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put your arms around me like a ring around the sun, 2/2
Link to Part 1
Sam stays close after that. He fully expects to be fighting Dean on it, to have Dean be snarling at him to back off already, Sam, but he doesn't give a flying fuck. He's not letting Dean out of arm's reach. Dean, of course, contrary to the end, doesn't so much as say "boo" about it. He shifts over to make room for Sam to sit next to him, waits for Sam to look up from whatever he's reading before reaching for boots and jacket to go wandering around at night, and generally behaves like it's entirely normal to have a Sam-shaped shadow.
It kind of weirds Sam out, at least until Dean admits that there are minutes here and there during the day when he's not entirely sure what's real and what's not. Then Sam's just plain freaked-out, again with every bad thing he's stuffed down in his brain crawling out and fighting for attention, but Dean brings him out of it with an elbow to the gut, as precisely placed as any surgical incision, waiting until Sam stops wheezing to say, "Nothing's real for sure except you, Sammy."
Dean's eyes are really fucking calm, considering what he just said, and Sam's suddenly, acutely aware of the warmth where Dean's touching him, light press along his leg from hip to knee.
"Okay," Sam says, swallowing hard. "Whatever works."
Dean sighs. "Yeah, well, I'm not seeing this getting any much better before D-Day, so maybe we should start asking the hard questions now, like just how with it do I have to be when things go down."
Alina's in the library; as soon as they come in, Sasha, who Sam wouldn't be surprised to find is telepathic, pads across the room and noses her head up under Dean's hand. Dean responds automatically, rubbing and scratching behind her ears, like worry beads.
"So just how bad would it be if I'm graying out in the middle of our little party?"
"Probably pretty bad," Alina says, straightforward as always. "With something like this, we both have to be present, really there. It's part of what makes this kind of magic so hard to control--you have to be able to keep the ritual on track and be fully present and involved in the sexual part or everything spirals out of control."
"Yeah," Dean sighs. "That's what I thought." He looks at Sam for a long moment before he turns back to Alina. "So, let's just cut to the chase, because I seriously doubt that's in the cards. What happens if the only way I'm sure what's for real is if Sammy's within a couple of inches."
Alina hmms thoughtfully. "I--don't know. I've never seen anything that talks about anyone else having to be a part of the ritual. When we do this, the focus is supposed to be between two people, and anyone else is generally going to be a distraction and a dilution, so, I wouldn't think that having to have Sam there to keep you present would work, but..."
"But what?" Sam asks for Dean.
"But unless I'm really concentrating, you two are almost impossible to separate anyway." Sasha whuffles a little and settles on Dean's feet, laying her muzzle down and closing her eyes, as though this is old news. Maybe it is. Dean doesn't look surprised, and Sam, while he might have hated the idea when he was a kid, doesn't mind it much now. "You both...feel the same, especially when you're together, so I don't think Sam being there for the ritual is going to be a deal-breaker." One of the cats picks that time to arrive with an offering and the conversation gets derailed while they identify the victim and deal with the aftermath.
"You all right, Sammy?" Dean asks, later, after they've taken Sasha out for a little friendly game of tug-of-war.
"Yeah," Sam says. "I'm good--I mean, other than the whole something's trying to hollow you out from the inside thing--"
"Yeah, yeah." Dean waves his hand, dismissing such concerns as negligible, Sam supposes. Sasha barks, eager for what comes next in the game, and Dean picks up a broken stick and slings it sidearm across the clearing. "We've had that going on for a while now." He takes a deep breath. "I mean, are you okay with sitting in on everything. Being there while we, whatever."
"You mean, am I okay being there while my brother engages in ritualistic sex with a healer so she can contain and nullify the thing that's so powerful, so ancient, we can't really even find a name for it?"
"Yeah." Dean keeps his eyes on where Sasha's gotten sidetracked with some new and exciting smells. "That."
"No problem," Sam answers, keeping his voice even and matter-of-fact, because freaking out isn't going to help anyone. He bumps shoulders with Dean and adds, "Happy to be your security blanket, man."
* * *
Sam jolts awake in the darkest part of the night to Sasha whining, low and off-key, enough to literally raise the hair on the back of his neck. He reaches out, flailing for Dean in an automatic, frantic reaction even before he realizes it's too quiet, that he can't hear the steady, deep breaths that had lulled him to sleep earlier. His legs tangle in the sheets as he feels his way along the other mattress, half-falling out of his own bed to reach farther, until he finally finds warm skin--smooth and solid, the muscles and tendons in Dean's back arching hard--and feels Dean shudder and start breathing again under his hand.
"Shit." Sam sags in relief, kneeling between the beds and putting his head down on Dean's. "Shit, shit, shit."
"Couldn't have said it better myself," Dean gasps.
Sasha barks once, then settles at the top of the stairs, still clearly on guard duty but willing to let Sam take care of things. Sam stays down for another couple of seconds, willing his heart to settle into something slower than heavy, adrenaline-fueled pounding.
The beds are narrow, to fit into the tiny space; separated only by the nightstand between them. Sam considers their options, but it's not really all that difficult a decision. It only takes one hand to drag the table down past the ends of the beds; once that's done, he lets go of Dean just long enough to shove his bed up against Dean's.
Sasha lifts her head and watches; as Sam settles back on his mattress, still able to keep in touch with Dean, he finds himself thanking her for watching out for them.
"Dude," Dean says. "You sure you're not losing it?"
"Fuck off," Sam answers, stretching out and trying to convince his mind that sleep really is okay. "You talk to the car all the time."
"Yeah," Dean says. "And I talk to my girl here, too." Sasha's tail thumps on the wooden floor. "The point is, you don't."
"I guess I never really had a good reason to."
* * *
Alina doesn't say anything the next morning, but from the way she watches them while she stirs the oatmeal, Sam figures she knows things are going downhill even before Dean fills her in on the middle-of-the-night excitement. She presses her lips together tightly as he finishes up, shaking her head and saying, "I should have called--"
Dean deliberately flicks some of his oatmeal at her. "Hey," he says. "We're still on for tomorrow morning. I'll take care of my end, but you need to be on top of your end, and bitching at yourself isn't going to help."
"You're right," Alina sighs, and Dean makes the pleased, of-course-I'm-right noise Sam remembers from when they were kids and Sam was freaking out over something and Dean talked him down. Of course, whether or not Sam got a good grade isn't exactly on the same scale as whether or not Dean's going to make it through the next 36 hours, but if Dean wants to play it like that Sam's going to go along with it. Then Dean says, "And hey, while I appreciate the thought of another of the ladies working me over along with you, we've already got Sammy in the mix. Toss in anyone else and your sacred ritual is gonna start looking like an orgy. Which I could also appreciate, but maybe later, when I'm a little less out of it?"
There's a brief moment of silence--Sam also remembering all the times Dean's opened his mouth and fucking horrified Sam with what came out--but then Alina sits down at the table and covers her face with both hands, and Sam sighs. "Yes," he says to Alina, who's laughing helplessly. "He really did just proposition you." Sam smacks Dean--lightly--on the back of the head. "Way to stay classy, man."
"Broke the tension, didn't it?" Dean says, smirking. "And if the answer's yes, I am way out in front of the curve." His smirk turns into a more relaxed smile as he adds in Alina's direction, "No rush on getting back to me on that, though. Take your time."
"We can see how we feel about it tomorrow night, after our little audition in the morning," Alina answers, giving Dean a wicked once-over that's so blatantly appraising he blushes, and it's Sam's turn to laugh. Alina smiles, too, but when she continues, her tone is brisk and straightforward. "We should start getting set up, though. There's not a lot, but there's a certain order to getting the site ready that helps focus all the energy."
She thinks--and Sam agrees--that Dean should rest as much as possible, but Dean vetoes that plan. "You don't need to be doing everything by yourself," he says. "Sam can help and I can be the good-looking addition to the scenery." Alina shrugs at Sam, and while he'd rather Dean saved whatever strength he has, Sam figures they're coming out ahead just from Dean not arguing about Sam having to be involved.
Alina wants to do it in her study, the converted side porch. "I came here because of the ley lines," she says, and Sam nods. He hadn't thought about it before, but he's felt the energy, and he's sure it's at least part of what's helped Dean hang on this long. "There's a convergence all along this ridge, so anywhere is good, but I spend most of my time out here or the kitchen so it's like I've got my own little groove."
"Here is definitely better than the kitchen," Dean says. "Me and you would have a hard time fitting in that corner, even before we add in Gigantor here. We're definitely gonna need more space."
Sam flips Dean off, because he knows Dean's waiting for it, and Dean might never win an award for subtlety but Sam has to give him credit for keeping things from getting too heavy. He reminds himself of that an hour later, after he's shifted tables and books and chairs and he's not even sure what else out of the study to a nonstop soundtrack of Dean's comments about his strength and coordination and endurance, or lack thereof. "Seriously," Sam says, dropping down on the floor next to where Dean's propped up against the wall, "remind me to kick your ass the next time we're sparring."
"Better get it in the first session, before I'm back in the groove," Dean cracks back, but Sam doesn't miss how he leans into Sam with an almost audible sigh of relief. "I might be out of it now, but that's not gonna last long."
Even with how Dean's practically curled into Sam, Sam has to listen hard to hear anything but confidence that there will be more sparring sessions in their future in Dean's voice. He doesn't quite trust his own voice, but he can't let Dean be the only one carrying the positive-thinking flag, so he summons up a snort and jabs his elbow--gently--into Dean's ribs. It's at about a tenth of his usual force, and he's not sure what's more worrisome: that Dean doesn't give him shit about pulling the jab or that it's still almost enough to flatten Dean.
