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Revelations Pt 1

Posted on 2006.05.06 at 17:53

Title: Revelations
Author: warchio
Characters: Dean and Sam
Rated: Adult - Violence and non-con in later parts

Pairing: Dean/Sam in the making

Summary: Dean and Sam are hunting monsters in a small town but their investigation reveals more than one secret..
Disclaimer: I don’t own Supernatural or the Winchesters

Authors note: Thanks to penndragon who is an amazing beta and made this story much, much better than it would have been.  Any spelling mistakes or error are mine own and nothing to do with her or her trusty red pen!

The third bullet took the demon between the eyes.  It punched a small neat hole through the bone and blew chunks from the back.  The demon, an unidentified one so far, gaped its doglike muzzle and dropped backwards.  The chains that draped it slid to the ground.  Apparently it was material enough to need whatever it kept up there. 

“Sammy?” Dean said.

Sam swallowed the correction and grabbed the box of salt from their bag.  He popped the lid and tossed the salt over the demon.  Its mottled flesh blistered and smoked.

When he finished Dean stepped forwards and took the lighter from his pocket.  He spun the wheel twice, making the flint spark.  Third time was the charm.  He tossed the lighter onto the pile of salted and blessed bones.  The demon’s remains went up in a flare of fluttering flames and greasy smoke.  He narrowed his eyes and stepped back from the smoke. 

“We go through more lighters this way,” he said, smirking.  “Think Bic would sponsor us?  Bic, the choice of demon hunters everywhere.”

He held his hands up to frame the imagined words.  Sam sucked blood from the cut on the inside of his mouth.  He spat it onto the ground.

“I don’t think it’ll catch on.”

“Yeah?” Dean said, sounding disappointed.  He turned and walked away, leaving the demon to burn.  “How about ‘Bic, for when you absolutely, positively have to burn a dead fucker’s bones?”

Sam limped after Dean.  His left ankle was throbbing.  The demon had used it for a handle when it tossed him into the wall.  That was why the rest of him ached too.

The old mines had been abandoned, by the living and human anyhow, for years.  Rusted machinery, gutted cars and weatherbeaten huts surrounded them.  The NO ENTRY sign hung crookedly from the gate that they had bust open.

“When this is all over, don’t go for a job in advertising,” Sam said.

Dean gave him a look over his shoulder.  It would have been impossible for anyone else to read the expression, or lack of it, in those green eyes and thoughtful features.  But Sam knew Dean, better than Dean would admit.  Growing up bouncing from the back of their Dad’s pick-up to motel room and back again did that to kids.  He knew Dean, better than most brothers.  That was Dean’s ‘you really don’t know me’ look.  It was ironic really.

“Sorry,” Sam said.

Dean shrugged and looked forward again.  “Don’t worry about it.”

He skidded, boots first, down the small hill of shale.  The Impala had been parked well back from that.  Dean might have no problems risking his own, or his brother’s hide, but god forbid the Impala get dinged by a stray bit of gravel. 

Dean tugged the keys out of his pocket, unlocked the car and slid inside.  His post-kill, easy good humour was gone, just like that.  Sam opened his mouth to say something but Dean started the engine up and slammed the door.  The mood he was in, Sam wouldn’t put it past Dean to leave him there.  He jogged around the car and folded himself into the passenger seat.

“Dean,” he said.

“What?”  Dean threw the car into reverse and twisted around to see where he was going.  The back tire bumped over something and Sam shut his mouth.

“Nothing,” he said.  He was too tired to rake it up again tonight.

Dean didn’t challenge him. 

The first quarter of the drive back to the motel passed in tense silence.  Dean hadn’t even stuck up the radio.  The only sound was the hiss of tires on asphalt.  They had just passed theWelcome to Town sign when Dean’s mood started to lighten.  He put his Metallica tape on and slouched down in the seat.  He tapped time with his finger on the steering wheel and would occasionally hum along with the song.

By the time they reached their hotel, the Lamplight Inn, Dean was back in his usual form.  He bounced out of the car.  It was galling.  He’d taken as many hits as Sam but he didn’t seem to feel them.  Not that he’d have admitted it he had.

