Work Text:
It was fine. It had happened, it totally wasn't his fault, and it wouldn't ever happen again.
Surely Dean and Sam weren't the only relatives who had been hit with the pollen of some corrupted nymph and had needed to bone each other to fix the situation. Listen, they had dealt with weirder shit. Like, literal shit. Fast food and cheap motel rooms and long drives created too many situations for bros to be too close for privacy way, way too often.
Dean couldn't count how many times he had seen Sam tenting his shorts with wood, morning or otherwise. And the reverse had to be true. You just... had to... shove the memories down. Turn your back, put on your headphones, close your eyes, and think of the latest exploits of Dr. Sexy and the shenanigans at that hospital of which HR and OSHA would never approve. Think about the next hunt. Figure out the next puzzle. Whack off to appropriate fantasies about busty Asian chicks.
Okay, it had been two weeks since that incident outside of Guerneville, CA and things weren't exactly "fine." Sometimes Sam did something or said something or Dean just caught a goddamn whiff of his deodorant or whatever and it was suddenly Boner City: population 5.38 inches. And then goodbye Asian babes, all Dean could and wanted to think about was how his little brother had fucked him.
Listen, Dean had thought he was on good terms with his prostate. He'd been with women of experience who had ideas, and when he was horny and trying to run down third base his brain and scruples kinda just went "byeee!" sometimes, and slender fingers occasionally slipped inside and yeah, it made an orgasm a little more mind-blowing when he was tipsy enough. Dean and internal prostate stimulation weren't friends, just nodding acquaintances, and that had been fine.
Until Sam had hovered over him in missionary position and stuck his unfairly-proportionate dick inside of him. Dean had been whacked out on supernatural roofies and had been unable to get himself off, and Sam had come at him with an ancient book and pointed at squiggly lines and said, "You need, uh, anal penetration to end the effects," and Dean had squinted at the text before losing interest and giggling at Sam's serious expression. That Sammy-specific expression of furrowed forehead and pursed mouth and exhausting earnestness.
Not even thrusting his cock into something hot and wet had taken that expression off of Sam's face. Dean was pretty sure he had made some comment about Sammy keeping that bitch-face on whenever he fucked anyone and no wonder he had trouble picking up. It had been hilarious at the time from Dean's hazy perspective, but it had only earned him a bigger frown from his brother.
Still, stiff upper lip or whatever, but Sam had finished the job. Dean had passed out after blowing the largest load he had ever blown and then woken up in the car and said, "We are never mentioning last night again." "Never mentioning": check. Never remembering: so not checked. Like, it popped up in Dean's brain at least a hundred times every day. And mental images of jiggling boobs couldn't bounce the picture of Sam hovering over him out of his mind. Jacking off and thinking of wet cunts wasn't doing it as much as slicking up a finger, sticking it inside of himself, and wishing to feel a dick inside of himself again.
Not just anybody's cock, though. Sammy's, specifically. And sometimes thoughts snuck in there of his brother holding him and saying things like, "Yeah, Dean, you feel so good." Or, "It's about time I fucked some respect into you," or "How are you so pretty?" Dean had found himself unable to sleep and studying his brother's fucking lips like he was some schoolgirl crushing on a classmate or something.
Like Dean fucking regretted that Sam hadn't kissed him back in California.
Like Dean was some chick who thought kissing meant more than just foreplay you had to do to get to the good stuff.
And, like, nothing could get it out of his head. Dean's brain was like a warped record set on a loop. He got horny and then all he could think about was how the best bang of his life had been outside under some goddamn redwood trees. With his little brother. Drinking couldn't get that train of thought back in the rail yard, and repressing that shit seemed to be doing exactly the opposite of what he wanted.
He hasn't jerked it so frequently since he was fifteen. And he hadn't completed a jerk-off session without giving himself the shocker. It didn't seem to be enough. Dean felt like he was stumbling around with the world growing hazier and less solid than the fantasies that kept leaping up inside of his head.
Did that pollen gay-incept him or something? Were the effects getting worse, making him start eyeing the crotch of Sam's jeans like an alcoholic fixated on a bottle of booze? Was Sam's dick, like, gonna be a beer tap of homo hormones or something that might finally fix whatever damage Dean had? Go back to the source of the weirdness? Did he have some magic case of tinnitus and the only cure was more cowbell?