* * *
The only time Dean's assurance slips is when Sam chivvies him upstairs to try to get a little sleep. Dean doesn't move from where he's sitting on the front steps for the longest time, and when he does, it's with a sigh. "I was hopin' the clouds would clear some," he says, looking up at the sky. "Enough to see a couple of stars."
It's been clear every other night. Sam steels his voice and manages a credibly casual, "Tomorrow, for sure," and Dean nods.
Their beds are still pushed together. Dean doesn't hesitate, just strips out of his jeans and T-shirt and lets himself fall onto the narrow mattress. Sasha plants herself at the door, watching Sam until he crawls onto the second bed, and rests her muzzle on her paws. It's quiet for a little while, and then Dean says, "If this doesn't work--"
"Yeah," Sam says, biting back all the denials that want to come out, because, yeah, he knows as well as Dean that this isn't a slam-dunk, not by a long shot, and the least he can do is listen to whatever Dean wants to say.
"There's no telling what exactly this is."
"Yeah," Sam says again. "I--I've got everything lined up. Salt, iron, silver, brass--everything. I'll take care of it if I have to." He doesn't add that Bobby's got half-a-dozen hunters on speed dial just in case Sam doesn't check in, but he doesn't really have to.
"Know you will," Dean says, and Sam swears to himself that he'll deal, no matter what. He's settled in for a sleepless night, but Dean's out in under five minutes, and the regular, comforting sound of his breath--the feel of it where Sam's got one arm slung over him--lulls Sam to sleep not long after. He doesn't sleep long, but he wakes up in the dark of the night feeling about a thousand times better than he'd expected to. Dean's breathing easily next to him. This has worn Dean almost to a shadow of himself, but he's still there and fighting, and Sam really doesn't know that anyone else he's ever met--including Dad, in all his stubborn, mule-headed glory--would have gotten this far.
Sam can hear Alina moving about downstairs. She'd said she would sleep a little, but that she'd mostly be preparing: meditating and pulling her focus inward. Sam's plan had been to let Dean sleep until they needed to get started, but Dean comes awake on his own about an hour before dawn. He doesn't say anything or move away, but he's definitely awake. Sam stays still, too, and they lie there, more or less breathing in sync until the sky outside the window starts to lighten ever so faintly.
"All right," Dean finally says. "Let's go deal with this thing." His voice is firm and sure, but watching him, Sam can tell it's taking everything he's got to get himself out of the bed. Sam stamps down hard on the reflex that wants to be grabbing for Dean, steadying him, because as clearly as it's a struggle, Dean just as clearly does not want help. They make it halfway down the stairs, Sam all but twitching from the stress of keeping his hands to himself, when Dean stops and leans hard on the banister. "Gimme a minute, Sammy."
"I can car--" Sam starts, but Dean cuts him off.
"No, you can't carry me," Dean says. "Not unless I'm gonna go face-first down the rest of these stairs." Sam nods and very carefully doesn't say that Dean's wavering on the edge of doing just that. Dean musters the energy to glare at him, as though he knows exactly what Sam's thinking, but doesn't say anything more. He makes it the rest of the way down to the first floor on his own, though it's touch and go on a couple of steps. The triumph of getting that far carries him the rest of the way into Alina's study, where he stops dead so quickly that Sam stumbles into him and grabs at him to keep him from going down. Sam can't blame him for the sudden stop, though, what with the fires dotting the edges of the room and the naked woman standing in front of them.
Dean recovers quickly, stepping into the room with a confidence Sam doesn't think is faked, though he doesn't shrug off the arm Sam's still got around him.
"Sammy," he says, as Alina turns toward them, unpinning her hair and letting it fall loose down her back, almost to her waist. It changes the look of her face, taking away the practical and familiar and adding an other-worldly cast. If Sam narrows his eyes, he can almost see the energy instead of just feeling it, the ley lines and the fires, all flowing to her. "We are definitely overdressed."
"Robes and fire don't mix," Alina says, gesturing to the half-dozen small firebowls around the perimeter of the windows. The flames crackle with the energy of well-dried tinder; from the few wisps of smoke that don't drift out of the open windows above, Sam can smell the sweet sharpness of cedar mixed with herbs. "We should probably get started--the less we have to rush, the better."
Sam had noticed the pallet-bed Alina had created during the night, sweet-smelling hay covered by cloths big enough to be sheets, but had been deliberately ignoring it. Dean nods, though, and starts pulling his shirt off over his head. Sam keeps one arm around his waist, steadying him, working hard not to think about what they're about to start doing. Dean hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers and looks over his shoulder at Sam.
"You okay?" he asks, and when Sam nods, Dean flashes him that cocky grin, familiar even if it's a shadow of the real thing. "You sure you don't want to go get your notebook, so you don't forget any of the moves of a master?"
"You're such an ass," Sam tells him. "I should drop you right here." Dean just smirks and pushes his boxers down over his hips, letting them fall and stepping out of them before arching an eyebrow at Sam, waiting for him to follow. Technically speaking, Sam doesn't think he has to be naked, too, but the look in Dean's eyes is pretty freaking clear that Sam isn't getting out of it on a technicality. It's a little awkward, getting his T-shirt off without letting go of Dean, but he manages, and then Alina steps closer, tracing the back of her hand over Dean's face, across his cheekbones, along the bridge of his nose, whispering his name, and Dean's distracted enough that Sam can get his own boxers off without having to do it under Dean's full scrutiny.
Sam trusts Alina--he wouldn't have agreed to go through with this if he hadn't--but it's still a shock to feel the power building around them. Dean feels it, too, and from how he's shaking against Sam, so does his uninvited guest. Sam keeps hold of his brother and backs them toward the bed. Dean moves with him, no hesitation or doubt, like he does when they're hunting and Sam has a better sightline than Dean. Sam makes sure to keep a hand on Dean as he gets to the edge of the pallet and starts to sink down, as though they aren't pressed together from shoulders to hips, Dean's back to Sam's chest. As they fall back onto the pallet the hay is thick and soft under the cloths, and Sam can smell more of the herbs, light and fresh now, crushed under their weight. The pallet isn't all that big; Sam gets himself braced against the wall--the one made of river stone, the thrum of energy reflecting and magnifying off it--and settles Dean against him with hardly any conscious thought. Alina follows them down easily, brushing kisses along Dean's skin now, on his closed eyes and his mouth, the points on his shoulders over each artery. Dean's breathing speeds up, shallowing out into light, quick pants, but when he tips his head back and looks at Sam, it's still him behind the eyes.
"Oh, you've got its attention," he gasps to Alina, but then his eyes are back on Sam. Alina's voice stays low but she begins to speak more quickly, a quiet, confident murmur in languages Sam can't begin to sort out, not while Dean's eyes are locked on him like he's the only thing Dean can see. The energy in the room is almost visible now, flickering on the edges of Sam's vision, all of it centering on Alina, and more and more on Dean as Alina kisses carefully over the thin skin on the inside of Dean's wrists, over his heart, at the pulse under his jaw. She smooths her hands in light strokes down his arms and Sam can see the fine tremors that follow her touch, as though the energy she's pulling from the earth is rushing through Dean's veins.
"Almost there." Alina breathes the words into Dean's skin, and Sam feels them, too. Dean doesn't answer, but his hand tightens almost convulsively on Sam's arm. "Sam," she murmurs. "You can be more a part of this. I think--I think you need to be."
"I can," Sam answers, the words torn out of him like an oath, a vow.. "I will. Whatever you need." He finds himself wrapped even more tightly around Dean, as though his body is processing things on some primitive, basic level, without his conscious brain needing to be involved.
Alina bends down over Dean; presses her mouth to his in a soft kiss, like a benediction. She whispers his name against his mouth, and then leans up to Sam, meeting him halfway and sharing the kiss with him, opening her mouth and letting Sam taste Dean on her. Caught between them, Dean makes a low, rough noise; not quite a growl, but a challenge all the same, one that sparks through Sam's blood, through nerves he hadn't known he had. Alina smiles and brushes her mouth across Sam's again before dropping back down to Dean.
Dean takes her mouth eagerly, and Sam feels the energy flaring between them, between all of them. The need Sam's been trying to ignore, the aching want that's been eating at him since he first got his arms around Dean, sharpens and deepens and demands to be acknowledged.
"Yes," Alina hisses, crying out as Dean arches up into her. "You belong to this world. You're our gift, ours, ours."
They're tangled together now, each of them holding on to the other two with desperate hands, legs twined around legs, Alina's hair a veil hiding them all from the world. They're breathing the same air, drinking each other in with such all-consuming focus that Sam feels the first shiver of wrong, the subtle taint of something not of this world, even before Dean seizes in his arms, a guttural language ripping out of his throat.
"Dean!" Instinctively, Sam curves closer, pulling Dean to him, and if his shout is less that of an adult and more of a boy calling for his home, it doesn't seem to matter. The wrongness ebbs for a second, just enough for Dean to gasp, "Sam, Sammy--"
"That's it, yes," Alina whispers against Sam's skin. "Don't let him go."
The taint is back, like blood drifting through water, but Sam isn't afraid of it now, just calls to Dean as strong and steady as he can. Dean will never not answer Sam, never. Sam's always known that, even when he doubted it, but now he knows it as sure and deep as the mountain they're on, and if this thing that wants Dean missed that part of him, of them, then Sam is more than happy to lay out reality for everyone to see.
Alina laughs, a joyous, triumphant sound, and arches back so quickly her hair stings Sam as it flies out in an arc. "You can't have him," she challenges. "He is ours and he always will be."
Every time the darkness edges forward, Sam calls to Dean and Dean comes back a little stronger. "Get it," he gasps against Alina's mouth, his hands hard on Sam's forearm and Alina's hip. "Get the sonofabitch."
