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The Wanting Comes In Waves

All Sam/Dean, All The Time

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Finish Lines

Fic: Finish Lines (Sam/Dean, NC-17) Part 3 of 3

Back to Part 2

Dean made his way to the entry hall, where most of the interaction with Magnus had happened. He spent a lot of time waving smoke around the column that he’d been pinned to, as well as the one Sam had been stuck up against. There was still a big dent in the wall from where he’d thrown Magnus, they’d cleaned up all the blood and removed the body, but hadn’t bothered to make any actual repairs. That would be a thing he could do, just like he had in the bunker, physically fixing walls and doors had been a good thing, cathartic even.

Dean made himself picture it all in his mind one last time, let himself feel how he’d felt about what he’d done or had done to him. He breathed in the smoke and pictured letting it all go, the weight of all the shit leaving him slowly, unhooking the tendrils buried deep down in his psyche where he kept all the self-loathing bottled up and hidden even from himself. He felt it all unknotting and almost felt like he’d physically vomit. Just in time he remembered that he was in control here, he was the one doing the ritual, the one that was still alive. That small triumph was enough to get him over the hump, to let it go (mostly) and move on to the other rooms.

Heading back down the hall towards Sam, he felt lighter inside and out, and thought about what it would be like to live here, in this space with his brother. How they’d use all the many rooms, this one was where Sam would probably set up his study space, and he was impressed with how much nicer this kitchen was compared to the bunker’s, more modern and well-equipped. The bedrooms were bigger and the walls weren’t just cement brick but all nicely finished. Sure the place was en-spelled and magicked up the wazoo, but it was a nicer space.

The bunker’s impressive main room was great and all, but it was always too cold in there for both of them. The pros and cons list was beginning to stack up in favor of this place as an option, it was always good to have more than one, a lesson always drilled into him relentlessly by their father. He pictured the relief on Sam’s face when he’d hear the good news and that brought him back to the living room. Sam was stretched out on the couch again, looking just as delectable as he had a little while ago.

Dean felt the curl of desire rekindle and there wasn’t any of the desperation to avoid all the other crap he’d been worrying about. The banishing ritual had apparently worked, he felt clean inside.

“You feeling better?” Sam asked, not opening his eyes.

“Yeah, thanks for the idea, I wouldn’t have thought of it,” Dean said, stubbing out the sage bundle in the plate and setting it down next to the lit candles. He quickly shed his clothes into an untidy pile and sat next to Sam on the couch, hips touching. Dean ran one hand up over Sam’s torso, and leaned over to kiss him. Sam murmured and hmmm’d his pleasure, wrapping Dean up in his arms and pulling him up to lay on top of his outstretched form. They lost themselves in kissing, Dean would never get enough of his brother’s lips, it wasn’t possible. The curl of desire grew even more and Dean couldn’t contain himself much longer.

“Want you, Sammy,” Dean said, pinning Sam’s hands over his head at the end of the long leather couch.

“Want you too, Dean, always,” Sam said, wrapping his legs around Dean’s hips.

Dean started a grinding thrust down into Sam, reveling in the way they still fit together after all these years. He slid a hand down between them, and grasped Sam tightly, using the slick wetness to jack him slow and purposeful.

“What do you want, Dean?” Sam managed to ask between long drawn-out moans. “It’s all up to you tonight.”

“Everything, same as always,” Dean said.

Sam laughed, breathless and sexy in his ear. “It’s on the table.”

Dean fumbled on the table near the candles for the tube of lube Sam had set there. Sam just always knew. He pressed slicked up fingers into himself, scissoring them quickly. Then he sat back on his heels and warmed up more lube on his fingers before pressing them into Sam’s opening. Sam growled and then nearly purred at the intrusion. Dean grinned as Sam’s body let him inside, welcoming him in with muscular twitches, he pressed deeper and Sam’s eyes closed while he moaned with pleasure.

“Dean, please, c’mon,” Sam whined, hips thrusting up so that Dean’s fingers slid in even more.

Dean pulled them out and slicked himself up and quickly took over the space he’d made inside of Sam. He thrust in and out in a slow relentless rhythm, loving every scratch Sam left on his back, every moan he felt pass between their lips. When they were both at the point where it was about to be over, he pulled out sudden and almost painful.

Sam gasped at the loss of contact, and his eyes widened as he watched Dean straddle his hips. He held his cock steady so Dean could lower himself down onto it.

“Sammy, come with me, c’mon, fill me up, make me yours,” Dean said.