He was keeping it together, though. It had been two weeks already. Sam hadn't noticed anything different about Dean's private-time habits. Sure, he got some weird looks, but that was normal. His brother was a dork that always gave him weird looks whenever Dean expressed something that wasn't cookie-cutter protocol or Dad's gospel vanilla. The other way 'round?
Whatever.
Stringing words together wasn't one of Dean's strong suits. Downing beers and kicking ass was. And tonight (day sixteen AFG, After Fucking Guerneville) was gonna be some high-octane, low-risk vampire shankin'. Undead dudes were creeping around a bar up in Hicksville, Eastern Oregon. Were too punk-ass or dim-witted to move their skanky butts to the coast where they'd fit in with the kooky hipsters or goths. Or maybe they had come from that direction and just had a craving for meth-head rancher kids or something.
Either way, it was another opportunity to try the blackout-drunk cognitive-reset method again.
Less than two hours later Dean regretted boozing himself up so quickly. If he had paced himself more, he and Sam could've handled these vamps quicker and then Dean would've been able to complete that sidequest without compromising the main storyline or whatever Sammy was yelling about.
"I didn't act fast enough. Okay, I get it."
Sam was between Anger (gesturing wildly) and Rage (mild self-harm), comfortably in the teeth-clenching and shouting zone. "You're distracted! Let yourself get thrown off your game!"
"...Sure. I admit it. Can we go back to the bar- I mean, car now?"
"Was he hypnotizing you? Was that why you froze?"
"Lore 101, Sammy: vampires can't actually thrall people. Duh. He just, uh, kinda reminded me of you. Couldn't just jump to the stabby-slashy beheading part. Thanks for stepping in, though, bro." Dean held his hand out for a fistbump. Dude, he was chill. Cold as ice. Interrogation averted.
Except Sam looked at Dean's fist like he was holding a dead rat or something. Moved his gaze back to Dean's and looked skeptical. "He didn't look like me at all. What are you talking about?"
Dean gestured to where the headless body had fallen. "Whaddya mean? You saw how... tall he was. Brownish floppy hair. ...White dude. Y' can see it."
Sam planted a hand in his hair and pulled at it. Ah: Rage (mild self-harm) zone status achieved. He gusted out a breath. "Does this have to do with what happened with that dryad?"
Time to blow this hayseed popsicle stand. Dilapidated barn. Dean turned to the sagging open doorway, was stopped by Sam grabbing his arm. "What? That shit back in Guerneville?" Dean scoffed. "So over it. Two-week-old news, Sammy."
His brother held him in place as he stepped closer, almost touching Dean's back. Just like that not-so-lookalike fangbanger had been when Dean had gotten caught off-guard and failed to whirl around to attack. "I don't think you're over it at all." Sam's voice was still vehement but had lost the volume and the anger.
It was sick how Dean just wanted to lean back against Sam. Turn around and grab at his clothes. Try his shitty luck at getting anything out of Sam's mouth that sounded like Sam would actually enjoy his older brother making a pass at him. Make him an offer to repeat what Sam had done only as a desperate measure to save Dean from another mess he'd stumbled blindly into, more cockiness than preparation.
"Yeah. Yeah, it fucked me up. No pun intended. I just..." Dean squeezed his eyes shut, "Can't get it outta my brain. Like it rewired me or something."
"You never noticed that we didn't finish that hunt."
Dean shrugged. "So what? I s'pose it slipped my mind after I got reamed in the ass and fuckin' enjoyed it." The words were finally out there. Some of them, at least. Dean had enjoyed getting dicked down: ankles-by-his-ears, mom-and-pop, missionary-style. "So I'm a little more rainbow than American flag." He shrugged, like a gay crisis had been an easy little hurdle to vault his ego over. No sweat. Don't look behind the curtain to find the big box labeled Unexpectedly Gay For My Brother.
"I didn't take us there to kill her. It was... a test," Sam admitted quietly.
That required Dean to pull away and turn around. He crossed his arms and gave Sam a look that demanded his full confession. Sam looked droopy and ashamed. "Look, you never actually do the research when I say that I did it. If you had just done your due diligence-"
"Nuh-uh," Dean cut in. "You don't get to blame me for doing or not doing whatever you had planned me to do or not do." Ugh, that was a stupid sentence. "Tell me what you planned and then we can figure out what blame I have in that shitshow."
