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For Warnings and Summary, see Master Post
Author’s Note: This story goes AU after the Season One episode, Dead Man’s Blood. Events are canon through this episode, but afterwards, multiple leads cause the boys to separate from John after all, and now nine months have passed. The events in Salvation and Devil’s Trap never happened.
This story is written to stand alone, but it is also the sequel to An Issue of Consent. Click here if you would like to read the entire verse.
Prologue
THEN…
The force of the blast rips the creature away from Sam, pulling him off-balance and causing the chains around his neck to tighten. He gags, feebly trying to right himself, but his reserves are gone and he sags down, letting the chain dig deeply into the bruised skin of his throat. He can’t get any air, but he doesn’t really want to breathe anymore, anyway. He waits for oblivion to come. He needs this to be over.
His eyes are streaming with tears against the blinding glare of the room, even though he’d slammed his eyelids closed as soon as the light flared. Strong hands lift him back up, tearing a surprised, ragged, “No,” from his mouth in protest. They support him enough to ease the constriction around his throat, and his traitorous body takes in a gasping breath.
“Sammy?” The word is harsh and frantic and Dean… Sam’s chest squeezes painfully with panic. Dean shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t see him chained up like a helpless animal, shouldn’t see him with his own come freshly dripping down his chest and the creature’s still trickling out of his ass. Dean joins him on the mattress anyway, causing the chains to constrict once more. Sam coughs weakly against them, and Dean pulls in close, and only holds him tighter when Sam tries to flinch back.
“Just go…” Sam grits out, but Dean doesn’t seem to hear, a steady stream of profanity slipping from his lips as he grips Sam tightly with one trembling hand and pulls at the chains with the other.
“Fuck,” Dean swears angrily, louder than his previous words and cutting the stream up short. There’s a slight pause, and then Dean adds in a broken voice, “I’m sorry, Sammy.” The words sound wounded, and Sam has a moment to wonder dazedly why Dean would feel the need to apologize before Dean lets him go and the chains tighten, cutting his air off completely once again. Sam feels the pressure building fast, and his head is ready to explode when everything suddenly fades for several blissful moments.
He comes back to himself in a rush to find Dean’s lips over his, breathing into him. His dick surges to life as he presses up against the offering, overwhelmed with a need so sudden and so intense he aches with it.
He needs Dean more than he’s ever needed anything in his life, but Dean pushes him down and pulls back, breaking their connection. “God, Sam, no. I don’t need… god, do you even recognize me?” Dean’s mumbling doesn’t make much sense, and Sam would follow Dean’s retreating lips, but his hands are still bound and his body is too broken for him to move.
“Please,” Sam whispers, and when Dean bends close, Sam abruptly realizes that he can make out the blurry edges of Dean’s form. The unacknowledged suspicion that he might be blind has been sitting like a weight on his soul for days. A sob tears itself from his chest in relief. Sam forces his eyes open a little further, despite the fiery burn.
“Dean… can see you,” Sam gasps out. Dean fights with the bindings around Sam’s hands, and Sam struggles weakly, wanting to help, desperate to touch. His sight is getting stronger by the second, accompanied by the racing of his heart, and he feels dizzy, frantic to pull Dean in close, to drink in the taste and smell of Dean’s warm skin, to merge their bodies together until he can no longer tell where he ends and Dean begins.
The realization that something is wrong crashes through him, this need, this desire for Dean…for his brother…it isn’t him. It’s not…
Helpless rage boils in his gut. The creature did something to him, a parting gift so he can’t forget, can’t just move on now that it’s all over. A choking sob rips itself from his throat, bitter and churning, and he can’t do this anymore. It won’t ever stop. The creature dug its claws into him, and it’s never going to let him go. His heart is racing, his breaths are shallow, and he can feel his body giving out, finally giving up, and he welcomes it, needs the promised oblivion that death will bring.
The bindings around his wrists yank apart, but he barely feels it. “Dean,” he whispers, knowing his death will devastate his brother, but he has nothing left to fight it with. “’M sorry…”
“No!”
He hears Dean’s rage and terror in the simple denial, but he can’t hold on anymore. A sharp, stabbing pain begins in his chest and arcs through his body. He’s dimly aware of Dean clinging to him as he convulses, as he slips away with Dean’s frantic cries chasing him into the grey…
Chapter 1
NOW…
“Dean…”
The whimpered sound tore at Dean’s soul, lost and plaintive, and Dean pulled Sam in closer, wrapping himself protectively around his brother and pressing a kiss to the top of Sam’s head.
“I’m here, Sammy,” Dean whispered, hoping his voice would soothe the nightmares away. This was the third time tonight. Not that Dean was sleeping much anyway, what with the harsh glare of the oversized bedside lamp almost bright enough to blind him.
Sam, afraid of the dark.
That just didn’t make sense in any universe… and anyway, it had been months since the attack. Wasn’t Sam supposed to be getting better by now, not worse?
Sam cried out again, soft and wounded, so Dean pulled him in tighter and slipped his knee between his brother’s legs to nudge at the underside of Sam’s balls. As fucked up as it was, Dean’s touch was the only thing that ever seemed to penetrate Sam’s dreams. Intimacy the only thing that ever helped Sam escape their grip. Dean brushed another kiss against Sam’s hair, slipping his hand down to run along Sam’s stomach and graze the top of Sam’s dick.
“It’s me, Sammy, just me…” he murmured softly.
Sam’s breaths became more labored until gasping, harsh coughs interrupted the frantic fight to draw in air. Dean raised his voice, “Come on, Sammy, wake the hell up…” but Sam didn’t react; the dreams had him really good tonight. This wasn’t working. Dean loosened his grip and started to struggle up to sitting. It was probably time to try shaking his brother awake, even though Dean hated the disoriented fear that usually caused.
Sam suddenly went rigid in his arms, and Dean froze halfway up, his breath catching.
“Dean?” Sam gritted out through tightly clenched teeth, his eyes open wide.
“Right here, Sam,” Dean replied, easing back down and pulling Sam close once more.
