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Dreaming Awake - One


Title: Dreaming Awake-One

Author: writersmirth

Pairing: Sam/Dean

Prompts: Candle, Journal

Rating: NC-17

Summary: Secrets whispered in dreams – can the Winchester Brothers keep their dreams in their minds or will their waking fantasies become a reality.

Disclaimer – I do not own any of these bad boys – I just love to write about them. No copyright infringement intended.

Authors notes: Just uploaded it after I wrote it. Feel free to make editorial feedback. I post it for your enjoyment.


I'll be your sexual freak

I'll be your educational lover

Your one fuck fantasy – George Michael


Candles covered the table top, benches and bedside tables. The warm glow exuding light and heat in the otherwise cold room of hotel. The small flickering flames danced up the wall, small shadows spiralling and swirling and casting a magical feeling around the room. Sam blew out the last long match that he had found resting onto of the gas oven and slipped it back inside the now full box of burnt tipped matches. The scent of powder and the slight hint of vanilla lingered in the air as the last of the smoke from the matches was carried away into the room and disappeared into nothing. Throwing the box into a nearby garbage bin, Sam let out a sign of achievement when the box hit the bottom, the sound resounding of the metal and reminding Sam of the emptiness of the room.

His eyes wandered around, scanning and taking everything in. The box of pie sitting closed and wrapped in ribbon on the white wooden kitchen table. The six pack of beers he had taken the cardboard of and have removed to set up in an perfect line next to the pie and of course his Journal, tucked beneath his pillow both in his site, but hidden unless Dean paid close inspection. Sam could just make out the edges of his rustic leather Journal peeking out, the brass clasps glinting in the candle light. Everything was perfect. The only thing that was missing now was Dean.

As if on cue, the bright yellow paint scratched door of their hotel room shot open carrying with it the harsh wind of winter and the familiar heady scent of men's deodorant, dirt and sweat. Dean strode in carrying a plastic bag in one hand and a six pack underneath his arm. His thick Navy jacket tugged at his muscles, straining against the fabric tightly. Sam survived Dean as his brother shut the door with his gritty boots, leaving a streaky mark on the frame. He took in the way Deans hair stuck to his slick face and the grin that lit up his delectable lips and melted instantly. His mind already reeling at the idea that both made his stomach ache and his cock harden a little.

“What's all this Sammy?” Dean asked casting his attention to the table where a large cardboard box wrapped in fancy pink ribbon and a line of beer identical to the ones he was carrying waited to be drunk. “Is that what I think it is?” he said wandering over to the table. Placing the plastic bag and the beer on the table he leaned forward, prying away the ribbon from the plastic see through window and beamed at the site of his favouritism on the road Apple crumble pie. He rotated on his heel to face his brother. “What's the special occasion Sammy?”

“Does there have to be a special occasion?” Sam queried advancing to the table. He undid the plastic bag Dean had brought in with him and peeked inside. “Greasy Chinese food and Beer?” he questioned, wiping his lips a little as he salivated when the scent of black bean and dumplings filled the space between them, the tempting aroma of a hard day hunting wafting over and combating his senses. Dean was so close. To close.

“And Pie,” Dean said, already undoing the ribbon and popping open the little tab that kept the lid down. “Now all we need is some Busty Asian porn,” he joked bending down till his nose was nearly touching the crusty sugared base. “But I'll settle for anything right now. But first I need a slice of this delicious Apple Pie. You did good Sammy,” he said his eyes meeting head on with his brothers. Sam's crooked smile warming something familiar inside of him and igniting a flame that only burned in his own imagination. A little strand of Sam's hair fell across his forehead and over his eyes, curling at the ends. “You got a knife and some plates?”

Sam nodded. His attention momentarily lapsed watching Dean's lips move as he talked. His brother lifted a finger towards them his tongue darting out to eat a tiny piece of the pie that had stuck to his finger as he continued to poke at it, pushing the apple from the inside out. The flavoursome, hot and sticky fruit staining his fingers green. “I'll go get those plates,” he breathed, his words strained. He whirled around. His back turned on Dean. The sensation of frosty tiles more alert with each step he took. His warm body burning out the winter that threatened to keep them inside all night. Not that he cared. “Don't you want to eat the take out first?” Sam asked lifting the crockery out of the overhead cupboard space provided by the hotel. He placed them down on the bench and fished around the cutlery draw finding a knife that would suit their needs.

“Sammy it's Pie,” Dean said cleaning his fingers free from the chunk he had taken away from the pie while Sam's back was turned to him. He dipped in, lifting the treat out of the box and set it on the silver cake plate from the box. Tempted to lift the entire thing up and take a huge bite, he resisted the temptation and went about freeing the take out containers from the plastic bag. His eyes partly on dinner, every now and then wandering to where Sam stood stretching and flexing. His muscles rippling beneath the thin fabric of his white workers shirt. His breath catching, causing him to keep his lips shut to quench a moan rising in his chest and daring to escape his lips. It was wrong. So wrong.

Sam headed back to the table. “Point taken,” he said handing his brother a laced patterned plate that looked like something he had seen on Antique Road show in between the quiet lulls of hunting, resting and research. Fingers left the surface, brushing against the coarse, hot skin of his brothers jolting him like a hit of electricity or a hit of Demon blood. The heat coursed through his fingertips right down to his palms and upwards towards his arms. Hitting his chest, winding him breathless. He took a step back, the plate slipping from his fingers, setting it in motion towards the floor.

“Sam,” Dean yelled, the sound reverberating in the otherwise quiet tension growing between them. In fast motion, the plate falling between them he dipped down and caught it just in time before the thing fell and smashed into shards on the floor. Scooping down he brought it back to the table and took the knife Sam had still in his other hand from his brother. “Did you get much sleep last night?”

“Well enough,” Sam replied dragging the chair away from the table. He took a seat, his ass sinking into the comfortable cushion that made it possible to sit at the table for hours and write, read or just fantasise about the possibilities that could never be realities. “You know how it is,” he finished, holding his plate up for Dean to serve him a piece of that delicious pie. Careful not to touch skin to skin he quickly withdrew his hand and gave Dean a small smile.

Dean nodded. “Yeah,” he said thinking back to the erotic dreams that started with beautiful, full breasted women and had changed to dreams of Sam, half naked draped only in a towel. His pert nipples beckoning him forward for a taste. “Yeah Sammy. I do.”

Againts the Zipper

Title: Against the Zipper
Author: writersmirth
Pairing: Crowley/Blair

Genre: Erotic – M/F

Rating: NC17

Words: 1645

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. No copyright is intended. I just love to spend my days writing about these guys.

Authors Notes: I keep having dreams about Crowley so I cannot help but write erotic fantasies about him. If you want to read feel free. I would love to hear from any Crowley lovers out there.


“There’s no escape,” the husky voice said from behind her. Blair spun around, fast on her heels with her dagger by her left hip. It’s sharp, cool steel grazing against the bare skin that peaked beneath her leather jacket. She knew that voice anywhere. It had haunted her dreams and up until a week ago had been the voice of death, destruction, devastation and the apocalypse. Now – well now it was all kinds of fucked up.

“Take a look around you Winchester. Unless you, Dean and the Moose have a secret fantasy to become roast Pork I suggest you really consider your options before to even think about nailing me with that petty knife of yours.” The man rested his hand on her shoulder. His fingers curled around the worn leather jacket, her fathers, grabbing it and bunching it in his hands. He lowered his head down. His short hair grazed and caressed against her ear. He could smell her fear and lapped it up.

She smelt the fire before it hit her flesh and started to scold her. Little pieces of fabric flaked off and started falling like leaves falling to the ground beneath them. Her fingers felt the hilt of the dagger. Its calming powers already working their way through her body, or was it the Demon’s powers working his magic, altering her mind into thinking that the sensations of pleasure washing through her were really her own. She tensed her body knotting. “What could you possibly offer me?” she said, her voice softer than she intended. She took a step forward bracing herself for the force of the Demon. Her eyes met his, but he didn’t move away from her.

“Careful now Winchester, you’re getting dangerously close. Someone might think you might have ulterior motives. Besides you’re not really hear to chat, and I’m not here to listen to your pontificating. We both know that you don’t want to kill me, maim me maybe, but you wouldn’t be able to feel this,” he said holding out his hand. Attentively his skin touched hers and his fingers dragged down the line of her neck from her ear to her exposed clavicle. He felt her shuddering beneath his fingers. He relished in the sight of her eyes growing downy. She was melting beneath his touch, burning up.

“Crowley,” Blair moaned unable to fight back the sounds that whispered from her lips and lingered in the short space between them. She opened her eyes, facing the Demon head on. Her hand wrapped around the hilt of her dagger. She unsheathed it from her tight belt, the instant feeling of fear seeping dread through her body. With a swift move, she curved her arm. The dagger flashed in the subtle light beaming overhead. The Demon was fast, and fierce as his hand reached for her throat, but not fast enough. Blair dragged the dagger across the Demon’s wrist. She felt it slice through his flesh, expecting it to feel different. But he felt human, corporal and then she remembered that while the Demon lay beneath he was still walking around in a vessel, a meat suit that was once and probably would never be again – a human. Just like her.

Blood pooled and dripped from the open gash. But the Demon’s eyes didn’t leave hers. His hand pressed harder against her throat, constricting her breathing. Crowley pushed Blair, using his knees to press her against the back of the hotel her family was staying at. The air whipped around them, carrying leaves and bits of rubbish that danced on the ground and slapped at their bodies before moving on. He forced his knee between her thighs, parting them without much effort. With Blair pinned like this he licked is lips. A growl permeated the night like a wolf howling at the moon.

“I knew you liked it dirty, but I love it that you like it rough,” Crowley said loosening his grip around her throat. He let her breathe and sucked in the sweet scent of arousal fuming from her body. That blended with her strong pheromones and the edge of fear that rested just at the surface made for one delicious cocktail of desire. He felt his vessel’s cock harden beneath the casual black pants he wore. The zipper dug in all the wrong places, but he liked a little slice of pain. Hell- he lived for making people suffer, but even more than that he loved the game.

