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The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears or the sea. ~ Isak Dinesen
“This is where they filmed ‘The Birds’, you know,” Dean says for at least the third time on their long drive from Flint, Michigan to Bodega Bay. The ruggedly beautiful Northern California coast is distracting enough that Sam doesn’t feel the need to protest the repetition of useless movie trivia.
“Well, I’ll keep a lookout for too many birds in one place, but I’m more worried about this resort probably being haunted,” Sam says, flipping through his notebook.
“What’s our cover gonna be?” Dean asks.
“Oh, uh, I forgot to tell you, this is a couples-only kind of place,” Sam says, trying not to stammer in his rush to get the embarrassment over with.
“Really? So, pretend boyfriends, huh? How long have we been together? We should get our story straight,” Dean says.
“Let’s go for, we’re here to celebrate our ten year anniversary,” Sam suggests, looking over at Dean quickly to see how that idea hits his brother. He smiles when he sees Dean’s smile. “Figured we’ve played this role so many times, it ought to be easy by now.”
Dean looks over at his brother quickly, but Sam can see he noticed his smile. “Long-time then, not too much PDA expected, good thinking, Sammy.”
“Yeah,” Sam says, trailing off noticeably, like he has more to say, but doesn’t for some reason.
“There something else?” Dean asks.
“What? No, uh…nothing, just thinking about the case,” Sam answers, shuffling through his notebook again, trying to distract himself from thinking about anniversaries, PDA, and anything about pretending to be in a relationship with his brother. It’s not something he’s honest with himself about, because there’s no point; it’s not something that will ever have a chance in hell of happening, so why bother?
They drive the rest of the way in a silence broken only by the crackly classic rock station that Dean’s managed to find. A little north of the picturesque town on the bay, they drive along the edge of the Pacific Ocean. It’s heading towards sunset and the clear view is spectacular. The Bodega Bay Sweetheart Seaside Lodge is enormous, with a very grand entrance complete with a central fountain in the courtyard outside. Several wings of the hotel, as well as the sprawling grounds that adjoin the coastal wetlands are immaculately landscaped in waving sea grass and California lilac.
*^*^*^*^*^*^*
“Hi, we’re here to check in- we have a reservation, under Steve Rothery,” Sam says, arriving at the front desk before Dean. The tall redheaded man behind the marble-topped counter looks up and gives Sam one very clear howyadoin’ look up and down.
“Hi, welcome to the Seaside. I’m Nick, manager of the lodge, please let me know if there’s anything I can do for you during your stay,” Nick says, shaking Sam’s hand slowly and with a lot more rhythmic squeezing than a normal handshake.
Dean arrives just then, putting his hand out to shake across the counter, blocking Nick from doing anything other than releasing Sam’s hand quickly and taking a small step backwards. “Hey there, I’m Mark Kelly, nice to meet you. I’m Steve’s partner, and we’re here celebrating our tenth anniversary.”
Nick regroups and adjusts his face to a pleasant mask. “Your room is in one of the outer wings, it’s got a sea view. The package you booked, Mr. Rothery, includes two dinners at our best on-site restaurant, as well as two room-service breakfasts and one couple’s spa treatment. Here are your keys, do you need help with any bags?”
“No, we’re fine. Thanks,” Sam says after he signs the charge slip and pockets the key cards Nick has placed on the counter. As they step away from the main desk, he tries not to startle when Dean places a warm hand on his lower back, the heat bleeding in through his light jacket. He knows Dean’s just playing the part of the jealous lover, but it still feels good.
“Good catch on the name, Dean,” Sam says as they exit the main building. “I wasn’t expecting you to guess that one.”
“Yeah, Marillion, right?” Dean asks, as they walk towards the parking lot to move the car.
“Yeah, uh, you’ve been listening to it a lot lately, and I don’t think we’ve used them before. Thought the names didn’t sound too English or memorable.”
“Good call. That Nick guy at the desk though, he hit on you right from the jump. How rude was that?” Dean asks, starting the car and moving it down to the very end of the parking lot, much closer to the ocean.
“What do you mean? Rude because he was coming onto me instead of you for once?” Sam asks, getting out of the car and grabbing his backpack out of the backseat.
Dean just laughs like he knows Sam’s got his number, because he pretty much always does.
“Besides, you staked your territory pretty clearly, so I think we’re off to a good start,” Sam says with a grin, closing the trunk with a controlled slam.
“Just don’t like it when people assume stuff like that,” Dean tries to explain without really explaining.
Sam doesn’t pursue it, because he knows Dean doesn’t really want to talk about it. As they walk towards the room, they hear a strange groaning; it grows louder the closer they get to the elevator area. At first it sounds something like air pressure in the elevator shaft, but then it seems to travel overhead along some of the water supply pipes. Eventually it stops completely and they shrug at each other as Sam opens the door.
Dean’s the first to comment, because he wasn’t the one who found this case or booked the room. “Wow, Steve. You really went all out for our anniversary - this room is pretty damn amazing.” The view of the Pacific is flat-out magnificent, the orange glow of the sunset shining its last on the waves below the cliffs is brilliant. Dean flops onto the giant bed and groans with exaggerated and yet somehow honest happiness. “This mattress is even better than the one I’ve got at home.”
“Nothing but the best for my Mark,” Sam answers with a smile, walking to the French doors and opening them both wide. The sheer white curtains billow out with the sea breeze. Sam looks back to see Dean stretched out on the bed, his eyes closed and face relaxed, his body long and perfect and whole. He flashes on Dean laid out on his bed after he’d died, after Sam had cleaned him up. How he looked nothing like this. When Dean inhabits his body, it changes everything.
