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Title: Nothing Bad Will Ever Happen to You (Especially Not You)
Rating: NC-17/Explicit
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Warnings: Wincest, perceived non-con, perceived somnophilia, angst
Summary: Dean is back and Ruby is dead. But where do they go from here?

For a long moment Sam just clings to his brother, relief that they aren't completely broken sweeping through him. He craves Dean’s touch after the distance between them, needs the familiar reassurance of being wrapped in Dean’s arms after the soul-crushing fear that he’d never see him again. And if the way Dean is holding onto him means anything, Dean needs that reassurance just as badly.

But ‘no chick flick moments’ is still the rule they live by, and there’s too much to be done for Sam to argue when Dean sighs and pushes Sam back gently. Sam wants to protest, but he knows Dean’s right--he’s covered in blood, there’s a dead body on the floor, and he kinda doubts that Ruby drove Dean here so they’re going to need to find the car at some point. But he can’t quite bring himself to walk away, not when Dean is smiling tentatively at him from mere inches away. Not when Dean’s hands are on Sam’s hips and Dean’s lips are soft and pink and right there.

It’s the taste of blood, foul and lingering in his mouth and throat, that keeps Sam from closing that distance. He’s never wanted anything more than he wants to kiss Dean, but the thought of doing so with Ruby’s blood still coating his mouth makes Sam slightly ill. He steps back instead, shoving his hands in his pockets to keep from touching Dean the way he wants to. He can’t right now. Not until he’s clean.

Dean flushes when Sam steps away, rubbing the back of his neck the way he does when he’s embarrassed. “Why don’t you go shower, Sammy. Get cleaned up. And I’ll take care of this.” He scowls down at the body on the carpet, and Sam’s pretty sure he’d like to kick it.

“Yeah, I should do that.” Sam hesitates, hoping he doesn’t sound as pathetic and needy to Dean as he does to himself. “You’ll still be here when I get out?”

Dean looks at him steadily, not quite smiling. “I’m not going anywhere without you,” he says quietly, forcefully. “We’re gonna figure this out together. Now go.” Dean turns away pointedly and starts stripping the comforter and sheets off one of the beds, tossing them on the floor near Ruby but out of the congealing blood.

Sam stays where he is for a few moments, happy just to be able to watch his brother openly. But the blood drying thick and tacky on his skin and the promise of what might be to come drags him back to what needs to be done. Smiling slightly, he pulls a bottle of Tylenol out of his duffle before stepping into the bathroom, suddenly aware that his head is still throbbing from the aftermath of what he’d done to Ruby.

But when the door closes behind him and Sam catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, the guilt and horror of what he’s done crashes over him again. He grabs his toothbrush with an unsteady hand, scrubbing the taste of Ruby’s blood from his mouth. He follows it up with mouthwash, then brushes again, convinced he can still taste sulphurous, rotting meat on his tongue. He only stops when his gums are bleeding fresh copper into his mouth and throws away the toothbrush he’d used, faintly sickened by the frothy red swirls in the sink as he washes them away. He strips off his bloody clothes, unable to bear the touch of them on his skin any longer. They get tossed in the corner to be burned later, then he turns on the shower, swallowing a handful of little white pills and stepping into the shower even before the water warms.

The water sluices over him, pooling red then pink then clear around his feet as he watches. He doesn’t want to think about what he did, but the memories won’t leave--the taste of her blood, the feeling of power and rage and vicious triumph. It's impossible not to imagine Ruby’s blood moving inside him, carving out new spaces for evil to live. Impossible not to remember how good it felt to finally be able to strike a genuine blow against their enemies. Impossible not to wonder if the answer he’s been looking for has been right here in front of him all along. Sam shakes his head, stomach roiling at the thought of doing it again. He can’t. He won’t.

It’s not til Dean bangs on the door, demanding to know what’re you doing in there Sam did you drown what he’s doing that Sam reluctantly turns off the water and steps out of the shower. He still doesn’t feel clean, but at this point he’s not sure that will ever happen. He dries off quickly, haphazardly, and wraps the threadbare towel around his waist before stepping out into the cool motel room.

But things are different now. He hadn’t considered, yet, just how very different until he sees Dean’s face. Surprise, desire, want--the heat in Dean’s eyes sets off an answering warmth in Sam, drawing him closer. Sam’s eyes catch on Dean’s parted lips, and the overwhelming urge to kiss him is back, along with a hint of jealousy--Dean knows what Sam tastes like, in the most intimate ways, and Sam wants to know the same about Dean. He takes another slow step toward Dean, giving him time to turn away, but Dean just watches him with wide eyes. It takes a moment for Sam to realize that Dean’s tracking a drop of water as it rolls down his chest and soaks into the worn thin towel wrapped around his waist. It hits him hard, that Dean is letting himself look, that he’s not turning away from what’s between them, and Sam doesn’t hesitate again. He steps right into Dean’s space, not quite pressed against him, forcing Dean to look up. A thrill runs through him, hot and possessive, as Dean seems to realize it too, eyes widening slightly as he realizes just how far he has to look. His tongue slips out cat quick over his lower lip, eyes going dark as he meets Sam’s eyes.

That’s all the invitation Sam needs.

For an instant--an eternity--Dean doesn’t kiss Sam back. Then, just as Sam thinks he’s ruined everything, Dean melts against him, one hand tangling in Sam’s damply curling hair as he tugs Sam more firmly into the kiss. It’s slow and easy, just a gentle press of lips that could almost be chaste. Sam licks over the seam of Dean’s lips, not above begging, and Dean opens for him with a soft moan, suddenly eager. The sound burns through Sam, his hunger taking on a sudden, heated life of it’s own. He cups Dean’s face with one hand, stroking greedily over his cheek before sliding down to burrow under layers of cotton and flannel and find soft warm skin. Dean moans again, presses into Sam, his mouth opening wider as Sam licks his way in again and again. Sam drags Dean closer until he can feel the thick line of Dean’s cock against his own, hot and hard even through his jeans. Dean shudders against him, one hand tight in Sam’s hair, the other at the small of his back like a brand against Sam’s bare skin as they move against each other, chasing the maddening, not quite enough friction until Sam finally has to pull back, gasping. Dean doesn’t relinquish his hold on Sam, just leans into him so that every breath is like a feather light touch against Sam’s kiss-swollen lips, every flutter of his eyelashes a butterfly kiss on Sam’s cheek. Sam closes his eyes and just breathes Dean in as he tries to calm his racing heart.

It's Dean who breaks the silence. “I don't want to die,” he whispers into the scant space between them. “I don't want to die and I don't want to go to Hell.” He shivers, and Sam pulls him closer instinctively, needing the comfort just as much as Dean.

“Then we'll save you,” Sam whispers back, a secret, a prayer. He remembers how he felt with Ruby's blood rushing through him, the exhilaration and rage and triumph of defeating her. Only if I have to, he tells himself grimly. “Whatever it takes, Dean,” he promises softly. He can’t hide the darkness in his words and his voice, steady and determined. “We'll save you, whatever it takes.”

Title: Nothing Bad Will Ever Happen to You (Especially Not You)
Rating: NC-17/Explicit
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Warnings: Wincest, perceived non-con, perceived somnophilia, angst
Summary: Ruby laughs again. "You'd be surprised, Dean-o. Turns out that with the right incentive--say, for example, never seeing or hearing from his brother again--Sam will do a lot of things no one would expect."

Consciousness comes back like a badly tuned radio. Sam can hear voices, fading in and out, arguing heatedly, but the words don’t really make sense at first.

--be fine. Just--

--fucking kill you--

--ease you--stand--moron

Instinct makes him stay where he is, trying to assess the situation. He remembers passing out, vaguely--he’s still lying on the floor, the demon knife trapped under his body and luckily not in his body. His head is clearing enough to follow the conversation, which he can tell now is between Dean and Ruby. A wave of relief washes over him at the realization that she’d upheld her end of the bargain and brought his brother home.

“You know, you and Sam--it’s always been a matter of some debate.” Ruby’s voice is sly, taunting. “I had 10 souls down that the two of you would never actually have the balls--” she laughs at her own wit-- ”to actually go through with it.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Dean growls. He sounds angry, but Sam can hear the shame in his voice. “What Sam and I do is none of your business.”

“Well, I’m bored. So I’m making it my business,” Ruby says brightly. “We need something to do while we wait for Sleeping Sammy over there to wake up.”

“Don’t call him that,” Dean snaps, and Sam would smile if he could without giving himself away.

Ruby leans forward conspiratorially. “Tell me, Dean...was it all you hoped for? That’s one fine ass, I have to admit. I wouldn’t mind finding a new meatsuit and tapping that myself.”

“Go fuck yourself, bitch,” Dean replies sullenly.

“I could do that,” Ruby says agreeably. “But I’d much rather watch you fuck Sam. Or would you rather do it the other way around this time?” Her voice drops to a confidential whisper. “You know, I was poking around in his head, and he’s been waiting for you to get your head out of your ass and into his for years. Pity you waited so long--only a few months left before your trip downstairs.”

