a room," Sam mutters, slopping past Dean and heading towards the passenger side."What's your problem, man?""You act like you're happier to see the car unhurt than me."Dean feels gobsmacked and his droopy shorts aren't the reason. "You think I'm not happy you're okay?"Sam stops to look at Dean, leaning against the open door, face outlined by the car's interior lights. This is familiar, Dean thinks, and has another flash of Sammy from years ago: Pulled under by a water demon, body wrapped against his. Hold on to me, Sammy. You're okay. I'll keep your head above the water.Dean always liked school okay. Well, he really liked the school girls, but he hated English class when he realised words like wendigo and shtriga didn't exist. There weren't words to describe his life and he remembers thinking: If there aren't words to describe our life, then what kind of unspeakable things does that make us?Sam was always the one with the gift for words; he could bend them and manipulate them until they did what he wanted and Dean could only marvel at that. Because dad and him weren't so gifted. What couldn’t be expressed in words could only be shown in gruff gestures and soft touches."I'm sorry, man," Sam's saying. "I don't know-" He scrubs a weary hand over his face. "I know I matter to you. I'm just tired, I guess."Dean nods numbly. There is, this is - if Sam thinks Dean doesn't care about him, then he's failed. Sam's half of everything that ever mattered to Dean and now he's everything. His fingers are numb and he utters those unspeakable words he never thought he'd say: "Maybe you should drive."Sam's eyes widen almost comically. "I said I'm sorry, you know. Seriously, I'm just tired."Dean smiles at him - fake, like he does so often - and tosses him the keys. "I know, being nearly drowned is liable to make anyone bitchy."Sam catches the keys by sheer reflex and stares at them dumbly for a moment before rounding on Dean. "Are you okay?"Dean looks at Sam like he's crazy. "I've got mud in unmentionable places and we're having a talk about our feelings at three in the morning and you're asking me if I’m okay?"Sam lets out a breath, irritation etched across his face. "I was just asking.""Yeah, well. You don't need to," Dean says sharply and pushes past Sam. With his hand on the door, he thinks he almost got away with it, when Sam grabs him from behind and spins him around sharply, pushing him against the car door in one swift movement. "Nice try, asshole. Almost had me there." Sam is close, close enough for Dean to smell the filth on him and the cheap hotel soap beneath that. "I-" Dean starts but Sam cuts him off."Oh, shut up. You're so full of shit," Sam says and kisses him. It's dirty and not at all how he imagined kissing Sam would be, not soft lips and flowers, but teeth against his lip and harsh breaths. Hands fumble against his belt buckle and it's almost enough to make him step back, push Sammy away because this is so many shades of fucked up, but he doesn't. This may be wrong, but it doesn't feel wrong and Dean's always gone with his feelings, even the ones he was too afraid to do more than whisper. "Please," he hears himself murmur against Sam's lips as Sam's hand steals into his pants. Dignity, Dean thinks distantly. I must have had it once.But then he's not thinking at all because Sam's warm hands are wrapped around his cock and he doesn't care to think about how long its been since anyone touched him like this. Can't have been too long, but it feels forever ago, or maybe its just the immediacy of this. The now-ness that hums under his skin. "I need," Sam's saying, but doesn't seem to be able to get past the first words, where they stick in his throat. "I need.""What?" Dean asks and this is the truth and they both know it: that anything Sam needed, Dean would give him. It's scary. It's liberating. Dean might throw up at any minute.Yes, he thinks. Ask."I need you."Dean blames the fact that his brother's jerking him off for any momentary lapse into stupidity, though truth be told, that's probably what got them here in the first place."Got me, Sammy."Sam's shaking his head against Dean's shoulder. "Want you so bad."And that does bring up Dean short. He might not have a PhD in English, but he knows the difference between want and need. Need is what he has for Sam - this all-consuming fear that threatens to eat him alive if he doesn't keep it in check. Want is every cheap-ass offer he's had at a bar, hell, every offer he's made at a bar. It's a whole 'nother ballgame.But no isn't a word that's ever been in Dean's vocabulary, not with Sam.Want. So different from need. Dean had always thought need was what he wanted from Sam, but now he's facing the startling revelation that he doesn't know a damn thing. "Come on," Sam says in a gruff voice that Dean's never heard before. "Let me.""Yes," Dean replies against the salt of Sam's neck and means it, like he's never meant anything else. "Anything."Dean's sodden, wet jeans slide down his legs, the edges