"The cure for the pollen has to be something you consent to. Y'know, penetrative sex with a person that you want. If no one you're attracted to is around, it just wears off."
"So, what, you just thought one day, 'Wonder if my brother is a perv who's into gay incest? Let's find a corrupted tree spirit' or what the fuck?" Dean did his most unflattering impression of Sam lumbering about like a drooling moose. "'He'll either jump my bones or nothing will happen'?"
Sam shook his head. "If you didn't have any... interest in me, you would've chased after that dryad, horny as fuck. I would have stopped you and once she had been out of sight for about twenty minutes, you would've come to your senses."
"It was a gamble between me finding either you or some bark-skinned green ghost hot enough to fuck?" Dean said, snorting derisively. "Low fucking bar, Sammy. Have some self-respect."
"She had breasts. Knowing you, I felt the odds were against me," Sam said with a huff and roll of his eyes. He then shut his mouth and his eyes went wide.
Too late. Dean rocked back on his heels. "Wait... you wanted me to choose you." Sam ducked his head again. Thoughts raced through Dean's mind, conclusions were drawn and pieces fitted together. "You wanted me to get magically horny for you so you could cure it?! With your fucking dick?! Pun absolutely not intended, by the way." He had to pace the dirt floor as he tried to wrap his mind around this. "Either you are the one perving over your brother, or it was a sick damn purity test!"
"It fucking worked, didn't it?" Sam pointed out. "You're just as screwed up as I am!"
Dean's knees went weak with how goddamn stupid that was. He spun and pointed an accusing finger. "I haven't been pining over you! Tell me, Sammy: how long have you been thinking unbrotherly thoughts about me?"
Sam raked his fingers through his hair. His face was pink with humiliation and anger. "Years, okay! Years! I just wanted it to end. You would... do things, and I would interpret them wrong, and keep hoping. It was pathetic and a way to snap myself back to reality just came up. I'm... fuck." He covered his face with his hands and shook his head. "God, I'm just so fucked up. I'm sorry."
Dean watched Sam drop to his knees and try to pull himself together. He couldn't believe Sam had come up with a plot like this. Forced Dean into a situation where he was stoned and out of his mind on magic lust dust and in actual pain from unnatural horniness. Just to figure out if his older brother was gay for him.
The jokes had been cracked and the assumptions made by so many strangers over the past handful of years: "Partners or partners?" when they flashed their bullshit badges. Dean had always thought that each insinuation was disgusting and an insult, but it turned out Sam had, what, had his heart leap in his chest and hoped that Dean might play along with the ruse each time?
On the other hand, Dean was kind of impressed. Those were extreme measures Sam had taken. Twisted logic and a disregard for morality. Sam would never roofie a random chick, but look at the lengths he had gone to to get Dean on his back.
Dean stepped up and kicked him in a thigh. Sam grunted and exposed one eye to look at him balefully. "Was it worth it? Did you enjoy yourself, Sammy? Getting your brother fucked up and fucked? I don't seem to recall you making any particularly happy faces, man."
Sam mumbled something as he buried his face in his arms again.
"Didn't hear that. Don't you owe me a little honesty after popping my ass-cherry?"
Sam raised his head and clenched his fists. "It's complicated."
"So, uncomplicate it," Dean prodded mercilessly.
"...It felt good. Amazing." Sam's cheeks were bright red and he stared somewhere off to Dean's right. "But the whole time I couldn't forget that you didn't actually want it."
"Thought that was the whole point of the exercise. That it could only happen if I wanted it to."
With a shake of his head Sam continued, forcing the words out. "I had always wanted it to be..." He groaned and rubbed his wrist a little too harshly with his other hand. "You're gonna give me shit for it."
Dean had to bark out a laugh. "Bud, there's a hell of a lot more I'm gonna owe you shit for than whatever words you're trying to not say."
"...I'm not like you. You know that. I don't do... one night stands and stuff."
The light dawned. The adrenaline that had been zinging though Dean's body since the fight with the vampires had began made him laugh until he was light-headed. "Oh, shit. Oh, fuck! You wanted romance!"
Sam refused to admit it, but Dean could tell that he had hit the mark.
"That's, what is it called? Ironic. Like that song."
