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Title: Agnatus - Part Three
By: kellifer_fic
Fandom: SPN
Rating: Adult
Category: Dean/Sam
Words: 2,081
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, no money!
Spoilers: None
Notes: Thanks to my beta *superfox* and to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lyra_wing for Americanisation and beating my grammer into some semblance of recognition.
Summary: Two sons were born to John Winchester, years and miles apart. They grew up strangers but fate had other plans for them, and a black sense of humour.
Prologue | Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five
“What’s that?”
“A scarf.”
“I know that, dumbass. Why are you wearing it in July?”
Sam looked up at Ash, hovering over him and rolled his eyes. “I lost a bet.”
“You lost a bet?”
“Don’t you have anything better to do?” Sam snapped, closing the book he’d been reading with a snap and standing. Ash leaned forward and snagged the end of his scarf, yanking it free. Sam made a token grab for it, but it was too late. Ash was staring at him with wide eyes.
“Holy Jeez, looks like someone tried to strangle you with barbed wire.”
“I’m fine. It looks worse than it is,” Sam sighed, lowering himself back onto the barstool. “It’s no big deal.” Ash’s eyes had narrowed and Sam turned so he could grasp Ash’s shoulders. “You can’t tell Mom.”
“I think she’s going to notice,” Ash said, canting his head and wrinkling his brow.
“I’ll just… avoid her for the next few days. C’mon Ash, please?”
Ash nodded stiffly and backed out of Sam’s grip, heading for the back of the bar. Sam thunked his head on the bar top, started to count slowly and wasn’t surprised when he’d only gotten to twenty-eight when there was the sound of his mother thundering down the stairs.
“What happened?” she gasped, grabbing Sam’s head and tilting it right and then left so she could get a good look at the damage.
“Nothing, just a bar fight.”
“With what? A thresher? You’re all torn up.”
“I said it’s fine,” Sam protested, trying to yank his head free of his mother’s grasp but Ellen wasn’t having any of it. She brought his face to center and because Sam was sitting, they were eye to eye.
“You tell me what happened right now,” she commanded, and Dean chose that moment to push through the Roadhouse doors, stopping short when he caught sight of Ellen and Sam.
“Bad time?”
Sam’s eyes ticked to Dean and away and Ellen caught it, fury marring her features.
“You!” she said, turning on Dean, whose hand fluttered comically to his chest, eyes wide.
“Me what?” he spluttered.
“Did you take my boy out hunting with you?” she demanded and Sam shot to his feet saying, “Mom, no,” at exactly the same time as Dean said, “Yes, but-“
“Unbelievable!” Ellen spat. “You’re all the same. Just look at him.” Ellen twirled and grabbed Sam by the arms, wrenching him forward, one hand pointing accusingly at his throat. Dean grimaced, rubbing the back of his head with one hand.
“Wow, it looks worse today,” he noted, but his expression sobered when he noticed Ellen only getting angrier.
“He told me he’d hunted before. It was a pretty routine-”
“You get out of here before I get my gun,” Ellen commanded, voice low, level and dangerous. Dean blinked again, looking startled.
“Now just hang on a min-”
“I mean it.” Ellen held up a hand, stilling any further protest from Dean. “Winchesters have taken enough from this family.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sam asked as Dean backed out the door.
“No problem, sorry to have bothered you,” Dean offered, still looking bewildered.
Dean was in the Impala and the key in the ignition when the passenger door creaked open and Sam slid in, settling with his knees up against the dash.
“Sam, what-?”
“Just drive,” Sam sighed, scrubbing hands over his face.
“But your mom dude,” Dean tried, but Sam just scooched lower, resolutely staring out the window. “Fine, whatever,” Dean sighed, gunning the engine, watching in the rearview mirror as Ellen emerged from the Roadhouse, hand up to shade her eyes, watching them go.
000
“You want to tell me what’s going on?” Dean asked, shouldering into his motel room once he’d unlocked the door, Sam at his heels.
Sam flopped face-first on the single bed and let out a muffled, “No.”
“Dude, sounds like hunting is the last thing she wants you to do. She seems like a decent lady. Probably has her reasons.”
“What? I’m not supposed to hunt because my mommy said no?” Sam turned his face from the mattress enough to sneer and Dean’s expression darkened.