“Don’t talk about my brother like that. Don’t you fucking dare--” The rage in Dean’s voice should be terrifying, but Ruby just laughs scornfully.

“Or you’ll do what, Dean? You can’t even get out of your chair. Sam’s the one who asked for you to be tied up, you know. I was surprised--I thought it would take you two a while to get to the kinky stuff!”

Dean makes a frustrated sound. “Why are you doing this? What do you want from us? You already told me you can’t save me--why are you even here?

“Well, that’s the best part, Dean! Sam called me--summoned me, actually. Never should have given him my real name, it’s damned inconvenient.” She shrugs carelessly. “But what can you do? The important part is that he offered me a deal to find you and bring you back. You know, if you hadn’t left, he might not have ever called me. I really owe you one, big guy.”

Sam can picture the smug look on her face. Whatever she did to him before must be wearing off, because he feels better than he has in months--stronger, more focused. He can feel her blood singing along every nerve, begging to be used, and he's sure he can take her with the element of surprise on his side. He just needs to get his hand on the knife.

“A deal?” Dean sounds shocked and angry. “You’re lying. Sam would never make a deal with you or any other demon.”

Ruby laughs again. “You’d be surprised, Dean-o. Turns out that with the right incentive--say, for example, never seeing or hearing from his brother again--Sam will do a lot of things no one would expect. He’s agreed to let me teach him how to use his powers so he can defeat Lilith when she comes for you. And to amp up his powers with my blood.” She pauses, and Sam tenses, tries to keep his breathing even.

“But don’t take my word for it. Let’s ask Sam instead.”

Sam curses mentally, angry at himself for not acting sooner. He doesn’t try to deny he’s awake, just sits up, glaring at the demon standing casually next to his brother.

“You got what you came for, Ruby,” Sam says tightly. “Get out of here so Dean and I can talk.”

“Not going to happen, Sammy,” Ruby says, all playfulness dropping from her voice. “Dean needs to understand this was your choice, your decision. I don’t want to have to worry about a knife in the back every time we have a little ‘session’.”

Sam risks a glance at Dean, unsure of what he’ll find. Dean’s pale, shocked face surprises him until he remembers what he must look like. He flushes, embarrassed by the blood he can still feel drying on his face and shirt, but drinks in the sight of his brother, safe and unharmed if a little worse for the wear. But he doesn’t seem to be hurt, only angry.


“Is it true, Sammy?” Dean sounds devastated. “Did you call her up, did you ask for this?” Dean twists in the chair, unable to move more than a few inches.

Sam looks away from Dean, then back, determined not to be ashamed of what he had to do. “I did what I had to, Dean,” he says quietly. “I didn’t have time to waste hunting you down. I couldn’t risk not finding you in time.”

Dean’s lips thin. “If I wanted to be found, I wouldn’t have left, Sam.” He turns his head, but that just brings Ruby back into view. “And really? That--” his mouth twists in disgust--”that is what you’re willing to do?”

“When I said anything, I meant it, Dean,” Sam says, refusing to be baited. He stands up, staggering a bit on unsteady legs, clutching the demon killing knife in one hand. Ruby watches as he catches his balance, smirking.

“Sam was very eager,” she tells Dean helpfully, eyes glinting with malice. “Maybe a bit too eager, actually--I think he’s in over his head right now, too much all at once isn’t good for you. Too bad he has no idea how to use all that power--but that’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?”

Dean strains uselessly against the ropes holding him to the chair, snarling soundlessly. Sam ignores him for now. He’ll either come around or he won’t, but Sam has more immediate concerns.

Sam takes a step forward, toward Dean, then another. Even falling apart, his brother is still achingly beautiful, and all Sam can think about is how much he wants to kiss him. Dean watches him with eyes like flint, no hint of emotion other than disgust and anger. Sam stops in front of Dean, their knees nearly touching. Ruby watches them both, sneering as she leans down to whisper in Dean’s ear. Sam can’t hear her words over the pounding of his heart, but Dean’s face twists like he’s in pain.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Sam,” Dean says coldly when she stands up again. Sam just nods, expecting nothing less. He turns toward Ruby, shoulders dropping in defeat.

“I guess this is it, then,” he says quietly.

“Aw, Sammy...don’t take it so hard,” Ruby says, batting her eyes as she sways forward to put a hand on his chest in mock seduction. “We don’t need him--I’m sure we can have lots of fun together on our own.”

“Sure,” Sam agrees, and he moves quicker than thought, quicker than he knew he could-- but not quite quick enough to bury the knife he's holding in her heart. Her eyes go black with rage as she slams him against the wall with an angry gesture then stalks closer until her face is inches from his.

“Did you really think you could take me, you stupid, inconsequential human ?” She spits the final word like a curse. “Did you really--” She stops, body caught in a tight arch, mouth dropping open in pain.

“Yes,” Sam grinds out, teeth clenched, “I really did.” He fights harder, forcing the knife deeper into her chest inch by slow and painful inch. Blood drips from her mouth as she weakens, matching the blood that’s started flowing over Sam's mouth and chin. His vision narrows to the black of her eyes, the throb in his head growing stronger as he gives a final push that feels like it rips his mind apart. He sees the lights under her skin flash and burn furiously through a haze of pain and blood, then they both fall to the ground as he releases her. Dean is shouting his name from far away, but Sam can't really hear anything through the agony in his head.

Sam’s jeans are soaked with blood when he finally lifts his head. He’s shivering with pain and adrenaline, but there’s triumph underneath it all as he stands carefully, crossing the room to kneel in front of his brother.

“Please stay, Dean,” he says softly as he begins to saw at the ropes. “I need you. Please.”

Dean just stares at him for a moment, shocked. Emotions flit over his face too quickly for Sam to follow before settling on confusion. “Why, Sam? Why go through all this to bring me back after what I did?” His face twists again, self loathing wiping out everything else. “How can you even look at me?”

“Because you’re my brother and I love you,” Sam says simply. “Because I wanted everything you did that night. I was awake from the first moment you touched me, but I wanted you so badly, for so long. I selfishly let you think you were taking advantage of me because I was afraid if you knew I was awake you’d never touch me again.”

It’s not often Dean is speechless. Sam lets him process everything as he works on cutting the ropes still tying him to the chair. When Sam’s done, Dean rubs his wrists slowly, rolling his shoulders to loosen the stiff joints. Sam collapses wearily on the bed, wiping his hands and face on one of the pillows as he gives Dean some room. Dean flushes and looks away, unable to meet Sam’s eyes as they both remember what happened just a few days before. He looks at the door longingly, the idea of running still a clear temptation, but Sam doesn’t say anything.

Finally Dean breaks the silence. “This is really fucked up, Sam,” he says, low and pained. “Whether you wanted it or not, I didn’t know and I did it anyway. That’s just...and you let me. You let me think that I was hurting you.” He looks at Sam at last. “How do we come back from that?”

Sam shakes his head slowly. “I don’t know,” he says helplessly. “But we have to try. I can’t lose you, Dean. I can’t.” He stands up, approaching Dean cautiously. Dean doesn’t move away, just stares up at Sam with a trapped expression. Sam can see the pulse in his throat fluttering wildly but he doesn’t run. “I was hoping...maybe we could just try to accept that we’re both fucked up in some really weird ways that work together pretty well? We both want things we shouldn’t, but they’re the same things, and honestly fucked up is kind of the Winchester way.”

Sam lifts one hand slowly, carefully, giving Dean time to object if he’s going to. Dean pulls in a deep, shuddery breath but doesn’t move, eyes wide and dark and fixed on Sam with a mix of anguish, dread and hope. His eyes slip shut when Sam’s hand touches his cheek, brushing over the freckles standing out starkly against his pallor.

“Sam…” It’s a breath, hardly there, but it’s all Sam needs. He folds himself around Dean, tucking his face into Dean’s shoulder the way he’s done his whole life and Dean barely hesitates before wrapping him up, the way he’s done Sam’s whole life. It’s not perfect, but it’s them.

Sam can live with that.

Title: Nothing Bad Will Ever Happen to You (Especially Not You)
Rating: NC-17/Explicit
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Warnings: Wincest, perceived non-con, perceived somnophilia, angst
Summary: Sam will do whatever it takes to bring Dean back.

Sam starts gathering the tools and supplies he’ll need to put his plan in motion, a cold, stark clarity settling in his mind. He forces himself to think about the possibility that even if this works, even if he finds Dean and brings him back, he still might lose him. His hands work on autopilot, drawing the symbols and setting out candles for a ritual that shouldn’t be as familiar as it is.

Finally, the last piece is in place and Sam accepts that he’s going to do this, that if it will let him talk to Dean one more time, if it will give him even a chance at spending their last days together, then it’s worth it. He begins the chant, Latin dripping from his tongue as easily as English at this point, until he gets to the final word. He hesitates for just a moment, then spits it out before he can change his mind.