“Don’t mistake my letting you of easy as a sign that I am easy,” Blair said shifting her thighs so that they clamped around the Demon’s knee. She felt the heavy, torturous force of his body rubbing up and down, grinding against her. The pressure was unbearable and the harder she tried to stop him by tightening the muscles in her thighs, the more he coaxed his body closer to hers. Finding that sweet spot that kneaded against the zipper of her pants and the line of her hot slit. She could smell him to, that deadening smell of ash and dirt that she had grown up with, that was so familiar to her that it almost felt like home, and yet with him – No, she couldn’t.

The Demon raised his knee higher. He was a good six inches taller than the Winchester, but she could match him in the compromising position he was relishing. He felt her hands on his shoulders, her nails gripping into the fabric of his matching Black suit Jacket. Crowley’s Mauve tie flapped against Blair’s chest, whipping at her perked breasts. The wind had picked up and was sending her shoulder length brown hair whipping around his face. The curls were tangled. He felt her move, ever so slightly against his knee. It was a subtle push, but it caused a wicked smile to curl at his lips. “What would your Brother’s say if they knew their Sister was dry humping the King of Hell?” he asked, loving the way her mouth turned and her eyes opened wide in alarm. He felt her legs widen, her thighs giving up. He inched closer so that their bodies were pressed together. His erection taking the place of his knee as it strained in his pants.

“Fuck me,” Blair moaned, her head lolling back. It hit the brick wall behind her, not hard enough to crack her skull open, but hard enough to cause her head to spin. The pain radiated in the back of her head, but her focus was on the Demon and the devastating words that had betrayed her lips.

“Did my ears just deceive me?” Crowley asked cocking his head to the side. Her lips were parted, he had her trapped. “Or did I just mistake your bitch in heat groveling for a pick up line?”

“Fuck you,” Blair snarled. Her mind was kicking into fight mode once again. She held the dagger in her hand, her fingers tight around the hilt. She could stab him in the neck right now and end it all. She was so dangerously close the blade was only inches away from his jugular. It would take a second and the fight would be over.

“You should be so lucky Winchester,” Crowley said his lips hovering above hers. His teeth grazed her bottom lip. He took it in his mouth roughly dragging her into a powerful and fast paced kiss. He felt the tip of her dagger pressing into his flesh. It was just barely grazing his skin. He moved his neck so that it sliced a little beneath the surface- daring her to do what she set out to do.

Blair pulled away as she noticed the sensation of the tip piecing his flesh. Any deeper and she would cut him, carve him and he would be dead. Not Crowley. But the vessel he was riding and thinking about that made her stomach knot. Fast, she pulled the Dagger away and held it by her side. What was wrong with her? Her brothers would kill her if they knew she was out here being erotically violated by the very Demon they were looking to Hunt. To Kill. Her whole life revolved around ending the Demon’s reign and yet as his tongue tasted hers and a wetness started to moisten her panties she knew that was the last thing she wanted to do right now. Begging for her sanity to return, it took flight as she deepened the kiss. Her hands hanging by her sides moved on their own, betraying her as if possessed. She reached towards him, feeling the air much colder in the space between them. Her eyes closed, daring not to see what she was about to do. Her fingers meant to grab his hair, but when she grabbed there was nothing there. Her eyes blinked open. The pressure inside her body was a high hum, but the Demon was gone. She could still feel his lips on hers, his tongue melting inside her mouth. His teeth, nipping and biting at her supple flesh.

“Crowley,” she said at the wind. She heard a rustle of leaves behind her, and the sound of footsteps in the near distance. The familiar warm, yellow glow of her Brother’s flashlights shone in her direction and when she turned she saw her Dean and Sam advancing towards her. They looked fresh from a hunt. All slick grime and clothes painted with blood. Sam’s arm looked wounded. They were probably looking for her to play Nurse. She bit her lip and cursed his name under her breath one more time, giving her surroundings another once over. Nothing but the leaves and the rubbish surrounded her and she wondered not for the first time if the Demon would ever do what she longed for him to do. Consume her.

French Dreams

Title: French Dreams


Pairing: Sam/Den

Genre: Slash

Rating: PG

Words: 798

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. No copyright is intended. I just love to spend my days writing about these guys.

Summary: Sam is feeling lonely in his job and likes to dream big.

Paris had always been a dream for Sam. He dreamed of travelling there in the winter and the spring, the summer and the fall. It filled his mind completely and he longed for the day when Dean would turn around and decide that It was worth their time to take a holiday. Sam loved to imagine himself in the midst of the “City of Lights” walking down the streets, in each section of the town whether it be night or day, rain or shine.

Whenever he got paid he was constantly on the look out for new purchases; anything to do with French Capital City and he had to have it. It had started out with a few coffee mugs and tea pots with the Eiffel tower painted on the surface and had soon turned into a hoarding obsession of nick-nacks, posters, stationary and art Deco till his small apartment looked like a souvenir shop. He didn't mind though. Each little item he brought he treasured knowing that one day he would manifest the trip of a lifetime and would finally get to experience the beauty and thrill that was Paris.

Today, much like any other day he sat at his computer desk typing up the documents he needed to hand into work the next day. Working from home was always a challenge, with netflix available 24/7 and Deans inescapable rants about him not putting enough effort into the family business. It was sometimes a wonder he got anything done, but he managed and continued to file away writing up reports and looking over cases that his lawyer friends needed. He was there go to guy, but more than anything he was their open book; the researcher who did all the hard yard background searches, and head hunting and handed it all over for the top guns to win in court.

“Do you want a cup of coffee Sam?” Dean asked hovering over his writing desk with the ancient coffee pot in one hand and a bagel in the other. The smell of cream cheese and chocolate sauce wafted through the air while the rich aroma of coffee beans waiting to be roasted and peculated made Deans mouth water. “Cause I am gagging for a small soy frappachino right about now Sammy.”

Sam sighed and put down the document he was working on, laying it face down on his glass table top. Beneath it at his feet their squat little corgi slept soundly, only moving when Sam rubbed his belly with the tip of his toes. He brushed his hair behind his ear, the sound of the machine already humming signalling that Dean hadn't bothered to wait for an answer. He had just decided for the both of them; as usual.

Why couldn't life be simple? Why did it always have to be a choice between this and that? Coffee or no coffee? Sex or no sex and worse having a real job and working in society and travelling the world where he could be of use to more people than just a town and a lax law firm? Contemplating the answers to these questions, Sam pushed his ergonomic swivel chair away from the desk and rose to his feet. It was time for a wake up call that was for certain. It his life had come down to picking between shades of white crisp paper and different coffee blends then it was seriously time for a shake up and Sam knew just how to do it.

“Dean,” he called walking out into the candle lit hallway. The scent of incense burned strong under his nose.

“Yeah,” Dean called from the kitchen. His voice distant and far away. He was busy making them breakfast. “What is it Sammy?”

Sam stood in the hallway, looking at the photograph of them standing outside of their first home. He took it in his hands, caressing the glass casing and the wooden frame that still felt as smooth as the day he had made it. Maybe they couldn't afford to go to France, or an expensive holiday but at least they had their own house. No more motels or cheap caravan. They could do what they liked, when they liked work or no work. With this in mind an sinful idea popped into Sam's mind as he put the photo back into place and ran towards the kitchen .

”Dean. How do you feel about dressing up as a French maid?”

Authors notes

I am honestly feeling pretty shit right now so I needed to write something that was a little different to my usual fiction. While it is a little out of character I still enjoyed writing about it and might explore it  again later. I will now conclude this post with one thought in mind.

Dean in a french maid outfit....


Pie or no Pie

Title: Pie or no pie
Author: writersmirth
Words: 5,257
Pairings: Sam/ Dean
Genre: Slash
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. No copyright is intended. I just love to write about them.
Summary: Our favourite boys decide to spend a Christmas not hunting for the first time in 23 years.
Read if you like : Hot Pie, Oral smut, Wincest action and happy endings.


Thunder clapped in the sky, the booming sound reverberating in the miserable bleak blackness. Beyond the hidden sun that shed barely a sliver of light behind the murky clouds, lightening glittered the sky, lighting it up like a series of fireworks. Dean sat behind the window with his hand held to the frosted pane. Around him the comforting smell of sweet pie baking in the oven and strong scent of Spanish hot chocolate swirled around the room, dancing with his taste buds. He felt a slippery line of saliva dribble from his lips when he licked his tongue, unable to contain his excitement. All around him the depressing weather had sent the fellow hotel guests inside. But sitting here, in the warmth of the small room with Sam snoozing peacefully on the sofa, a book spread across his chest, all Dean wanted to do was step outside and breathe it in, even dance. For once in his life he was going to experience the true joy of the season.  For the first time in 23 years Christmas was upon them and they wouldn’t be hunting.

Dean dragged his body away from the window. He looked at his pale hand, seeing all the veins underneath the surface as his hand returned to its natural colour in the heat surrounding him. He rubbed his palms together rapidly, like he would when lighting kindling for a fire, and felt the tension in his body seeping through his fingertips out into the air. It was so cosy in here, he knew now why it hadn’t taken his brother long to fall asleep once he cranked up the heat. There was something to satisfyingly soporific about baked goods and warm jumpers. He too was beginning to get drowsy, feeling much like the Flopsy bunnies that ate Mr McGreggor’s lettuce from his garden in one of his favourite childhood stories.