scraping against his skin and Sam tugs his jacket and shirt off. The air and cold metal behind him is a shock that goes through his whole body.Sam moves him over towards the hood of the car and this is every dirty dream Dean's even had, but in none of them was he the one getting fucked. Sam stops. "I don't have anything-""I do," Dean grunts. "Glove compartment, to the right."A smile nearly splits Sam's face. "You cocky bastard.""Pays to be prepared."Dean feels a more than little stupid while soggy and cold, standing stark-ass naked in the middle of the woods, but the expression Sam has on his face when he takes Dean in - devouring him with his eyes - is something Dean feels to his very toes."Come on," Sam says and pushes Dean onto the hood of the car. The cold presses up and envelopes him until all he can feel is the hot slide of Sam's hand against his back and over the curve of his ass. He shivers."You don't know what you look like, do you?"Dean can't answer. He nearly jumps out of his skin when the warm press of a tongue hits his back, tracing his spine and moving lower. He groans as Sam's tongue finds his ass and circles lazily. Obscene words explode from Dean's mouth, a litany of twisted letters and phrases that even his father might be shocked he knows. "You taste gross.""Thanks a lot," Dean mutters."No, I mean," Sam sounds apologetic, "the water.""Yeah, I know.""It was, it was sexy in my head."Dean wasn't prepared for this, not Sam, not any of it. His cock rubs against the rapidly warming car and even that little bit of friction feels good."Do it, Sam," Dean whispers, pleads. "Come on."Sam retreats, but only for a moment.When he returns, he practically lays his body over Dean's and the weight is incredible, the feel of being protected. Is this how I made you feel? Dean wonders, dazed."Come on, man, do it,” Dean urges to cover the fact that his stomach is in knots. He hasn't done this with a guy before, but his body screams for it, aches for it.Sam whispers soothing words in his ear and Dean would snap that he isn't a fucking woman, but this shit hurts.He runs soothing hands up and down Dean's back like he's calming a spooked animal, as he slowly enters him and Dean bites his lip to keep from making girly noises that he's just gonna have to deny later. Sam pushes Dean's leg up further to give him better access as he pushes into his brother. He leans forward, kisses the back of Dean's neck, then bites it."Aw, fuck," Dean groans."Okay?" Sam manages, stilling."Just get on with it," Dean grumbles, body hot and aching. He doesn't know how men do this, fuck, how women do this. His body feels like it's on fire, but it's kind of worth it to have Sam this close to him.“Just breathe.” Sam thrusts shallowly. "Jesus, so fucking tight," he groans amid inarticulate sounds. "That's because-" Dean starts, but a wicked little twist of Sam's hips cuts him off. Fucking hell, what was that?Sam hits it again and it's like his nerves sing with pleasure and the dull roar of pain recedes in the face of the overwhelming feeling of Sam inside him, making him feel this way. His knuckles curls against the cool metal, his dirty fingernails scratch at the paint. The sweat pouring off him is making it hard for Dean to keep his balance, but Sam's there behind him, holding his hips like a vise. There'll be bruises there come morning, but Dean doesn't much mind the thought of being marked by Sam.But being Dean, he can't go down without some kind of fight. He pushes back against Sam, taking him in as deep as he can, faster and faster. Sam bites his neck again, warm and sharp.Sam's hand works around to Dean's cock and he fists it roughly, too far gone in his own pleasure to do more than this for Dean, but it's enough. He comes against the hood of the car, mouth open in a silent groan and head thrown back against Sam. He hears the sharp intake of air behind him, then the feel of Sam coming, marking him inside and out. Dean hisses as Sam pulls out while pressing soft, sweaty kisses to the back of his neck. "We should probably get back," Dean manages after a few minutes."Soon," Sam murmurs sleepily against Dean, wrapping his arms around him. It's kind of girly, but okay, Dean figures, since really hot sex was just had. Still, it's...nice. Kind of.Figures Sam would be a cuddler anyway. Dean almost doesn't hear it, he's so wrapped up in his own stupid thoughts."Love you, Dean."That wasn't really what this was about, him needing to know Sam loved him. It was supposed to be the other way around, but sometimes, Dean figures, you get something you didn't even know you needed.This is also familiar, their bodies curled in on one another. He thinks of the water demon so long ago, of saving Sam, then realizes like so many things, he’s remembering it all wrong. The water demon had tried to pull Dean under and Sam had been the one to save him. Even at that age, with all his long limbs, Sam was the better swimmer.Hold on to me, Dean. You're okay. I’ll keep your head above the water.