“Sammy, you okay?” Dean asks, sounding a little worried.
“Yeah?” Sam answers, shaking his head a little to dislodge the horrifying and sad image. Now he sees that Dean has propped himself up on one side and is closely examining him. “I’m okay. Just a little tired after being in the car. You want to walk the grounds before it gets dark?”
Dean flops back onto the bed and stretches with another groan that makes Sam’s stomach do a little flip. He should be used to his brother’s inappropriately sexy noises by now.
“I’ll be right behind you, give me a few minutes to just be horizontal, okay?”
Sam turns back to the view of the ocean, deciding to wait on the small covered porch in one of the lounge chairs. He watches the waves below, trying to quiet his mind, disturbed by that vision of Dean lying there dead. Forcing himself to think of something else, he goes back over the case at the girl’s high school that they just wrapped up in Flint. The drama girl’s enthusiasm and love for their story, of all things, is still something that he’s working on accepting. He could see the potential enjoyment of reading the books, but creating a full-on musical out of them? That’s just kind of mind boggling.
Dean taps him on both shoulders to get his attention, standing over him. Sam looks up at him, upside down. “You seem kinda out of it. Sure you’re okay?”
“I am. Just thinking about that play thing still.”
Dean looks out at the water and smiles. “It was pretty good for a high school thing. Kinda cute in a creepy sort of way.”
“That wasn’t what I meant. I’m still getting over those girls being so into our story that they wrote a whole musical.”
“Face it, Sammy,” Dean says, squeezing his shoulders briefly. “We’re freakin’ inspiring or somethin’. Let’s get out there, huh? The sun’s going down and it’s gonna be dark soon.”
The echo of Dean’s touch ricochets down through Sam’s body, making him shiver slightly. He’s always hyper aware of the effect from any physical contact he has with Dean, something makes him want to memorize it. All these casual touches, however fleeting, seem precious after his recent death. The possibility of a life with no more Dean in it had spooked him more than he’s been able to express. Having the project to find Dean when his body disappeared pretty much saved him this time.
“So, you said there were two hotel workers and one guest killed so far, right?” Dean asks, shutting the door behind them.
“Yeah, the guest was in the shower in room 112, the first worker was in the pool control room, and the second worker was working on the fountain out in front,” Sam answers, striding off towards the room he just mentioned.
“Huh, so all water related then. We’re thinking some kind of ghost thing, right?” Dean asks.
“Ghost or water demon maybe? I don’t know much more than that yet,” Sam answers with a sigh. Then he thinks to himself, “We’re thinking? No, I’m thinking, since I’m the one that found the case.” But that’s just how Dean’s always talked, using the collective We, with Sam as the brains, Dean as the muscle, in their assigned roles as far as Dean’s concerned. But at least it’s assuming they’re a team, a unit, a matched pair that only functions well together. That’s Sam’s world now, and he’s finally good with it. Something about having Dean gone for those long months has reset his internal resentments to zero and settled most of his objections to living this life.
Unaware of all the drama going on in Sam’s brain, Dean hurries to catch up, pulling the EMF detector out of his pocket. As they near room 112, it starts to blip quietly, ramping up to more than halfway when they’re at the door. Dean turns the sound off, but the display remains lit up. He turns it off and puts it away when one of the hotel maids comes around the hallway corner towards them. Dean grabs Sam’s hand in his and pulls him a little closer so they look like any other normal, happy vacationing couple walking down the hotel hall. Sam smiles a little at the feel of Dean’s warm hand enveloping his. I could get used to this, he muses to himself.
“I think we should go check out the fountain, it’s closest,” Sam says, tugging on Dean’s hand to pull him in the right direction. He catches a glimpse of a smile that crosses Dean’s face and looks down at their joined hands. Dean squeezes his tightly for just a moment and then laughs. Sam laughs too, not really knowing why, since playing pretend with his brother seems like something he’s been doing his whole life. But, being easy with each other like this hasn’t always been possible. And it’s good.
They stroll through part of the gardens on the way back to the entrance, checking out all the many water features, small ponds, a fake creek or two, several small bridges crossing them. It’s all beautifully maintained and perfectly planned, not a leaf out of place.
“For being right on the ocean, they’ve sure got a lot of water things going on here,” Dean observes.
“You’re right, I remember reading the California coast had water shortage problems recently too, seems kind of wasteful,” Sam says.
Dean stops and points at a small heart-shaped wooden sign that reads:
This garden uses municipal reclaimed water.
Please do not drink or wade.
Thank you,
Management of Bodega Bay Sweetheart Seaside Lodge
“There’s your answer for that one at least,” Dean says.
“And that reclaimed water system, it could be how the ghost is getting around, if it’s water-related that is,” Sam says.
They arrive within sight of the central fountain, and Dean turns the EMF back on. It instantly starts chirping, ramping up higher with every step that they take toward the fountain. Dean hits the mute button, but keeps the display tipped towards Sam so they can both see it. They circle the fountain and notice there seems to be the most reaction where the water comes out at the top of the fountain. It’s a modern design, stacked stone blocks of different sizes and types, with holes drilled in the corners of the three rocks that are balanced on the top. Having reached the fountain’s basin, Dean’s stretches to wave the EMF around. They’re too busy to notice the approach of the maintenance worker over the noise of burbling water.
“Can I help you guys?” a man asks, startling them both. Dean stashes the EMF reader in his jacket pocket and slips an arm around Sam’s waist, holding him close.