For long moments, nothing happens. Sam starts to worry--they hadn’t parted on good terms. Sam had refused to do what she insisted was necessary if he was going to destroy Lilith and save Dean, and the demon had left in a rage after Sam threatened to exorcise her if that’s what it took to force her away. It wasn’t impossible that she would ignore his summons, but Sam had a feeling she would show. If she didn’t...well. There were other ways to get what he wanted, and Sam was willing to try them all.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Sam Winchester, the man who wouldn’t be king.” Sam startles at the demon’s sudden appearance in the summoning circle, even though he’d been waiting. “Slumming, are we, Sam? Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind.” Ruby arranges her face in an expression of mock concern. “How have you been, Sam? How’s that brother of yours? Still going to Hell in a handbasket?”

The words stick in Sam’s throat, but he forces them out anyway. “I need your help.”

“Not even a hello, Sam? Really? No ‘how have you been, Ruby?’, no ‘it’s nice to see you again, Ruby!’?” She sneers, crossing her arms over her chest. “No “Well, looks like you were right after all, Ruby’? Come on, Sam. You can grovel better than that.”

Sam ignores her taunting. “I need you to find Dean and bring him back here, Ruby. He left and I can’t find him.”

Surprise flickers across the demon’s face, followed by a split second of concentration before she bursts into laughter. “Oh. Oh, Sam. You have been naughty without me, haven’t you? And so has Dean. Well, I can’t say I’m surprised--”

“Can you do it or not?” Sam forces himself not to shout. You need her help, he reminds himself. “And stay out of my head.”

“But it’s so pretty in there, Sam!” She laughs again, shaking her head, then gets serious again. “If I do help you, what’s in it for me? I don’t work for free, Sam. And you know my price.”

“I’ll do what you wanted me to before,” Sam says through gritted teeth. He feels unclean just saying the words. “You wanted me to learn to use my powers and destroy Lilith. I’ll do it.”

“And what else did I want, Sam?” Ruby asks silkily. “Are you willing to pay the full price?”

Sam doesn’t even hesitate. “Yes. Find Dean and bring him back here and I’ll--I’ll drink your blood to strengthen my powers.”

Ruby claps delightedly. “That’s just what I wanted to hear.” She flicks her fingers and a knife appears in her hand. She offers it to Sam hilt first. “No time like the present, Sammy.”

“Don’t call me that,” Sam says coldly. He doesn’t move to take the knife. “Bring me Dean first, alive and unharmed, and then I’ll drink.”

Ruby rolls her eyes. “Oh, please. I wasn’t born yesterday, Sam. I need at least a token of good faith.” She smiles, a twisted parody of human feeling. “One little drink, Sam. Then I’ll bring Dean right to you, bound and maybe even gagged, if you two crazy kids are into that sort of thing.”

Sam just stares at her for a moment, considering. “Just bound,” he says at last. It’s not the best option, it will hardly make Dean trust him, but he can’t have his brother running away as soon as he realizes Sam is in the room too. Of course, sending a demon to bring him home isn’t exactly going to make happy either.

“You never cease to surprise me, Sam,” Ruby says, shaking her head. “Now, about that token…” She waves the knife impatiently.

“Fine,” Sam says, trying not to be sick. He steps forward, into the circle, but he doesn’t take the knife from Ruby’s hand. Instead, he brings up the demon knife she’d given him when they started this twisted relationship, slashing her arm in one quick movement. Lights flare and flash under her skin and she curses in surprise and anger. One flick of her uninjured arm sends Sam flying across the room and into the wall.

“You bastard,” she hisses, cradling her injured wrist.

Sam shakes his head and blinks, then smiles. “Waste not, want not,” he says calmly, and brings the knife to his lips, licking the black ichor from the blade. It tastes vile, iron and sulfur and rotting meat but he forces himself not to gag as he cleans both sides. It burns the inside of his mouth and throat as he swallows audibly and he feels nauseous and light headed. “Is that enough for you?” he asks unsteadily.

Ruby shakes her head, a cruel smile playing over her lips. “Oh, Sammy,” she sighs. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this moment.” She holds out her wounded arm, black oozing from the cut and adding to the stains on the carpet. “Now let’s get this show on the road.”

Sam stands carefully and walks on shaky legs to the center of the circle where she’s waiting. He stares down at her for a long moment, lips pressed thin, then opens his mouth and begins to drink.

The taste and feel of it drives him to his knees. It coats his tongue and throat like sticky, foul tasting syrup, it burns like acid. His stomach lurches with every swallow, and he can feel the power from it invading every part of his body. He wonders, dimly, just how much this will change him. A few drops when he was six months old made him psychic and telekinetic; what will this do to him? He drinks until he can’t anymore, determined to see it through even with his vision narrowing down to pinpoints and the power screaming through his veins like fire.

He doesn’t so much let go of her arm as fall to the floor. He can see her smirking down at him, barely, so far away.

“Aww, poor Sammy. Probably shouldn’t have taken so much your first time around--it’s a bit of an acquired taste. Now, why don’t you be a dear and scratch through this circle so I can go fetch your brother? I’m sure you have a lot of catching up to do.”

With the last of his strength Sam scrapes through the paint holding the demon in place. “Nighty-night, Sammy,” she coos, and then the world goes dark.

Title: Nothing Bad Will Ever Happen to You (Except Me)
Rating: NC-17/Explicit
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Warnings: Wincest, perceived non-con, perceived somnophilia, angst
Summary: The morning after isn't quite what Sam hoped for.

Sam wakes up happy. He stretches luxuriously, enjoying the pull and ache in his muscles before he realizes he’s half dressed again. A frown creases his forehead as he shakes off his sleep fog and realizes how quiet it is. Dean isn’t breathing in the bed next to his, the shower isn’t running.

The thread of unease running through Sam grows as he sits up and sees that Dean’s jacket isn’t thrown over the back of the desk chair like he’d expect it to be. His unease grows into something approaching panic as he looks around and sees that Dean’s duffle is gone as well. The realization that he’s misjudged everything hits him like a dash of cold water and he grabs his phone off the nightstand, fingers shaking as he punches in the only number he knows by heart.

The phone rings on the seat next to him but Dean doesn’t pick up. He knows it’s Sam--the kid is nothing if not predictable. He grips the wheel tighter, determined not to answer, ignoring the voice in his head telling him he’s making his biggest mistake yet.

Sam listens to the phone ring, tinny and distant. He doesn’t leave a message this time. If Dean wants to talk to him, he will. Sam doesn’t let himself think about what it means if Dean doesn’t call him back.

Sam stays at the motel where Dean left him for three days, hoping that Dean will come back. He knows it’s pointless--he found Dean’s note and once his head cleared from sleep and painkillers he knows just how badly he screwed up. They both did. He spends the first day beating himself up, playing it back in his mind over and over, hating himself for how badly he wants Dean’s hands on him again. The second day he wakes up angry, at himself and at Dean. He almost takes off then, determined to let his brother go his own way if that's what he really wants. But the thought of Dean’s deal, that he might never see his brother again, that Dean might go to hell thinking he raped his brother--he spends the next hour in the bathroom retching up the cheap coffee from the motel lobby.

The third day--it’s after midnight, so it counts as a new day in Sam’s mind--he finally calls Bobby. Sam doesn’t have much hope that Dean will go to their old friend, but he needs to touch base himself, and Bobby loves Dean like a son. He deserves to know what’s happening, or at least the results.

“We had a fight, Bobby. Dean left,” Sam repeats slowly for what feels like the hundredth time. “He took the Impala and he’s not answering his phone.”

Sam listens again then says in frustration, “Does it matter what we fought about? He thinks he did something wrong, that he deserves to go to hell. He thinks he hurt me, but he didn’t. It was just as much my fault as it was his, but he didn’t stick around long enough for me to say so and now he’s gone!”

The silence on the other end tells Sam he may have gone a little too far. Sam waits for Bobby to figure it out and hang up on him, but after a too long moment Bobby clears his throat. “Well, if you say it’s...uh...personal, then that’s good enough I guess. You got any ideas where he might go?”

“No,” Sam whispers miserably. “If he were trying to hide from anyone else I could find him easy enough, but he’s trying to hide from me.”

More silence on the other end tells Sam that Bobby is having just as much trouble processing this as Sam is.

“We’ve got to find him, Bobby. He’s got less than a year left and he won’t even try to save himself. We’ve got to find him.”

“Sam…” Bobby’s voice is cautious, careful. Like he thinks Sam might break under the weight of any more bad news. “Did he tell you about the terms of his deal?”

Sam laughs bitterly. “You mean like how I die if Dean lifts a finger to save himself? Yeah, I dragged it out of him eventually. But that doesn’t mean we can’t save him, Bobby. It just means…” Sam trails off as he realizes the answer is staring him in the face.