“Keep being a brat and I’ll kick you out on your ass,” he snapped, suddenly very tired. He wasn’t used to family drama, didn’t really have the tools to deal with it. His father and he fought on the odd occasion, but never badly and Dean knew where the line was, how far he could push before he moved into disrespectful territory. Obeying his father was built so much into his character that he wasn’t sure how to cope with someone who blatantly disregarded what his parents wanted.
“Sorry,” Sam grumbled. “I’m starving, got any food around here?”
“There’s a burger place on the next block. Get me something while you’re there.”
Sam pulled a face, but got up and crossed to the door, digging through his jeans to check if he had enough money. “Got any preference?” he asked.
“Something with everything.” Dean shrugged, dropping himself onto the vacated bed. When Sam had gone, Dean got up and searched around the room, finding a local phone directory. He found the number for the Roadhouse and flipped open his phone, dialing one-handed.
“Hello?” Dean recognized Ellen’s voice.
“It’s Dean. I’m not sure what’s going on and I don’t really want to know, but I’ll drop your kid back tonight,” he said.
“I’d appreciate that,” Ellen said, frost in her voice and Dean had to wonder what his father had done to Ellen to piss her off so much. He knew John Winchester had a habit of putting people off. Hell, one of his best friends had run John off his property with a loaded shotgun the last time they’d seen him, but this felt different.
What was coming from Ellen was resignation and a little fear mixed in with the anger. Usually, people also looked past the fact that he was John’s boy because he was his own person, but Ellen seemed to be carrying a grudge against the whole rather than just the John part of the Winchester family.
“I know it’s none of my business but-”
“You’re right. It’s none of your business,” Ellen interrupted, now just sounding tired. “If you could drop Sam back this evening so I can give him the ass-kicking of his life, we’ll call it even.”
“Sam just seems pretty pig-headed and determined to get in the game. Don’t you think it would be better if he were a little prepared rather than running off half-cocked like he’s bound to?” Dean ploughed on, something small at the back of his mind asking, Hey, what are you doing? You don’t know these people from a bar of soap. What’s it to you?
“You offering to be his mentor or something?” Ellen snorted and Dean bristled.
“He’s a bright kid. He could do really well.”
“He is a bright kid, which is why he should be in school or with a real job, not wasting his life.”
Dean ground his teeth together, trying not to let his anger leak out. “Didn’t your husband hunt?” he asked through his gritted teeth and there was silence on the other end for a moment and Dean thought that maybe he’d just gone a little too far.
Hell, a lot.
“Hunting got Bill nothin’ but buried. You want me to put a son in the ground too?”
“I’m sorry,” Dean apologized, balling his hands into fists.
“As I said, you drop Sam off and we’ll forget we ever met.”
The line went dead and Dean looked at the phone in his hand for a moment, only snapping out of his daze when Sam reappeared through the doorway, two white paper bags in hand, grease from their burgers already turning the bottoms clear.
000
Sam was washing grease off his fingers in the bathroom when Dean came to lean in the doorway, looking Sam over, noting the way Sam had to hunch almost double to use the sink.
“You really are a tall fucker,” he snorted and Sam chuckled, pausing to flick water at him. Dean blinked, thumbing water out of his eyes and rubbing a hand through his hair.
“You fight with your mom a lot?” Dean asked, expecting Sam to tell him to mind his own business like Ellen had, but Sam just shrugged, turning the taps off and reaching behind himself for one of the smaller motel towels to dry his hands.
“Mostly just about this one thing,” he admitted, looking about himself and finally just dropping the towel on the floor. He moved to the doorway but Dean shifted, putting himself in the way.
“It’s weird, y’know?” he said, putting a hand up and circling Sam’s elbow with just his fingers, moving Sam back towards the sink with just that gentle pressure. Sam was watching Dean, something dark in his eyes, lips parted a little and color staining his cheekbones. “I feel like I can just yak on to you for hours. You ask me questions and I just… answer them. Why is that?”
“Dean, I don’t-”
“I mean, you’re a whiny little bitch and I should’ve kicked you outta my car this morning but I didn’t.”
“I’m not a bitch,” Sam snapped and Dean grinned, crowding Sam up against the basin.
“So you admit you’re whiny? Fair enough, I can deal with compromise.”
“I didn’t say that-” Sam started to protest, but Dean’s arms circling him, hands finding the belt loops on the back of his jeans and yanking down so the sharp jut of Sam’s hipbones came into view, stopped his voice. “What are you doing?” Sam asked slowly as Dean’s hands walked back around to the front, thumbs resting in the hollow of his hips.
