rivers_bend

Title: Shadows of the World Appear
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Words: ~3000
Other information: expressions of adolescent sexuality, allusions to inappropriate adult appreciation of same.
A/N: Several people were wanting back story for shiver, river, quiver, so here it is. (May be read first, second, or independently.)
Summary: Dean reckons surveillance skills are important for a hunter.



Dean was looking through a car parts magazine wishing their dad hadn't burned his bridges with Bobby Singer, when Dad himself came out of the bathroom and said, "I need to meet a guy about a hunt and run a few errands. I'll bring some lunch back with me."

"Sure," Dean replied, quietly, mindful of Sammy sleeping; not that much would wake the kid up these days. Too concerned with always being alert to his surroundings, Dean had never done that sleep-like-the-dead thing, but he knew it was normal for boys getting a growth spurt, so he wasn't too worried.

When Dad walked past the car and headed toward the street on foot, Dean decided to follow him. Surveillance was an important skill for a hunter, and Dean thought they should do more of it. Dad seemed to be focusing on hand-to-hand combat and Latin lately, trying to pit Sam and Dean against each other, goad them into arguing. It was getting tedious. Dean figured if Dad wasn't going to drill them in stealthy following, he was going to have to practice on his own.

Eleven thirty in the morning on a lovely summer day turned out to be a much easier time to follow someone than Dean expected. Dad didn't have a clue. It helped that Dean had a pretty good idea where he was headed, but still, Dean was feeling pretty slick. He'd taken a minute to leave a note for Sammy, who had stayed up way too late the night before reading with a penlight under the covers—hidden from Dad, but not from Dean—and Dad was out of sight by the time Dean left the room. But a block toward the main street Dean caught sight of him again, top of his head visible above the moms and kids out doing whatever it was they were doing.

Dad stopped at the Five-Dip Diner, which was Dean's second choice after the Horseshoe Bar and Grill as a destination point. Not that Dad was frequenting bars before noon these days, but Dean had met enough hunters and sources in the last few years to believe there was a type, and the bar had seemed a better bet. He was glad it was the diner though, because it had windows all across the façade, so Dean could practice his watching as well as his following. There was even a bench half hidden from the diner by a bush out front, so Dean could sit, and not get picked up for loitering. Perfection.

As he settled on the bench, Dean hoped Sammy was still asleep—that he wasn't wasting time out here that he could be spending testing his theory that he could make his brother come more than twice in half an hour if he just tried the right techniques. Tempting as it was to go back to the motel and check, chances were much higher that Sam was still sleeping—he seemed to need at least eight hours these days—so Dean stayed right where he was.

Expecting Dad to head to the back of the diner, Dean was surprised when the man he approached was sitting in the booth right in the center of the window, in full view of the street. The guy obviously wasn't as paranoid as the ever-watchful John Winchester. When Dad gestured toward the less conspicuously placed tables, the guy pointed to the plates and coffee cup in front of him and looked like he wasn't going to budge. Finally giving up, Dad sat down. A waitress came over as soon as his ass hit vinyl, poured him some coffee, and handed him a menu.

She gave John the sort of appraising look Dean himself was starting to get from women now that he was nearly six feet tall and his shoulders were starting to catch up to his height. The looks that pissed Sammy off. Sam had complained more than once (in private) about the way the women's faces changed between him—who they tended to look at like they wanted to cuddle him and feed him pie—and Dean, who they looked at like he was the pie. Sam's grumbling was cute. It was like he thought Dean was thinking about leaving him or something. Like that wasn't the stupidest thing Dean had ever heard.

Dad didn't seem to notice the waitress's look. He said something and she wrote on her pad and took the menu back. Dean would bet money Dad ordered a club sandwich. The man was on a total kick lately.

When the woman walked away, Dad's friend pulled a notebook out from a paper bag on the bench beside him and pointed to something near the middle. When Dad was reading, the guy turned to look at something or someone blocked from Dean's view by a particularly thickly leafed branch. The guy was looking at whatever it was like the waitress had looked at Dad. Dean scooted over a little so he could see if it was worth his gaze.

All he could see was a girl about Sammy's age and a boy three or four years younger. They appeared to be playing hangman or tic-tac-toe or something, heads bent over a piece of paper on the table between them. Dean couldn't see an adult with them, and there was a stack of coloring books and a gameboy next to a plate of half-eaten pancakes like they were there for the long haul. He wondered if maybe they were the waitress's kids or something. They looked about the right age. Definitely nothing to look at like they were fresh donuts and cable porn all rolled into one. The girl didn't even have tits yet.