“We were just admiring the fountain, I was trying to show my Stevie how it works with the holes in the top,” Dean says.
“Well, that’s fine, just be careful please. We had an accident in the fountain a week ago,” the man says, looking at both of them curiously.
“An accident, my goodness really? You mean right here?” Sam asks.
“Yeah, one of my guys died here. We’re still not sure exactly what happened,” the man says in a gruff, kind of sad voice. He adjusts his green coveralls that have the name Lou stitched on the breast pocket. “I’m Lou, by the way, head groundskeeper and head of maintenance here at the Lodge.”
“Hi Lou, I’m Steve, and this is Mark. I’m sorry to hear that one of your gardeners died. But wow, really, why is this place still open? Isn’t that dangerous?” Sam asks in a breathless, giddy sounding voice. He hears Dean stifle a laugh at his disingenuous question.
“Steve, I’m sure your man here can keep you safe,” Lou answers with a low chuckle. “Just don’t drink the water, huh?”
“Thanks, Lou. And the gardens are really beautiful by the way,” Dean says. Lou pretends to tip his cap slightly and walks off on the path they just came down.
“What the hell was that, Sam?”
“What?” Sam asks, trying to put on an innocent face.
Dean elbows him roughly in the ribs. “Talking like some chick in a horror movie.”
“It was because you called me, ‘my Stevie’. I guess I took it a little too far, sorry,” Sam says.
“Well, at least we got to meet Lou. He seemed kind of sad about his co-worker getting killed.”
“Where do you think the pool control room is?” Sam asks.
“Near the pool.”
“Genius, I tell you, sheer genius. It’s an honor to get to work with you,” Sam snarks.
Dean looks mock-affronted and then folds his arms over his chest. “Are we swimming then? Or are you too awe-struck by my awesomeness?”
Sam takes a chance and puts his arm around Dean’s waist, bumping their hips together and getting them started walking back towards their room. He’s secretly thrilled that Dean isn’t pulling away or making a fuss about it, he seems strangely okay about being so handsy with each other. Getting into the role or something else, Sam wonders.
*^*^*^*^*^*^*
They’re changed into their swim trunks under their regular clothes and are back out the door towards the pool in under ten minutes. This time, they enter through another garden that has noticeably fewer water features. It’s much closer to the sand dunes, and so it visually merges with the tan colors. The sea grasses are waving in the strong onshore breeze, tickling at their bare calves. Dean starts scratching and grumbling before they’re even halfway there.
“Can’t they trim this stuff or something?” Dean asks sounding more peevish than strictly necessary.
“It’s supposed to look painterly, with no defined border,” Sam answers, holding back teasing because he knows Dean’s skin can get sensitive to grasses sometimes. “Remember that time in Maine in the summer before I started high school? We were rolling on those big grass hills and you were covered in hives for days,” Sam says.
“Thanks for the reminder. Guess I should cancel my big plans for rolling my way down to the ocean later,” Dean grumps.
“Sorry, I was just remembering how I had to put the calamine lotion on you to get you stop scratching. And we tried an oatmeal bath with instant oats and clogged up the bathtub drain. Good thing we were leaving the next day,” Sam says, not voicing the rest of his memory of that long day before their father had returned. Dean laid out naked and red and itchy all over, beautiful in his misery. Moaning in relief every time Sam’s hands had touched his skin. Nope, keeping that one all to himself.
“Dad was pretty pissed, especially when I couldn’t drive all day and you had to take over,” Dean adds, chuckling at his part of the story.
The pool is situated close to the edge of one of the ocean-side cliffs. Just around the curve of the cliffs, nearly out of sight below, is an enormous water treatment plant; Sam can just barely hear the hum of machinery coming from it. “That’s where the reclaimed water is probably coming from,” Sam says as he points it out to his brother, who is of course busy scoping out the rest of the pool facility. With an emphasis on the few bikini-clad hotel guests on the lounge chairs.
Inside the changing room area, there is a locked door labeled ‘Maintenance’. Sam sets to work picking the lock with the small set of lock picks he always carries in his jacket. Dean keeps a lookout while he’s bent over fussing to get it open. The EMF starts to go off the moment the lock releases and and he pushes the door to swing wide open. They duck inside the dark room and close the door behind them. Dean has a flashlight in his jacket pocket, so they use that instead of turning any lights on, hoping to avoid drawing attention to themselves.
The door suddenly re-opens, and a light comes on. Sam and Dean dart behind some large tanks and listen to the approaching footsteps. Once the footsteps begin to come around the first tank, Dean steps closer to Sam and pulls him into what could only be called an embrace. One hand on Sam’s face, one on the back of his neck bringing him down into kissing range.
“Just go with it, Sammy,” he murmurs against Sam’s lips.
Sam nods in answer, trying to relax enough so his bones don’t snap from the sudden tension. He’s not worried about whoever is about to find them in here, he’s worried that he’s going to do something that Dean will never forgive him for. Like actually full-on kiss him for real. They hear someone clearing their throat behind them. Dean releases Sam most of the way and turns around slowly, like he’s been interrupted in some hot and heavy making out.
“Well. Hello again. Guests aren’t supposed to be in here,” Nick, the front desk manager says, eyes glittering in the gloom of the maintenance room. His focus is clearly and unabashedly on where the brother’s bodies are touching, their hips close together, hands still on each other. Sam would swear he can feel the jealousy coming at him in a wave.
“Sorry, we just slipped in here, my Stevie didn’t think he could wait until we got back to our room,” Dean says, obviously enjoying the disappointment visible in Nick’s reaction.