“Just keep looking, Bobby,” he says, too quickly. “I will too. I’ve got a few ideas, not much, but they could pan out.”

“Don’t you do anything stupid, Sam,” Bobby warns. “One idjit per family is plenty. And you...you boys are like my own sons. I can’t lose you both, you hear me?” The barely there tremble in Bobby’s voice hurts Sam’s heart, but Sam can’t let Bobby’s feelings stop him. There’s too much at stake, and Sam won’t risk losing Dean again. He hardens his resolve to see this through and do whatever he has to in order to save Dean.

“You won’t lose us, Bobby,” Sam promises quietly. As he hangs up he tells himself he’s not lying--at least one of them will survive. Sam will see to that.

04 March 2018 @ 01:22 am


Jensen surprises Jared with an unusual request for his birthday, and Jared has a surprise of his own.


This is pure, unadulterated self-indulgence in the form of worshipful pwp. that's all there is. nothing more. I hope you enjoy it as much as Jared and Jensen do (in my imagination).

This is part of the Playing With Fire series. Jared and Jensen are in a mildly d/s relationship in which Jensen is emotionally dominant and Jared is emotionally submissive.

Since I've had several requests to write bottom Jared for this series, the title refers not only to Jensen's birthday, but also me finally doing so. Enjoy!

Work Text:

Jared unlocks the door to their apartment one handed, juggling a bottle of wine and a tiny elaborate package with the other. When he’s finally inside and the bottle is safely on the counter, he breathes a tiny sigh of relief, then smiles when he notices Jensen’s shoes are already on the mat. The smile turns puzzled, then begins to grow, when he sees Jensen’s socks a few feet away, and his...shirt? A few feet after that. All leading down the hallway toward their bedroom.

Still, he takes his time--opens the bottle of wine, Jensen’s favorite deep red, so that it can breathe, fetches a couple of glasses from the cabinet, arranges everything nicely so that it will be the first thing Jensen sees when they finally emerge from the bedroom.

Then he follows Jensen’s lead, shedding shoes and clothes until he’s finally at the door to their room.

Jensen opens his eyes sleepily when he hears the door, treating Jared to those long, thick lashes fanning back to frame the most beautiful eyes he’s ever seen. The rest of him is gorgeous, too--thickly muscled legs bowed perfectly to wrap around Jared, golden skin sweetly dusted with with cinnamon freckles that Jared loves every bit as much as Jensen hates, his thick cock, just starting to wake up under Jared’s gaze.

“Hey, babe.” Jensen’s voice is thick and heavy with sleep, even though it’s only midafternoon, and his his willingness and ability to sleep at any time, day or night, is just one more thing Jared loves. “You gonna come in, or just stare all day?” His teasing smile settles in Jared’s chest, warm and full of love.

Jared walks slowly toward the bed, letting Jensen look his fill as well. He knows how much his husband loves his long, lean body, the unkempt curls that the show requires. “Happy birthday, Jen.”

“Mmmm.” Jensen sits up when Jared reaches the bed, kneels in front of him for a kiss. “It is now that my birthday present is here.” He kisses Jared again, long and slow, his thick fingers combing through Jared’s hair. They’re both breathing hard when he pulls back, Jared fighting to keep his hands at his sides and not touch without permission. Jensen notices and smiles approvingly as he laces his fingers through Jared’s.

“I’m being selfish today, Jay,” Jensen says without shame. “Today, I want you. I want whatever you want, no rules, no holding back.”

Jared blinks at him in surprise, then laughs softly. “You know, I think I can work with that.”

Jensen lays back on the bed with a pleased smile, and Jared can’t resist the opportunity to touch him. He starts with Jensen’s feet and ankles, pauses to lick the back of his knees where he knows Jensen is ticklish, just to watch him squirm and turn red and curse. He takes his time over the thick muscles of Jensen’s thighs, biting gently, then harder when Jensen moans and pulls his hair and begs. Jensen’s hipbones get special attention, purple bruises set around a delicate impression of Jared’s teeth, and tiny precious kisses for the soft belly in between that Jensen hates with a passion but Jared loves to distraction. Jared gave up trying to count all the freckles scattered across Jensen’s chest long ago, but he has a kiss for each of his favorites as he makes his way up Jensen’s body, drawing each sensitive nipple into his mouth until Jensen’s nails are digging into his shoulders and his hard, leaking cock is dotting Jared’s chest with precome as he bucks and moans beneath him.

By the time Jared sets his teeth to Jensen’s throat--they don’t have to film again for days--they’re both sweating, hips rolling together, arms and legs entwined as Jensen begs low and rough for Jared to please just fuck me already Jay, god. Jared silences his pleas with his own lips, exploring Jensen’s mouth like it’s the first time, like he’ll never have another chance.

“Come for me,” he whispers, and a thrill runs through him when Jensen does, when his head falls back, those pink, beautifully kiss swollen lips parted in wonder and bliss, the perfection of his eyes lost to shuttered lashes but replaced with the flush that stains his cheeks and the tips of his ears. The liquid heat that stripes Jared’s chest nearly undoes him, but he’s not ready, not yet. He wants something else first.

Jensen doesn’t let Jared move away when the aftershocks finally start to fade, keeps him there on his chest with soft kisses and softer words, whispered into the snarls of his hair until Jared is the one who is begging, his cock dragging slick and hot over Jensen’s hip.

“Please, Jen, I need you,” he whispers pleasepleaseplease and with a final kiss Jensen lets him go, lets Jared slide back down his body to where his cock is already growing firm again. Jared can’t resist the taste of him, licking him clean of every drop, revelling in the broken moans he can drag from deep within Jensen’s throat as he sucks his balls clean, rolls them in his mouth until not a trace of come remains before he takes him deep into his mouth one last time.

“Fuck, your mouth, Jay, fuck,” Jensen groans, then whimpers when Jared pulls off him with an obscene pop. “Jaaayyyyy…”

“Turn over,” Jared orders softly, a gentle slap on the ass urging him on. Jensen raises an eyebrow at that, but Jared just smirks back at him as Jensen complies.

“Your ass is a work of art, Jen, I swear,” Jared murmurs, digging his fingers into the firm muscles. “Can’t wait to taste you.” Jared loves rimming Jensen, and if the sounds he always makes are anything to go by Jensen loves when Jared does it, even though he almost never chooses to indulge himself. But tonight…

Jared palms Jensen’s ass, spreading him apart to reveal his opening. Jensen whines, pushing back, clearly ready for what comes next, and Jared doesn’t make him wait. He rubs his cheek, rough with afternoon stubble, against the tender skin, breathing deep as he licks over and around Jensen’s hole, tiny and pink and oh so tight. It’s a wonder Jared can ever fit, and he can’t resist pushing a finger in alongside his tongue, just to feel the muscle stretch and give around him.

Jensen pushes back desperately, riding Jared’s face like it’s his dick. Jared licks and sucks and nibbles and tongue fucks him until his jaw aches, loving every whine, every groan, every plea and curse that falls from Jensen’s lips, until the words lose all meaning and become a constant, low pitched keen. That’s when Jared knows he’s ready.

Reluctantly Jared pulls back, leaves Jensen’s body licked loose and open and waiting. Part of him wants to just line up and sink in, the way he’s done so many times, the way they both love. But he has a feeling tonight is supposed to be something different, that Jensen wouldn’t have offered him this chance if he didn’t have something else in mind.

“Jen,” he says softly, stroking Jensen’s thighs up to his waist, the head of his cock slipping forward to catch on the swollen rim of his whole. “Jensen…”

Jensen lifts his head from his arms with a low moan. “Come on, Jay, God--just fuck me already--please--”

The sound of Jensen begging--Jensen, who reduces Jared to incoherence on an almost daily basis, who loves nothing more than to drive Jared insane whenever possible--the sound of Jensen begging very nearly changes Jared’s mind. But he grips the base of his cock tight and holds on, leaning over Jensen’s back to whisper in his ear.

“How about you fuck me instead?”

The words don’t register at first--Jensen is still mindlessly grinding back against Jared’s hips, chasing his own need. But Jared’s stillness sinks in, and Jensen comes to a sweaty, panting halt.


“Want something different tonight,” Jared whispers, sucking the tender flesh of Jensen’s ear into his his mouth and biting down gently. “Want you to fuck me. Been a long time since you were inside me, Jen.”

Jensen is silent so long that Jared thinks he’s going to refuse. “That really what you want, Jay?” Jensen turns over underneath him, Jared’s cock sliding deliciously over sweat slick skin.

Jared nods. “Just got a craving,” he confesses. “We don’t have to be back to work for a few days, and I thought since it’s your birthday maybe we’d do something a little different.” He lowers his head to lick at the stubble along Jensen’s jaw, whispers. “Don’t worry, I’ll still fuck you good and hard before midnight tonight. Promise.”