“Jesus fuck,” Sam breathed out angrily. He grabbed Dean’s hand and pressed it back down against his dick. It throbbed hard against Dean’s palm, full probably to the point of aching.
“It’s okay. I’ve got you, I’ve always got you,” Dean soothed, despite his own rage towards the creature that always welled up in the face of Sam’s pain. Sam was sweaty and flushed, and the fear that his anger was masking somehow made Sam look a lot younger than 23 years.
Sam entwined shaking fingers with Dean’s, and Dean ran his hand down and then back up Sam’s long length. “Dean, I need you, please,” Sam begged quietly.
Sam’s eyes grew distant, and Dean could tell the memories were still playing out in his brother’s head. Dean had killed the creature dead with the colt, but he wasn’t sure it would ever really be gone. If Dean could find a way to permanently exorcise the fucker from Sam’s head, he’d do it in a heartbeat, but for now Sam would have to make due with simple distraction.
Dean trailed wet, possessive kisses down the side of Sam’s face and Sam arched into them, offering himself to Dean. “Make me yours, Dean,” Sam moaned, and turned onto his back, letting his legs fall apart in invitation.
Dean moved on top of his brother, lowering himself gently between the vee of Sam’s legs and locking his eyes with Sam’s. He let their chests glide together as he took Sam’s wrists and pinned them loosely above Sam’s head. Sam’s breathing hitched, fear darkening his expressive eyes, and Dean dipped low, letting his lips trail gently against Sam’s forehead. “It’s just me, Sam,” he repeated, his voice growing huskier with his deepening need.
Come on, Sammy, need you… love you…
Sam relaxed slightly beneath him, the subtle trace of fear in the hitch of Sam’s breaths finally easing back. Dean dropped his head down to lick over the side of Sam’s chin, sucking in the skin before biting down into the flesh hard enough to bruise.
Sam turned his head, exposing his neck to Dean a little more, and a soft, needy whimper escaped his lips. Dean let the rough skin slip from his mouth, let his teeth scrape over the stubble on Sam’s chin, and, as he did, Dean could feel Sam let the fear go and could feel Sam letting fierce desire take its place.
Fucker might be able to slip into Sam’s dreams, but it doesn’t get to stay.
Dean licked over Sam’s abused skin and then sucked it back into his mouth, placing a second bite over the first and deepening the marks he knew would be there in the morning. When he let go, Sam tried to follow him, silently begging for more. Dean smiled and pushed his brother back to the bed before moving down slowly to lavish attention on Sam’s chest and stomach, relishing in the feel of Sam’s hard muscles quivering under his touch.
Dean’s dick was throbbing painfully now, crying for attention, but Dean wasn’t quite ready to give in to the demands of his own body. He moved down to lick lightly over Sam’s leaking cockhead, and Sam arched up into Dean’s mouth with a groan. Dean relaxed his throat, taking Sam in deep. He’d gotten a lot better at this in the last couple of months. Dean suppressed his smirk and caressed Sam with his tongue instead, worked his lips over his brother as he moved up and down over Sam’s dick a few times.
“No,” Sam moaned, causing Dean to stiffen in alarm. Sam pushed Dean away, and Dean scrambled back in response, not sure what he’d done wrong. “I don’t…” The words were laced with confusion and conflicting desires, and Sam’s hand slipped around the back of Dean’s neck, gripping him tightly to keep him from moving further away, pulling him closer. “Dean,” he gasped, “I need…”
Dean huffed out a soft laugh in relief. Sam’s brain short circuiting with lust was endearing as hell and a shit load easier to deal with than the thought that Dean had messed up again. Sam was dragging him up the bed and pivoting around so that they lay in opposite directions before Dean’s brain had a chance to catch up with the situation and… hell, yeah, if he had to have a sleepless night, at least a sixty-nine wasn’t a bad way to spend it.
Allowing himself to be easily manhandled into place, lips met cock at roughly the same time. Satin skin filled Dean’s mouth, the salty bitter taste exploding across Dean’s tongue at the same time that wet heat enveloped his dick, sending fireworks of sensation shivering through Dean’s body. Dean moaned appreciatively and pulled back slightly, taking just the tip of Sam into his mouth. He sucked down hard, causing Sam to jerk against him with a small, needy whimper. Dean chuckled, feeling triumphant, but the laughter died away quickly when Sam sucked him all the way down to the root. Holy fuck.
The muscles of Sam’s throat and tongue worked against him, and he stilled, his brain unable to keep up. Sam moved up and down, slick and hot, and it wasn’t until Sam thrust into his mouth with a loud plaintive groan that Dean found enough of his wits to begin reciprocating again. Their rhythms escalated in tandem, building their mutual need into a frenzy of bliss and desire until he couldn’t contain it any more. His brain exploded as he pumped come down his brother’s throat, Sam returning the favor half a second behind him.
The last of his orgasm faded, and Dean pulled off Sam to roll onto his back. Sam followed, licking and sucking, never content to just let him go when they were done. Dean basked in it for a few moments, until the continuing stimulation started to border on painful, and he reached down and put a hand on Sam’s head. “Dude,” Dean moaned softly, “Come on, you’re gonna kill me.”
Sam didn’t respond, didn’t stop. Dean let out a strangled moan and sat up, but it was like Sam’s mouth was permanently attached to his groin, and Dean finally had to grab Sam’s head and shoulder to try to force his brother back. Sam was lost in his own head, zoning out on what he was doing, one of the few effects of the curse that occasionally persisted even after they had stopped fighting it. Usually when this happened, Sam came out of it on his own… apparently not this time. It was too much, too painful, and Dean couldn’t take it anymore.
“Sam, stop,” Dean said, pushing again, and Sam reacted like he’d been hit, flinching back and then hunching in on himself, and there was no way someone as big as Sam should be able to look so small…
Sam was shaking, and Dean reached out instinctively, wrapping his arms around his brother and pulling him in close. Dean felt completely powerless to fix anything, and his eyes burned as he gently rocked Sam in his arms, content to just let Sam rest there, if that’s what he needed. It’s not like there was really anything to talk about, they’d already done that, and it hadn’t helped.