"So close," Alina whispers, the power arcing around her, around all of them, as she and Dean move together, Sam tangled so tightly with them that he's not sure where he ends and Dean begins. "So. Close."
She goes back to the incantation, words falling from her mouth more and more quickly, shifting from Latin to Greek to Aramaic to something Slavic. Each word echoes in Sam's ears as though it's spoken by a chorus of voices, each one adding another measure to the ascendancy Alina's building--one that's elemental and organic, fire, earth, water, sky, so that when she cries out one last time and lets it go, it pours over them all, life, pure and rich, no room for anything that's not of this world. Dean's right there with her, with them, so Sam lets himself be lost in the rush, the physical release of orgasm just one more note in the white-out around them. .
When he can see again, and breathe, and think, the sheets are cool and soft under his back; Dean's warmth blankets him, his weight a blessing against Sam's skin. He wraps himself more tightly around Dean; cradles him close.
Each time he says Dean's name, each time he names Dean to the rising sun, Dean's breath sighs in and his fingers tighten around Sam's wrists. After the seventh time, Dean arches his head back, twisting slightly so he can look at Sam, and it's terrifying how easy and right it feels to lean forward and kiss him.
* * *
Sam makes himself reach for his phone and give Bobby the heads up before he crashes, but then it's sunset before he can drag himself up properly and stagger through the checklist he and Alina had put together. Sasha pads alongside him as he makes the rounds of the small house, and the cats twine around his legs, coming close to tripping him up more than once. He makes sure everything is okay and barely manages to make it back to the pallet with a bottle of water before his legs give out on him. Dean isn't happy about Sam shaking him awake, but he gulps down the water Sam presses on him. Alina is much less aggravated; Sam gives her the rest and has just enough energy to drag a quilt up over the three of them before he crashes back out again.
The next day is better, at least for Sam. Alina's still worn out, but she's recharging and she waves Sam off after he carries her into her room. The cats converge upon her bed, but she sends Sasha back out to stay with Dean. Dean still can't manage to do much more than sit upright; there's no way he's getting up the stairs to their beds. Sam could carry him, too, but there's a limit to how much help Dean will accept and Sam's pretty sure they passed that a long time ago even if Dean's been too out of it to be able to complain. Sam doesn't press it, just resigns himself to another night on the floor. He halfway expects Dean to object to that, too, but Dean only shifts over and mumbles vague threats if Sam steals the covers.
By the third day, Dean manages a shower and actual food, though he and Sam are still sleeping on the hay. Alina's up and around, with enough strength to sit out in the sun and talk through everything with Sam. She knits as she talks, not pretending it's anything other than a way to focus on something other than the notes Sam's taking. He doesn't blame her; he's more than happy to have the writing itself to focus on, and he'd take all bets that Dean isn't quite as worn out as he appears but prefers to pretend to be sleeping while Sam sits outside and makes a written record of his sexual performance. Sam does let Dean be the one to call Bobby, though, so he can be the one to pass along the good news and answer the awkward questions.
"I'll take a copy of whatever it is you're writing," Bobby tells Sam, once Dean's gotten the important points covered. "But I ain't reading it."
"Thank you," Sam sighs. Dean snorts, but Sam doesn't see him being any more excited to talk about it than Sam is. Dean makes it up the stairs that night, and even manages decent sarcasm about how Sam's hovering behind him. The beds are still pushed together from how they'd been sleeping before all the fireworks; Dean crashes out on his, nearly asleep before Sam finishes brushing his teeth. It doesn't make sense to risk waking him by moving the beds, or so Sam tells himself as he crawls onto the other bed and lets Dean's breathing lull him to sleep again.
The rest of the week goes along the same way. Dean gets stronger; Alina takes over making notes about the process for her own journal; Sam takes care of the house and the animals and manages not to give anyone food poisoning. Nobody mentions that the beds in the small attic room are still pushed together, or how every morning Sam is easing out from under where Dean has an arm or a leg--or both--thrown casually over him. Dean doesn't seem to care, and Sam's too relieved at being able to watch Dean literally come back to life to be fussed about sleeping arrangements. They just... don't mention it.
Leaving is both easier and harder than Sam expected. Easier because it's like the exclamation point on the cure--Dean is Dean again, and life isn't bounded by what it's going to take to heal him. Harder because it really is beautiful up on the top of the mountain, no matter if it's sunny and clear or if there's mist rising up from the valley or rain falling steadily. There's more to it than that, of course, but Sam catches Dean sitting out on the flat rock at the edge of Alina's clearing, looking down over the valley at least once every day, and he thinks it goes without saying that if Dean's enamored of a view, it's a pretty spectacular one. On the morning that they leave, the weather can't make up its mind, starting off misty and cool until the sun burns off the last wisps only to be overtaken by a front, the clouds heavy and swollen with rain.
"We should probably get going," Dean says, one eye on the clouds and the other on the rope that he's using to play tug-of-war with Sasha. Sam doesn't think he's imagining her joy in having a proper opponent now, one that can really go at it with her. "Don't want to see if the car can float through those turns on the way down."
"Sure," Sam agrees. Their duffels are already packed and waiting for them upstairs, and if neither one of them says anything as they move the beds back to how they were when they first got there, well, what is there to say? Alina's waiting for them on the front porch. She goes up on her toes and draws Sam down to press a kiss to his forehead, and an unexpectedly sweet one on his mouth. Dean smirks at him--Sam will grant that he's probably looking kind of bemused--but then it's Dean's turn and the kiss Alina drops on him is anything but sweet. Sam will also grant that Dean recovers well, picking Alina up and giving as good as he's getting, but he does still look a little off-balance when they're through. He sets Alina carefully on her feet, bending close to say something quietly, before he kisses her again and leaves her the one looking flustered.
"Anything you need," Sam tells her, as Dean goes out for one last quick game with Sasha on the way to the car. "Anything."
"I don't leave the mountain often, but you don't have to be dying or possessed to come back," Alina says. "You can both be disgustingly healthy and you can still come see me."
"All this is assuming we can separate the two of them," Sam says, nodding at where Sasha's dancing around Dean, jumping at the ball he's innocently tossing from hand to hand.
"She's going to sulk for the rest of the week," Alina says.
"And Dean won't?" Sam asks. Dean flips him off, but gives Sasha one last pat and pops the trunk for the duffels.
* * *
There's nowhere they need to be; no job waiting for them. Bobby will put them up, of course, and they'll need to stop by there anyway, let him look Dean over and see for himself, but the timing's not set in stone. Given how long it's been since Dean's been behind the wheel, Sam halfway expects him to drive all night just for the joy of feeling the Impala under him, but when they stop for dinner--at a bar, with sticky floors and a grill that doesn't look like it's been cleaned since Reagan was in office, cheap beer on tap and a couple of pool tables out front, and Dean's eyes lit up at the sight of it all--Dean casually suggests they call it a night. The motor court across the road doesn't look horrific--still stuck in shag carpeting and paneling, but clean and reasonably well-kept for all that. Sam nods just as casually, and they pay for dinner and get a room like it's no big deal, like it's all still the same as it's been all their lives, like they haven't been sleeping together for a month.
That all ends when they walk into the room and Dean drops his duffel on the bed nearest the door, and then turns to Sam.
"One bed or two?" He says it like it really isn't a big deal, like he's asking if Sam wants first shower or would rather hang out and see what's on cable, and it takes Sam a couple of seconds to process. Dean waits him out, which is even more world-tilting.
"I--" Sam starts, and then stops, because no, he hasn't really worked this out. He's been holding his breath and going with the flow and now that it's out there, he's got no idea what to say. Except once he actually does start thinking about it, one thing keeps nudging its way up. Sam puts the duffel he's still holding (clutching, really, but who's counting?) down at his feet and takes a deep breath. "That'd be your call," he finally says.
"How d'you figure that, Sammy?" Dean's a little mocking, a little defensive, but Sam figures he's allowed. It's been a ridiculous couple of months.
"Because nothing else has been," Sam tells him. "Not lately. Everything's been done to you, so..." Sam shrugs. "This one's your call. We can say it's all because of whatever the hell Alina pulled out of the earth if you want." That's not entirely a cop-out; Sam thinks there was enough energy swirling around them to have taken out Lucifer and Michael both. It doesn't excuse the last week, not really, but it's a good enough cover story to let everything else slide. "Just... let it go and get back to whatever passes for normal." Sam manages to keep his voice steady when he says all that, though the idea makes it hard to breathe.
Dean tilts his head, considering. "And if I don't want to do that? You'll just, what? Lay back and think of whatever it is that really floats your boat?" He comes closer as he speaks, one step with every word, and all Sam can see or feel or hear is Dean coming in his arms, shaking helplessly, and whispering Sam's name.
"No," Sam chokes out. He opens his eyes and Dean's right there, so close Sam can see the flecks of gold in his eyes. "No, I--" Sam swallows hard, and says it again. "No, I wouldn't be wishing I was somewhere else."
For a second, Sam thinks Dean's going to kiss him; and then, in the next, he thinks Dean might turn and run. There's so much going on in Dean's eyes Sam feels like he's drowning in it, "And what if I said this can't be just my decision?" Dean finally says, in a voice that's so hoarse and low, Sam wouldn't have been surprised if someone told him Dean hadn't spoken at all, that Sam only imagined the words.