FIC: Living in the green (Sam/Dean) PG13

Living in the greenSummary: It begins in a fight, and it ends in a fight.Rating: PG13 for languageWC: 1350Illegal in fifty states is first, Devil's in the Details is second and this is last. Need to read the others to get this? Maybe. Dean got off with Sam in "Illegal in fifty states" and walked into a fairly obvious trap in "Devil's in the Details". That should bring you up to speed. This is just a kind of coda to really finish things off.A Dean that's not flirting with every set of breasts they come across is a seriously fucked up Dean."What can I do for ya, honey?" the waitress asks, and sure, she's probably the wrong side of forty, but that never stopped Dean before.Instead Dean glances at his menu and snaps it shut. "Just a burger. No pickles.""Same," Sam says and studies Dean. He doesn't ask if he’s okay, because that'd just earn a smartassy remark and wouldn't help at all. In a few minutes, the waitress brings back the food and sets it down with a sympathetic glance in Sam's direction.Is he okay?, she seems to ask and Sam smiles tightly and nods. I'm not sure, he thinks.***They don't have anywhere to go. Dean's not in any shape to fight and Sam's too busy watching Dean and it's not like they have a home to go to, anyway.Dean's sleeping and Sam has his phone open, scrolling through the list of numbers that don't mean anything: All people that would hook him up with a new set of tires and some holy water if he needed it, but that's just nuts and bolts and nothing that can put his brother back together.He stops on Missouri's number. Dad found his answer in her, why can't he?"Sam?" she asks, her voice sounding tired and tinny in the small motel room.The muscles in his throat don't work. After two weeks of watching Dean like he might fall apart, Sam feels raw and cut up on the inside, stripped bare and he doesn't have anything left to lie to Missouri with."We're lost," he says dully."Then come on home," she says and Sam's legs nearly sag with relief.***Dean doesn't protest when Sam tells them they're going to see Missouri. He's taken up smoking some time in the past week and the acrid smell of nicotine clings to everything they touch. He smells like very run-down motel room they've been in now, like somewhere along the way he'd stopped being himself and sank into his surroundings. Sometimes he wanders off for hours and sometimes, he just sits on his bed while taking his gun apart, cleaning it, putting it back together, then taking it apart again.On Wednesday, they day they leave for Missouri's, he doesn't put it together again. He leaves it in strung-out pieces on the small bedside table as he packs his duffle bag.Sam scoops it up before they leave, wraps them together in his coat and stuffs in in the space beneath the backseat.One day, Sam promises himself, Dean will want it again.***Sam listens to Metallica the whole way down, turns it up until the windows and his teeth rattle with it. Dean never says anything, just stares out the window at the shapes and colours bleeding together until he has to look away or he'll be sick.***Missouri doesn't run out and greet them, but she does stand in front, watching them dark, solemn eyes."Good to see you," she says to Sam and he can't help it, he's so glad to see a familiar face that he hugs her, tight, close as he can.When Sam lets go of her, she turns to Dean. "And it's good to see you," she says.Dean nods, hangs back from her. "Why don't you boys come in?" Missouri says, opening the door for them. When Dean passes, she brushes the back of his neck in an oddly motherly gesture and Dean bites his lip hard enough to draw blood.***"I only have one guest room," Missouri's saying, as apologetically as she does anything, which is not very.Sam smiles at her reassuringly. "It's fine, really."She studies him carefully for a moment. "I guess it is."***Dean wanders off within the hour. When he comes back, it's with an empty bottle of tequila that Sam's pretty sure used to be full a short time ago."Dean," Sam goes to him and almost asks if he's okay, but he already knows the answer to that. "Can you walk?""M'fine, Sammy.""Yeah," Sam says bitterly, fed up with worrying constantly about Dean only to have him look at Sam like he's an idiot. "I can see that, because drinking before lunch is the epitome of fine.""Right," Dean says, equally pissed now. "You're really one to judge, Sam. All tore up about your girlfriend. No one can be upset about anything but Sam, 'cause he has the grief market all to himself.""You're a mean drunk.""Runs in the family.""What the hell is the matter with you?"Dean looks away. "You wouldn't understand."Sam feels like pulling his hair out, maybe Dean's too. "What wouldn't I understand? I'm here for you, Dean. I'm here.""I don't, it's not. It's not about you.""Why can't you see that you have me, Dean? This isn't some fucking movie. You don't have to go through whatever the hell you're going through all by your heroic lonesome.""Shut up, Sam," Dean warns. "Or what?" Sam taunts him. An angry Dean is better than the broken one."Or I swear to God, I'll shut you up myself.""Then do it."Dean throws the first punch, as always, and Sam manages to step back so it only his him in the shoulder. He reminds himself to be more careful. Even drunk, Dean's still a hell of a dangerous fighter. Sam pulls Dean close and soon it's wrestling desperately against each other, angry and panting. "Fuck you," Sam says and the heel of Dean's hand catches him in the chin, snapping his head back far enough to see stars. "No, fuck you. Fuck you for leaving and fuck you for coming back.""You brought me back, asshole." Sam grunts and knocks Dean's head to the floor. "Only because I thought, I thought-" Dean's gasping for breath and this is so familiar, like putting on a pair of favorite old jeans you'd forgotten about."You thought what?""I thought I could trust myself." The words are wrenched from Dean's throat, distorted by alcohol and stale cigarettes and grief. Sam stops, then. "You can.""I can't. I didn't. I never thought - Dad would have never walked into a trap like that. And you, I'm not. I can't, Sammy."Sam pulls Dean close then, right there on Missouri's floor and she might come home soon, but he doesn't care. This is some kind of circle, he thinks. They need to break out of it."It's not up to you," Sam tells Dean. He feels Dean's eyelashes fluttering against his neck. His jaw hurts and he moves it experimentally.Dean pulls back, confused. "What?""I said it's not up to you. You can't trust yourself, fine. Then I'll trust you enough for the both of us."Dean has nothing to say in the overwhelming presence of Sam's faith in him, but his body, taught and hard with angry self-doubt, goes soft against Sam's. Finally.***They stay with Missouri for a month, doing odd jobs around the house. Missouri teaches Sam how to control his visions better while Dean secretly leaves bowls of milk out for the stray cat that lives under Missouri's bushes."We could," Dean says, "we could stay."Sam laughs. "I don't think Missouri'd like that.""No, I mean would could get a place here and just...stay."Sam looks at Dean carefully, at his hands which thump restlessly against the side of the truck, the way his feet shuffle when Sam makes him uncomfortable."Not yet," Sam says, "but some day. Soon." When Sam puts his bag in the backseat, the pieces of Dean’s gun rattle together, wrapped in the safe cocoon of Sam's jacket, waiting to become whole again. It’s a promise that both of them hear.END. (for real, I am done.)