Sam nudged his door open on his side and got out.  His ankle popped and his back protested moving.  He wanted to groan but couldn’t with Dean acting like they had just been for a Sunday stroll.

“Got the key?” Dean asked, looking at him over the hood of the Impala.

“Yeah.”  Sam reached into his jacket pocket.  His fingers came out of the hole that something had torn into it during the night.  He wriggled his fingers.  “Er, no.”

Dean rolled his eyes.

“You unpack the gear,” he said, throwing the keys over.  Sam grabbed them out of the air, the cold metal biting into his palm.  “I’ll get another one from the receptionist.”

“Sure,” Sam said.

He watched Dean strut jauntily away.  When Dean thought he was out of sight he stopped, rubbed at his shoulder and cracked his neck.  Sam laughed softly and bent to work.



Flames wreathed Jessie’s body.  Blood dripped from her eyes and the corners of her mouth.  It soaked the white nightgown she was wearing.  He’d never seen her in that before.  She wore pyjamas to bed, Smurf and Little Misses and Disney, when she wore anything at all.

He knew she was dead but she still looked at him accusingly. Her mouth opened.  Black smoke belched out.  Flames crawled up the back of her throat and danced over her tongue.

“Your fault,” she said.  “You let this happen.  Why?  I loved you, baby.”

Then she burst into flames.  This time there was no Dean to save him and they both burned.


Sam woke with a scream caught back in his throat.  Sweat was dripping off him, wet and slick in the bends of his knees and the crack of his ass.   His muscles ached like he’d been running all night.  He supposed, in a way, he’d been running since Jessie’s death.  It was just he wasn’t sure where to.

He heard the other bed in the grotty motel room creak. 


Sam kept his eyes closed and forced his breathing steady.  There was a moment’s silence, he could feel his brother’s worried gaze on him.  He didn’t need to look to know the expression on Dean’s face.

“Sammy?  Dude, I know you’re awake.”

When Sam just kept his eyes closed Dean snorted.

“Fine,” he grumbled.  “Lie there and wallow.

The bed creaked again and Sam heard Dean pad past the end of his bed.  Then the bathroom door opened and closed.  He still didn’t open his eyes, not until he heard Dean taking a piss.

“I’m not wallowing,” Sam muttered, opening his eyes and staring up at the ceiling.  He couldn’t see anything.  They were in, as Dean had put it, the ass-crack of shit hole.  Once ten o’clock came around, everyone shut up shop and turned off the lights.  As far as Sam could tell the only things that had happened here in the last ten years were the murders that had brought them here.  Sam rolled onto his side and put his hand under his head.  Ten dead people over the last three months.  Three children, one teenager, two women and four men.  All of their remains found in the mines.  With the demon dead, that would stop.  Sam should feel good about that.  How could he when he’d not been able to save Jess?

He could just make out Dean’s bed.  The sheets were rumpled up into a nest and the only pillow that hadn’t ended up on the floor was the one with the knife under it.

That was his fault.  The last few weeks Sam’s nightmares had been disturbing Dean’s sleep nearly as much as they did Sam’s.  He’d wake up, the smell of Jessie’s burning hair still in his nose, and know Dean was already awake and watching him.

Dean had suggested every cure he could think of.  Killing things and getting drunk, getting drunk and getting laid, getting drunk and killing things.  The corner of Sam’s mouth turned up despite himself at the list.  He loved Dean, even if Dean would growl at him for being a soppy bastard if he brought it up, but his brother was so much like Dad it wasn’t even funny. 

“Drown your problems or kick the shit of them,” Sam muttered into his pillow.  “Therapy, Winchester style.”  He yawned, jaw cracking, and blinked his watering eyes.  In the bathroom Dean was quiet. 

He was probably admiring himself in the mirror.  Vain bastard.

Sam knew drink wasn’t the answer.  It wasn’t even much of a panacea, right now.  No matter how much he drank the dreams kept coming through, loud and clear.  He just woke up sweating, scared and with a hangover.  The only thing that would make him feel better was finding the thing that had killed his Mom and his girlfriend and killing it.  Maybe then Jessie would forgive him.  He rubbed his face on the pillow and rolled onto his back. 

He couldn’t deal with that.  Dean, and his Dad, were all he had left.  He couldn’t lose them.