“We’ll go, sorry, uh, Nick, is it? Did I get it right?” Sam asks, trying to smooth things over. The room suddenly feels a whole lot more tension-filled.
“See you later,” Nick says, sounding like he’s making a promise, or maybe a threat.
Dean steers Sam out of the room with a now-familiar hand on his lower back. Sam’s whole body seems to lose all focus on what it’s doing besides memorizing the weight and heat and feel of his brother’s hand there in that one place. He stumbles a little on the threshold, and Dean catches him around the waist before he falls.
“You okay there, Steve?” Dean asks.
“Just want to get back to our room as soon as we can, babe,” Sam says, noticing Nick catching up behind them.
Dean looks at him sharply, then smiles when he notices their tail. He pulls Sam closer to him and reaches up to give him a kiss that’s much longer than just a peck on the lips. Sam nearly falls over in surprise, but then melts into it, as it continues far past the point when he thought they needed to sell it to this guy. Finally Dean pulls away, looking up into Sam’s eyes with a bemused twinkle.
“Let’s go then, honey,” Dean says with a wink, slapping him lightly on the ass. He steers Sam away from the pool, along the cliff edge, heading back towards their room. Nick seems to stay behind, and then he’s no longer in view at all.
“What was the deal back there, with all the cave-man posturing?” Sam asks once he’s sure they’re alone.
“When? In the pool room?” Dean asks.
“Yeah, with the desk clerk,” Sam answers.
“Remember how I said he was rude before? Well, he’s not just rude, he’s trying to…I don’t know, take what’s mine…uh, pretend-mine. And I don’t like it, even if we are just, you know, pretending,” Dean says, all in a flustered rush.
Sam maintains a straight face, of which he’s very proud at the moment. “Well, your fake boyfriend is very proud of how you defended his honor.”
Dean elbows him sharply just below the ribs. “Shut up.”
Before Sam can respond in kind, or do something far worse like kiss his brother again and mean it, he stops walking abruptly. Dean flails a bit, not expecting to be thrown off balance, and steps back towards him. Sam’s eyes are wide open, and his mouth is slowly opening too; his right hand raises at the same creepily slow speed and he points up the small hill towards the main hotel buildings. Dean follows the line where Sam’s pointing and doesn’t see anything exciting or worth pointing out. He just sees the brown clapboard siding, the last of the sunset reflected in all the room windows, and the wide, darkening sky above.
When Sam doesn’t say anything, and doesn’t move besides standing there and pointing with his mouth wide open, Dean grabs his wrist and shakes it. “Sam? What is it? What are you pointing at?”
Sam’s eyes narrow until they close, his head tips back and his mouth shuts with a snap. A groaning sound starts up from somewhere near the hotel buildings, sounding like it’s moving closer. Dean shakes Sam’s shoulders this time. “Sammy! Snap out of it!”
Sam tilts his head from one shoulder to the other, rolls it around a bit and slowly opens his eyes like he’s waking up from a nap. “What happened? Why are you yelling at me?”
“You just like, stopped, right there. And you were pointing with your eyes and mouth wide open. Then you closed your eyes and mouth, and then I heard that weird groaning sound again. It’s like you saw something that wasn’t there,” Dean says, rubbing Sam’s shoulder slowly, like he needs to do it to somehow calm both of them down.
“I did see something though. Someone. They were there, between the two buildings, at the edge of the garden. It was kind of like a person, but I’m not sure,” Sam says, trailing off vaguely.
“Was it a person or not, Sammy?” Dean asks, sounding even more worried at Sam’s strange answer.
“In-between,” Sam says. He closes his eyes and tries to picture what he saw, but the image blurs and twists in his memory. “It’s like it was blurry or moving.”
“Maybe you saw our ghost?” Dean asks.
“Maybe,” Sam answers, sounding faint and unsure, even to himself.
“Let’s get you back to the room. Think you need to sleep this off,” Dean says, gathering Sam into his side with a steadying arm around his waist, supporting more of his weight than when they were just pretending to be lovey-dovey.
“This, ‘s really nice, I like it,” Sam slurs, vaguely horrified at himself for saying anything, grateful that he didn’t specify what’s nice. Which is, of course, Dean’s care and concern, and the feel of being safe in his arms, which he never wants to lose ever again. Not ever ever ever.
“Sammy, you need to hush, there’s people up ahead in the hall,” Dean says quietly, pinching the skin at Sam’s waist a little to get his attention.
“Ow!” Sam yelps, but then he shakes his head, trying to refocus on where they’re going instead of whether or not he actually said those things out loud. Hopefully not, since Dean doesn’t seem to be freaking out, not any more than usual.
*^*^*^*^*^*^*
Dean wakes Sam up a half-hour before the restaurant closes. “Sorry, Sammy, but we gotta go eat dinner.”
Sam pushes himself to get up from where he’s warm and comfortable, resting against Dean. “This is a nice bed. Sorry, I was really out for a while there.”
“No problem. So, this place is kinda fancy, jackets are required, according to the thing I was reading.”
“Good thing our Fed suits are still pretty clean. Would you mind bringing them in while I get cleaned up?” Sam asks.
Dean nods and is out the door in a flash. Sam stumbles into the bathroom feeling more out of it than he knows he should after a short nap like that. The strange, watery dreams he was having are lurking just out of his vision. He stares at himself in the mirror over the sink, wondering if what he saw was really the ghost they’re hunting, and whether he can get through the next few days without ruining everything good between he and his brother.