He smiled dreamily, pulling his sleeves down past his tender wrists. Dean crossed his arms over his body, holding them still at his shoulders and gave himself a tight squeeze. He did this sometimes, not only to remind himself that he was still whole in one piece and alive, but to congratulate himself for making it this far after all he had seen and been through. This was his one private moment of self- love that he would kill over if anyone saw him, but he felt safe here. This town held nothing but a hotel and a gas station and the only people around where the guests who Sam periodically checked over daily to sate Dean’s sense of panic. It was okay to take a moment of silent solace. He relished being able remember and relive the happier moments of his life inside his head.

The oven pinged; the sound was loud enough for him to hear but didn’t disturb Sam. He must be in a deep slumber, Dean thought as he padded across the room in the woollen bed socks he had picked up from Wal-Mart. He’d gotten them a few towns over when Sam had declared that they had to stop for supplies like tinsel and baking equipment; something that Dean hadn’t seen since he was four.  He had loved pushing the trolley up and down the aisles and pulling things down from their shelves and racks. He was like a kid in a candy store and Sam had been the same. He counted it now as one of the most pleasurable, affirming and bonding experiences of his life.  Yes- it had been a long time since he had seen baking trays and pie tins; unless you counted the porno films he delighted in in his spare moments of hunting. He had always been drawn to the more fantastical ones, where two men stood over a mixing bowl whipping up goodness and proceeding to play with the food and equipment. There was something so sinful about whipped icing covering the tip of a man’s cock. The thought made Dean’s twinge.

Dean opened the oven. A whoosh of hot air flooded over his face. The smell from the pie up close made his mouth froth. It was going to kill him to have to wait half an hour while the thing cooled and set. He put on his oven mittens, two Santa Clauses smiled up at him. The little jingle bell attached to his button jingled merrily as he dipped down and pulled the tray from the over and set it down on top of the wooden chopping board, following the instructions he had seen on an internet tutorial. When he had safely put it down, he closed the oven and switched the knob off. Satisfaction lit up his face as his mismatched fork lines seeped strawberry juices and the icing sugar in the bowl beside it beckoned him to begin decorating.  Dean picked up the bowl and dipped his fingers into it, taking a few pinches of coconut and spreading it across the top of the pie. He watched, admiring the flakes that fell like snow beneath his fingers. When he was finished, he dared to lick his fingers, lapping up the coconut goodness and making his fingers slick and sticky.

From behind him, he heard the familiar mumble of Sam stirring and spun his head around to face his brothers waking body. He kept still, not sure whether to sit at the table to hide his growing erection or to hide behind something else. He chose not to worry. Sam was still a fair distance away and surely he couldn’t see his bulge from there.

“Is that pie I smell?” Sam asked, incredulous.

Dean watched as Sam rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and rose to an upright position. His brother looked like a hot mess of fluffy hair and sweat that made his naked chest glisten in the dim overhead light. Something in Dean was beginning to stir. That long dormant desire to trail his tongue down his brothers’ clavicle and to trail a line down past his pecs to those pert brown nipples that stood like a solider at attention became butterflies in his stomach as he fought to urge and the ache to taste his brother, to touch him and to fuck him on that damn sofa.
“Too right you are Sammy,” Dean said licking the last of the coconut from the tips of his fingers. He watched his brother stood up and walked away from the sofa to do his daily stretches.  Dean admired Sam’s body as it arched and curved. He felt himself inhaling sharply when Sam bent down to touch hiss toes and let the breath out when Sam rose back up with visible wood straining against his slacks after his mid-morning nap. At first he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him, but when Sam turned around, stopping with his side facing Dean, Dean could make out his brothers erection pressed against his slacks like a snake daring to escape its basket.

Dean couldn’t help but mimic the familiar action of dragging his tongue along the line of his finger, stopping at the tip to roll his tongue around it before he took it whole in his mouth. He stared, never taking his eyes off Sam and had to contain a groan rising in his throat when Sam turned his back to him and bent over, showcasing that supple tight ass that he longed and dreamt about tasting and penetrating with his lubricated fingers. The thought alone set him into motion again, this time he took more fingers into his mouth making them sticky and slick as he began to suck more greedily.

“You baked a pie?” Sam asked, his head down, not able to see Dean’s finger action. “Since when have you ever baked a pie?” he scoffed, a chuckle rising, carried across the distance between them. The sound hit Dean like a hard on to the face, and he nearly buckled at the vision of Sam’s muscles tensing in his back. God how I want to drag my nails down his back Dean thought to himself. His eyes wandered, taking in every inch of his brother’s body before he noticed his brother once again standing straight.

Dean stopped, embarrassed with himself that his mind had crossed forbidden territories and even more humiliated that he’d tried to suck of his own fingers off. What the fuck am I doing? He whispered to himself; turning away from Sam. His fingers were unmoving and warm. He looked down at the pie. Steam swirled around him, lingering at his nose. It was a warning that it was still too hot to eat, but something triggered a thought. An image of a popular movie Sam has suggested popped into his head clouding all other thoughts. It was a while back, he had rented it from a small DVD rental shack and they watched it together with pizza and beer to alleviate the insurmountable stress of the week. He remembered now, the scene where a man stood at the bench looking down at a hot apple pie, wondering just how it would feel to stick his dick in it. He imagined sticking his fingers into the gooey hot goodness of the pie, penetrating through the crusty sweet pastry to the inner goodness to make a hole for his own cock. Would it burn, or would it feel like he had imagined it would; soft, welcoming and warm? Would Sam’s ass feel the same?

“Dean?” Sam said his voice so much closer than it had been before. “What are you doing?”

Dean spun around, colliding with the full firmness of his brother’s chest. His hands landed on hot flesh and he pulled away as if he had been scarred.

“Jesus Sammy, what have I told you about sneaking up on me like that. Are you trying to freaking send me to an early grave?” he yelled at Sam’s chest, frustrated that Sam may have seen him in his freakish act, but even more pissed off that his brother was so dangerously close and he the temptation to take his pert nipples between his fingers was too damn strong. He took a step back, hitting the kitchen counter and braced himself against it. His eyes stuck on his brothers pecks.

“God how I need to have them between my lips,” Dean said, thinking he’d said it to himself, but when he looked up at Sam taking in his full height, his noticed his brothers expression had changed. No longer did Sam look incredulous or curious about Dean’s promising cooking skills, he looked freaked, like a deer in the headlights waiting for a truck to knock it unconscious. He knew then that he has let it spill, and already his mind whirled thinking of ways to damage control.

“You need to have what between your lips Dean?” Sam asked.

Dean cringed at his own worlds and panic rose in his chest causing his throat to swell when his brother brought his arms up over his chest in his familiar protective manner and crossed them over one another, covering up those delicious buds.

 Dean looked around the room, everywhere and anywhere but at Sam. He couldn’t meet his eyes, which was a rarity because he prided himself on being as honest as he could with Sam, but he didn’t dare look. He couldn’t bare the reaction he expected, the one that was unfolding before him and growing stupider by the minute. Why did I say that? Dean said inside his head, trying to reach out to his conscience. All was silent inside his head, except for the nagging sensation tugging at his heart and the thoughts that circled around it.  When he felt a big warm hand touching his shoulders he almost jumped out of his skin. His arm flew out, colliding with the side of the pie and his fingers met with hot, gooey liquid that was hot enough to burn, but nothing compared to the pain inside his chest when Sam reached out and pulled his arm towards him.

“Dean what is wrong with you?” Sam asked rolling Deans arm over to investigating the red skin.

“Nothing,” Dean growled, pulling his hand away from his brother. He turned away from him, and set the cold tap on. Placing his hand beneath the water, the pain eased up a little, but he could still feel his brother’s watchful eyes on his back, staring at him in silence.  “You’ve ruined my damn pie, that’s what’s wrong,” he said keeping his back turned. The sensation of pain dissolved as his skin calmed down and the pie washed down the sink hole. He watched the strawberry filling fall of in chunks and cursed to himself for not only ruining the pie that was supposed to be a surprise, but for also ruining what could have been a magical Christmas evening.

“I don’t mean about the pie, Dean. I mean about what you said before about wanting to take them in your mouth. Come on Dean I know you. Did you mean you wanted to take my nipples in your mouth?”

“What?” Dean growled, turning the sink off. “You sick son of a bitch. What the hell makes you think that I would be that disgusting?” Dean roared. He marched over and picked up the chopping board.  It was sticky and dripping strawberry juice everywhere. Using one hand he opened the counter top rubbish bin lid, and aimed the chopping board over it. He felt a hand then, stopping him and yanked it back causing the pie to flop face down on the kitchen bench.

There was no room in this hotel room for the truth or a delicious baked pie.

“I saw you looking at them Dean. Your eyes; they changed. You licked your lips like I was some kind of meat and when you touched me you pulled away like I burned you or something. You’ve never done that before, and trust me Dean, I’ve felt your hands on my chest a thousand times over the past year and you’ve never responded to it like you did just now.”

Dean brought his fingers to his temples. Beneath them a low level ripple of pain shot through them, causing him to want to scream. “Can you give it a rest Sam? You’re starting to piss me off.”

“You’re getting pissed off?” Sam said his voice rising, frustration flamed. “I asked you to tell me the truth Dean. Can you stop being a drama queen for just one second?”

“Why should I talk to you Sam?” Dean spoke like a sullen child. “I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

“Because, you ass hat; that was a perfectly good pie. It smells delicious and now? You’ve ruined it and made a hell of a mess, and for what Dean? Tell me what the hell is going on in your head? What is so bad that you would ruin a freaking pie?”

Dean looked at the mess he had made. Sam was right as always; he was acting like a two year old whose parents had told him that Santa wasn’t stopping by his house this year, and for what? He had shared some insane stories about his own past with Sam and together they had experienced some fucked up things during their year together, but this was something altogether much too different. This was more than a heart to heart about their father or the loss of their mother. In context this paled in compassion to death, but if he opened up to Sam and admitted his feelings it could very well mean the death of their friendship, their brotherhood and he wasn’t sure he was willing to risk that for a chance to know what it was like to taste and to touch and to fuck the living hell out of his brother.