"I--" Sam starts, but then doesn't know how to go on, because he knows what he wants, but he still doesn't know what Dean wants, not really, and as soon as Sam puts something out there, that's it, one more thing decided for Dean. He hesitates too long, though, and Dean's eyes fade down to a flat green, more lifeless than when he'd been hollowed out from the inside. Sam can feel him gathering to move, to step away and let it all go, and Sam reaches out frantically. "Dean." Sam cups his hand around Dean's jaw, traces his thumb over the arch of Dean's cheekbone. Dean stays where he is, lets Sam rest his forehead against Dean's. For a few seconds, they breathe together, and then, very slowly, Dean turns his head into Sam's hand, until he can press an open-mouthed kiss to Sam's palm.
Sam makes an embarrassing noise at the touch of Dean's tongue on his skin; dimly, in the last, tiny, functioning part of his brain, he expects Dean to start giving him no end of shit about it, but Dean only takes Sam's hand in his, turning it so he can drop another kiss on the inside of Sam's wrist. It's the same lingering touch, same brush of his tongue, but this time he adds the faintest scrape of teeth, and Sam doesn't care what kind of noises he's making, as long as Dean keeps doing what he's doing.
"One bed," Dean says, and even with Sam shaking against him, he still manages to make it enough of a question that Sam pulls together enough brain power to stammer out, "Yeah, one--yeah."
That small, still-functioning part of his brain latches on to how it's important not to fuck up the answer this time, that he should say more, but Dean's steering him backward across the room, leaving a trail of tiny kisses and bites up the inside of Sam's forearm and Sam can't get enough air to breathe, let alone speak. He gets his hands on Dean, though, holds the back of his head where it's bent over Sam's arm, traces down through the short hair at the base of Dean's skull; along the strong, vulnerable column of his neck.
The back of Sam's legs hit the side of the bed; he wavers to a stop, holding on to Dean for balance, and they stare at each other for long seconds, but then Dean steps in closer, so he's pressed up against Sam, and slides his hands up under Sam's shirt, a long, slow glide up Sam's back. What little air there is shudders out of Sam's lungs; when Dean tilts his head back and finally kisses Sam's mouth, it takes no time for Sam to end up light-headed and unsteady. He thinks Dean's in pretty much the same state, though. Dean's hands are shaky where they're peeling Sam's shirt off and over his head, and when Sam gets his mouth on the pulse under Dean's jaw, it's pounding as fast and hard as it would be if Dean had just sprinted a mile.
Dean tips his head back a little farther; Sam takes his time finding all the spots along Dean's throat that make him whine. Dean holds on to him, his fingers digging into Sam's biceps hard enough to leave marks, and it's Sam's turn to whine.
"Sounds good, Sammy," Dean murmurs with a smile--not a smirk, but an actual honest smile and Sam was already gone, but seeing that smile is enough to break him into pieces and put him back together at the same time.
Dean's hands are on his belt, hesitating long enough that Sam nods and whispers, "Yeah, please." Dean nods back, serious and intent, and Sam reminds himself that active participation is needed here, even if the feel of Dean's hands on him, moving with purpose, is enough to make him forget how to work his arms and legs. He can still talk, though, enough to have Dean muttering about it not being much of a surprise that Sam can't ever shut his mouth. When Dean crouches down to deal with Sam's boots it's enough of a break that Sam manages to get his hands back combing through Dean's hair, and smiles with satisfaction when Dean shivers under him.
Once the boots are taken care of, it's not long before Dean has Sam naked, and it doesn't matter how many times Sam tells himself they've done this before--it's only been a week--this is different. This is Dean looking at Sam with a want that's palpable; it's the two of them getting Dean's shirt off and his jeans open; and the first incredible rush of skin-on-skin and not feeling like they have to ignore it.
Sam backs down onto the bed, not letting go of Dean for so much as an instant, dragging him down, too, so that Dean sprawls out on top of Sam, heavy and warm and electrifying. Sam runs his hands over Dean's back, his hips, the curve of his ass, greedy for as much of Dean as he can reach. Dean lets Sam have his way for a while, and then crawls up over Sam, his mouth mapping out every curve and plane of Sam's body, tasting and teasing Sam breathless.
"Turn over," Dean murmurs, his breath striking cool against the skin he's dampened over Sam's collarbone. He eases back until he's sitting back on his heels, and Sam drinks in the sight. "Sam, let me--"
Sam has no idea what Dean wants, but it doesn't matter; he'll give it to him regardless. He gets over on his belly, crossing his arms so he can rest his head on them, and before he can ask, Dean is back on top of him, hands and mouth tracing long, slow patterns over Sam's back. He starts off high, along Sam's shoulders, nosing aside his hair so he can get at Sam's neck without so much as a single princess comment. Sam closes his eyes and tries to remember to keep breathing as Dean's mouth moves lower, lips and tongue and teeth working over Sam's skin as though he can't bear to miss an inch.
"What do you want, Sam?" Dean licks a careful line the length of Sam's spine, stopping just at the top of Sam's ass, and Sam gasps at how his nerves are sparking. Dean does it again, and this time Sam whimpers. "Tell me," Dean insists. "I'll give it to you, whatever you want--"
"Fuck me," Sam finally grits out, and if he hadn't been sure before, the low wordless sound Dean growls against him and the way it ricochets through his brain would have convinced him immediately. He rocks back against Dean, arches up into the touch that's not stopping at the top of his ass this time. "Yes," he hisses. "Want that, want you. Now, now."
"Yeah," Dean breathes against him. "Yeah, Sam, I got you. I got you." He opens Sam up quickly, fingers slicked with spit and pre-come. Sam groans at the stretch, but pushes back to take Dean deeper; and when Dean hesitates, lifts his ass and tells Dean not to stop, that he wants more, that he wants Dean in him.
It's not his first time, and he's liked it before, but the hard, steady push of Dean taking him, the aching burn of his body opening around Dean's, giving way and staking a claim at the same time, is something close to exhilarating. Dean feels it, too; Sam knows it from how Dean moves inside him, how he fucks into Sam with no hesitation now, each stroke deep and rough and perfect. Sam digs his hands into the mattress and lets Dean hear every noise Dean wrings from him, every gasp, every groan, every whimper, until he's desperate to come and doesn't care that he's begging, because he wants it from Dean and Dean promised Sam he'd give him anything.
Dean draws it out until Sam's almost sobbing with need, but then finally relents and wraps his hand hard around Sam, dragging his nails in a single long spiral that twists up and over the too-sensitive head of Sam's cock. Just like that, Sam comes hard, staggering pleasure shot through with bright flashes so intense Sam isn't sure he can take them. Dean's there with him, though, equally as wrecked and helpless and caught up in Sam, and that's really all Sam's ever needed.
* * *
"Dude," Sam groans as Dean collapses on top of him. Dean mutters something incomprehensible, but shifts enough that Sam can breathe, and they lie there until everything evens out a little. Sam turns his head; there's just enough light that he can see Dean's eyes, enormous and dark and maybe a little nervous. Sam can relate.
"So, uh, I, uh, didn't really want to pretend it was all about the spell," Dean says after the silence stretches out into something close to awkward.
"I noticed," Sam says, and he can't help rolling his eyes. Dean reaches up--in slow motion, Sam notices, which is exactly how he feels he'd be moving, too--and smacks Sam lightly on the back of the head.
"It wasn't," Dean says, back to serious. "It wasn't--isn't--about that."
"What's it about, then?" Sam is equally serious. He wants to know where they are and how they got there, maybe more than he's wanted anything in his life, if only so that he has a chance of not screwing things up.
"It's--I--everything--I've thought about every single thing I've done or said the last couple of months, all of it, because I--wasn't sure it was really me, you know?" Dean takes a deep breath and lets it trickle out slowly. Sam waits patiently; it's already a long speech for Dean, especially recently, and Sam can see there's more to come. "But this--you--it's the one thing I never had to question and you were the one thing I still knew, even with everything Alina was throwing around, and... I don't know. The spell--that let it out, but it feels like it's always been there."
"Yeah," Sam agrees quietly. "Me too."
It's an awkward angle for a kiss, but Sam couldn’t care less. He doesn’t think Dean is bothered by it either, not from how he comes back twice for more, until Sam has to stop before his neck is permanently twisted. Dean lets Sam get comfortable, and then wraps himself around Sam, fitting his body to Sam's and draping an arm over him the same as they've been doing for the last few weeks. It's familiar; and now that Sam isn't waiting for the other shoe to drop, it's comforting in a way that Sam's not sure he's ever felt.
"Dibs on first shower in the morning," Dean mumbles. Sam's asleep before he can marshal an argument, but it doesn’t really matter because they can always share.
* * *
Whew! FINALLY made it! Many, many thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sarahtoga for the art; to without_me for ALWAYS finding the time to dive in and tell me where I'm not making sense, as well as fixing my boneheaded grammar issues; to the members of ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
simple_steps, who read a super-early draft and told me to keep going; and to the mods of samdean_otp for wrangling the challenge and giving me a reason to finish this story.
Sam stays close after that. He fully expects to be fighting Dean on it, to have Dean be snarling at him to back off already, Sam, but he doesn't give a flying fuck. He's not letting Dean out of arm's reach. Dean, of course, contrary to the end, doesn't so much as say "boo" about it. He shifts over to make room for Sam to sit next to him, waits for Sam to look up from whatever he's reading before reaching for boots and jacket to go wandering around at night, and generally behaves like it's entirely normal to have a Sam-shaped shadow.
It kind of weirds Sam out, at least until Dean admits that there are minutes here and there during the day when he's not entirely sure what's real and what's not. Then Sam's just plain freaked-out, again with every bad thing he's stuffed down in his brain crawling out and fighting for attention, but Dean brings him out of it with an elbow to the gut, as precisely placed as any surgical incision, waiting until Sam stops wheezing to say, "Nothing's real for sure except you, Sammy."