“Do I need to draw you a diagram?” Dean asked, one eyebrow quirked up. He leaned past Sam to dip fingers into the liquid soap on the basin and then sketched something on the mirror behind Sam.
Sam half-turned and barked out a laugh when he caught sight of the crude and very dirty cartoon Dean had just rendered. He sobered though when his head turned back around and his nose bumped with Dean’s, who had leaned up into his space.
“Hi,” Dean said, voice low, almost a purr.
000
They had kissed messily and for a long time, Dean walking Sam out of the bathroom and back to the motel’s main room. Something uncertain had flittered across Sam’s face when Dean had backed him up against the bed and Dean had offered a reassuring grin, hands that had been going for under Sam’s shirt instead circling around and squeezing his shoulders.
Dean was pretty used to getting from point Ato point naked fast, but something about Sam left him content to just nuzzle and mess around, neither shedding that many clothes and ending up sprawled and tangled. When Sam slipped into a light doze, Dean didn’t even feel disappointed because he was able to fuss and arrange Sam to his comfort, one long arm and leg thrown over him so he was pleasantly weighted down to the bed.
As the light of the day failed, Dean looked towards the clock on the side table and noted that it was getting late. He was just so damn comfortable and Ellen was already mad at him, that he figured taking Sam back in the morning would be no big deal.
He lay with his lips pressed to Sam’s forehead and a vague sense of unease that had crept in with the shadows of dusk. At that moment though, Sam did a full body stretch and then settled, curling closer to Dean, and Dean smiled, the unease melting away and sleep replacing it.
000
Sam sat on a fiberglass horse on a broken down carousel. The sky overhead was dark and gooseflesh chased its way up and down his arms. Sam lowered himself from the carousel and dropped onto the dusty ground below, nothing but unbroken prairie surrounding him.
“Hello?” he called into the expanse of nothing.
Sam dropped to his haunches, digging fingers into the dirt, sun-warmed and gritty. He stood again, brushing his hands off and an arm came around his throat from behind.
“Wha-?” was all Sam managed before the arm tightened, cutting off his air.
“I’m sorry,” a voice said in his ear. “I had such plans for you.”
By: kellifer_fic
Fandom: SPN
Rating: Adult
Category: Dean/Sam
Words: 2,081
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, no money!
Spoilers: None
Notes: Thanks to my beta *superfox* and to
lyra_wing for Americanisation and beating my grammer into some semblance of recognition.Summary: Two sons were born to John Winchester, years and miles apart. They grew up strangers but fate had other plans for them, and a black sense of humour.
Prologue | Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five
“What’s that?”
“A scarf.”
“I know that, dumbass. Why are you wearing it in July?”
Sam looked up at Ash, hovering over him and rolled his eyes. “I lost a bet.”
“You lost a bet?”
“Don’t you have anything better to do?” Sam snapped, closing the book he’d been reading with a snap and standing. Ash leaned forward and snagged the end of his scarf, yanking it free. Sam made a token grab for it, but it was too late. Ash was staring at him with wide eyes.
“Holy Jeez, looks like someone tried to strangle you with barbed wire.”
“I’m fine. It looks worse than it is,” Sam sighed, lowering himself back onto the barstool. “It’s no big deal.” Ash’s eyes had narrowed and Sam turned so he could grasp Ash’s shoulders. “You can’t tell Mom.”
“I think she’s going to notice,” Ash said, canting his head and wrinkling his brow.
“I’ll just… avoid her for the next few days. C’mon Ash, please?”
Ash nodded stiffly and backed out of Sam’s grip, heading for the back of the bar. Sam thunked his head on the bar top, started to count slowly and wasn’t surprised when he’d only gotten to twenty-eight when there was the sound of his mother thundering down the stairs.
“What happened?” she gasped, grabbing Sam’s head and tilting it right and then left so she could get a good look at the damage.
“Nothing, just a bar fight.”
“With what? A thresher? You’re all torn up.”
“I said it’s fine,” Sam protested, trying to yank his head free of his mother’s grasp but Ellen wasn’t having any of it. She brought his face to center and because Sam was sitting, they were eye to eye.
“You tell me what happened right now,” she commanded, and Dean chose that moment to push through the Roadhouse doors, stopping short when he caught sight of Ellen and Sam.
“Bad time?”