“It won’t stop, Dean…” Sam whispered, so softly Dean almost missed it. “No matter what I do, he never really goes away.” Dean felt chill go up his spine; he didn’t have a clue what to say. The room was quiet for a while before Sam continued, “I love you so much, Dean. I just… God, I’m sorry…”
“Hey, goes both ways, Sam, I promise,” Dean managed to get out past the log jam in his throat. He tightened his grip and pulled them both back, pulling up the covers to keep them warm. He wished he could turn off the damn light, but the look on Sam’s face the last time Dean’d asked – even though Sam had agreed… he swallowed. No, he didn’t want to risk that again.
He ran his hands through Sam’s long hair in a soothing motion until Sam’s breathing evened out and Dean was pretty sure he was sleeping. He tore his eyes away from his brother to resume his examination of the ever-so-fascinating ceiling. Damn it, he wished he could sleep. He almost wished they could go back to the time when sex with his brother left him so drained of energy he passed out.
The phone rang, startling Dean from the vague, half-aware zone he’d finally managed to achieve. Dean fumbled for it anxiously; Bobby’s house had been locked up tight when they’d gone to check it out a week and a half ago. And shit, it wasn’t like the man needed to keep them apprised of every hunt he decided to take, but it’d been over a month since they’d heard from him. Dean found himself saying a quick prayer to the universe that this was finally him.
He managed to get the phone open just before it would have gone to voicemail and shoved it to his ear. “Hello…” His voice sounded gravelly, his throat irritated from the blow job; he cleared it self-consciously.
“Dean?” the gruff voice came out loud and strong through the phone, and the bottom dropped out of Dean’s stomach like he’d been sucker-punched.
Shit.
Panicked, he struggled to untangle himself from Sam, finally managing to sit up and swing his legs over the side of the bed, fully awake. “Dad?” he asked hesitantly.
“Dean. Where are you?”
Dean wondered if he should leave the room, but when he glanced back at Sam, their gazes locked. Too late for that. Sam was sitting up slowly, his expression fierce and demanding answers. Dean couldn’t look at him, and he turned away. “Not far outside Lincoln,” Dean gritted out, questions and instinctive outrage warring for dominance. A large part of him wanted to close the phone and throw it across the room, wanted to pretend this call never happened.
Fuck.
He felt Sam’s hand rest against his back, and it made his skin crawl. The word, brother, echoed through his head like it hadn’t in months and left him feeling dirty and ashamed and wrong, and at the very same time, guilty for feeling that way. No way could he please both his dad and his brother at the same time. Everything was so fucked up. He stood and walked across the room to sit at the table.
“Okay,” his dad continued, apparently oblivious to Dean’s turmoil, or maybe not caring. “I need you to head up to Green Creek, Colorado, ASAP.”
“Dean,” Sam was talking right over Dad, making the conversation hard to track, “lemme talk to Dad.” Sam was visibly shaking as he stood, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and escalating anger. Oh, hell no.
He turned away from Sam, ignoring him so he could focus on the phone call. “Dad, where the hell have you been?” he asked, unable to keep his own frustration from creeping into his voice. “We’ve been trying to reach you for months.”
“Green Creek, son. There’s demon sign in the area…”
Dean cut him off, suddenly impatient, “Is that where you are?”
“Dean,” his dad’s voice held a warning tone, and Dean straightened his posture, coming to attention in automatic response. “Bobby’s there, son, and he’s been out of contact for a couple weeks now. I can’t go, so you’ll head out there now. You understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Dean replied instinctively, falling back to his training under the sheer force of his father’s ordering tone.
“Good.” There was a sigh on the other end of the phone and his dad’s voice softened. “I’ll meet you at Bobby’s in a week, just… you boys be careful.”
“Dad,” Dean bit out, anger and frustration winning out once more, “where the hell are you?” Dean was greeted with silence, and when he looked at the phone, the call had been ended. “Shit!” He closed the phone and slammed it down on the table, the desire to crawl out of his own skin almost overwhelming.
“Dean?” Sam’s hand closed over his shoulder, and Dean jerked away, moving quickly between the table and the window, needing, in that moment, something tangible between him and his brother. His jeans were slung over the back of one of the chairs in a messy heap, and he grabbed them and pulled them on clumsily.
There was an awkward moment of silence, with Sam staring at the floor and Dean not quite able to meet Sam’s eyes. Sam broke first, running a nervous tongue over his bottom lip before stammering, “Dean, what…”
It felt like the room was caving in on him, the traffic noise becoming a dull roar that filled his ears, until it was thundering through his head making coherent thought impossible. He turned and fumbled blindly at the door before he got it open, got through and slammed it shut behind him.
~o0O0o~
The loud bang of the door sliding home felt like a gun shot, felt like condemnation and denial. Sam stumbled back until he felt the edge of the bed behind his legs, but the bed was everything that was wrong with his life, so he jerked away from it, deciding instead to sit down heavily at the table. His thoughts were chaotic, spinning around in impotent circles, and he absently picked up a pair of boxers off the floor and slipped them on.
His gaze dropped to the phone lying on the table. Dad had finally called.
Nine months.
Sam spun the phone away, letting it fly off the edge of the table. Pulling the laptop forward, he let his hands caress over the cool metal and plastic case. He flipped it open with no particular plan in mind except that, maybe, if Dean came back there might be a hunt to research. The screen flickered on, and the previous night’s web search came up, some page with lots of psychobabble about PTSD, except that while there was lots of information about recovering from rape, there wasn’t any instruction manual for dealing with that while still being forced to rape your brother.
Which… Okay, he knew Dean wanted him to get over thinking that. Dean had, in fact, insisted over and over again that he was okay with their newfound physical relationship. Sam even thought he believed Dean, most of the time… it was just… Sam never seemed to be able to hold onto that faith forever, no matter how much he tried to cling to it. He wanted desperately to be able to just let all his worries and fears go, but the thought that he was justifying it in his head so he could have what he wanted… never really left.