“Yes or no Dean that is all I am asking you. Did you or did you not say you wanted to take my nipples in your mouth?”

 Dean took to grabbing a dish cloth and began wiping up around the kitchen counter. The motion was cathartic and the words just seemed to slip from his mouth, unedited.

“Yes I said it Sam, alright? Does it make you feel better?” he asked, laying the cloth to rest so he could turn the pie over; maybe there were some bits of the pie that he could salvage. He closed his eyes, welcoming the darkness behind his lids and hoped that there was some piece of this mess that he could salvage once he spoke the truth. He longed to change the past but he was a long time realist. Only the monsters he hunted could do change that kind of reality and even then Dean pondered, would he want to? What was it that his father had always told him? What is done is done and you can’t go back and change it you have to keep moving on and living your life, otherwise you get lost in a life that’s already gone.

“Well, I’m not going to lie and say it doesn’t; but why couldn’t you just tell me that in the first place instead of making a scene? You remind me of one of those bimbos from that horrid show- what’s it called…” Sam asked. “Desperate housewives, that’s it.”

“Gee thanks bitch,” Dean said throwing the dish cloth into the sink. “A man tries to open up and you take him down a notch and compare him to a soap opera babe. Think Sam; think hard because I know it will sink in. We’re brothers; we are both men and what part of that equation sounds normal to you? What part of that is okay? I want to fuck my own brother.”

“And what part of our lives is normal?” Sam asked, uncrossing his arms from his chest. “You think stranger things haven’t happened. Look around Dean, the world is not the same place as it was a hundred years ago, and even then there are cases of incest. Stories of brothers and sisters falling in love under traumatic and constrained circumstances and it’s not even about sex. Sometimes things happen, god I know that and you know it too. So why in the world would you think something like that would freak me out?”

“Ah- your reaction for one,” Dean said glad to see that Sam was relaxing. “And again, we’re brothers. Dad would gut us both if he knew what I was planning on doing to you, and mum, if mum was alive.”

“If mum was alive she would tell us to be ourselves and to follow out gut instincts. She wouldn’t want us to spend our lives lying and hiding in the shadows of ourselves. She would want us to explore every facet of ourselves not just the ones that others want to see and as for Dad sure he might get angry and try and stop it, but Dad’s not here now is he Dean?” Sam said passion rising in his voice. “And Dad can’t always control us even though I know you like to think he can. You need to stop worrying about what everyone will think of you and take a chance at a life you want. Think for yourself. Give yourself and me a break. Isn’t that what this Christmas is about?”

Dean sighed. This whole ordeal was starting to wear him down. He reached out, daring himself to touch Sam’s shoulder and pulled him towards him so that their body’s met. He enveloped him in a tight embrace. Part of him wanted to punch Sam in the face for being so damn right all the time, while the other half battled with what Sam had said. It made sense, and he knew it too. He had read those stories, had even dabbled with the idea of having sex with his brother while he tried to concentrate on the hunt weeks ago. The only thing he couldn’t figure out was why Sam was being so damn supportive. And then the light bulb moment where it clicked and the words Sam had said fell into place. Dean knew then that he wasn’t the only one feeling the swell of blood rushing between his legs. He felt it when he pulled away from Sam and their eyes met. He registered Sam’s expression. It was the look of need, and want and the desire to be honest that made Dean tilt his head towards Sam. More importantly it was the sensation, the point of contact when the bounce of his erection met with Sam’s straining bulge and his world came undone.

 “Sam,” Dean breathed brushing his lips against his brothers tense shoulder blades. He felt the muscles shifting underneath his wet lips and he inhaled deeply the scent that was so unique to Sam that it caused his head to fog and to spin. He breathed in again, this time moaning at the sensation’s blooming inside him. Beneath the fabric of his shirt he felt his nipples harden immediately when Sam touched the top of his head and ran his long slender fingers through it. It set his every nerve endings on fire.

“Dean, do you want to take my nipples into your mouth?” Sam panted, rubbing his body against Deans. “I want you to lick them Dean, lick my nipples.”

Dean wrapped his hands around Sam’s back, groaning when his brother arched it and his hands fell to his ass. He cupped them, squeezing them hard and shivered as he felt the tip of his cock moisten inside his boxers. He didn’t even need to reply, for Sam lowered his own hands on either side of Dean’s face, stopping to caress his cheeks with the thumb of his finger before Dean felt him pushing him down, lowering him to meet his left nipple.

“Suck it Dean,” Sam said, his voice cracking with their skin to skin contact.

Dean did as he was told, following orders that came erotically natural to him. He lowered his mouth, hovering mere centimetres from the tip of Sam’s perked buds and breathed his hot breath all over the exposed skin. He felt Sam’s ass cheeks tighten beneath his hands and listened as a load, slow burning moan escaped his brother’s mouth. His tongue danced across the sensitive tip of his nipple and when Sam bucked his hips, Dean took it between his sharp teeth.  His cock ached, painfully growing harder and hurting inside the constraints of his pants. He let his hand fall to his jeans, unzipping them with fervour and opened the buttons of his boxers to allow his cock the air and room it needed. Not moving from his position though he flicked his tongue and rolled Sam’s nipple around his mouth. The pleasure and the taste were beyond extraordinary. It made Dean’s eyes blur, watering with tears of exactly mixed with shame and his rising inhibition.

“I want to fuck your mouth,” Sam blurted out. He pulled Dean’s head away from his nipple and stopped to take a short breath. “I need to fuck your mouth Dean.”

Only happy to oblige Dean looked into Sam eyes for determined reassurance and was met only with a nod as his brother unzipped his pants to the tip and let his heavy erection rest against Dean’s chest.  Dean inhaled, taking short breaths as he prepared himself for the girth of his brother’s cock. He lowered himself further down, taking his time licking and kissing his way down between Sam’s tight muscled six-pack. He smiled when his nose brushed past a tuff of hair running a ring around Sam’s navel and moved swiftly passed it. Dean loved the change in the smell of Sam’s body the closer he got to money.  It smelt musky, a scent known only to men and it his pheromones wild. They raged inside him, awakening the animalistic man in him.  He pushed the cords holding up Sam’s slacks to the side, his mouth touching the base of Sam’s cock. His skin was soft and warm and big veins pumped blood; visible underneath the surface of his skin. Dean had a sudden urge to bite though his skin, and drain Sam of his blood; but he curbed the thought quickly at the sight of the thick line of pre-cum weeping from Sam’s slit and dribbling down his shaft.  Dean’s eyes grew wild and his mouth salivated. The smell grew stronger the closer he got until he swore he could almost taste it in his mouth. He looked up at his brother who had his eyes closed and who was now pinching his nipples and teasing them in the same way his own tongue had minutes ago. That was all Dean needed to take Sam’s cock in both hands, one hand rested at the base of his cock while the other gripped his long member. He lapped up the pre-cum in one big slurp, swallowing it back in his throat. Tears were already beginning to seep down his cheeks as he struggled with the size of it. He managed to rest it at the back of his throat and in one breath took it deep.

 “Dean,” Sam cried, jerking his body and slamming his cock against the room of Dean’s mouth.

Dean reached under and touched Sams balls. It was always something he had wanted to try on another guy and he wasn’t sure if Sam would like it the same way he would. Fuck it Dean thought to himself. I already have his cock in my mouth. What’s the worst that could happen? He squeezed them softly doing it in the same way he liked to touch himself, caressing Sam’s skin while taking his cock back deeper. He noticed that they shifted a little and squeezed a little harder. It was all it took for jets of Sams hot, delicious cum to squirt down the back of Dean Throat. He didn’t stop though, not until he felt his brother soften in his mouth. He un-wrapped his lips from around his brothers’ cock and swallowed the rest of his Sams cum that hadn’t slid down his throat. Smiling up at Sam who still had his eyes closed, Dean wiped his mouth clean of the saliva and any sticky white deliciousness that had escaped his lips.

“Fuck that was amazing,” Sam breathed, his natural rhythm evening out.

Dean grinned. “You have no idea how long I have waited to do that Sammy,” he admitted, not caring about the consequences of his words. He rose to his feet, dusting of the dirt from the kitchen floor of his knees and beamed as his cock touched Sam’s shaft which was still hard, but not as hard and painfully straining as his. He wrapped his hand around his shaft, needing release so bad he wasn’t sure he could wait for Sam to do anything. Thankfully without any words spoken between them Sam caught on quickly and wrapped his hand around Dean’s as he began to pump himself in his fist. The feeling was insane. His head hummed, his body shook.  A tormenting urge to fuck Sam ragged flooded through his body as their combined movements brought him closer to climax.

“I’m-gunna-cum-Sammy,” Dean said, closing his eyes as he rode the wave of his orgasm until he came inside his own fist. He felt the hot, wet liquid seep from his fingertips and groaned when Sam let go and brought his sticky hand to his lips to lick Dean’s spunk of his fingers. The sight alone sent his body convulsing, nearly knocking him down on his knees but as the after -shocks began to dissipate and the warm glow of sexual satisfaction filled him with contentment, he wanted nothing more now than to take his brother to bed.

“Sam- stop,” Dean whined his eyes focused on Sam who seemed to want to tease him even further by rubbing his fingers all over his semi-hard cock. “If you don’t stop I am going to want to take you again and this time I might not be able to show you any mercy.”

“Is that a threat Dean,” Sam purred, taking his cock in his own fist.

Dean couldn’t take it anymore. His eyes lingered on Sam’s cock for a few seconds while he breathed to release the tension rising once again in his core. He felt Sam other hand wrap around his body, tugging him close and when he looked up and stared into his wide open eyes Sam dipped his head to meet his mouth and their lips melted in a warm, passionate kiss. Dean loved the sensation of Sam’s tongue as it pushed past his lips and probed inside. He felt the sharp bite of Sam’s teeth nipping at the corner of his lips and when he pulled back to allow him to take in some air, heard the loud sound of his ass being slapped. The pain didn’t register at first he was too focused on delving deeper in Sam’s mouth to taste the sweet blend of their cum combined. Dean relished the second slap Sam gave him as he took control and began ravishing him further.