Dean's eyes are really fucking calm, considering what he just said, and Sam's suddenly, acutely aware of the warmth where Dean's touching him, light press along his leg from hip to knee.
"Okay," Sam says, swallowing hard. "Whatever works."
Dean sighs. "Yeah, well, I'm not seeing this getting any much better before D-Day, so maybe we should start asking the hard questions now, like just how with it do I have to be when things go down."
Alina's in the library; as soon as they come in, Sasha, who Sam wouldn't be surprised to find is telepathic, pads across the room and noses her head up under Dean's hand. Dean responds automatically, rubbing and scratching behind her ears, like worry beads.
"So just how bad would it be if I'm graying out in the middle of our little party?"
"Probably pretty bad," Alina says, straightforward as always. "With something like this, we both have to be present, really there. It's part of what makes this kind of magic so hard to control--you have to be able to keep the ritual on track and be fully present and involved in the sexual part or everything spirals out of control."
"Yeah," Dean sighs. "That's what I thought." He looks at Sam for a long moment before he turns back to Alina. "So, let's just cut to the chase, because I seriously doubt that's in the cards. What happens if the only way I'm sure what's for real is if Sammy's within a couple of inches."
Alina hmms thoughtfully. "I--don't know. I've never seen anything that talks about anyone else having to be a part of the ritual. When we do this, the focus is supposed to be between two people, and anyone else is generally going to be a distraction and a dilution, so, I wouldn't think that having to have Sam there to keep you present would work, but..."
"But what?" Sam asks for Dean.
"But unless I'm really concentrating, you two are almost impossible to separate anyway." Sasha whuffles a little and settles on Dean's feet, laying her muzzle down and closing her eyes, as though this is old news. Maybe it is. Dean doesn't look surprised, and Sam, while he might have hated the idea when he was a kid, doesn't mind it much now. "You both...feel the same, especially when you're together, so I don't think Sam being there for the ritual is going to be a deal-breaker." One of the cats picks that time to arrive with an offering and the conversation gets derailed while they identify the victim and deal with the aftermath.
"You all right, Sammy?" Dean asks, later, after they've taken Sasha out for a little friendly game of tug-of-war.
"Yeah," Sam says. "I'm good--I mean, other than the whole something's trying to hollow you out from the inside thing--"
"Yeah, yeah." Dean waves his hand, dismissing such concerns as negligible, Sam supposes. Sasha barks, eager for what comes next in the game, and Dean picks up a broken stick and slings it sidearm across the clearing. "We've had that going on for a while now." He takes a deep breath. "I mean, are you okay with sitting in on everything. Being there while we, whatever."
"You mean, am I okay being there while my brother engages in ritualistic sex with a healer so she can contain and nullify the thing that's so powerful, so ancient, we can't really even find a name for it?"
"Yeah." Dean keeps his eyes on where Sasha's gotten sidetracked with some new and exciting smells. "That."
"No problem," Sam answers, keeping his voice even and matter-of-fact, because freaking out isn't going to help anyone. He bumps shoulders with Dean and adds, "Happy to be your security blanket, man."
Sam jolts awake in the darkest part of the night to Sasha whining, low and off-key, enough to literally raise the hair on the back of his neck. He reaches out, flailing for Dean in an automatic, frantic reaction even before he realizes it's too quiet, that he can't hear the steady, deep breaths that had lulled him to sleep earlier. His legs tangle in the sheets as he feels his way along the other mattress, half-falling out of his own bed to reach farther, until he finally finds warm skin--smooth and solid, the muscles and tendons in Dean's back arching hard--and feels Dean shudder and start breathing again under his hand.
"Shit." Sam sags in relief, kneeling between the beds and putting his head down on Dean's. "Shit, shit, shit."
"Couldn't have said it better myself," Dean gasps.
Sasha barks once, then settles at the top of the stairs, still clearly on guard duty but willing to let Sam take care of things. Sam stays down for another couple of seconds, willing his heart to settle into something slower than heavy, adrenaline-fueled pounding.
The beds are narrow, to fit into the tiny space; separated only by the nightstand between them. Sam considers their options, but it's not really all that difficult a decision. It only takes one hand to drag the table down past the ends of the beds; once that's done, he lets go of Dean just long enough to shove his bed up against Dean's.
Sasha lifts her head and watches; as Sam settles back on his mattress, still able to keep in touch with Dean, he finds himself thanking her for watching out for them.
"Dude," Dean says. "You sure you're not losing it?"
"Fuck off," Sam answers, stretching out and trying to convince his mind that sleep really is okay. "You talk to the car all the time."
"Yeah," Dean says. "And I talk to my girl here, too." Sasha's tail thumps on the wooden floor. "The point is, you don't."
"I guess I never really had a good reason to."
Alina doesn't say anything the next morning, but from the way she watches them while she stirs the oatmeal, Sam figures she knows things are going downhill even before Dean fills her in on the middle-of-the-night excitement. She presses her lips together tightly as he finishes up, shaking her head and saying, "I should have called--"
Dean deliberately flicks some of his oatmeal at her. "Hey," he says. "We're still on for tomorrow morning. I'll take care of my end, but you need to be on top of your end, and bitching at yourself isn't going to help."
"You're right," Alina sighs, and Dean makes the pleased, of-course-I'm-right noise Sam remembers from when they were kids and Sam was freaking out over something and Dean talked him down. Of course, whether or not Sam got a good grade isn't exactly on the same scale as whether or not Dean's going to make it through the next 36 hours, but if Dean wants to play it like that Sam's going to go along with it. Then Dean says, "And hey, while I appreciate the thought of another of the ladies working me over along with you, we've already got Sammy in the mix. Toss in anyone else and your sacred ritual is gonna start looking like an orgy. Which I could also appreciate, but maybe later, when I'm a little less out of it?"
There's a brief moment of silence--Sam also remembering all the times Dean's opened his mouth and fucking horrified Sam with what came out--but then Alina sits down at the table and covers her face with both hands, and Sam sighs. "Yes," he says to Alina, who's laughing helplessly. "He really did just proposition you." Sam smacks Dean--lightly--on the back of the head. "Way to stay classy, man."
"Broke the tension, didn't it?" Dean says, smirking. "And if the answer's yes, I am way out in front of the curve." His smirk turns into a more relaxed smile as he adds in Alina's direction, "No rush on getting back to me on that, though. Take your time."
"We can see how we feel about it tomorrow night, after our little audition in the morning," Alina answers, giving Dean a wicked once-over that's so blatantly appraising he blushes, and it's Sam's turn to laugh. Alina smiles, too, but when she continues, her tone is brisk and straightforward. "We should start getting set up, though. There's not a lot, but there's a certain order to getting the site ready that helps focus all the energy."
She thinks--and Sam agrees--that Dean should rest as much as possible, but Dean vetoes that plan. "You don't need to be doing everything by yourself," he says. "Sam can help and I can be the good-looking addition to the scenery." Alina shrugs at Sam, and while he'd rather Dean saved whatever strength he has, Sam figures they're coming out ahead just from Dean not arguing about Sam having to be involved.
Alina wants to do it in her study, the converted side porch. "I came here because of the ley lines," she says, and Sam nods. He hadn't thought about it before, but he's felt the energy, and he's sure it's at least part of what's helped Dean hang on this long. "There's a convergence all along this ridge, so anywhere is good, but I spend most of my time out here or the kitchen so it's like I've got my own little groove."
"Here is definitely better than the kitchen," Dean says. "Me and you would have a hard time fitting in that corner, even before we add in Gigantor here. We're definitely gonna need more space."
Sam flips Dean off, because he knows Dean's waiting for it, and Dean might never win an award for subtlety but Sam has to give him credit for keeping things from getting too heavy. He reminds himself of that an hour later, after he's shifted tables and books and chairs and he's not even sure what else out of the study to a nonstop soundtrack of Dean's comments about his strength and coordination and endurance, or lack thereof. "Seriously," Sam says, dropping down on the floor next to where Dean's propped up against the wall, "remind me to kick your ass the next time we're sparring."
"Better get it in the first session, before I'm back in the groove," Dean cracks back, but Sam doesn't miss how he leans into Sam with an almost audible sigh of relief. "I might be out of it now, but that's not gonna last long."
Even with how Dean's practically curled into Sam, Sam has to listen hard to hear anything but confidence that there will be more sparring sessions in their future in Dean's voice. He doesn't quite trust his own voice, but he can't let Dean be the only one carrying the positive-thinking flag, so he summons up a snort and jabs his elbow--gently--into Dean's ribs. It's at about a tenth of his usual force, and he's not sure what's more worrisome: that Dean doesn't give him shit about pulling the jab or that it's still almost enough to flatten Dean.
The only time Dean's assurance slips is when Sam chivvies him upstairs to try to get a little sleep. Dean doesn't move from where he's sitting on the front steps for the longest time, and when he does, it's with a sigh. "I was hopin' the clouds would clear some," he says, looking up at the sky. "Enough to see a couple of stars."
It's been clear every other night. Sam steels his voice and manages a credibly casual, "Tomorrow, for sure," and Dean nods.
Their beds are still pushed together. Dean doesn't hesitate, just strips out of his jeans and T-shirt and lets himself fall onto the narrow mattress. Sasha plants herself at the door, watching Sam until he crawls onto the second bed, and rests her muzzle on her paws. It's quiet for a little while, and then Dean says, "If this doesn't work--"
"Yeah," Sam says, biting back all the denials that want to come out, because, yeah, he knows as well as Dean that this isn't a slam-dunk, not by a long shot, and the least he can do is listen to whatever Dean wants to say.
"There's no telling what exactly this is."