There was still no sign of Dean coming back to bed.  Sam propped himself up his elbows and frowned.  He cocked his head to the side.  Nothing.


He sat up.  His t-shirt stuck to his chest and stomach.  He plucked it off.  It was probably nothing.  Dean was in the bog, he wasn’t crawling around in some demon infested house.  Still.

“Dean?” Sam called.

There was no answer.  Sam rubbed his hand around the back of his neck.  He swung his legs out of the bed.

“Dean, man, you alright.”

The door to the bathroom door swung open and Dean walked out.  He flipped the light on.  It picked out the fight hardened muscles in his chest and stomach. His face was flushed, red riding high on his cheekbones, and his eyes were dark and heavy looking.  He’d been chewing his lower lip too.  It was red and swollen looking.  Like it needed kissed better. 

Sam swallowed and looked away.  That was the sort of thought he didn’t need.  It had been slipping through the cracks though.  More and more, lately.  Shit. 

Dean frowned at him.

“What?” he asked.

Sam opened his mouth and closed it.  He sighed.  Dean was ride him for a month over this.

“You were a long time,” he said.  “I was just...”

“I was taking a piss,” Dean said.  He scratched his head and stretched, pulling his muscles tight under his skin.  “What?  Were you worried the shit vampires got me?”

Sam scrubbed his fist along his leg.  His throat felt tight.

“It’s just-“  He started.  Stopped.  He kept rubbing his leg.  “Jess was having a shower.  She didn’t answer.  It was...sorry.”

Dean’s mouth opened but for once he was lost for words.  He came over and sat down on the bed.

“Sammy, it’s ok,” he said, putting his arm over Sam’s back.  His body was a tight line or warmth against Sam’s side.  He smelt of soap and musk.  Hell.  Sam closed his eyes.  So that was what had taken him so long.   Dean rested the point of his chin on Sam’s shoulder, their temples touching.  “I’m not going anywhere.  I’m not Jess, I’m not mom.  I know what’s out there and I can take care of myself.  But I need to be able to go to bog without you knocking the door down.  OK.”

Sam put his arm around Dean’s waist and leant against him.  His hand rested against Dean’s waist, tawny skin warm under his fingers.  It felt too good and it had been so long since anyone touched him.

“Yeah,” he said.  “I got it.  Sorry.”

“Eh,  don’t worry about it,” Dean said.  He slapped Sam’s shoulder and let go of him.  Sam’s side felt cold without Dean there.  “You having bad dreams again?”

Sam set his jaw and looked away.  Dean punched his shoulder.

“Ow,” Sam said, rubbing his shoulder.  “What you do that for?”

“Don’t be a baby,” Dean told him.  “Did you have another dream?”

“No,” Sam said.  It wasn’t a lie, exactly.  At least, it wasn’t if he assumed that Dean was asking about the other dreams.  The ones that came true.  “I’m just having trouble sleeping.  Look.  I’m going to go for a walk, clear my head.”

Dean’s eyebrows dipped down in a frown.  “On your own?”

“I’m not six,” Sam said.  He got out of bed and hitched his pants up over his body hips.  His sneakers were at the bottom of the bed.  He stuffed his feet into them and headed for the door without bothering to tie the laces.  “You need to go to the bog.  I need some time to clear my head.”

Dean had been halfway up from the bed.  At Sam’s words he hesitated and sat down again.  His mouth quirked to the side and he nodded slowly.

“OK,” he said.  Then the wry cant of his mouth turned into a smirk.  “So does this mean I get to watch you in the bog?”

Sam looked back over his shoulder at Dean.  His brother was sitting, half naked, in the tangled nest of Sam’s bed.  His weight was braced on one arm.  It would be easy to push him back into the sheets. 

“Do you want to watch me go to the toilet, Dean?” he asked.  “Because that is kind of sick.”

Dean dropped onto his elbow, sprawling the tawny length of himself over the bed.   He looked...fuckable.  God, Sam couldn’t believe he was thinking that about his own brother.

“It’s the principle of the thing,” Dean said.  He pointed to the door with his chin.  “Don’t be long.  Stay close.”

Sam nodded and left.

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