“Sam- stop,” Dean begged, not sure he could stand still and allow his brother to do such wicked things to him. His conscience was setting in. Dean knew if he didn’t curb the judgmental thoughts fogging his mind, it would all come to a dangerous climax and not one that ended with them both getting off again. Doing the next best thing he wrapped his hands around Sam’s ass, cupping his cheeks tightly and focused all his strength on lifting his brother up. It wasn’t hard having many years of experience in lifting things twice his weight, and he didn’t have ask for permission. He just gauged Sam’s reaction and relaxed as his brother warmed to the idea immediately, wrapping his own long arms around Dean’s neck in a romantic gesture. Dean carried him across the expanse of the lounge room towards the sofa where he stopped and put Sam down in the middle, wasting no time as he and pinned him down, each arm above his head and straddle him. Their naked flesh was still exposed. The contact of skin to skin was so gratifying, and tears began to swell in Dean’s eyes again. He had never felt like this before, not when with the countless women he had been with in the years hunting alone or with their father. It had all been so quick and fast, rough and finished. But with Sam he wanted to take his time. He wanted to stretch it out and tease and torment his brother.

“You know, this is about the best present I could have asked for,” Sam said, looking up at him with seductive eyes.

 His words were honest, and Dean could sense that from a way Sam’s lips curled into a warm smile.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Dean said, bending town to brush his lips against Sam’s. He teased them a little, running his tongue along the supple flesh and left little kisses along his cheek till his lips met with Sam’s ear. “Merry Christmas Sammy.”

Sam beamed. His breath was hot, his breath was heavy.

Dean knew he was ready for more.

“Merry Christmas Dean. Pie or no Pie.”

I'll Bring the Pie

Title: I’ll Bring the Pie
Word count: 992
Pairing: Sam/ Dean
Genre: Slash
Summary: The two brothers are sleepy and weary. But can a piece of pie bring them closer together?
Warning: Unedited.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. I purely enjoy writing about them and exploring my fantasy world. No copyright intended.


The blankets were warm and damp with sweat from the night before. The sheets all tangled up in the quilt that hung off the edge of the bed wrapped around Sam’s feet. An old heater chugged away on the wall, spitting out warmth that made the room boiling and feel like the pits of hell. Too lazy to get out of bed or to start the day, Sam rolled over and faced his phone. There were messages, tons of them and mostly from Dean, but he couldn't for the life of him remember where his brother was, and then it came to him as he picked up a half empty cup of cold coffee and inhaled the scent of men lingering in the air, heavy with a hint of damp in the crappy room Dean had chosen. His brother had gone in search of food, but there weren't that many options, and that had to be hours ago.

Sam struggled against the see of blankets. He tossed them back, rolling to and fro like a dog trying to get comfortable. The hard mattress pressed against his back and he felt the spring daring to poke through the surface of the bed sheets, reminding him of the restless slumber her had endured. Tonight he would take the sofa or ask Dean to switch. He knew his brother was an ass when it came to bed delegations, but he was sure if he favoured him the way he liked that he would get his way, and they would swap beds. His back met with a softer part of the bed and his body sank into the plumpness of it. He rested his head, burrowing it deeper against the pillow and drew in the familiar scent of his own body musk.

From across the room the door to the hotel room opened, startling Sam as his eyes closed, ready to drift back to sleep. It closed hard, the sound reverberating around the small confined space and Sam could make out the familiar clomp-clomp of Dean trying his best not to make a sound, but in doing so sounding like a heard of Rhinoceros. The rustling of plastic bags set in motion a series of irritating background noise that crawled up Sam’s body like a beg bug and bit into his mind, it determined that sleep was no longer an option and that breakfast was ready. He felt his brothers’ warm hand on his bare skin, the flame of his touch jolted him upright and his hand went out, whacking Dean in reflex. He heard his brother’s sharp intake of breath and the jovial laugher from behind his curled up body as he rested against the pillows, bright eyed to the sunlight that filtered in through the partly opened curtains.

“I brought you pie,” Dean said, walking back to the table where the bags were stacked covering its entire surface. He stopped, digging his hands into one of the plastic bag and retrieved a large circular package, wrapped in cellophane and decorated with ribbon. He had gone all out with this one. He put it on the table, shifting the bags to decide and pulled up two chairs for them so sit on. Without waiting for Sam to come over, he ripped of the cellophane, tossing it to the floor and took a whiff of the deliciousness that was still warm from the bakery. “Come on Sammy, you got to get a whiff of this pie. They don’t make them like this any more.”

Sam groaned. Dean said that about every pie he ate and in the past week that’s all Dean seemed to want to eat, aside from the chips and hamburgers and the occasional piece of fruit when Sam pestered him to eat it. It was all about that damn desert or savoury treat that once held a delicious appeal to Sam but quickly became to tart, or to filling or worse yet it the pastry was burned or the filling was watered down and it never tasted as good as when it was an occasional treat. But he would humour Dean, because the sex was always so much more satisfying if Dean had his daily pie.

“Are you coming Sammy?” Dean asked, already armed with a fork that was underneath the shopping bags. It was his favourite fork. The man had brought a fork especially for pies. When you lived out of duffel bags and take away containers having a special fork for your meal was like a rite of passage.

Sam stretched his body, turning to the left and the right and extended his hands towards the sky. When he had pulled all his muscles into line, he tossed back all the sheets, letting them fall to the side and got out of bed. His naked body warmed instantly against the heater and he dragged his hand down his body as a way of teasing Dean. He knew his brother was watching, Dean could never disregard him when he was naked and not even pie could get in the way of a glorious morning erection.

“Dean,” Sam said, his voice lowered to a seductive purr. He dragged his hand down, stopping at the dip of his navel to watch his brother’s reaction. When he saw Dean licking a line across his lips his body stirred and his cock danced. He let his hand escape his navel and travel beyond to the bulging cock straining for attention.

“Sammy,” Dean said letting the fork fall to the pie. He stood up, shaking away the deliciously sinful thoughts that he was having and bent down to pick up the pie. An idea struck him like lightening and he knew at that moment, with Sam standing there glistening with pre-cum seeping through his slit what he had to do. “Don’t move, stay right where you are,” Dean smiled, advancing towards his brother. “I’ll bring the pie.”

With Ears Wide Open - Part 1 -Slash- S/D

Title: With Ears Wide Open

Author: writersmirth

Part: One

Genre: Slash

Pairings: Sam/Dean

Rating: PG

Summary: A freak explosion leaves Dean impaired and sets into motion a new life for Dean to explore.


All Supernatural characters are the brain children of Erik Kripke, and are used here solely for entertainment purposes. No profit comes from the posting of this story. No copyright infringement intended.


It started with an explosion, Dean being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was left motionless on the ground covered in rubble from the explosion. Bits of broken bricks and glass scattered around him and thick dust that got sucked into his lungs and made his chest heavy; making it near impossible to breath. He choked on his own saliva, one too many times trying to spit out the bits of plaster and grit that came with the explosion when he had meant to scream.

It ended with a ringing in his ears. The emergency crews had arrived to the scene. Firemen secured the area, putting out the smaller fires. One lumberjack of a guy had found Dean sweaty, putrid and panting as he covered his face smartly with his jacket. They had removed the boulder of debris that had kept him pinned to the ground and just in time, they said, for any longer and his leg would have gone dead and his blood would have poisoned him from lack of circulation. He was lucky it hadn’t taken Sam long to find the building. He heard Sam through the sound penetrating like a siren in his head, heard him telling the police officer how he had tracked down his brother’s whereabouts and had been pulling into the warehouse when the explosion had sounded. The men said Sam had saved his life.

But there was one thing no one could save. Not the paramedics who held up fingers and asked him stupid questions, like he was a five year old who couldn’t see. Not even the Fireman who had pulled him out of the building, gagging and choking on the smoke that had got into his lungs and worse of all not even Sam, who had he been there only an hour earlier might have warned him in advance to get out. Only it was too late for all of them to save it. The explosion had not only robbed him of a good leather jacket, but it had robbed him of his hearing completely.


It was a gradual thing of course, starting with the head pounding, vibrations in his ears. The doctor’s said it would go away in a few days, a week or two even. It often happened when victims were exposed to bombs and it was a good thing that Dean was so far away from the explosion. That had settled it, at least that’s what Dean thought, until the ringing ceased and not only did he not hear that god damn torturous sound, he heard nothing. He could feel the blood rushing around his body and heart in his chest when he pressed his fingers close to the surface of his skin. He knew what sensations arose when someone walked into a room, by the way the ground felt and things moved around him. But he could not hear Sam’s rants, even though he knew by the way his brothers face was all scrunched up and his hands were flailing that he was angry, and probably bitching about the case that they were working on or the doctors again. He knew that familiar expression had seen it many times in the past few weeks when the doctors had told them that his hearing was getting worse. It was the first of many signs that he was going deaf when he could no longer take in all the words Sam was saying, whether he spoke loudly or softly and then it happened, as if someone had switched of a light, and all the words, all the melodies and whispers in the dead of the dark disappeared, leaving everything in a deadly silence.

Dean waved to Sam, but he wasn’t listening. He was too focused on pacing up and down the room. The energy, an energy Dean had never been able to sense before grew stronger. He could taste it, feel it, and smell the tension in the air and his was suffocating. It made him want to crawl up into a ball and close his eyes. Count to ten and start again. It wasn’t enough to tell Sam to shut up. It wasn’t enough to even stand up and knock the chair to the ground. He wouldn’t have even known it had fallen if it hadn’t of scraped his leg on its descent, crashing to the floor and starling Sam mid sentence. He began to scream at Sam. He could feel his lips moving, his tongue touching his teeth. The wet spit that flew from his mouth and landed on his cheek sliding down his cheek, but he could not hear the words he screamed. It was maddening, insanity. It was like having cotton buds in your ears, blocking out all sound, only the sensation was torment and it made Dean want to pull them out of his ears and in that moment he tried, he brought his fingers to his ears and tried to pull them out, but there was nothing there but his ears and the nothingness that came from the words he knew Sam had screamed back.