“Don’t think I’m not going to hold you to that,” Jensen tells him seriously, catching his lips in a hard kiss. “No shirking tonight.” His hands slide up Jared’s thighs, fingers kneading the thick muscle of his ass greedily. “Lube’s under the pillow,’ he adds, an unsteady hitch in his voice. “Open yourself up for me.”

Jared feels something inside himself relax as he follows Jensen’s instructions. He gropes under the pillow for the bottle as Jensen kisses him slow and hot, one hand sneaking away from Jared’s hip to glide over his aching cock, dragging a low moan out of him as he breaks the kiss to sit back.

The lube is cold on his fingers as he reaches behind himself, pushing forward into Jensen’s hand as he rubs over his own opening with a soft groan before pushing two fingers in slowly. He gasps at the sting, not hiding what he’s feeling, knowing that Jensen wants to see.

“Feels good,” he pants softly, rocking back on his fingers and forward into Jensen’s hand. “Not as good as you.” Jensen tightens his fingers around his cock, biting his lip as he watches Jared’s face.

“So hot, Jay,” he growls, and stretches to reach behind him. Jared keens softly as Jensen pushes a finger in alongside his own, thick and hot. It aches, too much and not enough as Jensen finger fucks him slowly. “There it is,” he murmurs when he finds Jared’s sweet spot. A blurt of precome lands on his chest and he lets go of Jared long enough to bring it to his lips, sucking his fingers clean of the salty, bitter fluid while Jared watches, transfixed. Jensen slides in a second finger, and they’re working together now, the steady push-pull of Jensen’s fingers rubbing against Jared’s, rubbing all over his insides and stretching him so wide, driving Jared crazy.

“‘M ready,” Jared gasps at last, unable to wait any longer. “God, Jen, I need you, all of you.”

Jensen doesn’t answer with words, just the slow slide of his fingers leaving Jared’s body, leaving him empty and hollow and whimpering with the loss. Jensen wraps his hand around himself instead, holding his cock steady as Jared breathes deep and takes him in.

It hurts.

Jared always forgets how much--not how big Jensen is, his jaw remembers that ache vividly, loves it. But the sting and burn of being stretched so impossibly wide is always a shock, at first, before it turns to pure pleasure. Jensen groans when the head of his cock eases through the first ring of muscle, fresh sweat starting on both of them with the need to go slow.

Fuck,” Jared hisses, fingers digging into Jensen’s chest as he works his way down. “Fuck, I always forget how good this feels, how good you feel.” His head drops forward as he takes Jensen another inch, past where their fingers could reach now, the blunt head of Jensen’s dick forcing his insides open little by little. Jensen’s fingers are gouging bruises into his hips, sweet little aches that make the burn in his ass more bearable as he finally bottoms out, speared open and stuffed full of Jensen.

“So gorgeous, Jay.” Jensen’s voice is hoarse, breath rasping in his throat as he fights the urge to just thrust, hard and fast. Jared knows that urge well, lifts himself off Jensen just enough to whisper against Jensen’s lips.

“Fuck me,” he groans into Jensen’s mouth. “Come on, babe. Do it.”

Jensen doesn’t need to be told twice. With a growl that’s nearly feral, he lifts Jared up and slams him back down, hips thrusting up to meet him. Jared cries out, pain and pleasure blending, smoothing into pure heat as Jensen fills him over and over. He hits that deliciously sweet spot inside Jared again and again, every thrust a shockwave, pure electricity dancing along every nerve. Jared gives himself over to it, face buried against Jensen’s throat, latched on, licking and sucking and pulling hot blood to the surface in time with Jensen’s thrusts, in time with the drag of his cock against jensen’s belly. It’s too good, too much, and he comes with a cry, stifled as he sinks his teeth into the straining muscle of Jensen’s shoulder and pulls Jensen over the edge with him.

Jared sinks down onto Jensen, completely boneless, hardly aware of anything but the thunder of their hearts and the rush of their breathing. Jensen’s arms pull him even closer, wordlessly easing him down from their high, caring for him the way he always does. Jared can still feel Jensen throbbing inside him, the sticky wetness of his release. It’s strange, and good, and he’s glad he asked for this despite the ache he can already feel building behind the fading endorphin rush.

Finally, reluctantly, Jared shifts slightly until he’s lying next to Jensen instead of on top of him. They both sigh when Jensen slips out of him, and the emptiness Jared feels without him already seems wrong, even with Jensen’s arms around him.

“Okay?” Jensen murmurs, stroking his hair, and Jared nods.

“That was amazing.”

“But?” Jensen asks, always hearing what Jared doesn’t say.

“But I like things the way the are. A lot.” Jared hesitates, unsure how to say exactly what he means. “I don’t want you to think that I don’t.”

Jensen laughs softly, fondly. “I’m not planning on any permanent changes,” he says reassuringly. “But you know you don’t have to wait for my birthday, right? You can ask for what you want whenever you want.”

Jared smiles slyly. “And if I’m good, you might even let me have it…”

Jensen’s arms tighten. “If you’ve been good,” he agrees, voice going deep and a little rough, just the way Jared likes it.

“Speaking of good…” Jared says, suddenly remembering. “The rest of your birthday present is in the kitchen.” Jensen groans at the thought of moving. “It’s your favorite,” Jared singsongs. “Come on.” He pulls until Jensen sits up, drags him down the hallway to the kitchen.

Jensen smiles when he sees what Jared brought him. “Perfect,” he says, reaching for the bottle. He closes his eyes on the first sip, and Jared opens the tiny box of chocolates he’d gotten to go with it. When Jensen opens his eyes, Jared holds up a piece temptingly, but Jensen shakes his head. “You first,” he reminds him, and lifts a second piece from the box. Jared eats it from his fingers delicately, savoring the rich flavor that only intensifies with a sip of wine, then holds Jensen’s piece out again.

“Your turn.”

Jensen groans decadently when he bites into the chocolate. “I’m going to need an extra ten miles at the gym tomorrow,” he says mournfully, taking another piece, and Jared smiles wickedly.

“I’m sure we can think of a better way than that to burn a few calories,” he says. “After all, we’ve got all night.”

25 February 2018 @ 10:08 am

Sam sinks down against the wall, hands fisted in his hair, eyes closed against the tears of frustration that want to spill over. Behind him, he can hear Dean arguing with their dad, audible even over the rush of traffic zipping past their meagre front yard.

“Dad, he’s only 16. We decided he wasn’t going in the field for another year or two--does it really matter if his hair is a little long?”

Sam flinches at the sound of glass shattering against the wall near his head, the sound of pure rage in John’s voice.

“Get out of my way, Dean. This isn’t about his hair. It’s about his attitude. You know as well as I do that he skips out on his lessons. Refuses to practice. Thinks he’s too good to be a part of this family. I won’t put up with it anymore.”

“Dad, don’t--”

There’s an undercurrent of fear in Dean’s voice now, Sam can hear it even if John can’t. A low grunt, a muffled thud, the door rattling and shaking in it’s frame, and Sam wants to scream but he doesn’t. He does his best to tune out Dean’s low, frantic voice and John’s bellows as he pushes himself up on shaky legs and pulls out his knife out of his bag instead.


Sam can’t see around Dean--his brother is still taller and broader than he is, though not by much. Dean’s standing in the doorway, hiding Sam while trying to disguise his defiance, and he doesn’t budge, even when Sam shoves at his back.

The sound John makes when he hears Sam’s voice is barely human. He shoves Dean out of the way and grabs Sam’s arm to drag him into the open.

“Sam, no…” It’s Dean’s voice, broken and angry and hurt.

Sam hates that sound more than anything in the world, but done is done. He stares up at his father defiantly, forcing himself not to react to the dull gleam of satisfaction in John’s eyes as he takes in the damage Sam has done to himself.

“At least one of you has some sense,” John says finally, letting Sam go with a hard shake. Sam’s arm aches with finger shaped bruises John leaves behind but he doesn’t make a sound, doesn’t rub at them. Just glares at his father’s back when he turns away.

Dean is still on the floor where he’d fallen, still staring at Sam with his heart in his eyes when John stops in front of him.

“On your feet,” John snarls. “I won’t put up with defiance, Dean. From you or him. Get out back and run drills til I tell you to stop.”

“Yessir.” Dean stands slowly, automatically starting to strip out of his overshirts and boots, but John stops him.

“Just like that, Dean,” he says cruelly, and fear squeezes Sam’s heart. Their dad likes to brag that he never lays a hand on his sons, doesn’t need to. Why would he when he can force them to run drills fully clothed in the Alabama summer until they pass out? Or beat them senseless as a ‘training exercise’?

get up, Dean, there's nothing wrong with you. Gotta be able to fight even when you’re hurting, son, that’s part of hunting

“I’m meeting Bobby for a hunt in Michigan, some kind of water spirit,” John tells Sam as Dean begins his first set of exercises. Beads of sweat are already dampening Dean’s hairline, dragging down the carefully styled spikes he’d created that morning. “Be gone for a coupla weeks, maybe longer.” He stomps ponderously off to his room, and Sam hears him cursing under his breath as he rummages through his scant belongings for whatever he plans to take with him, the sound punctuated by long swallows and the occasional crack of the whiskey bottle against the wooden nightstand next to John's bed.