And yet… God, he was fucking tired of feeling like a victim. Anger was the only thing that ever seemed to really help, the only thing that allowed him to bury all his insecurities and feel alive and okay again. He let rage wash over him, the resulting power and control sweeping away his doubts.
He swung the laptop shut and got up, jerking the door open. Dean was sitting in the Impala half dressed, commando, since Sam knew he hadn’t seen Dean pull on any boxers, with his head down on the steering wheel. Dad.
Sam, on the other hand, was only wearing boxers, standing there in the open doorway for the whole, wide world to see. He didn’t really give a fuck.
“Dean!” he yelled, loud enough that Dean’s head snapped up in alarm. “Get the hell back in here.”
Dean’s deer-caught-in-the headlights look lingered for a moment before slipping away, and he got quietly out of the Impala. Dean looked tired. Sam was exhausted. They were a pair.
Dean moved toward Sam cautiously, his face twisting into a smirk as he got close, and Sam knew he was going to try to cover everything up with a joke, but Sam just wasn’t in the mood. He wrapped his hands around Dean’s face and pulled him close, sucking Dean’s lips into his mouth and prying them apart with his tongue. Dean struggled back, flinging his arms to either side so he could grip the doorframe for leverage. Sam knew Dean was probably uncomfortable with the public display, but he didn’t really care right at that moment.
He tightened his grip and let his teeth scrape roughly over Dean’s lips, biting down lightly on the edges before sucking them in deep. His tongue stroked in slow to luxuriate over the soft, wet inside of Dean’s mouth. Sam opened his mouth wider, wanting to pull more of Dean inside himself, and feasted there for a moment before sliding down to catch the side of Dean’s rough-stubbled chin. He laved over the skin with his tongue and then bit down hard, letting his teeth sink in enough that he knew he was going to leave marks behind.
Dean stopped trying to pull away and relaxed fully into Sam’s grip. A low, slightly pained sound came from the back of his throat, and Sam basked in the warm feeling of satisfaction that resonated with the soft moan. He sucked on the skin as he pulled back, the noise obscene as the suction broke, and he growled low and intense, only for Dean’s ears, “You’re mine. Fucking mine. You understand?”
Dean was a little out of breath, his lips parted, his eyes heavy-lidded and lust-blown as he nodded his agreement. Sam smiled and pulled him into the room, slamming him against the wall next to the door before he kicked it closed with his foot. He rested his forehead and hands against Dean’s chest and looked down. Dean was already hard, his dick a bulging line against the fabric of his jeans. A self-satisfied smirk tugged at Sam’s lips; Dean always reacted like this when Sam got possessive, and the physical evidence that Dean wanted what they had as much as Sam did flushed through Sam with comforting warmth. Sam slid down Dean’s body and nuzzled against Dean’s stomach for a moment. Dragging the top of Dean’s waistband down, he slipped his tongue behind the cloth to brush against Dean’s dick.
Dean inhaled sharply and Sam chuckled when he heard Dean’s head bang back against the wall. He used his teeth to pull the top two buttons open, exposing the angry head to the brush of his tongue before breathing out warm air to caress over damp skin.
“God, Sammy,” Dean moaned out. “We can’t…”
“Shut up, Dean,” Sam growled out. If everything Dean always claimed was true, then this was their Dad speaking, not Dean. Fuck that. John didn’t get to show up out of the blue, after months of silence, and pass judgment on what they’d done, on what they were doing.
Dean’s dick was still mostly trapped by his pants, and Sam slipped his tongue between it and Dean’s stomach.
Dean hissed in a breath. “Stop.”
Sam pulled his face back and glared up, “Not now, Dean…”
Dean looked down, and it was clear he was having a bit of trouble gathering his thoughts, so Sam reached up and pulled Dean’s pants all the way open, freeing his dick so that it bobbed forward temptingly. Dean smelled so fucking good. It was intoxicating. Sam opened his mouth, ready to wrap it around his brother when Dean slid down the wall, pulling his dick out of reach.
“Sam,” Dean breathed out, putting his hands on either side of Sam’s face to keep him from moving. “Sam, he gave us a lead on Bobby. We gotta go.”
Sam’s aggressive mood slipped away as fast as it had come, guilt slipping in to fill the void. “Is he okay?”
Dean rubbed a hand against his dick, a muttered, “fuck” slipping out as he stood up a little stiffly. “It’s… he said… he just said, Colorado, place called Green Creek. There’s demon sign in the area and Bobby’s been out of contact for… fuck! Just a couple of fucking weeks. Guess Bobby’s okay to stay in touch with…”
Dean sounded pissed, as if the problem was that Dad’d been in contact with Bobby only weeks ago, even though he hadn’t tried to contact his sons, as if the problem wasn’t the fact that Dad had once again managed to abandon his sons when they desperately needed him.
Unable to channel his own resentment into something useful, Sam watched his brother stalk angrily around the room for a couple of minutes, throwing weapons and clothing into bags. Guilt about Bobby slowly ate through the morass of inertia left by that phone call – he couldn’t really figure out how to feel about Dad right now… but Bobby needed them. With a sigh, he got up to throw on some clothes.
“Did he say anything else?” Sam asked, breaking the silence once the bags were piled against the door and they were close to leaving.
Dean stopped short, shooting a guilt-heavy glance at Sam before looking away. “Said he’d meet us at Bobby’s in a week,” Dean muttered.
Sam watched Dean move across the room and sling a bag across his back, preparing to leave. He still wasn’t sure what to say, but he moved to rest a hand on Dean’s back.
His brother whirled around, macho tension radiating off of him, “What? We need to hit the road.”
Sam flinched back under Dean’s dark glare. The anger he’d only just buried simmering right under the surface, the sense of betrayal forming a pit of acid in his stomach. “I… You said we were okay. You lie to me about that?”
“What? Sam, no,” Dean responded, his gaze falling away.