Dean figured maybe there was another waitress on the other side of them—the uniforms in the Five-Dip were pretty low cut—or maybe a display of pastries or something. The guy looked like he'd spent most of the last fifty or so years enjoying his food. Another scoot and a hopefully subtle head tilt, and Dean could see all the way to the wall. Nothing there. Glancing back at Dad's table showed the guy was still staring.

Then Dad said something, and the creep's eyes jerked back to his own business.

Dean watched for another twenty minutes as Dad ate his club sandwich and the dude ate his own fries, but the guy kept his eyes on Dad's face or his food the whole time and didn't look over at the other table again. Dean remembered that most people got into hunting because they'd lost someone. Maybe the guy had lost his kids and missed them. Maybe Dean had misread his look. Maybe it was just longing to have his own kids back, and not something dirty.

When Dad pushed his plate away, Dean stood, ducking into a crowd of teenagers headed back toward the motel. They hid him from the diner's window long enough to get out of Dad's line of sight. The kids peeled off at the drug store, and Dean increased his pace. He was almost running by the time he got to the street with the motel on it. Yeah, Sam was plenty old enough to take care of himself, but Dean wanted to make sure he was okay.

The lights were still off so the room was only lit by the sun coming through the cheap curtains when Dean opened the door, but there were little snuffling, almost-awake noises coming from the bed. Dean figured "a couple of errands" gave them at least twenty minutes, maybe closer to an hour, so he stripped off his shirt and toed out of his shoes as he crossed the room.

"You awake?" he said, standing next to the bed.

No answer, but Sam curled on his side, leaving a nice empty space behind him. Dean took the invitation and spooned around his brother, sliding his hand up under Sam's shirt.

"Hey," he said into the wisps of hair at Sam's neck.

Sam made a tiny squeaking noise back, but nestled his butt more tightly into the curve of Dean's hips, so Dean suspected he wasn't quite as asleep as he was pretending.

"Dad will be back soon." This, murmured into the soft skin behind Sam's ear.

The noise Sam made at that was more disappointed sounding than his initial squeak, but he laced his fingers between Dean's and moved Dean's hand down into his boxers.

"You're not asleep, are you."

Sam settled his dick in the cup of Dean's palm and then twisted his head back, lips pursed for kissing. Dean pretended like he wasn't going to do it for as long as he could, but as that turned out to be about one and a quarter seconds, Sam probably didn't even notice. When he could wait no longer, Dean lifted up on one elbow and kissed Sam slow and hard, pressing and rubbing his cock, which was most of the way to hard already.

Dean should have taken his own jeans off before he got into the bed, but Sam's tight little ass flexing and twitching against him still felt good even through the denim and he didn't want to interrupt now, not with Sam making delicious grunts and moans, sucking on Dean's tongue, wrapping his arm back around Dean's waist to try to get him closer.

Before Dean even got his fingers curled around Sam's dick, Sam was coming, wrenching his mouth from Dean's to suck in air and let it out on a stuttering aaaah.

"Good morning to you, too," Dean said, delighted in the way only Sam could make him.

"Mornin'," Sam finally answered him, a little breathless, wriggling onto his back and grinning up at Dean. "Wanna—" he pawed at Dean's waistband. "Off?"

"You tryin' to get me naked?"

"Mmmm." Sam hooked a finger between the two top buttons of Dean's fly.

"Lazy," Dean said, but he shucked out of his jeans anyway.

As though that was all Sam needed to perk up, he kicked his way out of his own boxers and climbed on top of his brother, smearing jizz into the streaks of precome on Dean's dick and stomach. "You're hard already," Sam said. "Like it."

Dean was going to say something about hoping so, but before he could, Sam shifted enough to get his hand on Dean's cock, restlessly pressing his own against Dean's hip, like he didn't just come two minutes before. Dean decided talking was overrated.

Though he'd been close to blowing in his pants just from the pressure of Sam's ass, Dean tried to make it last long enough for Sam to get hard again himself. "Love it," he murmured, fingers twisting in Sam's hair. "Love your hands on me. Love feeling you against me."