The doctors wrote it down on a piece of paper in black and white for him to read. Two words, big and bold and circled in a patronizing manner; you’re Deaf.

Dean pushed the paper away. There were no words for what he felt right now and he couldn’t be bothered to say anything for fear that it was true. That he truly would never hear again, even with the use of a hearing aid and there was no way he was going around wearing an implantation. Especially where things out there that could control that kind of equipment tamper it and in use it as a weapon against him. No, it was better to take this with a grain of salt and learn to adapt, and already things had changed so much. His senses were sharper, especially his sight and smell and it didn’t take long to master touch.

He learned that one first hand when they were on a case. He held his hands up to the wall of a decrepit old house and could feel something moving in the walls. He signaled Sam, gesturing him to press his ear up against the wall and when Sam smiled he knew he was onto something. He felt it move then, from the walls to his feet and they followed it to a room with a vent where the creature had tried to escape. And then there waste taste, oh how Pie tasted so much better when you could pretend he didn’t know that Sam was teasing him. Time and time again he would purchase a pie and sit in front of Sam’s computer, resting his legs against a chair while he searched the web for busty Asian porn and scoffed down a pie. He knew by the unique sound of Sam’s footsteps when he was being approached, but it was a fun game to pretend he hadn’t noticed a thing and continue going on his luxurious business until Sam cracked it and snapped the laptops lid closed.


Everything was beginning to get easier, never better, but manageable and there was only one real problem that had Dean stumped with his fist pumped and lubed up for months on end; the lack of ladies. God he missed that action, the fun and the thrill of tailing down a pretty blond or brunette and taking her back to the hotel for some kinky sex. Now all he had was porn movies and his imagination and even that got old after a few weeks.

“Forget all the movies” Dean had told Cas when he prayed to him at night. The only person out there who could hear his true thoughts, “No one digs the deaf guy. They either think it’s really cute and treat me like some ass hat, or don’t even bother because they think I a retarded. I swear Cas if I don’t get some action soon I am going to explode.”

He had heard Cas in his head though. Like magic, like his consciousness. Castiel’s blunt voice penetrated his thoughts. “Maybe it’s for the best, the world works in mysterious ways and sometimes these things happen as a wakeup call.”

Dean cursed, silently and closed his eyes. Stupid son of a bitch, he said drifting off to sleep one night, after their private conversations. Sam slept soundly, unbeknown to the angel who had swept down from heaven and who was watching Dean through the open hotel window. Dean fell asleep restlessly that night thinking about what Cas said. It didn’t make sense, why would someone make him deaf, what use did the universe have for a deaf Hunter? And what about that message, what was it about? How some things happen for a reason or what was it a wakeup call?

Wake up call? Dean said falling deeper into slumber. Wake up call to what?

My notes:

I got the prompt Idea from a thread by


It got me thinking about what would Dean experience if he was Deaf and how would it change his life? I was in the shower when I saw the scene unfolding and had to get my partner to write the first sentence down for me. And as it is a prompt I can tell you I will be going beyond this prompt, and outside Nong’s desires and probably writing something that involves a Sam/ Dean pairing so watch out for the continuation of this story.

I Need You Whole - S/D - Slash # 3. Agony

Title:I need you whole
Author: writersmirth

Characters/Pairing: Sam/Dean

Genre: Slash


Theme Set: A world Divided

Prompt: 03. Agony

My Table: My Table

Summary: After Bobby's death Dean and Sam are still grieving. Sam has taken to spending copious amounts of time alone and Dean contemplates leaving. Trapped in his own body Sam wants to escape. Dean finally picks up the courage to talk to his brother but when he does the consequences are dire.


Now my heart is aching
Sometimes I fall asleep for days
But my bed is empty
I know I am too set in my ways
Tell 'em all I'm ok – Alter Bridge

Noise filled the usually quiet space. Rain poured down fast and heavy pattering against the glass windows in the house. The sound was relaxing, amidst the high pitched music playing in the background. Next door a group of people screamed and laughed, their singing drifting in through the open window of the study. Sam sat in his office. Papers strewn all over the place held together in piles contained by empty coffee cups and one pot of freshly brewed coffee. The smell was strong, the blend a delicious mixture of vanilla spice and ground coffee beans. The steam swirled to the surface welcoming and warm beneath his nose and in the damp that filled the small room. He reached for the pot, loving the sensation of the heat against his trembling hands. Warm liquid splashed from the spout as Sam tipped it up and poured himself a hearty cup. He put it back down, dabbing at the droplets with the sleeve of his t-shirt before he took his big mug in both hands and breathed in the only comfort he seemed to have these days.


Dean walked through the hallway. He had done this a thousand times today, going through the case in question. Should he stay or should he go? With Bobby gone it felt all kinds of wrong to be in his house. Sleeping in the empty rooms, and drinking beer out of his fridge. He had only been gone for a week, and already it felt like his own death was looming in the horizon and with Sam acting strange, locking himself up in Bobby’s study all night and day. Only coming out when he needed to make himself a new bowl of food and to top up his coffee pot, it was beginning to be a much lonelier experience, waiting around for the next hunt or for more clues to aid them in their fight to shut hell down for good.

In many ways Dean was blessed. Sam was still alive and that some small mercy in the cruel game that never seemed to end. He had lost everyone else, but he still had Sam and regardless of how many times he saw him during the day and night the comfort that he breathed in the same space and could be heard banging and crashing in Bobby’s study was the only thing that kept Dean from losing his head; literally. It was this thought that caused Dean to walk back towards his bedroom, duffle bag slung over his shoulder. He would stay, another hour, another day because of Sam.


Sam drained his drink, and let the cup rest on his current project. Notes scrawled across the pages were beginning to blend together with coffee stains and ink. His head felt fuzzy, eyes blurry with lack of sleep and watery from the memories that seemed to haunt his every waking moment. He rubbed them hard, wiping wet liquid across his grimy skin. His hand lingered, then trailed down the side of his face, down the rough edges of his sullen cheeks, dry and aching from the tears that had fallen. His fingertips met his lips, cracked and sore, Sam winced pulling his hand away from his face.

There came a distant sound, one that he was familiar with but had not heard for a long time. How long had it been? Had it been a few weeks or a month? Time blended together these days especially when he locked himself in the room. The sound came from behind the glass, and as Sam looked up, eyes straining in the dim light he could make out the silhouette of his brother standing, rapping at the glass every so softly, but loud enough to catch his attention. Sam listened, his ears pricking like a dog at the rap-a-tap-tap over and over again. His body frozen in place as if trapped under a demons trap, only it was his body not responding, not his mind. He wanted to move from the chair, he wanted to pick it up and throw it across the room, to break it into pieces so he wouldn’t be confined to it any longer, but try as he might his body would not cooperate and he was trapped having to voice his needs. Only when he tried his voice sounded different, strained and raspy like someone had stuck a lighter down his throat and burned it from the inside.

“Sam I know you can hear me,” Dean shouted. “I am going to open the door now,” he continued.

The knocking ceased and Sam sat up straight, his arms gripped the chair. He felt his fingers wrap around the wood, curving underneath his fingers. It felt slick, and as he turned his palms towards him he noticed that sweat had began to coat his hands in a sticky film. There was no guarantee it was Dean, and panic began to rise first in the bit of his stomach like a worm wriggling around, swirling and moving, making him feel nauseated. Then came the thudding of his heart in his ears as blood rushed through his body and his breathing strained, each breath shorter and shorter as he wriggled in the chair.

“Alright I am coming in now,” Dean said, turning the handle.

Sam struggled. It felt like someone was holding him down. He had gained movement in his legs, that had almost gone to sleep and were numb and ached even more than the rest of his body, but a huge weight pinned him down to the chair, as if someone was straddling his hips or had wrapped rope around his waist. He tried pushing himself forward, but it didn’t work. Small beads of sweat seeped down from his hairline and travelled past his cheeks, slipping onto the corners of his lips where they stayed and stung his soft skin. His hands were starting to get sore, his arms stretched ached as he pushed away from the desk attempting to land the chair backwards.


Muscle to muscle and toe to toe
The fear has gripped me, but here I go
My heart sinks as I jump up
Your hand grips hand as my eyes shut – ALT-J

The door opened, Dean’s hand wrapped around the frame and he pushed the sliding doors apart revealing his brother falling in motion. Time stopped, his heart bounced in his chest, plummeting as he witness it all as if in slow motion. One second he was at his desk, hands gripping the hard wood, next he had propelled himself, the chair, the same chair Bobby had spent so many years sitting in studying in, crashed to floor taking Sam along with it. The sound that permuted the air was numbing. Dean didn’t know whether it was the wood snapping or Sam’s back, but suddenly his body was once gain in motion and time returned. He was still too late though.

Red liquid seeped from beneath the table, a small pool, but it was enough to make Dean scream. He ran around the desk, falling to his knees at his brother who lay unconscious. Bobby’s chair broken at the legs, the seat the only thing Sam remained connected to. Dean placed his hands on the back of Sam’s head and his fingers came back wet with blood. He grabbed his brother’s body and pulled him forward till his body was against his own. He shrugged of his jacket, his favourite leather jacket, their father’s favourite jacket and rolled it up into a ball. Gingerly, he placed it under his brother’s head, applying pressure hard to stop the blood flow. Blood sank through the thick fabric, getting heavy now as it came to the surface and began to already dry on his hands beneath the fabric from the warmth emitting from Sam’s body.