He felt his brother’s hands around his hips tighten, holding him in place as Sam pounded up into him at a furious pace. He held onto the back of the couch and watched as the man he loved came apart inside him. Sam got a hand around him, stroking only a few times before Dean came between them, slicking their stomachs with his release.

Sam grabbed his hand and guided his fingers to smear his own come into Sam’s skin. “I’m yours too.”

Dean ran a finger over Sam’s bottom lip with the last of it and leaned down to kiss him, feeding his answer into Sam’s mouth. “I’m always yours, Sammy. You’re always mine.” And that was the reminder that he’d needed, even though he was Sam’s, he was still always in charge of what happened to his own body. (Because they both know how that went).

After a long few quiet minutes, bodies still pressed together, Sam began shifting underneath him making uncomfortable noises but still refusing to let him go. Dean moved so that Sam slipped out of him, and he finally pushed himself up to sitting. Sam was sprawled beneath him, practically melted into the leather of the couch, hair a glorious messy tangle, his lips red and kiss swollen like they should always be.

“C’mon, let’s go sleep in a real bed tonight, huh?” Dean said, standing up on slightly unsteady legs and holding a hand out for Sam. They chose one of the bedrooms, not the one that had obviously been occupied by Magnus, its large canopied bed was ridiculously ornate, but it was comfortable. And best of all, it had Sam in it.


He was alone, walking, on a high cliff above the sea, he could hear it crashing onto the rocks below but it was too dark to see clearly. There was only a sliver of moon in the night sky above. He heard the sounds of indistinct movement behind him, then footsteps quickly approaching, he began to run, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him before he could get away. It pressed harder and harder still, bruise tight, he couldn’t get away, couldn’t see who it was, then the person grabbing him spoke.

“You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you? I mean, I knew hunters were basically just apes, but that’s pretty dumb, a little burning sage and what…poof…I’m gone. I don’t think so,” Magnus growled in his ear.

Dean tried to turn enough to face him, to be able to lash out and strike him. But then the hand gripping his shoulder seemed to become smaller, sharper, but somehow even more powerful. “He’s nothing to worry about, Dean. I’m all you’re ever going to need, and that’s a promise,” Amara purred into his ear.

He screamed and flailed, trying to get away, desperate enough that he’d be willing to fling himself off the cliff into the sea rather than be taken over by her. “No, no I won’t, no!” He struck out at Amara and was falling…falling…down.

Dean’s eyes shot open just after he landed on the floor, panting with the terror filling his heart. Sam flicked on the bedside lamp and peered over the edge of the bed down at him.

“You okay?” Sam asked, holding out a hand for Dean to pull himself up with.

Dean took Sam’s hand and crawled back up into the warm bed, and into the safe circle of Sam’s arms. He concentrated on slowing his breathing until it matched the slow up and down movement of Sam’s broad chest.

“You were screaming, no, I won’t. Was it Amara again?” Sam finally asked.

“Yeah, same ol’, same ol’,” Dean finally said.

“Why don’t we get some breakfast going, and figure out a plan for how to catalog the last stuff in this place so we can get going back home today?”

Dean nodded against Sam’s chest, letting himself revel in the feeling of the scratchy hair against his cheek, the scent of Sam’s skin filling his senses to push the remnants of the nightmare away. He sat up first and stretched

After breakfast, while they were obsessively cataloging the remainder of the stuff in the hideaway for future sale or use, well it seemed obsessive to Dean, he was on the last shelf in the library that hadn’t been examined yet. Back in the darkest corner was a dented and scuffed metal box. When he brought it up into the light he saw that it had hex marking in some sort of red paint all across the surface. It reminded him of some of the hex boxes that his dad had kept in his old storage lockers. Shrugging off the memories of his father before opening it, he had the thing opened up, and the contents dumped on the table in a matter of seconds. All that tumbled out was a small carved wooden box that seemed pretty innocuous.

He sat down at the table and considered how to proceed, he used a bandana to pick the box up and shook it several times, he heard something metal rattling inside. He found the hidden hinge release and used a pen to open it to find a large brass locket. He used the same pen to touch the locket, moving it around until he was able to open the door, finding that it was empty in the center. The space behind the small locket door was a vaguely familiar shape, but he couldn’t quite place it. Intrigued by the strange locket, Dean dug deeper into the wooden box and came up with a small parchment booklet that had been tucked in the lid. It was hand inked in a beautiful flowing script. Thank goodness it was in English for once, so he didn’t have to ask for translation help from Sam, and it even had a Men of Letters’ file system number on the front.