It’s not long, maybe half an hour, before Sam can’t stand the sound of it anymore, can’t stand knowing that John is likely drinking himself into a stupor as Dean kills himself in the backyard. He moves out onto the porch, watching Dean as he works through one set of drills after another. Both of his shirts are already soaked through but he doesn’t slow or falter, his eyes fixed on whatever distant place he goes to in times like this. Sam thinks about joining him since he’s the reason Dean is in trouble, but he knows his brother wouldn’t approve, and neither would John. And he knows Dean might need him by the time John finally lets him stop.

Another hour goes by and Sam now is starting to get worried. Dean doesn’t look good--he’s sweating less than he was despite the heat and humidity, his face flushed and splotchy, eyes glassy and fixed on something only he can see.  Sam hasn’t heard anything from John since coming out onto the porch so he reluctantly leaves his post, hoping his father isn’t passed out on the couch or on the bed. Instead, he finds is that John is just...gone. His bag, the car, his bottle--all just gone.

Sam doesn’t wait another minute. He’s out the door in seconds, stopping only to grab a bottle of Gatorade from the ancient fridge.

Dean shakes his head when he sees Sam coming toward him, lips pressed tight as he continues his task. “Not stopping, Sammy,” he pants, wiping away the sweat creeping toward his eyes. "You know what he'll do." to you is unspoken, but Sam hears it anyway, his heart clenching in his chest with how much Dean loves him, and how little he deserves it.

“He’s gone, Dean. Took the car and left without even saying good-bye.”

It takes a moment for Sam’s words to penetrate, but when they do Dean sinks slowly to the ground. Sam follows him to his knees, holding out the bottle and making sure that Dean drinks slowly. When it’s empty, he stands back up, pulling Dean with him, letting Dean lean on him as much as he will.

“You’re gross,” he tells Dean as they limp back toward the house, and gets a ghost of a smile for his efforts.

“Nothing wrong with a little manly musk, Sammy,” he says, voice low and cracked, and Sam laughs a little too loud. Heat radiates off Dean like asphalt in the desert, and Sam just wants to get him inside and cooled down. He’s beyond furious with their father, but he’ll think about that later. Right now all he cares about is Dean.

Once they’re inside, Sam starts helping Dean out of his sweat soaked layers. Both shirts come off, boots and socks, but Dean bats Sam’s hands away when he reaches for Dean’s belt.

“‘M not an invalid, Sammy,” he mumbles, swaying, and Sam tries to be patient as Dean fumbles his way out of his jeans so that Sam can finally drag him off to the shower.

The cool water seems to revive Dean a little. He leans against the tile while Sam strips out of his own clothes, head down and back arched as the water sluices over him and Sam feels a surge of relief when Dean looks up and smiles at him.

“Dad’s gone off to Michigan,” Sam says, pushing Dean’s head back under the water. Dean shakes the water out of his eyes and opens his mouth, swallowing a few mouthfuls. “I’ll get some more Gatorade from the store when we’re done, okay?”

“First you gotta let me fix your hair, though,” Dean says wistfully, running his fingers through the ragged ends. “I’m sorry you had to do that.”

Sam smirks at him, wanting to lighten the mood a little. “You’re just mad ‘cause you won’t have it to hold on to,” he says, and Dean gives one of his few remaining curls a sharp tug.

“Damn right,” he says with a wink, and leans in to kiss Sam gently, resting his forehead against Sam’s after. “But I know how much you liked having it long, too. I thought Dad would come around, but…” Dean shrugs helplessly, no anger for himself or what John put him through, only for Sam. Sam doesn’t let him pull away, kisses him again and again until they both forget, briefly, why they’re here like this, their bodies saying what their mouths can’t.

“Bed,” Sam whispers eventually, when the water turns from cool to cold. “Wanna fuck you, Dean, please?”

“Hell yes,” Dean says, voice rough and eager as he reluctantly lets go of Sam long enough to reach behind them and turn off the water. They take turns drying each other off with the threadbare, mismatched towels, leaving them in a sopping heap on the floor as they stumble through the house to their bedroom, unwilling to stop touching long enough to make the journey quick. Dean tackles Sam onto to the bed as soon as they pass the doorway, turning them at the last minute so they fall together and make the bed creak and groan. Sam shoves him over, slides across Dean’s hips so that they fit together perfectly, the way they’re meant to.

“Changed my mind,” he pants, head falling back as he rocks against Dean. “Just like this--Dean--God--” Sam moans when Dean wraps his hand around them both, buries his other hand in what’s left of Sam’s hair and drags him down for a deep, messy kiss. It’s perfect, exactly what they both need, frantic and hot and desperate to be together any way they can.

Afterwards, Sam doesn't want to let go, and Dean doesn't make him. Sam hasn’t forgotten what his father did, but he can put it away for now, focus on Dean, the sharp clean smell of their love painting his skin, the beat of his heart under Sam’s palm, the taste of salt when Sam hides his face and the tears that still want to fall against his shoulder. Dean holds him, strokes his hair and pretends he doesn’t hear until Sam’s ready for him to.

“It’s gonna get better,” he promises, voice thick with exhaustion, eyes slipping closed. “I swear it won’t always be like this.”

Sam pulls the sheet up over them both as he wraps himself around Dean, thinking about the thick stash of college brochures and the growing pile of cash he keeps hidden in the bottom of his duffel. About the list of GED requirements and technical schools at the very bottom, just in case. “I know it won’t,” he whispers softly. “I promise.”

15 September 2017 @ 10:10 pm

All We've Ever Needed


The best laid plans of mice and men.

The look on Jared’s face doesn’t leave Jensen’s mind on Saturday. He’s not stupid; he knows how hard the last few years have been on Jared. He <i>knows</i> how desperately Jared wants to be free--wants them both to be free. And he knows that Jared understands his fear of cutting their safety net loose and freefalling until something else catches them, and that Jared will never force him into something he’s not ready for.

So he feels like warmed over shit for what happened Friday night, for leading Jared on, for his obvious, inescapable relief Saturday morning when they found out that their lives <i>hadn’t</i> been turned upside down. His guilt is compounded by the fact that the video is still sitting on his phone, burning a hole in his mind.

Saturday passes mindlessly, alternately dragging and blurring as he watches Jared stumble through the motions of living. Jared had had a tumbler of whiskey in his hand by the time Jensen came back out of the bathroom to clean them up, eyes empty and blank. Shut down. A thrill of terror runs through Jensen every time he thinks about it, about what that look means, but Jared insists he’s fine and that they follow through with their plans for the day.

Jensen isn’t the only one who notices that Jared seems off. His friend Jordan pulls Jensen aside, wants to know if the kids are alright, about Jared’s dad. He knows better than to ask about anyone else, for which Jensen is grateful. Jensen reassures him <i>late night, hungover, a little worried, yeah</i> and Jordan seems satisfied. Clif scowls at them both from the background, eyeing the bottle Jared had brought with him as the level drops over the course of 18 holes.

The worst part is, Jensen hadn’t been lying Friday night. He’d wanted to post that video, had been prepared to deal with the fallout. He doesn’t show it as much, but it’s slowly killing him to deny what Jared means to him day after day, to live a constant lie. He’s always been damn good at compartmentalization, but twelve years of constant stress and lies will eat away at the best walls, and Jensen’s have gotten paper thin.

They finally reach the 18th hole. Jared doesn’t even get out of the cart, just waves Jensen on. Jensen sinks the ball and finishes the game three under par, but he doesn’t care at that point; all that matters is getting Jared back to the hotel and into bed. Maybe with a little food if he can get Jared to eat--not always the easiest task, despite his size.

Jared is surprisingly docile on the way back to the hotel, let’s Jensen manhandle him into the elevator and up to the room. He doesn’t object when Jensen pours a bottle of water down his throat, relaxes into Jensen’s warmth as Jensen holds him upright in the shower and drags him over to the bed. It’s not until his head hits the pillow and Jensen settles back against the headboard next to him that the dam breaks.

“‘M sorry, Jen,” he whispers, voice choked and broken. “I shouldn’t have--I didn’t mean--”

“Shh,” Jensen soothes, stroking his hair. Jared shifts until his head rests on Jensen’s thigh, pushing up into Jensen’s hand, and Jensen can’t help smiling because some things never change and Jared loves it’s Jensen’s hands in his hair. “You didn’t do anything. I’m not angry.” His throat closes around the word, but he forces it out anyway. “I’m not <i>disappointed</i>.”

Jared shudders minutely at the word, a few tears soaking into Jensen’s jeans. He doesn’t speak again, drops off just like that, head cradled in Jensen’s lap, one hand clutching Jensen’s knee. Jensen doesn’t move, doesn’t try to ease away. He pets Jared’s hair endlessly, staring into space as thoughts and images and fears tumble aimlessly through his mind until finally he picks up his phone and dials a number.