Sam unfolded his Skeletor self and got into an aggressive stance. "Yeah. It is. Ironic. I wanted you to love me in a different way and now you'll hate me forever and for a good fucking reason! I'm gonna lose everything I ever had with you, and it's my own pathetic fault."
"Shit, Sammy. Take a breath. We've been through worse shit than some half-stoned, incestuous fucking with dubious consent."
"We do have a ridiculous benchmark for how bad things can get," Sam glumly agreed.
"Coupl'a apocalypses will do that to ya. Anyway, the real fuckin' irony is that you got me mojo'd so bad that I wouldn't've been able to give you any romance even if I had been able to comprehend that that's what you wanted. And then, here I am two weeks later jacking off and wishing that we'd been able to do some of that chick-flick shit. Kissing and stuff. Never wanted to before- never thought about it before -but I got off the best I ever had that night and still can look back and see something missing. Just... doesn't seem like we got it right, that first time."
"First?" Sammy repeated. Dean could see that he was getting the message. Starting to look hopeful.
Dean dug his boot's toe into the dirt and scratched the back of his head. "Yeah. I've been kind of obsessing over what happened. Prob'ly never woulda ever made the realization myself, but I kinda wanna try it again. Getting... you know, dicked up the ass. By you."
"You're never going to be a romantic guy, Dean. 'Dicked up the ass'? Really? Such a smooth talker."
Dean looked up and shrugged. "You've been stuck with me long enough to know that. Somehow just don't have enough sense to not find it charming, I guess. You know I'm a hot rogue. Hotter than Han Solo. Quicker on the draw, too." He smirked.
His brother pulled his bitch face even though he couldn't manage to keep his lips from twitching as he repressed his smile. "Must be Stockholm Syndrome."
"Betcha there's more than one mental illness in that giant head of yours."
Sam gave Dean a shove. "Get to the car, jerk. Quicker draw than Solo my ass!"
They weren't too far from the cluster of sad buildings that made up the sad town; half a mile up the dusty, unpaved road maybe. The moon wasn't quite full but it shone bright enough to give them moon-shadows as they walked over to where Sam had parked Baby- too straight-laced to let Dean drive while he was 'impaired'. The effects of the alcohol had long since worn off, though. Dean nudged Sam and held his hand out. "Keys." Sam jangled them but didn't drop them into Dean's waiting palm. He looked at him instead. Examined him.
"What?" Dean complained. Inwardly, though, he could pick up the tension Sam was creating. He looked calculating. Like how he had probably looked when he had worked out that original plan of his.
"There's not much more romantic than kissing in the moonlight."
"You're embarrassing yourself, Samantha," Dean shot back. It probably sounded unconvincing. It felt unconvincing even as Dean said it.
"Come on," Sam urged quietly. "Please?"
The vulnerability in his voice made any resistance in Dean cave immediately. "Fine," he said. "Show me what you've got, stud. Woo me or whatever."
Sam reeled him in with a hand on his arm. "Nah," he said. It wasn't nearly cold enough for his breath to be visible in the air, but Dean could feel it on his face. "You're easy. I bet I won't even have to try."
Dean gave him a harmless slap on the chest for the principle of the thing. "Won't have to try? Sammy, it took a supernatural force spraying me with fucking sex pollen for it to hap-"
It was strange being kissed by a guy. Dean wasn't used to being noticeably shorter than his partner (save for one notable occasion), and he definitely didn't have experience with the way stubble kind of jabbed in a weird way. But it was Sam. Two weeks ago Dean would have never imagined there would be any way in which he could get any closer to his brother, but this was close. Sam wrapped him up and pulled him against his chest, and there couldn't be any less space between them unless they took off their clothes. And, like, fucked.
Anyway, Dean couldn't let Sammy think he had any advantage in experience when it came to making out. He had to show off his skills. Those skills made Sammy moan (awesome) then pull away (not so much of the awesome).
"You want to get fucked again?" Sam's voice was something new, something low and raspy and warm like cocoa with a generous shot of bourbon. Something that poured its way inside of Dean sweetly but left a fiery trail of bitterness that made every taste bud perk up.
Dean's body revved up fast. "I've only been thinking about it day and night for two weeks, dickwad."
"Get your pants off, smart ass."
Dean fumbled at his belt buckle and watched Sam unlock a door and root around for something in the backseat. Once his pants and underwear were shoved down and Sam came back and pushed him over the trunk, he shook his butt at him. "Full moon, motherfucker."