“And I’m supposed to believe that when you won’t even look at me?” Sam felt his chest tighten and sweat bead up on his forehead. He closed his eyes as he struggled to keep everything bottled up and under control.
“God, Sammy…” Dean breathed out. “It’s not you, okay. It’s not us… I just…” Dean leaned in and pressed a kiss against his lips, and Sam drew strength from it, letting it steady him. The need for this to be real was a desperate, soul-deep ache. Dean was hovering close enough for their breaths to mingle, and Sam breathed in deeply, letting it fill him.
Sam opened his eyes and looked into Dean’s fear-filled ones, and he knew he’d given up on his father’s approval years ago, but he didn’t think Dean ever would. “He doesn’t have to know, Dean. We just don’t tell him, okay?”
Dean’s gaze skittered away. “He’ll know.”
Sam bit back the sharp retort that he didn’t care. He didn’t. Not after their dad had left Dean to die, not after he’d abandoned them to deal with the curse on their own. Not after he’d essentially disowned his own son all those years ago. Dean cared. He forced his anger down. Dean cared. That’s what mattered. “He won’t, Dean. He’s not gonna guess this. Not this. Not unless we tell him. We’ll find a reason, and we won’t stay together while he’s around. He doesn’t need to know.”
Dean took in a deep breath and looked back at Sam for a long moment, searching for something. Finally, his gaze hardened and he nodded once. “Let’s go find Bobby.”
They grabbed the bags and left the room.
Master Post | Chapter Two
Author’s Note: This story goes AU after the Season One episode, Dead Man’s Blood. Events are canon through this episode, but afterwards, multiple leads cause the boys to separate from John after all, and now nine months have passed. The events in Salvation and Devil’s Trap never happened.
This story is written to stand alone, but it is also the sequel to An Issue of Consent. Click here if you would like to read the entire verse.
Prologue
THEN…
The force of the blast rips the creature away from Sam, pulling him off-balance and causing the chains around his neck to tighten. He gags, feebly trying to right himself, but his reserves are gone and he sags down, letting the chain dig deeply into the bruised skin of his throat. He can’t get any air, but he doesn’t really want to breathe anymore, anyway. He waits for oblivion to come. He needs this to be over.
His eyes are streaming with tears against the blinding glare of the room, even though he’d slammed his eyelids closed as soon as the light flared. Strong hands lift him back up, tearing a surprised, ragged, “No,” from his mouth in protest. They support him enough to ease the constriction around his throat, and his traitorous body takes in a gasping breath.
“Sammy?” The word is harsh and frantic and Dean… Sam’s chest squeezes painfully with panic. Dean shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t see him chained up like a helpless animal, shouldn’t see him with his own come freshly dripping down his chest and the creature’s still trickling out of his ass. Dean joins him on the mattress anyway, causing the chains to constrict once more. Sam coughs weakly against them, and Dean pulls in close, and only holds him tighter when Sam tries to flinch back.
“Just go…” Sam grits out, but Dean doesn’t seem to hear, a steady stream of profanity slipping from his lips as he grips Sam tightly with one trembling hand and pulls at the chains with the other.
“Fuck,” Dean swears angrily, louder than his previous words and cutting the stream up short. There’s a slight pause, and then Dean adds in a broken voice, “I’m sorry, Sammy.” The words sound wounded, and Sam has a moment to wonder dazedly why Dean would feel the need to apologize before Dean lets him go and the chains tighten, cutting his air off completely once again. Sam feels the pressure building fast, and his head is ready to explode when everything suddenly fades for several blissful moments.
He comes back to himself in a rush to find Dean’s lips over his, breathing into him. His dick surges to life as he presses up against the offering, overwhelmed with a need so sudden and so intense he aches with it.
He needs Dean more than he’s ever needed anything in his life, but Dean pushes him down and pulls back, breaking their connection. “God, Sam, no. I don’t need… god, do you even recognize me?” Dean’s mumbling doesn’t make much sense, and Sam would follow Dean’s retreating lips, but his hands are still bound and his body is too broken for him to move.
“Please,” Sam whispers, and when Dean bends close, Sam abruptly realizes that he can make out the blurry edges of Dean’s form. The unacknowledged suspicion that he might be blind has been sitting like a weight on his soul for days. A sob tears itself from his chest in relief. Sam forces his eyes open a little further, despite the fiery burn.
“Dean… can see you,” Sam gasps out. Dean fights with the bindings around Sam’s hands, and Sam struggles weakly, wanting to help, desperate to touch. His sight is getting stronger by the second, accompanied by the racing of his heart, and he feels dizzy, frantic to pull Dean in close, to drink in the taste and smell of Dean’s warm skin, to merge their bodies together until he can no longer tell where he ends and Dean begins.
The realization that something is wrong crashes through him, this need, this desire for Dean…for his brother…it isn’t him. It’s not…
Helpless rage boils in his gut. The creature did something to him, a parting gift so he can’t forget, can’t just move on now that it’s all over. A choking sob rips itself from his throat, bitter and churning, and he can’t do this anymore. It won’t ever stop. The creature dug its claws into him, and it’s never going to let him go. His heart is racing, his breaths are shallow, and he can feel his body giving out, finally giving up, and he welcomes it, needs the promised oblivion that death will bring.
The bindings around his wrists yank apart, but he barely feels it. “Dean,” he whispers, knowing his death will devastate his brother, but he has nothing left to fight it with. “’M sorry…”
“No!”
He hears Dean’s rage and terror in the simple denial, but he can’t hold on anymore. A sharp, stabbing pain begins in his chest and arcs through his body. He’s dimly aware of Dean clinging to him as he convulses, as he slips away with Dean’s frantic cries chasing him into the grey…
Chapter 1
NOW…
“Dean…”
The whimpered sound tore at Dean’s soul, lost and plaintive, and Dean pulled Sam in closer, wrapping himself protectively around his brother and pressing a kiss to the top of Sam’s head.
“I’m here, Sammy,” Dean whispered, hoping his voice would soothe the nightmares away. This was the third time tonight. Not that Dean was sleeping much anyway, what with the harsh glare of the oversized bedside lamp almost bright enough to blind him.