*^*^*^*^*^*^*
When Dean arrives back in the room a few minutes later, he notices the shower running, but he doesn’t hear Sam moving around like usual. He gives it a few minutes, getting his suit pants on, brushing off his suit jacket while it hangs on the door, and laying Sam’s suit out on the bed for him to hopefully speed things up. He doesn’t want to miss dinner, since they’ve already paid for it. Finally, he gives up and knocks on the door. “Sammy? You okay in there?”
There’s no answer, except that awful moaning, groaning sound they’ve heard twice already today, so that decides things for Dean pretty damn quickly. He flings the bathroom door open and sees his brother lying face down in the shower stall. The glass is steamed up, but he can see that Sam isn’t moving. He rushes into the shower, pulling Sam up out of the shallow water and holding him in his lap, pounding on his upper back without any other thought than no, not now, no way, not Sam.
After a few, very long moments where Sam doesn’t really seem to be breathing or, well doing anything, he blinks slowly and opens his eyes. “Why’re we sitting in the shower?”
Dean looks up into the stream of water still flowing down onto both of them, and lets it wash away the tears that had flooded his face at the thought that he’d lost Sam again. He can’t answer, he can barely breathe; all he can do is hold Sam close and send out a universal Thank You to any deity that happens to be listening.
“Dean, can I get up and…uh, get a towel or something?” Sam asks, sounding nervous, or maybe shy. Dean shoots a quick look at Sam, anxious about his state of mind.
That’s the moment Dean realizes that Sam’s naked. He was taking a shower, of course he was naked. And Dean’s holding him, still holding him so tight. And his wet skin is warming up quickly under Dean’s hands. He takes a long look at Sam, in the guise of making sure he’s alright of course, and then reluctantly lets Sam scramble up out of his lap. Sam shuts off the water and quickly grabs a towel to wrap around his waist. Dean sits there at his feet, completely ignoring that he’s completely soaked, looking up at his redwood tree of a brother and drinking in how very alive Sam is (thankyouwhoever), how very beautiful (just like always), and how confused going by the expression on Sam’s face (guess I better stand up now.)
Sam helps Dean stand, his dress shoes slipping in the wet shower, so Sam has to brace him by holding him at the waist, Dean’s hands on his shoulders. “You okay?”
“I should be asking you that! Sammy, you were face down in the water. I thought you were dead,” Dean says, voice trailing off on that last word, the one that neither of them usually likes to say out loud, especially when it’s referring to the other.
“I was what? What are you talking about? I was just taking a shower, and next thing I know you’re crying and holding me so tight I couldn’t breathe,” Sam says, looking worried.
Dean knows he’s probably thinking Dean is having a break down. And hell. Yeah maybe he is, because he thought Sam was dead, again. “I think the ghost might have affected you or something. Did you see it again?”
“I was looking in the mirror while I was brushing my teeth- there was something. I noticed something, but it was shaky, so I couldn’t see it clearly,” Sam says, sounding unsure about everything. “Yeah, it was him again. But it wasn’t him hurting me, it was like… we connected somehow, and then I guess I fainted or whatever.”
“That’s what you said before, when we were outside, you said whatever you saw was shaky. Let’s get out of here, no more showers, not alone anyway,” Dean says without thinking what that implies.
“Dean, how’re we going to go to dinner? Your pants are all wet.”
“I’ll wear my dark jeans, no one will notice,” Dean answers, but the last thing he’s worrying about is the damn dress code. All he can see is Sam’s blue lips, all he can feel is Sam’s cold skin under his hands, the disturbing absence, the complete lack of Sam inhabiting his body.
“You really want to go to dinner after all of this?” Sam asks softly.
Dean looks up from where his hands are crushing his silk tie into a very small ball. “I don’t like it when you die.”
“Me neither, it sucks,” Sam answers. “But I’m okay now, see?” Sam starts doing half-assed jumping jacks and sort of kicking up his heels.
Dean laughs at his brother’s antics. “Alright, let’s get out of here before you start doing the Macarena or some shit like that. I seriously need a drink.”
Even though there’s no one in the hotel hallways, Dean holds Sam’s hand the whole time they walk to the restaurant across the lodge grounds. When they get seated at their table near a big picture window that, of course, has a view of the now beautifully moonlit ocean, Dean realizes this feels different than just the usual grabbing some grub with his brother. It’s not a diner for one thing, or take-out eaten on a sprung motel bed- it’s a jacket-required, white tablecloths with little floaty candle things kind of evening. And with the hand-holding and the dying and everything, it’s a little confusing.
“You’re pretty quiet,” Sam says, that scrunched line between his eyebrows indicating he’s worried.
“Just thinking, sorry,” Dean says, knowing that’s lame, and doesn’t answer the implied question.
“Can you just spit it out please?” Sam says, sounding a little frustrated.
Dean glares a little across the table dividing them, just because he’s supposed to. His first instinct is to not say anything, because that’s what he’d usually do. But Sam said it, and Sam just came back to life in his arms a few minutes ago, and what the hell, why doesn’t he just spit it out like Sam asked him to? He takes a deep breath and says all in a rush, “Before, you said that this was nice, and that you liked it. I think you were talking about me holding you. You were mumbling something about feeling safe and not wanting to ever lose it. That’s what I was thinking about.”
“Oh,” Sam says quietly. “And what do you, um, think about it?”
Dean feels his stomach do two loop-de-loops and a cannonball as he considers what to answer. But the hesitant, fragile looks Sam is giving him make the decision easy. “I was figuring out that I feel the same way. But I’d never said it to myself like that before.”
“Or to me,” Sam says, as if he really needs to point out the obvious.