Fic: Devil's in the Details (Mostly Sam/Dean) NC17

Devil's in the DetailsRating: NC17 for some pretty disturbing images. This is VERY graphic, consider yourself warned.WC: 5199Pairing: Some Dean/OFC, mainly Sam/DeanThis comes after Illegal in fifty states. It would help to have read the first one, but I don't think you'd have to.PART 1So this Manananggal demon, right? Is a real pain in the ass.They've chased her through three states and as soon as they get close, she moves right the hell on. Doesn't help that the fucker is pretty much indestructible - oh, and can fly. “This demon is supposed to be attractive in her disguised state?“ Sam asks pragmatically.“Right, you know, except when she’s all sucking up human flesh through her freakishly long tongue.”Sam shoots Dean a disapproving look, like Dean shouldn't dwell on it, but it's all Dean can dwell on. “So we ask around and find out if there are any new arrivals. She likes to hit small towns where there won’t be national press over a couple of mysterious miscarriages and a death. Problem for her is, it makes finding new arrivals easier for us.”Dean risks looking away from that road to give Sam a look that lets him know exactly how big of an idiot Dean thinks he is. “’Cause she seemed so worried about us finding her before, like, when she kicked our asses.”“We’ll find her,” Sam says, though who he’s trying to convince, Dean’s not sure.They stop at a gas station to fill the truck up, the fucking fuel hog. Sam had once mentioned buying a more economic car and Dean had barely restrained himself from hitting Sam. Can’t put a price tag on style, Dean said, but thought: This is all I have left.Not that he’d say that or anything. Instead, he’d turned up the music loud enough to rattle the windows and quiet the thoughts in his head.He tells Sam he has to take a leak, to wait in the car, and if he changes the station, he’ll fuck him up again, like the time he put ink in Sam’s coffee.The bathroom is a craphole, literally, and the heat hits Dean like a ten ton weight slamming into his chest. He locks the door behind him anyway and pulls the articles out of his back pocket where he stuffed them when Sam wasn't paying attention. Two more mysterious miscarriages during the night and one dead pregnant woman. Who knows how many others didn’t make the news?It might not be healthy, obsessing over these dead women and their children, but obsession is something Winchesters do well. Dean leans against the wall and reads the articles over and over again.When he gets back to the truck, Sam looks kind impassive, which translates to guilty. He immediately begins looking for booby traps. Glue on his seat, dye in his coke.“Took you long enough,” Sam says.“Stop being a whiny bitch.” He starts the car and nearly has a heart attack, when the engine roars to life and the music starts playing. “The fuck is this?”“You should give it a try, it’s good music.”Dean considers hitting Sam for the third time in less than twenty miles, but the sun’s beating down on them and he doesn’t feel like fighting, yet. The guitars playing aren't even electric. Dean scowls. Bitches are gonna pay - both Sam and the demon.***By some weak-ass trick of fate, the honeymoon suite is cheaper than the regular motel rooms and what the fuck kind of motel has a honeymoon suite? Doesn’t matter, they can share a bed - Dean’s mind shies away from where that thought takes him. They haven’t talked about what happened in Minnesota, but they haven’t not talked about it. Rather, they’ve talked in code.“So that-”“Yeah.”“Was-”“Whatever, man.”“Okay, okay. Good. So we done talking?”“Yep.”“Yep.”Dean nearly dies when he sees the velvet heart-shaped bed. From the look on Sam’s face, he’s not doing much better.“You’re so sleeping on the floor,” Dean says automatically.***Three hours later sees Sam sleeping on the hideous bed - which they found out the hard way vibrated - and Dean’s checking out the info on the Manananggal demon they collected earlier. Sam stirs and open bleary eyes. “Still awake?”“Nah, I’m sleeping, Sam. While reading a book and the computer.”Sam rolls his eyes in the semi-darkness. “Find anything interesting?”“Nothing more than we already knew. Gotta find the bottom half of her body while she’s out sucking people’s insides out and salt and burn the bottom half.”“We don’t have to burn it, Dean. Just keep her from rejoining so she has to stay in her demon form when the sun rises.”“I’m not taking any chances, Sam. Besides,” Dean says, turning back to the computer and the books, “burning looks a hell of a lot cooler.”“You’ve done enough tonight,” Sam tells him sleepily and scoots over a bit, giving Dean room. Dean wants to keep looking, but even he knows he’s better off well rested if he’s planning to kick Manananggal ass in the morning.He grabs the blanket off the foot of the bed and throws it on the floor. He carefully doesn’t look at Sam when he lies down on it to sleep.***On the way to the library, they pass a park where little kids are yelling and making noise. It takes Sam a full three minutes to realize they’re laughing."It's nice here.""Not bad. Didn't know there were this many trees here.""Forest service," Sam says absently, then: “Ever wonder what it would be like to play in a park when we were kids?”“Don’t get maudlin me now, Sammy,” Dean warns.“I’m not,” Sam insists, though they both know it’s a lie. “Those are nice houses over there.” He points towards the small, quaint looking neighborhood and can’t quite stomp down the flash of painful envy he feels.