Sam’s eyes ticked to Dean and away and Ellen caught it, fury marring her features.
“You!” she said, turning on Dean, whose hand fluttered comically to his chest, eyes wide.
“Me what?” he spluttered.
“Did you take my boy out hunting with you?” she demanded and Sam shot to his feet saying, “Mom, no,” at exactly the same time as Dean said, “Yes, but-“
“Unbelievable!” Ellen spat. “You’re all the same. Just look at him.” Ellen twirled and grabbed Sam by the arms, wrenching him forward, one hand pointing accusingly at his throat. Dean grimaced, rubbing the back of his head with one hand.
“Wow, it looks worse today,” he noted, but his expression sobered when he noticed Ellen only getting angrier.
“He told me he’d hunted before. It was a pretty routine-”
“You get out of here before I get my gun,” Ellen commanded, voice low, level and dangerous. Dean blinked again, looking startled.
“Now just hang on a min-”
“I mean it.” Ellen held up a hand, stilling any further protest from Dean. “Winchesters have taken enough from this family.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sam asked as Dean backed out the door.
“No problem, sorry to have bothered you,” Dean offered, still looking bewildered.
Dean was in the Impala and the key in the ignition when the passenger door creaked open and Sam slid in, settling with his knees up against the dash.
“Sam, what-?”
“Just drive,” Sam sighed, scrubbing hands over his face.
“But your mom dude,” Dean tried, but Sam just scooched lower, resolutely staring out the window. “Fine, whatever,” Dean sighed, gunning the engine, watching in the rearview mirror as Ellen emerged from the Roadhouse, hand up to shade her eyes, watching them go.
“You want to tell me what’s going on?” Dean asked, shouldering into his motel room once he’d unlocked the door, Sam at his heels.
Sam flopped face-first on the single bed and let out a muffled, “No.”
“Dude, sounds like hunting is the last thing she wants you to do. She seems like a decent lady. Probably has her reasons.”
“What? I’m not supposed to hunt because my mommy said no?” Sam turned his face from the mattress enough to sneer and Dean’s expression darkened.
“Keep being a brat and I’ll kick you out on your ass,” he snapped, suddenly very tired. He wasn’t used to family drama, didn’t really have the tools to deal with it. His father and he fought on the odd occasion, but never badly and Dean knew where the line was, how far he could push before he moved into disrespectful territory. Obeying his father was built so much into his character that he wasn’t sure how to cope with someone who blatantly disregarded what his parents wanted.
“Sorry,” Sam grumbled. “I’m starving, got any food around here?”
“There’s a burger place on the next block. Get me something while you’re there.”
Sam pulled a face, but got up and crossed to the door, digging through his jeans to check if he had enough money. “Got any preference?” he asked.
“Something with everything.” Dean shrugged, dropping himself onto the vacated bed. When Sam had gone, Dean got up and searched around the room, finding a local phone directory. He found the number for the Roadhouse and flipped open his phone, dialing one-handed.
“Hello?” Dean recognized Ellen’s voice.
“It’s Dean. I’m not sure what’s going on and I don’t really want to know, but I’ll drop your kid back tonight,” he said.
“I’d appreciate that,” Ellen said, frost in her voice and Dean had to wonder what his father had done to Ellen to piss her off so much. He knew John Winchester had a habit of putting people off. Hell, one of his best friends had run John off his property with a loaded shotgun the last time they’d seen him, but this felt different.
What was coming from Ellen was resignation and a little fear mixed in with the anger. Usually, people also looked past the fact that he was John’s boy because he was his own person, but Ellen seemed to be carrying a grudge against the whole rather than just the John part of the Winchester family.
“I know it’s none of my business but-”
“You’re right. It’s none of your business,” Ellen interrupted, now just sounding tired. “If you could drop Sam back this evening so I can give him the ass-kicking of his life, we’ll call it even.”
“Sam just seems pretty pig-headed and determined to get in the game. Don’t you think it would be better if he were a little prepared rather than running off half-cocked like he’s bound to?” Dean ploughed on, something small at the back of his mind asking, Hey, what are you doing? You don’t know these people from a bar of soap. What’s it to you?
“You offering to be his mentor or something?” Ellen snorted and Dean bristled.
“He’s a bright kid. He could do really well.”
“He is a bright kid, which is why he should be in school or with a real job, not wasting his life.”