According to what he read in the booklet, the locket would keep Amara away from him if he wore it at all times. She would no longer have any ability to contact him, invade his dreams, command his body, or most importantly, absorb his soul. But, unfortunately, one of the very last things in the booklet was a clear illustration, a diagram of how to make the thing actually work. The locket was shown with its little door open and empty inside. Several arching arrows pointed into the empty space leading from a perfect illustration of his old amulet. There were also some angel feathers required. But his eyes couldn’t move from the familiar old face looking up at him from the page. The thing needed the God juice from his old amulet to power it up so that it would work. Years ago, he’d thrown away the very solution to his problem himself.

Dean knew the moment Sam noticed how still he’d just gone, he was frozen in his library chair, his eyes wide open in surprise and something that probably looked like some combination of guilt and sadness. He could feel Sam pad up behind him quietly and guessed he’d be looking over Dean’s shoulder to see what he was reading. Sam couldn’t hold in his surprised intake of breath when he looked at the diagram that clearly showed Dean’s amulet being inserted into the locket case, angel feathers floating around it, blessing it with a bit of God’s grace to counteract Amara’s power.

Dean still hadn’t said anything at this point, he was vaguely aware that he was sitting there still as a statue, hands gripping the diagram and the empty locket. He knew that he needed to speak up, to at least voice his surprise, verbalize his thrill at finding the right thing, the needle in the proverbial haystack. This locket was something that might actually help keep Amara away from him. But they were missing the one important thing to make it work because he’d tossed the thing in a motel trashcan all those years ago.

His eyes kept getting drawn back to the drawing of his amulet, grinning up at him off the page like it had known all along how much of a screw-up Dean was. So much had turned on that little thing, symbol of his bond with Sam as well as of the dissolution of their relationship during the Apocalypse. All of it was his fault, all that destruction for nothing, just because he’d been pissed at what they’d seen in their Heaven. Now that he knew it was all an angel manipulation, he’d do it all differently. He wouldn’t have wanted to hurt Sam, wouldn’t have held the thing over the wastebasket by the cord to make sure Sam saw it being tossed away. But it was gone, long gone, just because he’d been a little bitch about things, acting out, giving up, throwing the thing away just to get back at Sam in the moment. It served him right, not having the one thing he really needed to have a chance against Amara.

He barely even noticed Sam leaving the hideaway with a mumbled “be right back” and Dean felt the depth of the loss all over again, deep in his gut where all that hurt had been stashed away all this time. He’d never dealt with it, just kept it in reserve because he hadn’t had anywhere else to put it. He’d never apologized for doing that to Sam, and somehow Sam had forgiven him, moved past it. And that wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair to Sam. He remembered saying to that high school girl that had been performing in the play about their lives that he hadn’t needed a symbol to remind him of what Sam meant to him. But apparently he did, like right now. And wasn’t that just how his life had always gone.


Sam quickly found Dean’s amulet in the one hiding place he had kept to himself in their car, under the false bottom in the glovebox he’d carved out long ago. He’d always figured Dean knew about it, but along with several concert tickets from their teenage years, the amulet was still in there, untouched since that horrible day he’d put it in there after he’d picked it up out of the trashcan. He had wrapped it up in his old red bandana so it wouldn’t cause a new rattle Dean would have instantly noticed.

Holding it in his hands for the first time he remembered how his heart had broken so completely, how it had felt so permanent and direly final. But he’d always been a hopeless romantic, and even more importantly he had just found out that they were soulmates so he’d kept the thing. Not ever imagining using it again, or ever letting Dean know it was there in the car with them all along. But now he had to, and his belly filled with dread about how Dean would react, having to wear this thing again, having to know that Sam had kept it.

He came back inside to find Dean smashing up the personal stuff that Magnus had left behind, slashing his stupid uptight period clothing with his knife and ripping apart the bedclothes in a flurry of down feathers. Sam stood in the doorway watching the violence pour out of his brother and tried to understand what he was muttering under his breath. He’d thought Dean had gotten this all out of his system last night when they’d talked about Magnus’ assault. Maybe there were still some lingering issues that Dean hadn’t shared with him. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. Dean finally saw him, and let go of the pillow he’d been slashing.

“You about done in here?” Sam asked. “I’ve got something you should probably come look at.”

Dean dropped his knife in the middle of the ruined bed and his whole body slumped after all that violence. Sam stepped into the room and slowly pulled Dean into his arms, ready to step back if he didn’t want the contact.