“Come on Sammy, don’t leave me now. You’re all I have got.” Dean growled, his eyes searching the top of the table, looking for Sam’s cell phone. He spotted it next to a stack of ancient yellowed page books and a photograph of their family from way back, before it had all turned to shit. His mother smiled at him from behind the picture class her eyes non-judging but warming and comforting in this trying moment. He’d dealt with worse in his time, far worse than a crack in the head, but with Sam he wasn’t about to take that chance, not with the way things were going. Not with the world ending. He needed Sam fixed, not broken. He needed him level headed and not a vegetable. He knew it only look one bad wack to the wrong side of the head and then it was lights out. The fact that he could feel Sam breathing and smile back at his mother even through the tears he was fighting was enough to know Sam was being watched over; by the angel? He couldn’t be sure, but by their mother he knew that was certain.

A warm hand reached up, trembling and shaky. It touched the side of Dean’s face caressing the stubble he had allowed to grow out while in wait. He looked down, taking his eyes away from the desk for only a second to see Sam trying to move. Sam’s lips moved but nothing came out, Dean didn’t need to hear him speak to know he had mouthed his name. He pulled him closer, letting his tears fall freely, dripping like rain drops from his cheeks to Sam’s. They cascaded down his brother’s gritty mess of a beard, hidden now beneath week’s worth of growth that brought a slight smile to his lips.

“Good God Sam when I’ve got you all cleaned up I might have to take you to a leather club. You’re starting to look more like a bear every day,” another flood of tears warmed his cheeks at the sight of Sam’s lips curling into a strained smile. “Just hang on Sammy. I am going to need to leave you for a few seconds to grab the phone okay?” Dean said, daring to let his hold of Sam go. Thankfully Sam didn’t protest. He felt his brothers hand slacken, slipping from his face as he rose to his feet, it landed against his boots and Dean looked down to see them wrapped around the toe. “Just a second Sammy, keep holding on I need to call an ambulance.”

Dean grabbed the phone. The phone that used to belong to Bobby, the one their old friend had given him during the last hunt they had worked together trying to take down Dick Roman. Dean flipped it open, ignoring the dried blood on the exterior. The screen showed up black. No familiar background clock appeared and when Dean pressed the green button to turn it on, the phone refused to go to the main screen, showing a red battery icon instead indicating a flat battery. Beneath him he felt Sam’s fingers loosening their grip on his toe. Panic hit hard and fast like an arrow to the chest and vile rose in his throat. He swallowed it back. Sucking in a deep breath and fought even harder to stop the tears from stinging his eyes. He needed to focus. He needed to see.

“Fuck my life,” Dean yelled. He turned around, letting Sam’s fingers slip completely and brought his fist to the bookshelf behind him. Books collided with his fist while some fell down next to Sam while others stayed in the shelves and only shifted. Sam’s head had lolled to the side, revealing the open wound that was still bleeding onto his jacket. There was no time. He had no idea where the fuck the charger was, and his mobile was somewhere in the kitchen or maybe it was his bedroom. It didn’t matter. He was going to have to stop the blood somehow. Crouching down, he gently lifted his brother’s head and wrapped the jacket around it.

“Sam, Sam squeeze my body if you can still hear me.”

Sam did not move.

“Sammy I swear. Pinch me god damn it. Hit me. Anything I am trying here.”

The room was silent. Sam was silent. His breathing was soft and slow.

There was no more time. He pressed his fingers together, touching Sam’s jugular to check his pulse, the rhythm was still there, but it was fading and fast, it was too fast, until Dean felt it; The slow, painful sensation of his pulse move to a stop.

So I am known for my crazy writing antics and scedual. I like to take a lot on when I am writing and although I don't finish everything I get damn fucking close. But I thought to post this as a reminder, a project organization list and a little heads up for those who follow me of what to expect over the next couple of months..But first here is a little Dean to brighten your day.



So I have decided to select three upcoming projects to work on pretty much throughout the year. First being something I rarely tackle and that is a Dean/ Gabriel relationship. I found this Mini Bang because I am a lunatic and need stimulation sometimes or challenges to get me going. I decided what the heck, I can do this and joined up. Then I sat there for hours wondering how the hell I was going to write a story about a character whom I usually pair up with Sam. Well- they don't call it a challenge for nothing.




Then crazy me who is obsessed with writing Slash didn't even think to consider what Gen actually meant and just signed up only to remember that Gen meant no romance. So I panicked, and almost thought to opt out, but then I decided what the hell I need to challenge myself even more so I am now participating in the SPN Gen Big Bang as well.

And finally I decided to join up and do another table challenge. Since I love them so much.
I like to work on them when I want something short and sweet, but still feel like I need a prompt.

Pretty much my family's reaction to be adding another challenge to my growing list

Here is my SPN 25 Table of choice.


01. Ask 06. Apology 11. Alley 16. Midnight 21. Music
02. Answer 07. Apathy 12. Always 17. Maybe 22. Magic
03. Agony 08. Action 13. Mystery 18. Master 23. Magnet
04. After 09. Abrasion 14. Mourning 19. Monster 24. Mask
05. Almost 10. Above 15. Mark 20. Mortality 25. Murmur

Title: Their Blood Gets Thicker Than Water- Chapter Eight
Author: writersmirth
Pairing: Sam/Blair
Word Count: ~1336
Rating: NC-17
Summary: While Blair sneaks a peak into Sam’s Journal. Sam realizes that he has been betrayed by the wrong siblings.

Disclaimer: All Supernatural characters are the brain children of Erik Kripke, and are used here solely for entertainment purposes. No profit comes from the posting of this story. No copyright infringement intended.
Warning(s): Incest, Siblings, Personal Insertion,
A/N: I can no longer control my dirty mind.


How can I love you? If you just don’t talk to me, babe – Enrique Iglesias

Blair sat underneath the dull glow of the bedside lamp. Beside her the empty beds left unmade made he even more nervous as she slipped Sam’s journal out from underneath her pillow and rested it on her lap. With knees shaking, knocking together as they would a chilly night, Blair felt the first tingles of anticipation rising. It felt nice beneath her fingers the journal was made of expensive materials she could see that when she ran her finger over the well known brand of notebooks she had seen in some of the high priced book shops. Still this was unique and as she turned it over to caress the back she noted the embossed symbol that they all wore inked into their skin. Turning it back to the front, she unwrapped the string keeping its thick pages bound and cracked it open to the first page.

“Just like Dad,” she said, her eyes running down the length of the page. On its crisp, texture pages pictures in all types and colors of inks filled the page with words that blended together, seamlessly like a melody. Borders with ancient text she recognized and others she was yet to learn, and then she found it, something that her eyes could not waver from. There in a border at the corner of the page, a message in their own language. A native language known only to them, one they had created when Dean or their father or both had left them on their own to make their own entertainment, and that they had used to keep the fear from creeping up behind them and strangling them senseless when days would go by without a word. She ran her finger over the paper, delighting in the indentation the pen had made.

Outside the shrieking of a woman in another room hit her ears and made her stop. The noise died down when Blair realized that it was probably a couple having sex, and there was nothing to be scared of, and yet as she turned the next page the urge to reach for her own notebook and to write Sam a secret message was so powerful she felt the hit of inspiration in between her legs. What will I write? She asked herself, daring to put the journal down. Could I decode this message, maybe even leave him one inside the journal and see if he replies? She flipped through the pages, glancing briefly at newspaper clippings and business cards Sam had taped in there from their many hunts and haunts around the country. There on the page forty was a space unused and blank beneath an entry he had written in his secret code. It was dated only two days ago. It made some sense to her, but it had been a long time since she had decoded anything, and judging by the familiar sound of the impala in the distance she wasn’t sure if she would have much time to decode what he had written, but as she reached for her cheap ball point pens from the stationary store in town she put pen to paper, heart to the page and wrote the words she needed him so desperately to hear, but would never have the guts to say.

Eleho Sam. Eleho – I love you.


Standing at the cue for a local grilled chicken sandwich, Sam pulled his phone out and checked it for the hundredth time that hour. Nope- still no message from Dean or Blair, and although lunch with Blair had rekindled some sibling banter and gruff, Sam was still sure that there was more that Blair had wanted to say, and less than Dean ever and if they didn’t start talking together it was only going to go further downhill, and no one liked a weak hunter.

Taking his order as the man behind him stepped up to the counter Sam shrugged his bag over his shoulder and went to find a quiet booth, luckily tonight the diner was scarce of clients, and there were many free. He chose the one further towards the back near the bathroom doors and slid into the tacky white vinyl seats that were as close to boutique furniture that he was ever going to get. Once seated, he unwrapped the baking paper around his sandwich and made himself comfortable, in it for the long haul by reaching into his back pocket for his key. The key that he carried around with him at all times, the key that was that held the only belonging on him that was as close to privacy as he was every going to have. Around Dean it was hard, Blair kept to herself, and around Cas- well the angel seemed to know what he was going to write before he wrote it so there was no sense hiding it from him. He alone was the only one who knew about his secret Journal; A journal much like his father’s but even more personal, complex and in depth. Rarely in an entry did he ever go into documenting his hunts, no this one was more of a personal exploration and if the past few weeks were anything to write about, then he was in for a slug of a night?

“Need a top up?” a platinum blond waitress with thunder thighs asked as she clapped her way through the short distance from the counter to his table. She bent over, buttons straining in her too tight blouse. When Sam nodded, she smiled a sickly mouth full of unnaturally angel white teeth and swiveled around on her squeaky shoes, walking along each table to offer them more coffee.

“Now down to business,” Sam said, humoring himself as he took a bite of his sandwich with one hand and used the other to open the padlock on his front pocket. So he had trust issues. Sue me thought Sam, pulling it away from the zipper. He put the lock on the table, followed by the key and opened the front pocket fully. Sliding his hand inside the fabric he felt around, coming into contact with a handful of pens, a few loose packets of gum and what he knew to be a petty cash bag, but what he didn’t find and what he was looking for was his journal. Startled, he momentarily forgot about his sandwich letting the salad fall into the open paper and picked his bag up, dumping it on the table.