He felt a little ridiculous, but Sammy seemed to get off on Dean saying shit like that, and it wasn't like it wasn't true or anything, so he tried to do it sometimes to make his brother happy. It seemed to be working; Sam was jerking him faster, and hooked one leg over Dean's thigh to give himself the leverage to hump harder against the side of Dean's ass.

"Come on," Dean said. "Want to feel you come on me, getting off on jerking my dick."

Sam moaned and shivered, said something that sounded like, "Dean, fuck, yeah."

Looking down at Sam's hand on his cock, Dean suddenly remembered the look on Dad's friend's face as he'd stared across the diner. It felt like swallowing a bucket of ice. He must have gone stiff because Sam asked if he was gonna come. Dean squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out the picture, and took a deep breath before pulling Sam's face up and kissing him.

"You gonna come again, baby?" he asked.

"Yeah," Sam said, "yeah," not noticing that Dean had avoided the question.

Dean reached down to give Sam a hand, putting all his focus on his brother, on the friction of Sam's fingers on his dick, on the feel of Sam so hot thrusting into his grip. They were alone, door locked, no one to get in, no one to see. Just him and Sammy.

Sam started chewing on Dean's shoulder, still murmuring, "yeah, yeah, yeah," and that was enough to get Dean back to the edge of coming, so he jerked Sam just the way he liked, bringing Sam off just seconds before he made it himself. They both collapsed onto their backs.

"Fuck," Sam sighed with feeling.

"You could say that."

They both breathed for a minute.

"D'we have time for a shower before Dad gets back?" Sam asked.

Dean dropped his head to the side to look at the clock on the bedside table. "If we hurry," he said. He didn't really feel like moving, but a shower was probably a good idea. Besides, Sam had some kind of kink about shower blowjobs, and Dean was over half-way to the three-Sammy-orgasms-in-half-an-hour thing.

The shower was a success, though Sam was weak in the knees and slow, so he was still getting dressed when Dad came back.

"You're gonna sleep your life away if you're not careful, son," Dad said, but he didn't sound all that mad, and he put a couple bags of take-out down on the table as he said it, so Dean didn't remind him that teenagers needed their sleep. Teenagers also needed their food, as he would be happy to testify. He left Sam the turkey sandwich and took the pastrami for himself. He gave his brother three orgasms. He figured he deserved it.

He did let Sam choose first from the bags of chips, though.

"This guy Buck's got a hunt," Dad said once the boys had tucked into their food. "But it's just a two-man job, so he and I'll take care of it this weekend sometime."

"We can help," Dean said, ignoring the pissy face that came from Sam at the words.

"Nah." Dad shook his head once in the way that meant he'd thought about it and wasn't budging. "He's kind of a loner. Best not to crowd him."


The next day it started raining like the end of times. Thunder, lightning, bring out the sand bags, traffic cones floating past in the street, kind of rain. Late Friday night Dad got a call. Dean figured it was Buck cancelling the hunt. But Dad was saying things like, "There's not another road?" and "You sure an outboard won't make it?" and "Don't think I can paddle four miles by myself." He did a lot more listening and a little more arguing, and finally said he'd be there.

When he got off the phone, John looked at his youngest son watching TV and then nodded Dean over to the far corner of the room. "Think I'm gonna need you to come with me after all," he said. "And I don't want to leave your brother in this place alone. You keep an eye on him for me?"

Dean nodded.

"It's not ideal," Dad went on. "But it will have to do."

Dean didn't argue. He just nodded again and then went and sat with Sam on the room's small couch—closer than he usually let himself when Dad was around, but he needed to feel Sam warm and safe against his side. Sam gave him an unsettled look that included eyes flicking over to Dad who was sitting at the table, but he didn't move away. When , after a few minutes, Dad hadn't said anything, he even rested his hand half on Dean's thigh.

Later, in bed, they curled up back to back with their feet touching under the covers where Dad couldn't see. Once the lights were out, Dean reached his hand back and tickled the top of Sam's thigh. It was a game they used to play in the back seat: you had to stay absolutely silent no matter where the other one tickled you. Dean was the champion; Sam's shoulders were shaking already.

But Dad obviously wasn't in the mood to ignore suppressed giggles. "Early start tomorrow, boys," he said.

Dean started to take his hand back but Sam hooked his pinky around Dean's, holding their hands linked between the smalls of their backs. Dean wasn't usually much of a hand holder—he liked his hands to be busy or prepared for action—but that night he let Sam hang on until they were both asleep.