Keeping secrets is hard. Jensen knows that--he’s been doing it for decades, after all. But keeping secrets from <i>Jared</i>...Jared knows, of course, even though he tries to hide that he knows, which leads to Jensen trying to hide that he knows that Jared knows. By the time the Saturday Night Special concert rolls around, Jensen’s head and heart both ache, but he smiles and laughs anyway, and it’s not even entirely forced. Jared plays along, seemingly back to his old self again and playing his role terrifyingly well, to the point that even Jensen has to wonder if maybe he was wrong. Neither of them drink anything stronger than diet Coke, and Jared makes one of his rare appearances at the concert to the delight of the fans. Overall, it’s as good a night as he’s going to get after Friday. They fall into bed after the concert, exhausted as much from emotional turmoil as the short night and long day, and Jared wraps himself around Jensen like he’s afraid he’ll disappear in the night if he lets go.

When they wake up Sunday morning, it’s like Saturday never happened. Jared blows Jensen in the shower, looking up at him with eyes so full of devotion that Jensen barely lasts more than a minute, going off like a teenager as soon as Jared starts working him open. Jared pulls off with a grin, then puts his mouth to even better use, rimming Jensen senseless and hard again before fucking him slow and easy as the water flows around them.

Once they’re finished--when neither of them could get hard again if they tried--Jensen digs through the clothes he’d packed for them, enjoying the sparkle in Jared’s eyes as he sees what Jensen picked out. Jared always loves when Jensen matches or coordinates them, even that tiny acknowledgement of what they are enough to put a smile on his face. Jensen’s glad he went for obvious this time, matching the color of his jeans to the thickest line of plaid in Jared’s overshirt, and even moreso when he tosses a new scarf onto the bed with a hint of a smirk. He’d sent a picture of his own shirt to the concierge the evening before and the woman at the desk had gotten him exactly what he’d asked for. Jared’s smile grows even more when he sees the coordinated watches they’d bought in Australia a few months ago laid out on the counter for last, and it eases the hurt in Jensen’s heart to see it.

“I love you,” Jared says once they’re dressed, pulling Jensen close. “No matter what, no matter how long it takes. You know that, right?”

“I know,” Jensen says just as quietly. “And I’m sorry for what happened Friday night. Jay...I wanted to do it. I was ready for it to be done and over, I swear. I wouldn’t lead you on like that on purpose.”

“I’m sorry I made you think that,” Jared says, eyes dimming slightly. “It just...It hit me hard. I’m good now, though. Promise.”

“Then let’s get this show on the road,” Jensen says, kissing him lightly and adjusting his scarf. Jared laughs a little ruefully.

“We’ve got our work cut out for us with this one,” he says, grinning a little. “And you’ve no one to blame but yourself.”

Jensen smirks back. “Oh, it’s all gonna work out,” he promises, and he thinks he gave the whole thing away when Jared looks at him quizzically, curiosity filling his eyes. He’s saved by Clif’s sharp rap at the door, and there’s no time after that, one fan after another after another until they’re finally on stage in front of everyone. Jensen’s feeling a little giddy, dizzy with fear and want and determination. No one had asked about the deleted video in his or Jared’s meet and greet, which means he’s going to have to do the work himself this time. He’s grateful, in a way, because even if it’s not organic at least he’s got some control.

Jared runs through his usual pre-game ritual--<i>who’s new, who’s here for the first time, everyone excited for the new season</i>--but when he turns to take the first fan question, Jensen stops him with a hand on his arm.

“Hold up a second, Sasquatch,” he jokes, and Jared looks at him in mild confusion. “We’re gonna do something a little different this time around.” He peers out into the audience, then over at the media booth. “Hey guys, can you pull up my twitter feed on the screen?” In moments the last pic he’d tweeted takes over the screen, which then splits to show Jared’s puzzled face and Jensen’s widening smile.

“So. How many of you guys saw that video Jared and I posted last night?”

The audience explodes into cheers and whoops, but Jensen’s just looking at Jared’s face as it slowly turns pink.

“Well, as it happens, what we did wasn’t actually a bad thing at all--”

“Jen--” Jared’s voice is low and urgent, away from the mike so that only Jensen can hear. Jensen leans in close, bringing his own mic up as he does so.

“Don’t worry, babe. I’ve got this.”

Jensen <i>feels</i> his whisper, barely audible, hit the audience like a shockwave. Jared’s clutching his shoulder, wet warmth from the sudden sweat on his palms bleeding through Jensen’s t-shirt as he hitches in a breath. There’s not a sound from the audience as Jensen pulls out his phone and taps a few buttons. Even before the video appears on the screen next to their faces, there are gasps and actual <i>screams</i>from the fans as those clever enough to pull up Instagram see what he’d posted seconds before it posts on Twitter.

Jensen stands, pulling a shellshocked Jared up with him, tucking himself under Jared’s arm and against his side. Tears slowly spill over Jared’s cheeks as their words from the night before--<i>we fell in love</i>--contribute to the sudden cacophony as the fans erupt into screams and howls. They go on for several minutes, despite Jensen’s raised hands and calls for quiet, finally Jensen drops into his Dean voice and shouts into the mic.

That gets everyone’s attention. The room falls quiet--well, quiet-ish, anyway--and Jensen’s surprised to see and hear that some of the fans are actually crying.

“I know you guys must have a lot of questions about me and Jared and our family,” Jensen says loudly, pleased to emphasize the singular word. “But that’s not what we’re here for today. Today, we’re here because we all love Sam and Dean and the show that brought us all together. So let’s focus on that, okay?”

One look at Jared’s face makes it clear that they’re going to need a few minutes before they start answering questions. Jensen takes his hand and tugs him toward the back of the stage, then stops in surprise when Jared doesn’t move. He raises his eyebrows and Jared shakes his head subtly, pulling Jensen back against him.

“So y’all guys have probably figured out that I wasn’t really expecting Jensen to do this today,” he says, a smile ghosting his lips. The fans cheer happily, drowning him out for a long moment before he can continue. “And I’m going to second Jensen’s request that we all focus on a couple of brothers we all know and love. But I can’t let this moment pass without saying something.” He turns to Jensen with a fond smile. “I love this asshole,” he says, and pulls Jensen into a kiss that only lasts a second but seems to go on forever as the fans scream themselves into a hoarse frenzy.

They only have time for a couple of questions. The first fan bursts into tears as soon as she gets the mic, struggling to get the words to her question out. A volunteer steps up and they whisper together for a moment before the volunteer speaks into the mic, a question about whether or not Sam and Dean will search for Mary in the upcoming season. It’s an easy question, one they’ve answered before, so it doesn’t matter as much that Jensen can barely form words because Jared’s arm is resting warm and heavy around his shoulders, his long fingers absently stroking his arm. The rest of the questions are similar, softball lobs from an obviously shocked audience, and by unspoken agreement they forego the last question when the entirety of the cast and crew present boil out onto stage to hug them both.

Richard makes a speech about love, Rob and the band play sappy love songs, someone puts a guitar in Jared’s hands. They’re way off schedule, but Jensen couldn’t care less because Jared can’t stop smiling and it’s lighting up the room better than any floodlight. When they finally leave the stage the surge of screams and applause goes on for what feels like an eternity, only cut down to a bearable level by the heavy utility door that Jared drags Jensen through.

“You...you bastard,” he says finally, when he can tear his lips away from Jensen’s. “I hate you. I love you. I--”

“You’re stuck with me,” Jensen interrupts, grinning wildly. “No getting out of it now, that’s for damn sure.”

Jared scoffs. “As if I’d want to. But Jensen...nothing’s changed. This is going to turn everything upside down. Why did you do it?”

“It was time,” Jensen says simply, softly. “I made a few calls, put a few things in motion. Even if they cancel the show, even if we never work in Hollywood again...we’re gonna be alright, Jay. I promise.”

“And the rest of it? You know what might happen.”

Jensen takes Jared’s face in his hands, pulls him down until their foreheads are touching and the tears threatening to spill over again are shining like jewels in his view. “<i>We’re gonna be alright.</i> And in the end? The only thing that matters, the only thing that’s <i>ever</i> mattered, is that we’re together. Right?”

Jared smiles, tremulous but so perfect it makes Jensen’s heart ache in the best way he can imagine. “Right.”

15 September 2017 @ 09:21 pm

Title: Next Time
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Jared/Jensen


Jensen gets a little crazy when he's drunk, and Jared can't help but go along, especially when it's what the both want. Or is it?


This is based on the Instagram vid Jensen posted 8-25-17. It's not real, or what i think really happened. I adore Jensen and he would never do this...please don't hate me lol

Jensen drags him into the bathroom of their hotel room with an abrupt giggle, yanking him down into a kiss that's soft and almost dreamy.