"Yeah," Sam says again. "I--I've got everything lined up. Salt, iron, silver, brass--everything. I'll take care of it if I have to." He doesn't add that Bobby's got half-a-dozen hunters on speed dial just in case Sam doesn't check in, but he doesn't really have to.
"Know you will," Dean says, and Sam swears to himself that he'll deal, no matter what. He's settled in for a sleepless night, but Dean's out in under five minutes, and the regular, comforting sound of his breath--the feel of it where Sam's got one arm slung over him--lulls Sam to sleep not long after. He doesn't sleep long, but he wakes up in the dark of the night feeling about a thousand times better than he'd expected to. Dean's breathing easily next to him. This has worn Dean almost to a shadow of himself, but he's still there and fighting, and Sam really doesn't know that anyone else he's ever met--including Dad, in all his stubborn, mule-headed glory--would have gotten this far.
Sam can hear Alina moving about downstairs. She'd said she would sleep a little, but that she'd mostly be preparing: meditating and pulling her focus inward. Sam's plan had been to let Dean sleep until they needed to get started, but Dean comes awake on his own about an hour before dawn. He doesn't say anything or move away, but he's definitely awake. Sam stays still, too, and they lie there, more or less breathing in sync until the sky outside the window starts to lighten ever so faintly.
"All right," Dean finally says. "Let's go deal with this thing." His voice is firm and sure, but watching him, Sam can tell it's taking everything he's got to get himself out of the bed. Sam stamps down hard on the reflex that wants to be grabbing for Dean, steadying him, because as clearly as it's a struggle, Dean just as clearly does not want help. They make it halfway down the stairs, Sam all but twitching from the stress of keeping his hands to himself, when Dean stops and leans hard on the banister. "Gimme a minute, Sammy."
"I can car--" Sam starts, but Dean cuts him off.
"No, you can't carry me," Dean says. "Not unless I'm gonna go face-first down the rest of these stairs." Sam nods and very carefully doesn't say that Dean's wavering on the edge of doing just that. Dean musters the energy to glare at him, as though he knows exactly what Sam's thinking, but doesn't say anything more. He makes it the rest of the way down to the first floor on his own, though it's touch and go on a couple of steps. The triumph of getting that far carries him the rest of the way into Alina's study, where he stops dead so quickly that Sam stumbles into him and grabs at him to keep him from going down. Sam can't blame him for the sudden stop, though, what with the fires dotting the edges of the room and the naked woman standing in front of them.
Dean recovers quickly, stepping into the room with a confidence Sam doesn't think is faked, though he doesn't shrug off the arm Sam's still got around him.
"Sammy," he says, as Alina turns toward them, unpinning her hair and letting it fall loose down her back, almost to her waist. It changes the look of her face, taking away the practical and familiar and adding an other-worldly cast. If Sam narrows his eyes, he can almost see the energy instead of just feeling it, the ley lines and the fires, all flowing to her. "We are definitely overdressed."
"Robes and fire don't mix," Alina says, gesturing to the half-dozen small firebowls around the perimeter of the windows. The flames crackle with the energy of well-dried tinder; from the few wisps of smoke that don't drift out of the open windows above, Sam can smell the sweet sharpness of cedar mixed with herbs. "We should probably get started--the less we have to rush, the better."
Sam had noticed the pallet-bed Alina had created during the night, sweet-smelling hay covered by cloths big enough to be sheets, but had been deliberately ignoring it. Dean nods, though, and starts pulling his shirt off over his head. Sam keeps one arm around his waist, steadying him, working hard not to think about what they're about to start doing. Dean hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers and looks over his shoulder at Sam.
"You okay?" he asks, and when Sam nods, Dean flashes him that cocky grin, familiar even if it's a shadow of the real thing. "You sure you don't want to go get your notebook, so you don't forget any of the moves of a master?"
"You're such an ass," Sam tells him. "I should drop you right here." Dean just smirks and pushes his boxers down over his hips, letting them fall and stepping out of them before arching an eyebrow at Sam, waiting for him to follow. Technically speaking, Sam doesn't think he has to be naked, too, but the look in Dean's eyes is pretty freaking clear that Sam isn't getting out of it on a technicality. It's a little awkward, getting his T-shirt off without letting go of Dean, but he manages, and then Alina steps closer, tracing the back of her hand over Dean's face, across his cheekbones, along the bridge of his nose, whispering his name, and Dean's distracted enough that Sam can get his own boxers off without having to do it under Dean's full scrutiny.
Sam trusts Alina--he wouldn't have agreed to go through with this if he hadn't--but it's still a shock to feel the power building around them. Dean feels it, too, and from how he's shaking against Sam, so does his uninvited guest. Sam keeps hold of his brother and backs them toward the bed. Dean moves with him, no hesitation or doubt, like he does when they're hunting and Sam has a better sightline than Dean. Sam makes sure to keep a hand on Dean as he gets to the edge of the pallet and starts to sink down, as though they aren't pressed together from shoulders to hips, Dean's back to Sam's chest. As they fall back onto the pallet the hay is thick and soft under the cloths, and Sam can smell more of the herbs, light and fresh now, crushed under their weight. The pallet isn't all that big; Sam gets himself braced against the wall--the one made of river stone, the thrum of energy reflecting and magnifying off it--and settles Dean against him with hardly any conscious thought. Alina follows them down easily, brushing kisses along Dean's skin now, on his closed eyes and his mouth, the points on his shoulders over each artery. Dean's breathing speeds up, shallowing out into light, quick pants, but when he tips his head back and looks at Sam, it's still him behind the eyes.
"Oh, you've got its attention," he gasps to Alina, but then his eyes are back on Sam. Alina's voice stays low but she begins to speak more quickly, a quiet, confident murmur in languages Sam can't begin to sort out, not while Dean's eyes are locked on him like he's the only thing Dean can see. The energy in the room is almost visible now, flickering on the edges of Sam's vision, all of it centering on Alina, and more and more on Dean as Alina kisses carefully over the thin skin on the inside of Dean's wrists, over his heart, at the pulse under his jaw. She smooths her hands in light strokes down his arms and Sam can see the fine tremors that follow her touch, as though the energy she's pulling from the earth is rushing through Dean's veins.
"Almost there." Alina breathes the words into Dean's skin, and Sam feels them, too. Dean doesn't answer, but his hand tightens almost convulsively on Sam's arm. "Sam," she murmurs. "You can be more a part of this. I think--I think you need to be."
"I can," Sam answers, the words torn out of him like an oath, a vow.. "I will. Whatever you need." He finds himself wrapped even more tightly around Dean, as though his body is processing things on some primitive, basic level, without his conscious brain needing to be involved.
Alina bends down over Dean; presses her mouth to his in a soft kiss, like a benediction. She whispers his name against his mouth, and then leans up to Sam, meeting him halfway and sharing the kiss with him, opening her mouth and letting Sam taste Dean on her. Caught between them, Dean makes a low, rough noise; not quite a growl, but a challenge all the same, one that sparks through Sam's blood, through nerves he hadn't known he had. Alina smiles and brushes her mouth across Sam's again before dropping back down to Dean.
Dean takes her mouth eagerly, and Sam feels the energy flaring between them, between all of them. The need Sam's been trying to ignore, the aching want that's been eating at him since he first got his arms around Dean, sharpens and deepens and demands to be acknowledged.
"Yes," Alina hisses, crying out as Dean arches up into her. "You belong to this world. You're our gift, ours, ours."
They're tangled together now, each of them holding on to the other two with desperate hands, legs twined around legs, Alina's hair a veil hiding them all from the world. They're breathing the same air, drinking each other in with such all-consuming focus that Sam feels the first shiver of wrong, the subtle taint of something not of this world, even before Dean seizes in his arms, a guttural language ripping out of his throat.
"Dean!" Instinctively, Sam curves closer, pulling Dean to him, and if his shout is less that of an adult and more of a boy calling for his home, it doesn't seem to matter. The wrongness ebbs for a second, just enough for Dean to gasp, "Sam, Sammy--"
"That's it, yes," Alina whispers against Sam's skin. "Don't let him go."
The taint is back, like blood drifting through water, but Sam isn't afraid of it now, just calls to Dean as strong and steady as he can. Dean will never not answer Sam, never. Sam's always known that, even when he doubted it, but now he knows it as sure and deep as the mountain they're on, and if this thing that wants Dean missed that part of him, of them, then Sam is more than happy to lay out reality for everyone to see.
Alina laughs, a joyous, triumphant sound, and arches back so quickly her hair stings Sam as it flies out in an arc. "You can't have him," she challenges. "He is ours and he always will be."
Every time the darkness edges forward, Sam calls to Dean and Dean comes back a little stronger. "Get it," he gasps against Alina's mouth, his hands hard on Sam's forearm and Alina's hip. "Get the sonofabitch."
"So close," Alina whispers, the power arcing around her, around all of them, as she and Dean move together, Sam tangled so tightly with them that he's not sure where he ends and Dean begins. "So. Close."
She goes back to the incantation, words falling from her mouth more and more quickly, shifting from Latin to Greek to Aramaic to something Slavic. Each word echoes in Sam's ears as though it's spoken by a chorus of voices, each one adding another measure to the ascendancy Alina's building--one that's elemental and organic, fire, earth, water, sky, so that when she cries out one last time and lets it go, it pours over them all, life, pure and rich, no room for anything that's not of this world. Dean's right there with her, with them, so Sam lets himself be lost in the rush, the physical release of orgasm just one more note in the white-out around them. .
When he can see again, and breathe, and think, the sheets are cool and soft under his back; Dean's warmth blankets him, his weight a blessing against Sam's skin. He wraps himself more tightly around Dean; cradles him close.