“Every library in every small town looks alike,” Dean says, surprisingly philosophical for eight in the morning and purposefully ignoring Sam’s earlier question.Sam’s lips twitch. “What, with the books and all?”“Fine, smartass.” Dean pulls up and stops the car. “Just for that, you get to ask the questions."Sam shrugs. “I’m better at it anyway.”He follows Dean as he makes his way through the front doors and takes a sharp right towards the information desk. Catching sight of the librarian, Dean stops. “Or I could ask the questions.”“But I’m better at it.”“Wrong, you’re better with the old ladies.” He eyes the way Sam‘s shirt goes taut around his shoulders. “They always want to feed you and stuff.”Sam opens his mouth to reply, but Dean’s already on the move again.“Hi,” Dean says, taking in the woman and trying not to be too obvious about it. Sort of.The librarian - a pretty girl with dark hair and glasses - nervously tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Hi,” she replies awkwardly.Dean leans over the counter, getting close enough to smell her perfume, a light fruity thing that he can’t place, but it smells nice anyway. He really digs nerdy brunettes.“So, sweetheart, I was wondering if you could help me.”“With books?” Dean winks and he can hear Sam sigh from somewhere behind him. “That, too.”***“Callie said Mrs. Malone lives off Cedar Pine Grove.”“Callie?“ Sam asks, for once driving. And listening to good music.“You don’t like her?”“You do?”“I don’t know, man. She seems nice. Seems like your type, even.”“She is - that’s why I’m surprised you like her.”“I don’t always go for a great rack,” Dean protests. It sounds kind of feeble even to his own ears. Of course, Sam should know better. He met Cassie, not that Dean’s planning on bringing her up any time soon. Sam would go all Dr. Phil on his ass.“Just usually,” Sam supplies.“Well...yeah. You got a problem with that?” Dean asks, knowing he’s opening up a can of worms he potentially does not want to get into. What if Sam wants to talk about his feelings again?“No problem,” Sam says, a shade too defensively. “Whoever you date is your own business.”“Good.”“Good,” Sam repeats and slams on the brakes, sending Dean crashing into the dashboard. “Jesus CHRIST!”“We’re here,” Sam informs Dean mildly.Dean glares at him while massaging his nose. “You better not have fucked up the breaks, asshole.” Sam doesn’t reply, just walks up to the house and Dean makes a face at his back. Take that, psychic bitch, he thinks.Sam’s knocking on the door when Dean joins him on the porch. The door opens to reveal a pretty woman, probably early thirties, and dear god, blonde hair. It had to be blonde hair.“Mrs. Malone?” Sam’s asking politely. “We’re from the state police and we’d like to ask you a few questions, if it’s not too much trouble.”She glances between the two. “State police? I already told the sheriff and he hold me he’d check into it.”“He did and now here we are,” Dean says, butting in. He smiles and holds out a hand. “Officer Ian Kilmister.”She blinks a couple times. “Nice to meet you, Officer. Come on in.”After being seated on the sofa, she asks them if they’d like anything to drink, and she’s such a nice lady. Dean feels his temples begin to throb. “Please tell us the story and any information you think is relevant,” Sam instructs gently. She shudders, but she nods. “It was a week ago. Last Thursday. I, umm, woke up. I don’t know why. I glanced at the clock, it was about 2:30 on the morning. The light from the clock - I saw a string, a oh, a white thread hanging above me. I grabbed it, I thought it hade come loose from our canopy. We have an old fashioned four-poster bed with a lace canopy," she says, looking at Dean. "The thread, it was stronger than it looked, but I had a pair of scissors in my nightstand."At Dean’s odd look, she stops to explain, “I sew in the evenings while Dan - that’s my husband - reads in bed.”“Go on,” Sam prods.“I took out the scissors and cut the thread.” Her eyes fill with tears and Dean thinks that this is hell on earth. He cannot deal with crying women.“It’s okay,” Sam says and picks up the box of Kleenexes on the table to offer her one. “Take your time.” She accepts it gratefully and blows her nose. “When I woke up, the sheets were bloody. I shook Dan awake and he was scared, we both were. We thought - knew - something had happened to the baby.”“And something had,” Sam says.“The doctors said I had a miscarriage, but when I got home, the thread. Oh God. The thread.”Dean leans close. “What about the thread?”“It was still on the floor where I left it, but it - it had turned into a severed human tongue.”“She eats three babies, then on the fourth or fifth, kills the mother, too. Why?”“Because she can,” Dean says.“Do you think this is the first one in the area?”“Easy way to check.”“The obituaries wouldn’t report-”“The hospital records.”“Dean, not-”“That‘s right, Sammy,” Dean says with a smugness he doesn’t feel. His stomach’s still on Mrs. Malone’s couch.“-the bikini inspector badge,” Sam finishes.***“In the past month, there have been only four reported miscarriages. But how many do you think never report them?”“Plenty. But probably not the ones that wake up without a baby in their stomachs. Just a hunch. Whenever something freaky happens, people run to the nearest doctor to try to explain the unexplainable.”