He waited for his brother to say something, but Dean remained silent, the only thing he said was communicated with how his body melded into Sam’s without protest. Sam rubbed his brother’s back gently and tried to think of how to fix this, and about what the chances were that Dean would let it be fixed.

“You need to talk about this some more?” Sam asked into the top of Dean’s head, lips moving against his brother’s spiky hair. He breathed in the familiar smell of the hair products Dean had used for years, beneath it the spicy scent of his skin which always made his mouth water.

“No, that was the last of it,” Dean said, stepping away from Sam’s arms so that they suddenly felt very empty. He watched as Dean shuttered himself off, putting away the messy, tender parts Sam rarely ever got to see.

Once they got back into the library room where the locket and spell book lay on the table, he handed Dean the amulet and a baggie of angel feathers without a word. Dean looked at what was in his hand for a long moment, not saying anything, and Sam felt his heart tighten up with fear. Not for violence but that it would break Dean all over again, but then he smiled up at Sam with a brilliant grin.


Dean clenched the amulet and bag of angel feathers in his hand and felt the joy of knowing that Sam hadn’t ever given up on him back then. That’s what it meant, right? And now, he could maybe survive this Amara thing, all thanks to his amazing, big-hearted brother. “I should have known you’d come through for me, Sammy. Just like you always do,” Dean said, hoping that would be enough and that Sam wouldn’t make him say more. He sank down into the chair holding the amulet in his palm, not able to stop looking at it.

“Let’s see if this works or not, huh?” Sam said with a matching grin, he also looked relieved which seemed strange to Dean.

“Hey, you weren’t worried about how I’d react to seeing this thing were you?” Dean asked, turning in his chair to face Sam. “I always hoped you’d dug it out of the trash, but I was always too scared to ask. That was me worrying about what you’d say since I’d screwed everything up by that point.”

“You didn’t screw up a thing, Dean. Yeah I kept it, and I didn’t give it back to you right away because I was mad about it back then. No, if we’re being honest here, I was way past mad, but you already know that. And then it just never seemed like the right time to put the burden back on you, and we finally got back on track. But it was always there waiting for you.”

“Where was it?” Dean asked, skipping the burden issue, because that was something they’d never agree on and he was exhausted about talking about all this stuff. But did Sam have a hiding place he didn’t know about? How was that even possible?

“That’s going to have to remain my secret if you really don’t know the answer to that,” Sam said with that infuriating little-brother grin he’d perfected over the years.

Sam returned to the library table with a candle plate and a lighter, and Dean quickly performed the ritual in the handbook that came with the locket following the very clear instructions. The amulet slipped right into the locket nestled amongst the angel feather. With them in there it wasn’t going to rattle or move. He looped the locket’s heavy chain around his neck and felt the protection against Amara’s control come over him like a wonderfully soft invisible blanket.


“I can’t believe I’m going to have to wear this ugly thing,” Dean said, holding the locket in his hand at the limit of the chain.

“It’s just until we figure out how to get rid of her hold on you,” Sam said. “Unless you’d rather just be erased and absorbed that is, I don’t know…maybe you’ve changed your mind.”

Dean shivered at the reminder of Amara’s words. “Nah, I’ll suck up the bad fashion choices considering the alternative.”

“I like it, reminds me of the magic locket in that Christmas Secret movie you were watching last week,” Sam said in a teasing voice.

“Apparently you were watching it too, if you remember the name,” Dean said, ready to tease him right back.

“You know I like the schlocky romantic movies too, just like you do. But I’m at least man enough to admit it,” Sam said with an annoying air of superiority. He tugged at the locket until Dean was up on his toes enough to kiss him senseless. Somehow Dean didn’t care about teasing or movies or lockets.


“This place feels okay now, maybe it could be our winter home or something,” Dean said, as he finished packing up his duffel bag.

“Really, you’d be okay with staying here now?” Sam asked, zipping his own bag up and hoisting it onto his shoulder.

Dean picked up his own bag and began walking to the door. “Yeah, guess I’m over it now or whatever. We need a back-up safe house anyway. Plus I know the low light in the bunker gets to you in the winter.”

Sam’s hand found its usual spot on Dean’s lower back, warm and reassuring as always. “I like  that idea, a winter home.”

Dean looked up at Sam and fiddled with the locket hanging around his neck. “Guess we better get back to our summer home then, huh?”

“Who knew we’d end up with two houses, Bobby would have been impressed.”

“We would’ve never been able to get him out of the library back at the bunker.”

The End