“Right,” Dean says with a shrug and a smile. “So, what’re you ordering? Some of these steak choices look pretty good.”
Sam smiles at the abrupt conversational change. “I’m getting the surf and turf, might as well get some seafood since we’re here.” He looks out the window at the ocean, instead of examining Dean for the thousandth time since they sat down.
Dean takes the time to really look at his brother, sitting there across from him. The whole drive from Flint he’d been thinking about the play, the song the Sam character sang about him, and Marie making him take that cardboard amulet. What he’d said to her, about not needing something to remind him what he feels about Sam. His brother. Which he doesn’t, especially when Sam says they need to get back to the two of them together on the road, like he’s finally decided that’s just how it’s going to be.
“Enjoying your dinner, gentlemen?” Nick asks, appearing at the side of their table after the waiter dropped off their entrees.
“Just about to, thanks,” Dean says dismissively, hoping the creep will take the hint.
“Mark was just telling me about the family that owns this place, - the original founder was named Nick,” Sam says.
“Is that so? I had no idea, what an interesting coincidence. Have a good evening, and don’t hesitate to let me know if I can do anything for you, Steve,” Nick says in that same smarmy come-on voice he used the first time.
Sam kicks Dean under the table when he growls as Nick leaves. “Just ignore him, eat up,” Sam orders.
“Is that true? About the founder?” Dean asks, slicing into his enormous tenderloin steak.
“Yeah, I was looking over my notes earlier and the picture of the guy looks a whole lot like our buddy Nick. Why wouldn’t he claim to be the owner, or related, since I brought it up? Seems weird,” Sam says, chewing his fish thoughtfully.
“So, still think it’s just a ghost?” Dean asks.
“Well, yeah. But I’m thinking it’s a special kind called a preta, or a hungry ghost. They’re usually not killers, though, which is confusing me,” Sam says.
“What makes you think preta?” Dean asks, ready for an information download that he knows Sam’s got ready to launch.
“The water connection, specifically the waste water treatment plant being so close, right next door like we saw. Preta are known for living in waste areas. And since we’ve heard that same groaning in the pipes several times now, that’s what I’m going with. What’s strange, though, is that humans aren’t supposed to be able to see them, only people like shamans, in different mental states. But like I said, they’re not much for killing humans. Usually people just leave them food offerings.”
“Maybe this one’s gone wrong somehow?” Dean asks.
“Maybe. But I’m just going to enjoy this great salmon and not think about it for a while. Want to try some?” Sam offers.
Dean nods and Sam forks up a piece, bringing it across the table towards Dean’s plate. Dean’s surprised when the fork nears his mouth, Sam looking at him expectantly. He opens up and accepts the food off of Sam’s fork, licking it clean. Sam’s eyes seem to strangely zero in on his mouth, and if it wasn’t so dim in here, he’d swear his pupils were dilated. Dean remembers he’s supposed to eat the fish, and makes an exaggerated yummy noise. Sam seems to appreciate that, giving him a funny smile that Dean can’t find in his catalog of Sam expressions.
Clearing his throat, Dean consciously changes the subject back to the case, because he can’t deal with where this is going right now. He wants another chance to kiss those soft pink lips, see what else happens after that. But the case, the case, he reminds himself. “I think Nick is our likely suspect then, at least worth talking to about the murders.”
Sam’s eyes twinkle and he smiles. “Sure it’s not just about being a jealous boyfriend?”
“It’s about a whole lot of things,” Dean answers with a scowl that he hopes shuts Sam up.
They finish their dinner successfully, avoiding talking about Nick, the case, or how being pretend boyfriends is starting to feel less and less like pretend, at least as far as Dean’s concerned. As they walk back to the room, holding hands again, Dean’s realizing how completely unconcerned he is about this pretending thing. It just feels right. Like he’d always imagined it would.
*^*^*^*^*^*^*
Dean’s off looking for Nick to ask him about his founder ancestor, and pump him for more information about the killings. Sam decides to research the shaman angle, specifically why he can see this preta thing and no one else can. From what he reads, it comes down to that he’s in a different mental state, likely due to all the possessions he’s experienced. When he thinks about it, that makes some sense; the way has been opened inside of himself for other things to come through, and he has no idea how to close them back up. Might as well use it to see if I can get the preta to take off, he decides.
He finds a preta exorcism ritual in one of the Asian demonology texts he’d scanned from Bobby’s library that he has on his laptop hard-drive. But it carries this warning: “When a shaman performs an exorcism, the demon may try to engage the shaman in conversation, reveal secrets that the shaman may be ashamed of. The only thing that will protect the shaman is her firm connection to, and faith in, the power of her divinity or spiritual gift.”
Guess I get to go be a shaman, Sam says to himself as he sets off for the beach. It just seems like a good idea to do this near salt water. Just in case. He leaves a note in the room for Dean telling him where he’ll be. Just in case.
The ceremony doesn’t take long and luckily doesn’t involve candles because it’s windy tonight on the surprisingly skinny beach. The water’s edge is almost up to the stairs, as it’s high tide. Most of the ceremony seems to just be about attracting the preta, and Sam can tell something’s working because he can hear that now-familiar moaning sound coming from the hook-up pipes that connect the lodge with the waste-water treatment plant. He focuses on connecting himself with the Earth under his feet, and his strong faith in doing the right thing for the right reasons. God and the angels just aren’t his go-to anymore.
Sam starts in on the last part of the ritual, this is where it either works or it doesn’t. “Nick Hollenbeck, I offer you this food, take it, and be satisfied,” Sam says, holding out two china plates from the hotel, inscribed with the old-fashioned original gold lettering and designs, holding a candy bar from the car and some fruit from the fruit basket in the room.