Each time he says Dean's name, each time he names Dean to the rising sun, Dean's breath sighs in and his fingers tighten around Sam's wrists. After the seventh time, Dean arches his head back, twisting slightly so he can look at Sam, and it's terrifying how easy and right it feels to lean forward and kiss him.
Sam makes himself reach for his phone and give Bobby the heads up before he crashes, but then it's sunset before he can drag himself up properly and stagger through the checklist he and Alina had put together. Sasha pads alongside him as he makes the rounds of the small house, and the cats twine around his legs, coming close to tripping him up more than once. He makes sure everything is okay and barely manages to make it back to the pallet with a bottle of water before his legs give out on him. Dean isn't happy about Sam shaking him awake, but he gulps down the water Sam presses on him. Alina is much less aggravated; Sam gives her the rest and has just enough energy to drag a quilt up over the three of them before he crashes back out again.
The next day is better, at least for Sam. Alina's still worn out, but she's recharging and she waves Sam off after he carries her into her room. The cats converge upon her bed, but she sends Sasha back out to stay with Dean. Dean still can't manage to do much more than sit upright; there's no way he's getting up the stairs to their beds. Sam could carry him, too, but there's a limit to how much help Dean will accept and Sam's pretty sure they passed that a long time ago even if Dean's been too out of it to be able to complain. Sam doesn't press it, just resigns himself to another night on the floor. He halfway expects Dean to object to that, too, but Dean only shifts over and mumbles vague threats if Sam steals the covers.
By the third day, Dean manages a shower and actual food, though he and Sam are still sleeping on the hay. Alina's up and around, with enough strength to sit out in the sun and talk through everything with Sam. She knits as she talks, not pretending it's anything other than a way to focus on something other than the notes Sam's taking. He doesn't blame her; he's more than happy to have the writing itself to focus on, and he'd take all bets that Dean isn't quite as worn out as he appears but prefers to pretend to be sleeping while Sam sits outside and makes a written record of his sexual performance. Sam does let Dean be the one to call Bobby, though, so he can be the one to pass along the good news and answer the awkward questions.
"I'll take a copy of whatever it is you're writing," Bobby tells Sam, once Dean's gotten the important points covered. "But I ain't reading it."
"Thank you," Sam sighs. Dean snorts, but Sam doesn't see him being any more excited to talk about it than Sam is. Dean makes it up the stairs that night, and even manages decent sarcasm about how Sam's hovering behind him. The beds are still pushed together from how they'd been sleeping before all the fireworks; Dean crashes out on his, nearly asleep before Sam finishes brushing his teeth. It doesn't make sense to risk waking him by moving the beds, or so Sam tells himself as he crawls onto the other bed and lets Dean's breathing lull him to sleep again.
The rest of the week goes along the same way. Dean gets stronger; Alina takes over making notes about the process for her own journal; Sam takes care of the house and the animals and manages not to give anyone food poisoning. Nobody mentions that the beds in the small attic room are still pushed together, or how every morning Sam is easing out from under where Dean has an arm or a leg--or both--thrown casually over him. Dean doesn't seem to care, and Sam's too relieved at being able to watch Dean literally come back to life to be fussed about sleeping arrangements. They just... don't mention it.
Leaving is both easier and harder than Sam expected. Easier because it's like the exclamation point on the cure--Dean is Dean again, and life isn't bounded by what it's going to take to heal him. Harder because it really is beautiful up on the top of the mountain, no matter if it's sunny and clear or if there's mist rising up from the valley or rain falling steadily. There's more to it than that, of course, but Sam catches Dean sitting out on the flat rock at the edge of Alina's clearing, looking down over the valley at least once every day, and he thinks it goes without saying that if Dean's enamored of a view, it's a pretty spectacular one. On the morning that they leave, the weather can't make up its mind, starting off misty and cool until the sun burns off the last wisps only to be overtaken by a front, the clouds heavy and swollen with rain.
"We should probably get going," Dean says, one eye on the clouds and the other on the rope that he's using to play tug-of-war with Sasha. Sam doesn't think he's imagining her joy in having a proper opponent now, one that can really go at it with her. "Don't want to see if the car can float through those turns on the way down."
"Sure," Sam agrees. Their duffels are already packed and waiting for them upstairs, and if neither one of them says anything as they move the beds back to how they were when they first got there, well, what is there to say? Alina's waiting for them on the front porch. She goes up on her toes and draws Sam down to press a kiss to his forehead, and an unexpectedly sweet one on his mouth. Dean smirks at him--Sam will grant that he's probably looking kind of bemused--but then it's Dean's turn and the kiss Alina drops on him is anything but sweet. Sam will also grant that Dean recovers well, picking Alina up and giving as good as he's getting, but he does still look a little off-balance when they're through. He sets Alina carefully on her feet, bending close to say something quietly, before he kisses her again and leaves her the one looking flustered.
"Anything you need," Sam tells her, as Dean goes out for one last quick game with Sasha on the way to the car. "Anything."
"I don't leave the mountain often, but you don't have to be dying or possessed to come back," Alina says. "You can both be disgustingly healthy and you can still come see me."
"All this is assuming we can separate the two of them," Sam says, nodding at where Sasha's dancing around Dean, jumping at the ball he's innocently tossing from hand to hand.
"She's going to sulk for the rest of the week," Alina says.
"And Dean won't?" Sam asks. Dean flips him off, but gives Sasha one last pat and pops the trunk for the duffels.
There's nowhere they need to be; no job waiting for them. Bobby will put them up, of course, and they'll need to stop by there anyway, let him look Dean over and see for himself, but the timing's not set in stone. Given how long it's been since Dean's been behind the wheel, Sam halfway expects him to drive all night just for the joy of feeling the Impala under him, but when they stop for dinner--at a bar, with sticky floors and a grill that doesn't look like it's been cleaned since Reagan was in office, cheap beer on tap and a couple of pool tables out front, and Dean's eyes lit up at the sight of it all--Dean casually suggests they call it a night. The motor court across the road doesn't look horrific--still stuck in shag carpeting and paneling, but clean and reasonably well-kept for all that. Sam nods just as casually, and they pay for dinner and get a room like it's no big deal, like it's all still the same as it's been all their lives, like they haven't been sleeping together for a month.
That all ends when they walk into the room and Dean drops his duffel on the bed nearest the door, and then turns to Sam.
"One bed or two?" He says it like it really isn't a big deal, like he's asking if Sam wants first shower or would rather hang out and see what's on cable, and it takes Sam a couple of seconds to process. Dean waits him out, which is even more world-tilting.
"I--" Sam starts, and then stops, because no, he hasn't really worked this out. He's been holding his breath and going with the flow and now that it's out there, he's got no idea what to say. Except once he actually does start thinking about it, one thing keeps nudging its way up. Sam puts the duffel he's still holding (clutching, really, but who's counting?) down at his feet and takes a deep breath. "That'd be your call," he finally says.
"How d'you figure that, Sammy?" Dean's a little mocking, a little defensive, but Sam figures he's allowed. It's been a ridiculous couple of months.
"Because nothing else has been," Sam tells him. "Not lately. Everything's been done to you, so..." Sam shrugs. "This one's your call. We can say it's all because of whatever the hell Alina pulled out of the earth if you want." That's not entirely a cop-out; Sam thinks there was enough energy swirling around them to have taken out Lucifer and Michael both. It doesn't excuse the last week, not really, but it's a good enough cover story to let everything else slide. "Just... let it go and get back to whatever passes for normal." Sam manages to keep his voice steady when he says all that, though the idea makes it hard to breathe.
Dean tilts his head, considering. "And if I don't want to do that? You'll just, what? Lay back and think of whatever it is that really floats your boat?" He comes closer as he speaks, one step with every word, and all Sam can see or feel or hear is Dean coming in his arms, shaking helplessly, and whispering Sam's name.
"No," Sam chokes out. He opens his eyes and Dean's right there, so close Sam can see the flecks of gold in his eyes. "No, I--" Sam swallows hard, and says it again. "No, I wouldn't be wishing I was somewhere else."
For a second, Sam thinks Dean's going to kiss him; and then, in the next, he thinks Dean might turn and run. There's so much going on in Dean's eyes Sam feels like he's drowning in it, "And what if I said this can't be just my decision?" Dean finally says, in a voice that's so hoarse and low, Sam wouldn't have been surprised if someone told him Dean hadn't spoken at all, that Sam only imagined the words.
"I--" Sam starts, but then doesn't know how to go on, because he knows what he wants, but he still doesn't know what Dean wants, not really, and as soon as Sam puts something out there, that's it, one more thing decided for Dean. He hesitates too long, though, and Dean's eyes fade down to a flat green, more lifeless than when he'd been hollowed out from the inside. Sam can feel him gathering to move, to step away and let it all go, and Sam reaches out frantically. "Dean." Sam cups his hand around Dean's jaw, traces his thumb over the arch of Dean's cheekbone. Dean stays where he is, lets Sam rest his forehead against Dean's. For a few seconds, they breathe together, and then, very slowly, Dean turns his head into Sam's hand, until he can press an open-mouthed kiss to Sam's palm.
Sam makes an embarrassing noise at the touch of Dean's tongue on his skin; dimly, in the last, tiny, functioning part of his brain, he expects Dean to start giving him no end of shit about it, but Dean only takes Sam's hand in his, turning it so he can drop another kiss on the inside of Sam's wrist. It's the same lingering touch, same brush of his tongue, but this time he adds the faintest scrape of teeth, and Sam doesn't care what kind of noises he's making, as long as Dean keeps doing what he's doing.
"One bed," Dean says, and even with Sam shaking against him, he still manages to make it enough of a question that Sam pulls together enough brain power to stammer out, "Yeah, one--yeah."