Dean ground his teeth together, trying not to let his anger leak out. “Didn’t your husband hunt?” he asked through his gritted teeth and there was silence on the other end for a moment and Dean thought that maybe he’d just gone a little too far.
Hell, a lot.
“Hunting got Bill nothin’ but buried. You want me to put a son in the ground too?”
“I’m sorry,” Dean apologized, balling his hands into fists.
“As I said, you drop Sam off and we’ll forget we ever met.”
The line went dead and Dean looked at the phone in his hand for a moment, only snapping out of his daze when Sam reappeared through the doorway, two white paper bags in hand, grease from their burgers already turning the bottoms clear.
Sam was washing grease off his fingers in the bathroom when Dean came to lean in the doorway, looking Sam over, noting the way Sam had to hunch almost double to use the sink.
“You really are a tall fucker,” he snorted and Sam chuckled, pausing to flick water at him. Dean blinked, thumbing water out of his eyes and rubbing a hand through his hair.
“You fight with your mom a lot?” Dean asked, expecting Sam to tell him to mind his own business like Ellen had, but Sam just shrugged, turning the taps off and reaching behind himself for one of the smaller motel towels to dry his hands.
“Mostly just about this one thing,” he admitted, looking about himself and finally just dropping the towel on the floor. He moved to the doorway but Dean shifted, putting himself in the way.
“It’s weird, y’know?” he said, putting a hand up and circling Sam’s elbow with just his fingers, moving Sam back towards the sink with just that gentle pressure. Sam was watching Dean, something dark in his eyes, lips parted a little and color staining his cheekbones. “I feel like I can just yak on to you for hours. You ask me questions and I just… answer them. Why is that?”
“Dean, I don’t-”
“I mean, you’re a whiny little bitch and I should’ve kicked you outta my car this morning but I didn’t.”
“I’m not a bitch,” Sam snapped and Dean grinned, crowding Sam up against the basin.
“So you admit you’re whiny? Fair enough, I can deal with compromise.”
“I didn’t say that-” Sam started to protest, but Dean’s arms circling him, hands finding the belt loops on the back of his jeans and yanking down so the sharp jut of Sam’s hipbones came into view, stopped his voice. “What are you doing?” Sam asked slowly as Dean’s hands walked back around to the front, thumbs resting in the hollow of his hips.
“Do I need to draw you a diagram?” Dean asked, one eyebrow quirked up. He leaned past Sam to dip fingers into the liquid soap on the basin and then sketched something on the mirror behind Sam.
Sam half-turned and barked out a laugh when he caught sight of the crude and very dirty cartoon Dean had just rendered. He sobered though when his head turned back around and his nose bumped with Dean’s, who had leaned up into his space.
“Hi,” Dean said, voice low, almost a purr.
They had kissed messily and for a long time, Dean walking Sam out of the bathroom and back to the motel’s main room. Something uncertain had flittered across Sam’s face when Dean had backed him up against the bed and Dean had offered a reassuring grin, hands that had been going for under Sam’s shirt instead circling around and squeezing his shoulders.
Dean was pretty used to getting from point Ato point naked fast, but something about Sam left him content to just nuzzle and mess around, neither shedding that many clothes and ending up sprawled and tangled. When Sam slipped into a light doze, Dean didn’t even feel disappointed because he was able to fuss and arrange Sam to his comfort, one long arm and leg thrown over him so he was pleasantly weighted down to the bed.
As the light of the day failed, Dean looked towards the clock on the side table and noted that it was getting late. He was just so damn comfortable and Ellen was already mad at him, that he figured taking Sam back in the morning would be no big deal.
He lay with his lips pressed to Sam’s forehead and a vague sense of unease that had crept in with the shadows of dusk. At that moment though, Sam did a full body stretch and then settled, curling closer to Dean, and Dean smiled, the unease melting away and sleep replacing it.
Sam sat on a fiberglass horse on a broken down carousel. The sky overhead was dark and gooseflesh chased its way up and down his arms. Sam lowered himself from the carousel and dropped onto the dusty ground below, nothing but unbroken prairie surrounding him.
“Hello?” he called into the expanse of nothing.
Sam dropped to his haunches, digging fingers into the dirt, sun-warmed and gritty. He stood again, brushing his hands off and an arm came around his throat from behind.
“Wha-?” was all Sam managed before the arm tightened, cutting off his air.
“I’m sorry,” a voice said in his ear. “I had such plans for you.”