The preta moans, and the food disappears. The moaning starts again, then a voice starts to come through, replacing the moaning. Sam can just see the shaky image of a man standing before him. “Thank you, Sam, you have released me. As I shall now release you. Your complete love for your brother is not the worst thing imaginable, but losing him is, am I correct?
Sam replaces the food with another selection and holds the plates up again. “Yes. Nick Hollenbeck, I offer you this food, take it, and be satisfied,” Sam repeats, hoping that answering the question without elaborating will get it to let go and leave.
The moaning increases and the food disappears again from the plates, which are licked clean and shining empty in the moonlight. The voice speaks again, “I thank you, Sam, but I cannot leave until you are released from your torment. He feels the same way as you. And now you know this. Act upon your feelings, be released from the doubt that it will cause you to lose him. It may seem immoral, but in the afterlife, believe me, that is not what counts. The intention of loving completely is what matters. Will you do this?”
“Yes, we will,” Dean answers from the steps at the edge of the cliff.
Sam startles at hearing Dean’s voice so close, then repeats Dean’s answer to the preta. “Yes, we will.”
“Then I will leave you. Again, I thank you, Sam for your offerings. Throw the plates into the ocean and I will disappear with the tides.”
“Bye, Nick,” Sam says, tossing the gold plates into the water. They splash and tumble in the rough waves. He feels Dean behind him, and starts to turn, but Dean stops him by hugging him from behind. He puts his head on Sam’s back, where his shoulder and neck join, and just holds him around the waist. Sam folds his hands around his brother’s, resting them both together near his belly button, loving the feeling of Dean holding him together, right in his center like always.
“The ghost was right,” Dean says, breaking the silence.
“You really meant what you said?” Sam asks, because it’s the only thing going through his mind right now, it’s the only thing that matters.
“Yeah,” Dean answers simply.
“You weren’t just saying that to get it to take off?” Sam asks, feeling like he has to double check Dean’s words, the stakes couldn’t be higher for both of them.
“No, Sam, I wasn’t lying to the ghost. Figured he could probably tell that, if he could already pick up on everything else so accurately,” Dean says, holding Sam a little closer.
It starts to rain before Sam can answer and they both make a break for it, running full-out for the stairs.
They stop under the eaves of the first building they come to, pressed up against the glass of a window and each other, panting from the fast run through the rain.
“This isn’t how I pictured this going, you finding out,” Sam says between breaths.
“Oh, so you pictured it?” Dean teases.
“Uh. Yeah, yeah, I did. Sorry?” Sam apologizes, feeling silly for it, but this whole thing is kind of silly and improbable.
“No, don’t be sorry. I…uh…I did too. I imagined it too. And yeah, different than this,” Dean says, sounding distracted by remembering what he’d been imagining.
“We don’t have to…” Sam says, trailing off, because he really doesn’t want to push Dean into something he’s not ready for.
“Yeah, we do. I promised the preta dude, right? Kinda seems like now or never, don’t you think?” Dean asks.
“I’m not going anywhere, Dean, there isn’t like a time limit on this or anything.”
“Just, c’mere. We’ve wasted enough of our time staying away from this. If we’re gonna do it, let’s jump in and go for it. Just like anything else,” Dean says, gathering Sam into his arms like he has only one time before.
Sam stops him before he can do more than hold him. “But this isn’t like anything else. Not to me at least.”
Dean shakes his head and smiles. “No. Stop that, c’mon, Sammy. You know that’s not what I meant. I was just tryin’ to get you to stop thinkin’ with your upstairs brain for once.”
“Believe me, that is so not a problem, not with you looking like that,” Sam says, gesturing at Dean with vague waving hands.
“What? Soggy and dripping from the rain? Yeah, I’m a catch alright,” Dean laughs.
“Now you stop.” Sam stops Dean from leaning in for a kiss, using both hands on his shoulders he turns him around so he can look at their reflection in the picture window they were just leaning against. “Look Dean, look at us. You are…well you look like.”
“Like what? A drowned rat?” Dean laughs, rolling his eyes.
“No. Look at you, you’re...” Sam stumbles over wanting to say beautiful, but he can’t, not out loud, because he knows his brother would hate it. But he hopes that Dean can see it in his eyes somehow. Judging by the small embarrassed smile that he catches in their reflection, the sentiment seems to have gotten through loud and clear. Sam leans down and kisses the side of Dean’s neck all the way up to behind his ear. “Want to go back to our room?”
Dean doesn’t answer just grabs Sam around the waist and starts walking. Fast.
Sam can barely get the door open, because Dean’s all over him from behind, hands everywhere, pushing his hips into his ass. “Hold on, Dean, let me,” Sam says, pushing the door open. They fall into the room together in a flurry of wet clothes being yanked off. Dean’s got Sam up against one of the walls, biting at his neck and running his hands down his sides. Sam feels it deep in his core when his hard cock rubs against Dean’s for the first time; they both react as if they were stung or bitten, but it turns from surprise into pleasure quickly when Dean takes them both in hand. He strokes them firmly, slowly, twisting a little at the heads.
“What do you want, Sammy?”
“You. Just you,” Sam answers, because that’s the only answer. It’s always been the only answer to a question he’s been waiting for what seems like he his whole life.
“You have me. What do you want?” Dean asks again, still gripping their cocks together in one hand.
Sam groans at the thoughts that assail him, images stored up from long ago of catching Dean with various girlfriends in compromising positions. His lips, it always comes back to that first, whenever he thinks of Dean this way. “Your lips, want them on me,” Sam manages to say.