“You sure know a lot about mothers,” Sam says, half sarcastically, and then stops like he knows he said something stupid and is trying to figure out a way to gloss it over.“Not really,” Dean finishes and effectively ends the conversation.As soon as they get back to the room, Dean throws his jacket on the bed and begins to strip. “Going to take a shower,” he grunts at Sam, who raises an eyebrow.“Got somewhere to be?”“Date with Callie. Going to pick her up at her house. Has a thing for trees, kinda like you.”If Sam’s eyebrows go any higher, they’re going to fall off his head. “Have fun hugging trees then,” he says.And it might just be Dean’s imagination, but he’s pretty sure Sam used the pissy voice, which Dean hates because Sam only uses it on him.***“Hi,” Dean says when the door opens.Callie steps aside to let him in. “We seem to say that a lot.”“Yeah.” He’s not sure why his higher faculties seem to have fled in the face of her knee socks, but something about this chick turns his crank something awful. She’s special.“I thought maybe we could stay in, watch a movie or something.”“Don’t like going out much? Or are you a night owl?”Callie turns to him and Dean likes the way the light half hits her face, her slender build. Reminds him of old pictures of Natalie Wood with her innocent profile. She’s tall for a woman, probably near six feet, but that suits him fine. More to love, he thinks lewdly, then firmly stops the train wreck of a thought.“I’m a night owl. I don’t sleep much.”“Yeah, you remind me of my brother. He doesn’t sleep much, either.”“Really? Sounds like we’d get along. Here,” she says, handing him a glass. “I opened some wine just before you got here.”“My kind of girl. What movies did you get?” She laughs. “You seem like the action type.” "You know it," he says and steps toward her. Instead of backing off like he expected, she steps forward and presses her body against his. Well now.It takes him ten minutes to decide this babe is made of awesome.Sam can't believe it, but he's bored. He can't sleep and Dean's been gone for hours. He refuses to feel any kind of jealousy, because that would be fucked up. More fucked up than chasing demons across the country, even.He can hear the TV blaring from two rooms down, some kind of crappy talk show and he wishes his own TV got something other than the Jerry Springer Show because even he's not that desperate yet.The quiet is slowly driving him mad.Dean's the kind of guy that pisses him off: always making noise, doing shit to fill the empty space up. At one time Sam thought it was annoying. Now he realizes how much he kind of misses it. How did he fill up the years away from Dean?Jesus, Sam thinks, Dean was right. He really is growing breasts.Sam sighs and turns on the laptop. Might as well get some work done while Dean's off getting some action and firmly reminding Sam where the boundaries are between them. It's not like what happened in Minnesota doesn't make Sam think, it just doesn't make him think anything bad. There's a lot of shit that Sam doesn't know and Dean's always the first the point that out, but Sam knows that whatever happened in Minnesota might've changed how they deal with each other, but it didn't change them. They are what they are and Sam's kind of learned to accept that, maybe.He scrolls through the headline archive of the local newspapers for other places the demon hit up, in hopes that he'll find something they missed before, but nothing jumps out at him.After another hour, he's almost ready to call it a night when something catches his eye: Local Young Woman Goes Missing.Missing people is always a good sign. For him and Dean, not the missing people.He clicks on the link to pull up the whole article. A picture appears slowly, filling up the screen and Sam nearly falls out of his chair. He goes to another archive for Atkins, Iowa and scans quickly through the headlines, looking for any missing people. There. Another picture: She disappeared around the same time the women and babies are killed. Right after, actually. No one suspects anything, because who would ever suspect such a sweet-looking girl?Fuck.Dean.***Dean wakes up to static on TV and the half-light casts long shadows over the room. The movie's been off for some time (VHS, how much does he dig this girl?) and apparently, they both fell asleep."Wake up, sleeping beauty," Dean says and brushes long hair off her cheek to lean down and kiss her."Mmm," she murmmers, half-asleep still. She blinks her long lashed, dark eyes lazily and yawns."Helluva date, both of us falling asleep," Dean jokes. "If I were less manly, this would hurt my pride."She smiles and her eyes gleam in the fuzzy light of the TV. "Trust me, it's not you, it's me."Dean opens his mouth to say something that he knows will probably get him slapped in the face when his phone rings in his back pocket. He leans over and tugs it out, glances down to where Sam - Sam - Sam blinks up at him."'Scuse me. Got to take this," he says, gets up from the couch and takes a few steps away. "What do you want?" he whispers furiously into the phone. "I just woke up with a beautiful girl. Bitch, this had better be good."Sam’s tone stops Dean's ire cold. “Dean, get out of there.”“What?” Dean asks uncertainly.“Get out of there now. It’s her."Dean closes his phone with a decisive snap. “My brother needs some help,” he says to Callie, surprised when he realizes how silently she moved up behind him. “I need to get back to him.”Callie tucks her hair behind her ear in a way that he once thought was endearing, but now is fraught with all kinds of meanings, foremost being, I eat people. “You have to leave immediately?”