Sam, afraid of the dark.
That just didn’t make sense in any universe… and anyway, it had been months since the attack. Wasn’t Sam supposed to be getting better by now, not worse?
Sam cried out again, soft and wounded, so Dean pulled him in tighter and slipped his knee between his brother’s legs to nudge at the underside of Sam’s balls. As fucked up as it was, Dean’s touch was the only thing that ever seemed to penetrate Sam’s dreams. Intimacy the only thing that ever helped Sam escape their grip. Dean brushed another kiss against Sam’s hair, slipping his hand down to run along Sam’s stomach and graze the top of Sam’s dick.
“It’s me, Sammy, just me…” he murmured softly.
Sam’s breaths became more labored until gasping, harsh coughs interrupted the frantic fight to draw in air. Dean raised his voice, “Come on, Sammy, wake the hell up…” but Sam didn’t react; the dreams had him really good tonight. This wasn’t working. Dean loosened his grip and started to struggle up to sitting. It was probably time to try shaking his brother awake, even though Dean hated the disoriented fear that usually caused.
Sam suddenly went rigid in his arms, and Dean froze halfway up, his breath catching.
“Dean?” Sam gritted out through tightly clenched teeth, his eyes open wide.
“Right here, Sam,” Dean replied, easing back down and pulling Sam close once more.
“Jesus fuck,” Sam breathed out angrily. He grabbed Dean’s hand and pressed it back down against his dick. It throbbed hard against Dean’s palm, full probably to the point of aching.
“It’s okay. I’ve got you, I’ve always got you,” Dean soothed, despite his own rage towards the creature that always welled up in the face of Sam’s pain. Sam was sweaty and flushed, and the fear that his anger was masking somehow made Sam look a lot younger than 23 years.
Sam entwined shaking fingers with Dean’s, and Dean ran his hand down and then back up Sam’s long length. “Dean, I need you, please,” Sam begged quietly.
Sam’s eyes grew distant, and Dean could tell the memories were still playing out in his brother’s head. Dean had killed the creature dead with the colt, but he wasn’t sure it would ever really be gone. If Dean could find a way to permanently exorcise the fucker from Sam’s head, he’d do it in a heartbeat, but for now Sam would have to make due with simple distraction.
Dean trailed wet, possessive kisses down the side of Sam’s face and Sam arched into them, offering himself to Dean. “Make me yours, Dean,” Sam moaned, and turned onto his back, letting his legs fall apart in invitation.
Dean moved on top of his brother, lowering himself gently between the vee of Sam’s legs and locking his eyes with Sam’s. He let their chests glide together as he took Sam’s wrists and pinned them loosely above Sam’s head. Sam’s breathing hitched, fear darkening his expressive eyes, and Dean dipped low, letting his lips trail gently against Sam’s forehead. “It’s just me, Sam,” he repeated, his voice growing huskier with his deepening need.
Come on, Sammy, need you… love you…
Sam relaxed slightly beneath him, the subtle trace of fear in the hitch of Sam’s breaths finally easing back. Dean dropped his head down to lick over the side of Sam’s chin, sucking in the skin before biting down into the flesh hard enough to bruise.
Sam turned his head, exposing his neck to Dean a little more, and a soft, needy whimper escaped his lips. Dean let the rough skin slip from his mouth, let his teeth scrape over the stubble on Sam’s chin, and, as he did, Dean could feel Sam let the fear go and could feel Sam letting fierce desire take its place.
Fucker might be able to slip into Sam’s dreams, but it doesn’t get to stay.
Dean licked over Sam’s abused skin and then sucked it back into his mouth, placing a second bite over the first and deepening the marks he knew would be there in the morning. When he let go, Sam tried to follow him, silently begging for more. Dean smiled and pushed his brother back to the bed before moving down slowly to lavish attention on Sam’s chest and stomach, relishing in the feel of Sam’s hard muscles quivering under his touch.
Dean’s dick was throbbing painfully now, crying for attention, but Dean wasn’t quite ready to give in to the demands of his own body. He moved down to lick lightly over Sam’s leaking cockhead, and Sam arched up into Dean’s mouth with a groan. Dean relaxed his throat, taking Sam in deep. He’d gotten a lot better at this in the last couple of months. Dean suppressed his smirk and caressed Sam with his tongue instead, worked his lips over his brother as he moved up and down over Sam’s dick a few times.
“No,” Sam moaned, causing Dean to stiffen in alarm. Sam pushed Dean away, and Dean scrambled back in response, not sure what he’d done wrong. “I don’t…” The words were laced with confusion and conflicting desires, and Sam’s hand slipped around the back of Dean’s neck, gripping him tightly to keep him from moving further away, pulling him closer. “Dean,” he gasped, “I need…”
Dean huffed out a soft laugh in relief. Sam’s brain short circuiting with lust was endearing as hell and a shit load easier to deal with than the thought that Dean had messed up again. Sam was dragging him up the bed and pivoting around so that they lay in opposite directions before Dean’s brain had a chance to catch up with the situation and… hell, yeah, if he had to have a sleepless night, at least a sixty-nine wasn’t a bad way to spend it.
Allowing himself to be easily manhandled into place, lips met cock at roughly the same time. Satin skin filled Dean’s mouth, the salty bitter taste exploding across Dean’s tongue at the same time that wet heat enveloped his dick, sending fireworks of sensation shivering through Dean’s body. Dean moaned appreciatively and pulled back slightly, taking just the tip of Sam into his mouth. He sucked down hard, causing Sam to jerk against him with a small, needy whimper. Dean chuckled, feeling triumphant, but the laughter died away quickly when Sam sucked him all the way down to the root. Holy fuck.
The muscles of Sam’s throat and tongue worked against him, and he stilled, his brain unable to keep up. Sam moved up and down, slick and hot, and it wasn’t until Sam thrust into his mouth with a loud plaintive groan that Dean found enough of his wits to begin reciprocating again. Their rhythms escalated in tandem, building their mutual need into a frenzy of bliss and desire until he couldn’t contain it any more. His brain exploded as he pumped come down his brother’s throat, Sam returning the favor half a second behind him.