Dean answers by softly kissing his way down Sam’s chest, biting gently at his nipples until Sam gasps. He sinks to his knees and Sam is pretty sure he’s never imagined anything as blinding sexy as this sight. Dean’s lips encircle the tip of his cock, his green eyes blown near black look up at him and see right through him. And that’s what he wants, he needs Dean to see it all, how much he wants this, how much he needs it.
Dean takes him in most of the way on the first try, until Sam hits the back of his throat. Sam can’t help pulsing his hips a little at the feeling and Dean’s hands come up to hold his hipbones in a hard grasp, pushing him against the wall. Dean chuckles then and the vibrations make a tremor begin that flows through Sam’s whole body until he thinks he’s going to collapse.
Dean’s mouth just engulfs him then, takes him all the way in, so perfectly hot, wet, tight, and he wants to hold back, but it’s too good, and he can’t say anything except Dean’s name, moaned over and over again in a voice that he doesn’t even recognize. He feels his balls pulling up tight and tries to warn Dean, but can’t in time, but Dean just keeps going, right through the most blissful orgasm Sam’s ever had. He feels every place where they touch as a bright spark of pleasure in his body, all of it a net that encompasses everything and it all focuses and pours out of him into Dean, and Dean swallows it all down, moaning just as loudly as he does.
Sam’s surprised he’s still standing, but he’s glad he’s got the wall supporting him. He feels the exquisite torment of Dean cleaning him with little kitten licks and shivers. He reaches down to pull Dean back up to standing and is pleasantly surprised to feel how wet Dean is all over. He palms his brother’s cock and feels it strain to harden in his hand.
“Did you already?” Sam asks, embarrassed to be bashful.
“Uh huh,” Dean murmurs, kissing under Sam’s jawline. They both shiver again, this time from being cold and wet which had kind of gotten forgotten in the heated rush. “Let’s go to bed, and get warmed up,” Dean says, pulling Sam towards the enormous bed by one hand.
They arrange themselves in the spooning arrangement they’re familiar with from childhood, big brother Dean holding onto Sam. But it feels strange because of their sizes and shapes. Sam turns over and faces him instead, pulling him into the circle of his arms, pleased when Dean comes willingly.
“You always this easy?” Sam asks.
“Was there ever any doubt?” Dean answers.
“We’re really doing this huh?” Sam asks, suddenly feeling very drowsy.
“That’s what it feels like to me, Sammy,” Dean says patiently.
“Good, me too,” Sam says, closing his eyes at the sight of the relief on Dean’s face. He hasn’t felt this safe, or this complete, or this happy in years. It’s a good way to fall asleep, no threat of nightmares, no worry about imminent death.
*^*^*^*^*^*^*
“So Nick was killing people, just because he got left out of the will?” Sam asks, wondering, no hoping, that this will become a new tradition for them, breaking down a finished case wrapped up in bed together.
“Yeah, that’s what he said, but he didn’t get to say much more before he tripped and fell off the cliff out there by the pool. It’s a long way down, and I didn’t have to kill him, before you ask,” Dean says.
“I don’t mean to nag you about it Dean, but you promised you’d tell me if anything changed with the Mark,” Sam reminds him.
“So, I heard you call the preta thing Nick Hollenbeck, was he the original lodge owner?”
“Yeah, I looked it up in the county records when you were out finding our current Nick. He was the one who must have made a backroom deal back at the lodge’s founding to tie in his hotel operations to the water treatment plant. He died and was buried before anyone had a service for him, and the guilt and remorse for what he did, the price his family would have to eventually pay for the water deal turned him into a hungry ghost.”
“How was the water deal something to be so guilty about?” Dean asks.
“The lodge had illegally hooked up their system to empty into the municipal waters, a whole lot cheaper that way. Comes down to greedy dishonesty,” Sam answers.
“Greedy ghost bastards, glad you got rid of him, Sammy,” Dean says.
“I’m glad that ghost said that so you could hear it. I feel like it’s been most of my life I was keeping that secret,” Sam says, emboldened by the closeness they just experienced in this bed, now their bed.
“Same here, it got pretty damn tiring trying to hide that from you,” Dean admits.
Sam kisses him deeply as a reward for honesty, or no, more as a thank-you, an encouragement for more of it between them.
“Did you figure out how could you see that thing, when I couldn’t?” Dean asks, running his hand up and down Sam’s bare back until he shivers.
“Yeah, it was my shamanic mental state,” Sam answers with a grin.
“Your shamanic what now?” Dean asks.
“It’s from all the possessions, my mind isn’t like most other peoples. So much of the furniture’s been rearranged in there, you know?”
Dean’s hand stops moving and he hangs his head for a moment. Then he looks up and holds Sam’s face between his hands, gentle, so gentle now. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I never apologized. I’m sorry I left. I’m sorry I took on the Mark.”
Sam looks at his brother, at what it cost him to hold that in for so long, at what courage it takes for him to apologize now for his actions. “I know you are,” Sam says, grateful that Dean’s finally managed to say the words out loud. “And we are going to figure out how to get rid of the Mark. Even if I have to summon Cain myself and make him take it back.”
“Not yet though,” Dean says, snuggling down into the covers, pulling Sam in with him. “Want to stay in here with you for a while at least.”
Sam doesn’t say anything, just lets himself relax into his brother’s embrace, feeling his warmth seep into the spaces that he’s being keeping open, hoping for Dean to take them over eventually. There’s a feeling of finally that makes him very very happy.
~Fin~