“Afraid so, darlin'."She shrugs and moves closer. “I don’t know, I might not be around much longer.”Dean licks his lips and inches his hand towards the pistol tucked into the waistband of his jeans. “Where else would you be?”“The real question is,“ she says in her quiet little girl voice, “where will you be?” She’s close now, close enough to reach out and grab him and he moves, grabs his gun and whips it forward. But it’s not fast enough and the last thing he sees is her wide, dark, bloodshot eyes.PART 2Dean, Sam decides, is an idiot. Oh, god. He watches the minutes tick by. When five pass, he feels like his stomach is trying to crawl up into his throat. After ten, his hands are shaking. At fifteen, he’s up and throwing whatever he can into his pockets: holy water, the garlic they picked up earlier, crosses, and salt, lots of salt.He opens his phone to call information, then realizes 1) She’s new in town and 2) He doesn’t even know her last name. Jesus, he’s sloppy without Dean here. Stop. Rewind. What did Dean say about Callie?Tree hugging?She’d have to live close enough for Dean to meet her at eight and only leave only fifteen minutes before. Trees.The woods.***Dean wakes up in the dark. At first, he thinks he's in a basement of some sort. As his eyes adjust, he realizes that he‘s in a kitchen and every fucking shutter in the house is drawn closed. And he’s tied to a chair in the kitchen, of course. When Sam finds him, he’s going to die laughing, the bastard. “Have a good nap? You were out for a long time.” Callie asks from behind him and Dean has to crane his neck to get a look at her. When he does, he nearly recoils and only his injured pride keeps him in place. Taken out by a girl. Of course, right now, she hardly qualifies as a girl.Oh hell, he thinks, I nearly macked with that.She begins undressing while talking companionably, red eyes trained on him. “The Winchesters, huh? Good old American boys. Oh, - and this is priceless - you hunt demons. How quaint.”Naked, she walks across the room and picks up the biggest, meanest butcher knife Dean's ever seen in his life from the kitchen table. “This is my least favourite part,” she confides.Dean eyes the knife. “I gotta say I’m not too fond of it either.”"Don’t worry, it’s not for you," she says and thrusts the knife into her own gut with a visceral scream that leaves Dean’s ears ringing. He knows she lives on the outskirts of town, but this shit is ungodly. How the hell has no one fucking heard this every night?“They hear and see what they want to, kind of like you, Dean,” she says, voice strained. Flecks of blood dot her lips and a long, serpent-like tongue flickers out to lap them up.“Everyone’s a psychic,” Dean mutters.She screams again as she cuts across her soft belly and hips with quick, savage movements and he catches brief flashes of silver as she hacks away at her flesh and bones. Her skin begins twitching as if hundreds of tiny bugs are crawling under it, up and over her shoulders and settle under the blistering skin of her back. The skin tears with a sickening rip and Dean doesn’t take any satisfaction in this. It’s damn near impossible to watch, but he can’t look away. He liked this girl. Huge bat wings sprout from her back and they flap. Once. Twice. Rancid air hits him in the face as her body pulls apart with a final snap of tendons and bone. Her intestines dangle in midair.Dean’s seen a lot of fucked up shit in his life, but this takes the cake.She looks at him again with blood-red eyes, tucks a strand of her dark hair behind her ear in an achingly familiar gesture and parts her lips, revealing two rows of long, pointed teeth.“Your brother's here." She smiles viciously. "I waited for him."***She’s still holding the knife when she approaches. "The sun’s coming up soon and I need to feed as much as possble. You two have made it hard for me.""Can't say I'm too sorry for that.""It ends tonight."Try as he might, Dean doesn't have a smartassy comeback for that. This whole thing was a set-up.Her tongue darts out, long and dangerous. Jesus, she’s going to slurp him up like a Big Gulp. She’s gone through his pockets because both his knives and his gun are gone. He tests the ropes again, but they’re not giving. He can get through anything with enough time, but time is what he doesn't have, because that nasty-ass tongue is getting too close for comfort. “Don’t worry,” she says and she’s so close, she’s practically on his lap. “It won’t hurt at all.”“Except the dying part,” Dean manages.She runs her long, slender fingers through his hair and down his neck. He remembers those same fingers running down a library phone book for the address he needed. He liked them a lot more then, he thinks. Her lips curl into a wide, hellish smile. “It’ll tingle at first, then you won’t feel a thing.” Her tongue slithers out of her mouth like something alive, writhing on its own command. “This sucks,” Dean says and he fervently wishes he could be in a situation where that statement wouldn’t be ironic.He closes his eyes when the kitchen door busts in, sending shards of wood and dust flying. Sam steps through with a sawed-off shotgun in his hands, looking like some kind of action figure with dumbass hair, and Dean is kind of grateful that he’s not going to get all slurped up but also pissed because there’s a good chance they’ll both die tonight.