Sam slapped his ass. "Pale and pasty-white moon, brotherfucker," he corrected, sounding all too smug.
"Yet once wasn't enough for you."
Sam clicked something open and a moment later a wet finger was prying into Dean's crack. There was a kick to his foot. "Spread your legs wider."
Dean complied. His dick was apparently very into taking orders from Sam. Sexy orders, at least. To soothe his wounded dignity he taunted with, "You keep lube in your go-bag? Perv."
"I think you'll come to appreciate my foresight." Sammy just wiggled a finger right in there. "Relax. You were weird about it the first time, too. It'll get better."
"Oh, Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. You don't have any idea how often I've fingered myself since California. Who knew that when you opened my butthole for the first time you'd open up worlds of possibilities."
That got a snicker from him. "Shut the hell up. I thought we wanted romantic. Those names aren't exactly endearments."
"I'm not used to being on this end of things," Dean admitted. He leaned on his forearms over the trunk and laced his fingers together. "Don't exactly know what to say."
"Don't want to tell me how much you want my big cock?" Sammy said, voice kind of raspy. "How empty your pussy has been feeling? How you need another load of my cum inside you?"
Dean dropped his head and swore. Hot, almost painful lust spiked through his belly. He involuntarily clenched around Sammy's fingers.
"Fuck, you do," his brother said, almost awed. "I could feel it. Your cunt's hungry for it, isn't it?"
His face burning and eyes shut like he could ignore everything, Dean muttered, "'S that what passes for romance in your brain? You dirty dog."
Sam's tone turned into something rich, warm, and sweet again. He had two fingers inside of Dean that had been stretching his rim, now he pushed them in and bent them, pressing against Dean's prostate in a way that made him cry out and shudder. His knees went weak, making him rely on Sam and the Impala to keep him upright. "If you didn't like being talked to like a needy slut, Dean, I wouldn't keep doing it." His voice was filled with this weird kindness. "But I think you like it. Like being told that you're bending over and taking my fingers like a bitch because you're hot for it. Wet for it. You squirmed and moaned when I fucked you last time. Cried because you liked it so much." Sam wrapped his free hand around Dean's dick. It was fully hard and dripping from the tip even as Dean writhed with embarrassment. "See, baby? Clit's so hard and wet for me."
Dean made some sort of incoherent sound and had to reach down to pull Sam's hand away from his dick by the wrist. "Shit. I'm gonna cum if you keep doing that." He had never in his entire fucking life ever even had the passing idea of using the words "clit," "pussy," or "cunt" to his own anatomy. It made this hot kind of embarrassment fill him up. Made him squirm and feel weak and vulnerable and sexy.
That hand shook loose and gripped onto his hip as Sammy put in a third finger. He bent forward and nuzzled Dean's neck. "Should've known you'd like being called a girl. Always yelled whenever anyone hinted at you being pretty. But you are. Tough and aggressively masculine 90% of the time, but I've seen you drop the act. Always wanted you to get compliant and needy for me, Dean. Jacked off so many times imagining you just like this, looking at you when you were sleeping and relaxed."
"Perv," Dean accused again, breathless. He fucking liked that idea, how his brother had gotten so horny over him that he'd fapped himself while watching and fantasizing about him. Sammy's fingers went deep and wide into him again and his toes curled. "C'mon. Do it."
"Tell me what you want," Sam crooned. "Beg for it."
"Goddammit. Fuck, Sammy. Put your dick in me, okay? Please. I've wanted it so much since the first time."
He heard the sound of his brother unzipping and moving his clothing out of the way. When Dean felt the hard head of his cock touch his ass, he moaned and shuddered. He felt wet and open, just like a chick. There was that now-familiar ache and emptiness that he had been feeling for the past two weeks, and the anticipation that it would finally be eased gave him a full-body shudder.
Sam guided his dick to Dean's hole. Pressed the tip against it. Over their quick, audible breaths they could both hear the slick sound of the lube as Sammy spread it around his cock. Dean couldn't stop himself from arching his back and pushing against it. Sammy leaned closer and the head eased inside. Dean already felt forced open. It was gentle, though, and that carefulness itself made him moan. Whatever dirty words Sam had been using before, his little brother was going to this tenderly. It made Dean almost squeamish that it was going to be more like making love than fucking- that wasn't something he himself did often, and made him feel frustratedly and mortifyingly vulnerable -but it was exactly what he wanted. With Sam.