The last of his orgasm faded, and Dean pulled off Sam to roll onto his back. Sam followed, licking and sucking, never content to just let him go when they were done. Dean basked in it for a few moments, until the continuing stimulation started to border on painful, and he reached down and put a hand on Sam’s head. “Dude,” Dean moaned softly, “Come on, you’re gonna kill me.”
Sam didn’t respond, didn’t stop. Dean let out a strangled moan and sat up, but it was like Sam’s mouth was permanently attached to his groin, and Dean finally had to grab Sam’s head and shoulder to try to force his brother back. Sam was lost in his own head, zoning out on what he was doing, one of the few effects of the curse that occasionally persisted even after they had stopped fighting it. Usually when this happened, Sam came out of it on his own… apparently not this time. It was too much, too painful, and Dean couldn’t take it anymore.
“Sam, stop,” Dean said, pushing again, and Sam reacted like he’d been hit, flinching back and then hunching in on himself, and there was no way someone as big as Sam should be able to look so small…
Sam was shaking, and Dean reached out instinctively, wrapping his arms around his brother and pulling him in close. Dean felt completely powerless to fix anything, and his eyes burned as he gently rocked Sam in his arms, content to just let Sam rest there, if that’s what he needed. It’s not like there was really anything to talk about, they’d already done that, and it hadn’t helped.
“It won’t stop, Dean…” Sam whispered, so softly Dean almost missed it. “No matter what I do, he never really goes away.” Dean felt chill go up his spine; he didn’t have a clue what to say. The room was quiet for a while before Sam continued, “I love you so much, Dean. I just… God, I’m sorry…”
“Hey, goes both ways, Sam, I promise,” Dean managed to get out past the log jam in his throat. He tightened his grip and pulled them both back, pulling up the covers to keep them warm. He wished he could turn off the damn light, but the look on Sam’s face the last time Dean’d asked – even though Sam had agreed… he swallowed. No, he didn’t want to risk that again.
He ran his hands through Sam’s long hair in a soothing motion until Sam’s breathing evened out and Dean was pretty sure he was sleeping. He tore his eyes away from his brother to resume his examination of the ever-so-fascinating ceiling. Damn it, he wished he could sleep. He almost wished they could go back to the time when sex with his brother left him so drained of energy he passed out.
The phone rang, startling Dean from the vague, half-aware zone he’d finally managed to achieve. Dean fumbled for it anxiously; Bobby’s house had been locked up tight when they’d gone to check it out a week and a half ago. And shit, it wasn’t like the man needed to keep them apprised of every hunt he decided to take, but it’d been over a month since they’d heard from him. Dean found himself saying a quick prayer to the universe that this was finally him.
He managed to get the phone open just before it would have gone to voicemail and shoved it to his ear. “Hello…” His voice sounded gravelly, his throat irritated from the blow job; he cleared it self-consciously.
“Dean?” the gruff voice came out loud and strong through the phone, and the bottom dropped out of Dean’s stomach like he’d been sucker-punched.
Shit.
Panicked, he struggled to untangle himself from Sam, finally managing to sit up and swing his legs over the side of the bed, fully awake. “Dad?” he asked hesitantly.
“Dean. Where are you?”
Dean wondered if he should leave the room, but when he glanced back at Sam, their gazes locked. Too late for that. Sam was sitting up slowly, his expression fierce and demanding answers. Dean couldn’t look at him, and he turned away. “Not far outside Lincoln,” Dean gritted out, questions and instinctive outrage warring for dominance. A large part of him wanted to close the phone and throw it across the room, wanted to pretend this call never happened.
Fuck.
He felt Sam’s hand rest against his back, and it made his skin crawl. The word, brother, echoed through his head like it hadn’t in months and left him feeling dirty and ashamed and wrong, and at the very same time, guilty for feeling that way. No way could he please both his dad and his brother at the same time. Everything was so fucked up. He stood and walked across the room to sit at the table.
“Okay,” his dad continued, apparently oblivious to Dean’s turmoil, or maybe not caring. “I need you to head up to Green Creek, Colorado, ASAP.”
“Dean,” Sam was talking right over Dad, making the conversation hard to track, “lemme talk to Dad.” Sam was visibly shaking as he stood, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and escalating anger. Oh, hell no.
He turned away from Sam, ignoring him so he could focus on the phone call. “Dad, where the hell have you been?” he asked, unable to keep his own frustration from creeping into his voice. “We’ve been trying to reach you for months.”
“Green Creek, son. There’s demon sign in the area…”
Dean cut him off, suddenly impatient, “Is that where you are?”
“Dean,” his dad’s voice held a warning tone, and Dean straightened his posture, coming to attention in automatic response. “Bobby’s there, son, and he’s been out of contact for a couple weeks now. I can’t go, so you’ll head out there now. You understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Dean replied instinctively, falling back to his training under the sheer force of his father’s ordering tone.
“Good.” There was a sigh on the other end of the phone and his dad’s voice softened. “I’ll meet you at Bobby’s in a week, just… you boys be careful.”
“Dad,” Dean bit out, anger and frustration winning out once more, “where the hell are you?” Dean was greeted with silence, and when he looked at the phone, the call had been ended. “Shit!” He closed the phone and slammed it down on the table, the desire to crawl out of his own skin almost overwhelming.
“Dean?” Sam’s hand closed over his shoulder, and Dean jerked away, moving quickly between the table and the window, needing, in that moment, something tangible between him and his brother. His jeans were slung over the back of one of the chairs in a messy heap, and he grabbed them and pulled them on clumsily.
There was an awkward moment of silence, with Sam staring at the floor and Dean not quite able to meet Sam’s eyes. Sam broke first, running a nervous tongue over his bottom lip before stammering, “Dean, what…”
It felt like the room was caving in on him, the traffic noise becoming a dull roar that filled his ears, until it was thundering through his head making coherent thought impossible. He turned and fumbled blindly at the door before he got it open, got through and slammed it shut behind him.