“This can’t be happening,” he said, sweat slick on his forehead despite the cool air rushing through in waves around the diner. Opening the bag wide, he looked inside the darkness of the bag but did not see the Journal. “How can?” Sam started, sitting back in his chair. His body grew tighter, as tension bound every muscle and made his chest ache, until- like a light bulb it hit him. He had left the bag alone, in the room while he was in town, while Dean was in town- surly it wasn’t dean who had read it. The thought flashed through his mind for only a second before the truth lit up his eyes and had him scoping up the remainder of the sandwich; heading for the exit in three long strides.


Title: Their Blood Gets Thicker Than Water- Chapter Seven
Author: writersmirth
Pairing: Sam/Blair
Word Count: ~2148
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Dean decides to check out the local occult store for some supplies, but what he finds may bring him closer to discovering the truth more than he even anticipated.

Disclaimer: All Supernatural characters are the brain children of Erik Kripke, and are used here solely for entertainment purposes. No profit comes from the posting of this story. No copyright infringement intended.
Warning(s): Incest, Siblings, Personal Insertion,
A/N: I can no longer control my dirty mind.


This is what it is. This is who I am. This is where I finally take my stand – Newboys

Dean turned up the volume. Each decibel; sending all thoughts of Sam out the window along with each passing song. Deep Purples, Smoke on the Water vibrated through the Impala, and Dean could feel his fingers moving through the music, faster and harder until he found himself drumming along with the beats. For the first time, in a long time he let his frustration flow through his body by belting out each line as with as much conviction as he could muster. His chest rose, his back straightened and he dared to smile a cheeky smile, admiring himself in the mirror. A moment, passing by in a flash, but a moment of peace captured in the lyrics of a classic song.

“These are the moments worth living for Sammy,” he said, taking his attention away from the road as he stopped at a red light. His eyes met with the empty seat, and through the window he saw nothing but town signs and a few houses scattered distances apart. Then it all came back to him. Sammy, Blair, their heated- what – a moment? Had it been a lapse of consciousness? No, it was anything but. The light flashed yellow and then green. A car behind him honked his horn and Dean swore through the blaring music. He reached forward, switching it off and sped quickly, entering the town.

The country gave way to a line of either side of the road packed with shops. Each one was getting brighter and new with every passing second. It was like driving through the older parts of a town, down town where all the crime and grunge of buildings gave way to a different breed of people. As Dean pulled up outside the store he had found on Google, he took in the distinguishing characteristics of the new generation of kids. Every one of them walked down the street, head down with phones in their hands while their parents did the same. Even the elderly folk who sat outside in the boutique cafes sipping on their coffees or on park benches to were all heads down, staring at their phones.

Dean stopped the engine and tightened his grip around the steering wheel. Taking a minute for himself he breathed in deeply wondering not for the first time whether it was worth the hassle trying to save the world when people were turning more into zombies than the monsters they hunted. “If I don’t who will?”He said, questioning himself and whoever else was listening. When he exhaled he pulled away from the steering wheel and opened the door, stepping out into the now bustling center street of town.

[Rounding the car, he stepped onto the pavement and passed a couple who walked hand in hand, heads up and backs straight, their smiles on each other and their eyes taking in every beauty around them. There was a brief time in his life when he had stopped to smell the roses and sniff the trees, but as he stepped inside the open door and the curtained occult shop and passed brushed his head against a dream catcher, he was reminded that even despite their being beauty to be seen, it was not his time or place to see it, and his siblings had made sure of that.]

At the front of the store behind a glass framed desk covered in posters and long stuck slickers, a young man stood hunched over a series of documents spread out over the counter top. When Dean stepped forward, he raised his head and tucked his long, curling black hair behind his ears before his deep brown eyes met with Dean’s and he spoke the words that Dean longed to hear.

“What is it that you seek,” the young man said, whipping his cape around his shoulders like a practiced magician. When he smiled, he flashed a dazzling set of pearly whites, all bar two silver capped teeth at the front. Ribbon hung from around his cape, beads dangled to and fro as he moved to the side, shuffling papers and knick-knacks across the counter. He leaned forward, taking a deep sniff that tickled his nose and his grin tugged at his cheeks, making them wider and aging him dramatically.

Dean almost wondered if this was part of his act, and whether the man who stood before him who looked to be in his mid-thirties, wasn’t really pulling some woo doo shit and was really a sixty year old man. As he pondered the man’s appearance the smell, a familiar scent of incense filtered through the air, lingering in a spiral of spoke that danced underneath his nose and brought him back to the question the man had posed, the real reason he was here and it wasn’t to flirt with Merlin the coke head. “I see the truth,” Dean said, taking a stance, the scent tickled his nose, made the hairs stand on end, but he prevailed and crossed his arms over his chest, a gesture of impatience. There was something of about this man.

“Ah yes Dean Winchester, you seek the truth. You want to know if your blessed blood siblings are shall we say engaged romantically and more so,” he said pausing to lick his lips. “Fucking as you would say nowadays, am I correct?”

The man’s words made Dean Shift uncomfortably, more so than him knowing his name. Quick to act he reached for his gun tucked in the back of his belt and stepped closer to the counter. “In not to many words, now-“ he said stopping to withdraw the gun. “You’re going to tell me how you know my name and don’t even try to lie to me because I will know if you’re loading me with bullshit.”

Merlin stepped away from the counter, a perfect display of patience and unwavering confidence. He walked towards Dean, letting his gimmick cape drag along the floor until his eyes met with the muzzle of Dean’s gun. “Boy you can kill me a thousand times and I will still come back, but you will only get one chance to slip that toy back into your sponge bob boxer shorts and listen to what I have to say. So you can either sit your ass down on that chair, and shut up or you can shoot me and see how long you have to wait to seek your truth.”

Dean, taken back by the man’s direct words moved his gun away from the man’s face and held it by his right thigh. “How do you know my name, and how do you know about-“he said, pausing to find the right words to describe what he did not want to repeat.

“About your brother and sister fucking?” the man said bluntly again, this time with no real feeling behind it, just fact. As if he too wanted to open Dean’s wounds, tear away the skin and look deeper inside for the truth. “Or how you feel like you have failed them somehow, that it’s the only real explanation you can see that would cause them to lose their way from you, from everything so normal in your lives? Am I hitting close to home yet Dean?”

Dean nodded, his body suddenly growing tense as if his muscles shifted beneath his skin, crawling at the very mention of the contact his siblings had made and the lines they had crossed. He walked over to the chair the man was pointing to and with his gun still in hand sat down and waited for his thoughts to calm before he continued the conversation. “I get the point, you know what I am here for, and you can see it ain’t pretty. But that still doesn’t explain how you know me, and my siblings.”

“I would tell you to be patient and that all things worth knowing come in good time, but with you Dean, as with your father and his father, there is no such thing as a good time; only opportunity, but it’s like wishing for stability. None of these things has ever, or will ever be apparent to you. You spend your life fighting to be different, fighting to be free while Sam fights for normalcy and your sister for the love she can never have with another man, just like you and Sam can’t with another woman. I knew your father, he came down these parts a few times in my life when I was young and he would always speak of his three kids. His biggest disappointment was that despite his need to continue the legacy he instilled in you, he wanted most for you to feel what he felt for your mother.”

“So you know about me, you don’t know me?” Dean questioned, the unsettling feeling growing heavier in his chest. It sank deeper, crawling, moving like a cancer growing in his body. Every nerve ending turned numb with the man’s next words; His next request. He felt his fingers tighten around his gun. Felt the coldness of the steel warm beneath his palms that were slowly starting to sweat. The man looked at him, straight at him with a gleam in his eyes and spoke.

“It need not matter who knows who or what or why, but for you to know the truth Dean you have to be willing to take the risks. You have to be willing to take the bullet. To have your cake and eat the damn thing and be able to live with what you discover at the end of the day, and boy not everything you see will make you a believer and not everything you see with your ‘normal eyes’,” the man said paraphrasing his words. “Will be what you want to see, and once you see it; you will never be able to turn away from it. It will always exist.”

“What are you suggesting,” Dean said, feeling for once in a long time anxiety crawling beneath the surface. It was all becoming too much. He had to draw his focus back, be strong. He let his arm fall to his side, lowering the gun to the arm of the chair, but kept it still; aimed in the man’s direction. “What have you got in your big old bag of magic tricks?”

The man stepped forward, and undid the ribbon keeping his cape around his shoulder blades. Dean watched it fall to the floor and came face to face with a man whose every available piece of flesh was marked with some kind of protecting symbol. Blank ink marred his skin, and to his left, on his clavicle a red raw mark like a branded number glowed beneath the surface of his skin like ET’S phone home signal.

Dean formed the words in his head, ready to ask the stupid questions, but before he had a chance the glowing stopped and the ink disappeared, bleeding into the man’s skin, as if it had never been there in the first place. To be replaced with his clean, ivory chest and a shirtless torso.

“There’s no such thing as tricks in this lifetime. Nor is there room for cheap gimmicks,” he said waving his hands around the room as if proving his point. More than dream catchers hung from the ceiling. More than beads swayed in the gentle breeze drifting in through the door. “There is only space and time for illusions and it is an illusion we must create to extract the truth from Blair and Sam.

“And how do you suggest we do that?” Dean asked incredulous. “Sam isn’t a fool and neither is Blair. They trained with the best. They give their best.”

“And don’t we know it,” the man said winking. “My boy we need a plan and I hear from my sources, be they speak the truth that you are one hell of a strategist. So I suggest you grab one of those caps from over there and start strategizing. The shop closes in three hours, and by that time it might be too late to learn the truth and be it may; save your blessed bloods from falling even deeper into the abyss.