“Gonna do it, Jay,” he whispers, more than half drunk and as serious as Bob after ten takes. “Just like we talked about. Gonna show em all.” The hand on the back of Jared's neck squeezes briefly. “You good with that, Jay? You sure?”

Jared nods, throat tight. “Let's do it, Jen,” he whispers. It's not what they planned, but he doesn't care--it’s what he wants, what <i>they</i> want, and right now, in this moment, that's all he cares about.

Jensen smiles, lighting up the whole damn room. “Let's get em warmed up first,” he says, giggling again. “Make sure they know something's coming, make sure they're all watching.” He pulls out his phone, opens Instagram for a live video, and excitement creeps up Jared's spine. No going back now.

“For the record, I want it to be known that this is a really bad idea,” Jensen intones solemnly, staring directly into the camera. He barely gets the words out before he's grinning.

“I agree,” Jared says helpfully, nodding as he fights back a grin. “Really bad. Yep.”

Jensen giggles again, soft and helpless, smiling so wide Jared's face hurts in sympathy. He hits “end” and “post”, then does whatever it takes to send the vid to Twitter too. They watch in amusement as the fandom explodes, checking a few of their favorite accounts, not surprised to see that some if them are already wishing for exactly what they're going to get.

After a few minutes, Jensen closes out the app and reopens Instagram. “This is it, Jay,” he says softly, wonderingly. “We'll post tonight, answer some questions at the con on Sunday, and file the papers on Monday.”

“I love you,” Jared says softly, and Jensen lifts the phone ad hits record. “Hey, fandom,” he says with a smile. “So, me and Jay have some great news we want to share with you.”

Jared picks up when Jensen pauses. “When we met 12 years ago, neither Jensen not I knew our lives would change forever.” He smiles softly at Jensen. “We didn't know we would fall in love.”

“But we did,” Jensen continues. “It's been a tough road, but we've decided it's time to share with the world.” He tilts his face toward Jared and smiles. “I love you, Jay.”

“I love you too, Jen,” Jared echoes, unable to stop himself from smiling back. Jensen reaches for him, the camera still rolling, and tugs him down for a kiss. Its deep and dirty, and Jared loses himself to it completely, forgetting all about the camera until Jensen pulled back with a satisfied smirk.

“Goodnight, #SPNFamily,” he says with a grin, and points the camera toward Jared, who blows a kiss.

“We love y’all guys,” Jared says, and watches in awe as Jensen hits “end” with a dramatic flourish. Jared pounces, joy and laughter  radiating from him as he kisses Jensen again, already fumbling with his clothes.

“C’mon, Jay, let me get it out there,” Jensen laughs, and gropes for the send button. The phone clatters to the floor as Jared finally gets his hand around Jensen's cock and they both groan.

“Love you so fucking much,” Jared breathes, latching on to the delicate skin of Jensen's neck. Jensen groans again, and pulls back to shove toward the bedroom.

“Strip,” he orders breathlessly, teeth sinking into that plump lower lip as Jared obeys. “I want you inside me.”

“Fuck,” Jared moans, and all but rips his clothes off in his haste. Jensen is sprawled on the bed by the time he's done, stroking his cock lazily.

“This is what we should have showed them,” he says, voice low and rough as Jared coats his fingers with slick from the bottle they'd left on the nightstand earlier. He spreads his legs, making room for Jared with his body as well as his heart. His back bows beautifully as Jared pushes two fingers straight in, trusting that Jensen is still loose enough from earlier to take him.

“Shoulda,” he says with a shudder as Jared spreads his fingers. “Shoulda showed them how much I fucking love your cock.”

“Next time,” Jared says, and kisses him as he lines up and pushes in deep, one hard thrust that knocks the air out of both of them.

“Fuck, yes,” Jensen groans, and digs his hands into Jared's hair.

“God you feel good,” Jared breathes. “Gonna make you feel me for days.” He snaps his hips hard and Jensen swears against his lips.

“Gonna cancel our golf game tomorrow,” Jensen promises, wrapping one hand around his cock and stroking himself fast and hard. “Gonna spend our first day of freedom right here with my mouth on your dick.”

Jared slams into the tight clench of Jensen's body with an almost feral sound as Jensen yanks him down and latches onto his throat.

“Gonna mark me up?” Jared demands hotly “Gonna show everyone who I belong to?” Jensen sucks harder, drawing blood to the surface of Jared's skin, right above where his shirt will sit tomorrow and Sunday.

“Mine,” Jensen growls, licking over the stinging mark, and that one word does Jared in, sends him falling over the edge as pleasure sears through him. Jensen cries out as he comes, low rumble thrilling through them where they're pressed together.

Afterward, Jared leaves Jensen's body gently, reluctantly, and gets a cloth to clean them both up. Jensen pulls him down into a rough embrace, already drifting off.

“We did it, Jay,” he says drowsily, sleep slurred and happy. “We fucking did it.”

“Yeah, we did, Jen,” Jared murmurs against his jaw. “We finally did it.” He smiles as his eyes slip closed.

Jared wakes up the next morning to Jensen's lips around his cock, Jensen's slick fingers teasing at his hole. “Morning, Jay,” he says sliding off with an obscene pop. His voice is already rough, fucked out, and Jared can't help the whine that slips out.

“Jen…” he begs, and Jensen smiles evilly as he ducks down to take Jared in as deep as he can. Jared's hips buck against his will, and the bruises Jensen leaves holding him down roll his eyes back into his head as he comes with a shout.

“Good morning to you, too,” Jared says when he remembers how to talk, and gets a lazy smile in return as Jensen slowly writhes against him, dotting his hip and thigh with precome, sticky and warm.

“Look at you,” he rasps, and leans up to lick the bruise he'd left on Jared's throat the night before. “So fucking beautiful.” Jared wraps a hand around the back of his neck with a groan, urging him on, and Jensen comes with his teeth in Jared's skin and his cock in Jared's hand, and Jared thinks, in that moment, that he's never been happier.

“Makeup is gonna kill you,” Jared says a little while later. They're cleaning up, taking their time, debating room service. He fingers the really spectacular bruise that starts right above his collar and decorates about three inches of skin. “Fucking vampire.”

“Gotta stake my claim,” Jensen says with a leer. He presses up behind Jared, fits his hands to the fresh bruises on his hips. “And I'm sure as hell not showing them <i>these </i>.”

Jared laughs, shivery heat racing over his skin. “I can't believe we really did it,” he says, turning to face Jensen with a sappy smile that he'd probably be embarrassed about any other time.

Jensen looks away, one hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck, unconscious Dean tell that makes Jared's stomach drop a little. “I kinda can't believe we did either,” he confesses.”There's gonna be a shitstorm waiting for us back at the office. And in Austin. And in L.A.”

Jared's smile falters. “But the fans will love us,” he says, trying to lighten the suddenly more somber mood. “Right?”

Jensen makes a visible effort to pull himself together. “Oh, they’'ll definitely be excited. Sunday is gonna be a hell of a day.” He sighs. “C’mon, let's order breakfast and face the music.”

Jared trails after Jensen, feeling lost. He grabs Jensen's phone from the floor where he'd dropped it last night after sending their confession of love out over the internet. Jensen mutters an absent minded <i>thanks </i> and starts scrolling through his messages, them suddenly sits upright.

“Jay?” he says in disbelief, but Jared is already staring at his own phone.

“There's nothing there,“ he says, empty dread coloring his voice. “Jensen, what happened?”

“I don't know,” Jensen says and there's no hiding the color of his voice either. It's relief, and a little shame. “Jay...it looks like it didn't load after all. We're clear.” He looks up and sees the shock on Jared's face and hastily adds, “If we want to be, I mean.”

“Jen…” he starts, devastated, but Jensen hurriedly interrupts.

“We were drunk off our asses,” he says, trying for reasonable. “And you know it's really not fair to the girls to do it that way.”

“The girls,” Jared says dully, and Jensen flinches.

“We'll just stick to our original plan,” Jensen says placatingly “This is for the best, Jared. You know how upset everyone would be if we'd really posted a make out video on Instagram. We'd be a joke.”

“A joke,” Jared repeats, and turns away from the relief in Jensen's eyes.

“Hey.” Jensen grabs Jared's arm as he walks past, offers him a smile. “You okay with this? With how everything worked out?” His voice softens. “C’mon, man...it's just a few more years. Just till the kids are old enough to understand. We’ll be done before you know it.”

“Yeah,” is all Jared can manage. “Just gonna call housekeeping and have them send up a scarf from the gift shop.” He fingers the bruise on his neck. “Don't want anyone to see.”

Jensen stands, swinging Jared into his arms with a bright smile and a mock growl.”Oh, I wouldn't say that…<i>I’m</i> someone, and I definitely like that look on you.” He pries Jared's phone out of his hand and coaxes him back toward the bed, pushes him down and straddles Jared's hips with a lascivious grin.

Jared smiles back, and wonders how quickly he can get the bottom of the bottle of whiskey in the suitcase.