That small, still-functioning part of his brain latches on to how it's important not to fuck up the answer this time, that he should say more, but Dean's steering him backward across the room, leaving a trail of tiny kisses and bites up the inside of Sam's forearm and Sam can't get enough air to breathe, let alone speak. He gets his hands on Dean, though, holds the back of his head where it's bent over Sam's arm, traces down through the short hair at the base of Dean's skull; along the strong, vulnerable column of his neck.
The back of Sam's legs hit the side of the bed; he wavers to a stop, holding on to Dean for balance, and they stare at each other for long seconds, but then Dean steps in closer, so he's pressed up against Sam, and slides his hands up under Sam's shirt, a long, slow glide up Sam's back. What little air there is shudders out of Sam's lungs; when Dean tilts his head back and finally kisses Sam's mouth, it takes no time for Sam to end up light-headed and unsteady. He thinks Dean's in pretty much the same state, though. Dean's hands are shaky where they're peeling Sam's shirt off and over his head, and when Sam gets his mouth on the pulse under Dean's jaw, it's pounding as fast and hard as it would be if Dean had just sprinted a mile.
Dean tips his head back a little farther; Sam takes his time finding all the spots along Dean's throat that make him whine. Dean holds on to him, his fingers digging into Sam's biceps hard enough to leave marks, and it's Sam's turn to whine.
"Sounds good, Sammy," Dean murmurs with a smile--not a smirk, but an actual honest smile and Sam was already gone, but seeing that smile is enough to break him into pieces and put him back together at the same time.
Dean's hands are on his belt, hesitating long enough that Sam nods and whispers, "Yeah, please." Dean nods back, serious and intent, and Sam reminds himself that active participation is needed here, even if the feel of Dean's hands on him, moving with purpose, is enough to make him forget how to work his arms and legs. He can still talk, though, enough to have Dean muttering about it not being much of a surprise that Sam can't ever shut his mouth. When Dean crouches down to deal with Sam's boots it's enough of a break that Sam manages to get his hands back combing through Dean's hair, and smiles with satisfaction when Dean shivers under him.
Once the boots are taken care of, it's not long before Dean has Sam naked, and it doesn't matter how many times Sam tells himself they've done this before--it's only been a week--this is different. This is Dean looking at Sam with a want that's palpable; it's the two of them getting Dean's shirt off and his jeans open; and the first incredible rush of skin-on-skin and not feeling like they have to ignore it.
Sam backs down onto the bed, not letting go of Dean for so much as an instant, dragging him down, too, so that Dean sprawls out on top of Sam, heavy and warm and electrifying. Sam runs his hands over Dean's back, his hips, the curve of his ass, greedy for as much of Dean as he can reach. Dean lets Sam have his way for a while, and then crawls up over Sam, his mouth mapping out every curve and plane of Sam's body, tasting and teasing Sam breathless.
"Turn over," Dean murmurs, his breath striking cool against the skin he's dampened over Sam's collarbone. He eases back until he's sitting back on his heels, and Sam drinks in the sight. "Sam, let me--"
Sam has no idea what Dean wants, but it doesn't matter; he'll give it to him regardless. He gets over on his belly, crossing his arms so he can rest his head on them, and before he can ask, Dean is back on top of him, hands and mouth tracing long, slow patterns over Sam's back. He starts off high, along Sam's shoulders, nosing aside his hair so he can get at Sam's neck without so much as a single princess comment. Sam closes his eyes and tries to remember to keep breathing as Dean's mouth moves lower, lips and tongue and teeth working over Sam's skin as though he can't bear to miss an inch.
"What do you want, Sam?" Dean licks a careful line the length of Sam's spine, stopping just at the top of Sam's ass, and Sam gasps at how his nerves are sparking. Dean does it again, and this time Sam whimpers. "Tell me," Dean insists. "I'll give it to you, whatever you want--"
"Fuck me," Sam finally grits out, and if he hadn't been sure before, the low wordless sound Dean growls against him and the way it ricochets through his brain would have convinced him immediately. He rocks back against Dean, arches up into the touch that's not stopping at the top of his ass this time. "Yes," he hisses. "Want that, want you. Now, now."
"Yeah," Dean breathes against him. "Yeah, Sam, I got you. I got you." He opens Sam up quickly, fingers slicked with spit and pre-come. Sam groans at the stretch, but pushes back to take Dean deeper; and when Dean hesitates, lifts his ass and tells Dean not to stop, that he wants more, that he wants Dean in him.
It's not his first time, and he's liked it before, but the hard, steady push of Dean taking him, the aching burn of his body opening around Dean's, giving way and staking a claim at the same time, is something close to exhilarating. Dean feels it, too; Sam knows it from how Dean moves inside him, how he fucks into Sam with no hesitation now, each stroke deep and rough and perfect. Sam digs his hands into the mattress and lets Dean hear every noise Dean wrings from him, every gasp, every groan, every whimper, until he's desperate to come and doesn't care that he's begging, because he wants it from Dean and Dean promised Sam he'd give him anything.
Dean draws it out until Sam's almost sobbing with need, but then finally relents and wraps his hand hard around Sam, dragging his nails in a single long spiral that twists up and over the too-sensitive head of Sam's cock. Just like that, Sam comes hard, staggering pleasure shot through with bright flashes so intense Sam isn't sure he can take them. Dean's there with him, though, equally as wrecked and helpless and caught up in Sam, and that's really all Sam's ever needed.
"Dude," Sam groans as Dean collapses on top of him. Dean mutters something incomprehensible, but shifts enough that Sam can breathe, and they lie there until everything evens out a little. Sam turns his head; there's just enough light that he can see Dean's eyes, enormous and dark and maybe a little nervous. Sam can relate.
"So, uh, I, uh, didn't really want to pretend it was all about the spell," Dean says after the silence stretches out into something close to awkward.
"I noticed," Sam says, and he can't help rolling his eyes. Dean reaches up--in slow motion, Sam notices, which is exactly how he feels he'd be moving, too--and smacks Sam lightly on the back of the head.
"It wasn't," Dean says, back to serious. "It wasn't--isn't--about that."
"What's it about, then?" Sam is equally serious. He wants to know where they are and how they got there, maybe more than he's wanted anything in his life, if only so that he has a chance of not screwing things up.
"It's--I--everything--I've thought about every single thing I've done or said the last couple of months, all of it, because I--wasn't sure it was really me, you know?" Dean takes a deep breath and lets it trickle out slowly. Sam waits patiently; it's already a long speech for Dean, especially recently, and Sam can see there's more to come. "But this--you--it's the one thing I never had to question and you were the one thing I still knew, even with everything Alina was throwing around, and... I don't know. The spell--that let it out, but it feels like it's always been there."
"Yeah," Sam agrees quietly. "Me too."
It's an awkward angle for a kiss, but Sam couldn’t care less. He doesn’t think Dean is bothered by it either, not from how he comes back twice for more, until Sam has to stop before his neck is permanently twisted. Dean lets Sam get comfortable, and then wraps himself around Sam, fitting his body to Sam's and draping an arm over him the same as they've been doing for the last few weeks. It's familiar; and now that Sam isn't waiting for the other shoe to drop, it's comforting in a way that Sam's not sure he's ever felt.
"Dibs on first shower in the morning," Dean mumbles. Sam's asleep before he can marshal an argument, but it doesn’t really matter because they can always share.
Whew! FINALLY made it! Many, many thanks to
sarahtoga for the art; to without_me for ALWAYS finding the time to dive in and tell me where I'm not making sense, as well as fixing my boneheaded grammar issues; to the members of simple_steps, who read a super-early draft and told me to keep going; and to the mods of samdean_otp for wrangling the challenge and giving me a reason to finish this story.
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That's become my new phrase with all the awesome Mini-Bangs coming out...
This is just amazing. I loved it!
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However, you made it work and made it beautiful and that ending? Gah! Even your more explicit sex scene made me want to cry. I kept saying, while reading it, "How the hell does she do it?" You know that feeling you sometimes get when your in awe and despair at the same time? Yeah, that what I'm feeling right now, but I thank you for it. Lovely read. Thanks for writing! :D
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But: no banging! No despair! No headaches on my account! ♥
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I was a little worried, because I'm not a fan of fuck-or-die type stories and honestly I get a little wary when a third party is involved, but the way it was handled was actually quite beautiful and did a great job of showcasing just how much Sam and Dean mean to each other. Bravo!
Plus, I was laughing at the beginning there, when Sam is telling Alina all about the things they've done and the creatures they've met. Heh, kinda looks crazy when you just put it all out there like that :)
Thanks for sharing!
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Dean having pizza with Death was one of the things I had in the back of my head when I started getting serious about this fic, and then all the other beings kind of came spilling out just to add to the fun. :D
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I was trying hard to find a voice for Alina, as someone who has a family history, too--not as a hunter, but as a healer, and who had a little pride in being able to make things right. And then at the end, I thought about them only having The Talk, but since they'd already had sex for the spell, it felt necessary that they'd need to go there again, for each other. I'm glad it worked for you, too.
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I'll definitely let you know when the podfic is done. I have a bit of a backlog, but don't worry--everything I ask permission for eventually gets done. Talk to ya soon!
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Bravo! *applauds wildly*
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::curtsies::
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It was me, wasn't it--food and a little snark and more food! ;D
But I'm really glad you liked the setting and Alina and the boys, too (and Sasha, because I almost couldn't take Dean away from her at the end!) I got lost in some gorgeous mountain panoramas for a bit.
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I've made a podbook version of chemm80's podfic of your story. If you'd like a copy, you can dl it here.
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(Anonymous) 2012-01-21 02:24 am (UTC)(link)no subject
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