“Feel this, bitch,” Sam says, raising his shotgun and hitting her square in the chest.The shot only stuns her. Given that she can saw through her own body, Dean figures it won’t keep her down for long. “What’d you use?” Deans asks, furiously working his ropes off. “12 gauge blessed silver shots.”“Does that work on this kind of demon?”“Apparently so.” Sam’s fumbling in his pockets, pulling out all kinds of crap that isn’t the one thing they need.The Manananggal demon shudders and her head rises, staring at them like they’re her next super value meal. “Hurry up, Sam!”“Got it,” Sam says, holding up the packet of salt triumphantly.“Go! Salt the bottom part of her body so she can’t rejoin the two.”Sam scrambles out of the room, slipping on the bloody floor twice and getting up again. Dean takes up Sam’s gun and shoots the demon twice before he realizes he’s just pissing her off more.She hisses and springs forward. Dean tries to take another shot, but she’s fucking fast, and knocks it out of his hands. She snarls in his face so close that he gets an eyeful of fangs, while her hot, fetid breath bears down on him. She knocks him aside like he’s a ragdoll and tears after Sam.She catches Sam first in the hallway; the strong grip of her fingers tear through his shirt and skin and muscle, throwing him into the wall. He feels his nose break and his world momentarily goes white.“Fuck,” he yells, blood running down his chin, and yanks a sharp gold cross out of his pocket.“Crosses won't stop me,” she snarls.“We’ll see about that,” Sam says and jams the sharp end of it into the soft flesh of her left breast.She screams, wings pounding furiously against the walls. whoosh - whoosh - whoosh Her hand blindly reaches forward, searching for any purchase and grabs a fistful of his hair. He gasps in pain as she yanks. Dean shoots her from behind and Sam's ears nearly explode with her angry shriek.She’s falling back, fists still clutching handfuls of hair. He grits his teeth, mentally gearing himself, and rips free. Errant strands of hair cling to his face and warm blood trickles down his neck. He stumbles forward, the sound of Dean and the Manananggal fighting behind him, distant in his ears. He raises the salt with bloodied, shaking hands and pours it on her lower body.Around him, the house is suddenly silent.Sam's afraid to turn around.Then: “You stupid sons of bitches. Did you really think that would stop me?”“Told you, Sammy,” Dean half-whispers, sounding dead already. “Should’ve burned it.”“You can’t rejoin your body,” Sam says disbelievingly, turning to face her. “You’re dead anyway.”“I don’t need to in order to kill both of you,” she tells them both, and looks back at Dean. Dean raises the shotgun and she laughs, fucking laughs. “Don’t you idiots get it? That won’t work on me.”"Not aiming for you," Dean says and smiles. She stops laughing. Dean shifts his weight to his left foot, aims and fires. The shot rips through the shutters behind her. Outside, the sun is rising and the light fills the room."Mornin', sweetheart."***Sam’s lying on the floor, his head is pounding, his nose throbs, his busted knee is nearly blinding him with pain, and his shoulder is going to need more stitches than he cares to think about.He wants to say something profound, he wants to laugh hysterically, he wants to sleep. All he can manage is to stare blankly at the pile of ashes that used to be the Manananggal demon.He's startled by Dean’s laughter and then, “Dude, you have a bald spot. You are officially never getting laid again.”The first few toupees are mildly funny, because yes, he looks stupid. He had to get most of his hair cut and he can’t help it, he feels naked without it. Not that he’d ever tell Dean that.Admitting any insecurity to him is just asking to wake up with a spoon in your mouth.“You have lousy taste in girlfriends,” Sam says when he wakes up with a toupee glued to his head. He’s feeling bitchy and spiteful and wants to give Dean a taste of his own medicine, but Dean just shrugs it off and keeps grinning like an idiot.“Does that include you?” Dean asks and Sam freezes, just like that. A casual mention of any relationship of Dean’s is rare enough, but for Dean to mention them in such a casual way makes Sam wonder if Dean needed more than just a few stitches to the head. What if something got loose? What if Dean starts watching Ellen in the afternoons?The best way to handle this, Sam reasons, is the pretend it’s okay. Kind of like with a bear. Before it eats you. “Maybe,” Sam answers and holds his breath.“Yeah.” Dean goes back to cleaning his gun, while Sam watches him silently. I nearly lost you, he thinks and makes a silent vow to keep Dean as close and as safe for as long as he can. One day (if he can bear the scorn Dean's likely to heap on him) he'll start a journal for all the things he thinks but doesn't say. But for now, the few quiet moments they have, the tiny revelations, the realness of it all, it's enough.Suddenly, Sam laughs. “I saved your ass back there, didn’t I?”Dean looks up. “Hey, I almost had her.”“Yeah, I could tell by the way you were whimpering.”“Whatever, dude. I do not whimper,” Dean protests. “I was...concentrating.”“Concentrating on getting eaten?" Sam says with a smirk. "Yeah, I saw that. Who’s the damsel in distress now, asshole?”THE END.- Full story notes on the mythology and dodgy geography can be found here.- There's a kind of story after this, Living in the green.