Sam's cock had always been unfairly large. Dean had caught glimpses of it and been jealous or bitter or uncaring about that fact, depending on his mood at those times. Now he was happy, thankful for it. Loving how deep it was pushing in and how thick it felt. He shivered, and Sammy wrapped himself around him again, arms encircling his chest and head tucked against Dean's neck.
Dean felt vulnerable, felt small. But safe.
"You feel so good," Sam murmured. His breathing hitched and he made an involuntary thrust. "God. Dean, I'm holding you and inside of you."
Sap, Dean thought, fondly. He couldn't deny to himself how he felt equally reverent. By all accounts this was an act of sin and shame... but it felt unaccountably right. Who else would Dean ever let so close but Sam? There had been arguments and injuries and hurtful exchanges and humiliating moments witnessed, but at the end of the day Sam was the only one Dean actually trusted. Actually, y'know, loved.
He felt weak enough, emotionally flayed open enough to want to actually say some of this to Sam, but all he could do was kind of groan. It sounded needy.
It earned him some nuzzling and gentle kissing to his neck. Sam's hold tightening and his voice grating out, "Y' okay?" Jesus, Dean finally clocked the tension that was Sammy holding himself back. Dean was familiar with that instinct to thrust that was so difficult to restrain.
"Yeah. C'mon."
Dean was fucked for the second time and he enjoyed it even more than the first. Fully coherent, mind fully engaged, it felt even better this time. Maybe the position: Sam felt like he rammed in harder and deeper, and it made Dean almost wild. He starting clawing the car, realized what he was doing and that he didn't want to damage Baby so he started clawing at Sam instead: his arms, his head, wherever he could reach. His brother was impossibly huge and strong and it was glorious.
Made Dean feel like one of those wispy, wimpy gay boys he had seen in threesome femdom porn. He thrived on it despite (maybe because of?) the humiliation that comparison made him feel. He had been thrown around by an innumerable number of monsters and truck-sized rednecks and never been at all aroused by it but here, with Sammy, it was different.
When Dean shifted to get a grip on his dick, Sam gently slapped his hand away. "Wanna do it," he said, out of breath, directly into Dean's ear. Dean had to wrap his hand around Sam's, though, to make him grip it as tight as he liked it. "You're so wet," Sammy gasped, his thumb slipping in the precum that had leaked out over the glans. Dean just kinda growled and was stuck in the predicament of wanting to simultaneously thrust forward into Sam's hand and back onto his cock. It was more sensory input than he had ever felt before, more urges competing for precedence than the simple act of fucking a girl. More than double the pleasure, because Dean had never appreciated the awesomeness of ass-fucking and how all-consuming that type of pleasure was.
This was worth all the obsessing he had been doing. Even better now that Dean was mentally engaged with the action this time. The orgasm was shatteringly good, and he must have really clamped down on Sam's dick because he groaned and came immediately after.
"Y' gonna lemme do this to you sometime?" Dean grasped out after a quiet moment of them listening to their quickened breathing.
Sammy groaned in a good-but-exhausted way. "Yeah."
Dean kept his eyes shut and nodded. "Awesome."
Their afterglow was cut short by the approach of headlights in the dark. They scrambled to get their pants back on and their shit packed back into the car, pulling it around without the lights on to hide it behind the falling-down barn. "I'll keep lookout while you commit the arson," Dean said. "I kinda don't want to move around too much. Fuck you," he added automatically at Sam's smug expression. He left the car before his brother could taunt him, and went to where he could keep an eye on the coming car. It rattled past, too big and noisy to be a sheriff. "Clear," he called back.
They stood together for a minute making sure the barn and the evidence was going to fully catch. "You take me to the nicest places," Dean said sarcastically.
"At least you're a cheap date," Sam retorted.
"Hey, if you want my ass on tap you're gonna have to step up your game. I'm experiencing the unpleasant after-effects of butt fucking, and might change my mind." Dean had to pull his underwear from where damp spots had gotten sticky.
"I'll help you out in the shower if you want to get back to the room," Sam offered.
Dean started back to the car. "Yeah. Let's get movin' before we have to walk past the front desk with our clothes smelling like gas and smoke."