~o0O0o~
The loud bang of the door sliding home felt like a gun shot, felt like condemnation and denial. Sam stumbled back until he felt the edge of the bed behind his legs, but the bed was everything that was wrong with his life, so he jerked away from it, deciding instead to sit down heavily at the table. His thoughts were chaotic, spinning around in impotent circles, and he absently picked up a pair of boxers off the floor and slipped them on.
His gaze dropped to the phone lying on the table. Dad had finally called.
Nine months.
Sam spun the phone away, letting it fly off the edge of the table. Pulling the laptop forward, he let his hands caress over the cool metal and plastic case. He flipped it open with no particular plan in mind except that, maybe, if Dean came back there might be a hunt to research. The screen flickered on, and the previous night’s web search came up, some page with lots of psychobabble about PTSD, except that while there was lots of information about recovering from rape, there wasn’t any instruction manual for dealing with that while still being forced to rape your brother.
Which… Okay, he knew Dean wanted him to get over thinking that. Dean had, in fact, insisted over and over again that he was okay with their newfound physical relationship. Sam even thought he believed Dean, most of the time… it was just… Sam never seemed to be able to hold onto that faith forever, no matter how much he tried to cling to it. He wanted desperately to be able to just let all his worries and fears go, but the thought that he was justifying it in his head so he could have what he wanted… never really left.
And yet… God, he was fucking tired of feeling like a victim. Anger was the only thing that ever seemed to really help, the only thing that allowed him to bury all his insecurities and feel alive and okay again. He let rage wash over him, the resulting power and control sweeping away his doubts.
He swung the laptop shut and got up, jerking the door open. Dean was sitting in the Impala half dressed, commando, since Sam knew he hadn’t seen Dean pull on any boxers, with his head down on the steering wheel. Dad.
Sam, on the other hand, was only wearing boxers, standing there in the open doorway for the whole, wide world to see. He didn’t really give a fuck.
“Dean!” he yelled, loud enough that Dean’s head snapped up in alarm. “Get the hell back in here.”
Dean’s deer-caught-in-the headlights look lingered for a moment before slipping away, and he got quietly out of the Impala. Dean looked tired. Sam was exhausted. They were a pair.
Dean moved toward Sam cautiously, his face twisting into a smirk as he got close, and Sam knew he was going to try to cover everything up with a joke, but Sam just wasn’t in the mood. He wrapped his hands around Dean’s face and pulled him close, sucking Dean’s lips into his mouth and prying them apart with his tongue. Dean struggled back, flinging his arms to either side so he could grip the doorframe for leverage. Sam knew Dean was probably uncomfortable with the public display, but he didn’t really care right at that moment.
He tightened his grip and let his teeth scrape roughly over Dean’s lips, biting down lightly on the edges before sucking them in deep. His tongue stroked in slow to luxuriate over the soft, wet inside of Dean’s mouth. Sam opened his mouth wider, wanting to pull more of Dean inside himself, and feasted there for a moment before sliding down to catch the side of Dean’s rough-stubbled chin. He laved over the skin with his tongue and then bit down hard, letting his teeth sink in enough that he knew he was going to leave marks behind.
Dean stopped trying to pull away and relaxed fully into Sam’s grip. A low, slightly pained sound came from the back of his throat, and Sam basked in the warm feeling of satisfaction that resonated with the soft moan. He sucked on the skin as he pulled back, the noise obscene as the suction broke, and he growled low and intense, only for Dean’s ears, “You’re mine. Fucking mine. You understand?”
Dean was a little out of breath, his lips parted, his eyes heavy-lidded and lust-blown as he nodded his agreement. Sam smiled and pulled him into the room, slamming him against the wall next to the door before he kicked it closed with his foot. He rested his forehead and hands against Dean’s chest and looked down. Dean was already hard, his dick a bulging line against the fabric of his jeans. A self-satisfied smirk tugged at Sam’s lips; Dean always reacted like this when Sam got possessive, and the physical evidence that Dean wanted what they had as much as Sam did flushed through Sam with comforting warmth. Sam slid down Dean’s body and nuzzled against Dean’s stomach for a moment. Dragging the top of Dean’s waistband down, he slipped his tongue behind the cloth to brush against Dean’s dick.
Dean inhaled sharply and Sam chuckled when he heard Dean’s head bang back against the wall. He used his teeth to pull the top two buttons open, exposing the angry head to the brush of his tongue before breathing out warm air to caress over damp skin.
“God, Sammy,” Dean moaned out. “We can’t…”
“Shut up, Dean,” Sam growled out. If everything Dean always claimed was true, then this was their Dad speaking, not Dean. Fuck that. John didn’t get to show up out of the blue, after months of silence, and pass judgment on what they’d done, on what they were doing.
Dean’s dick was still mostly trapped by his pants, and Sam slipped his tongue between it and Dean’s stomach.
Dean hissed in a breath. “Stop.”
Sam pulled his face back and glared up, “Not now, Dean…”
Dean looked down, and it was clear he was having a bit of trouble gathering his thoughts, so Sam reached up and pulled Dean’s pants all the way open, freeing his dick so that it bobbed forward temptingly. Dean smelled so fucking good. It was intoxicating. Sam opened his mouth, ready to wrap it around his brother when Dean slid down the wall, pulling his dick out of reach.
“Sam,” Dean breathed out, putting his hands on either side of Sam’s face to keep him from moving. “Sam, he gave us a lead on Bobby. We gotta go.”
Sam’s aggressive mood slipped away as fast as it had come, guilt slipping in to fill the void. “Is he okay?”
Dean rubbed a hand against his dick, a muttered, “fuck” slipping out as he stood up a little stiffly. “It’s… he said… he just said, Colorado, place called Green Creek. There’s demon sign in the area and Bobby’s been out of contact for… fuck! Just a couple of fucking weeks. Guess Bobby’s okay to stay in touch with…”
Dean sounded pissed, as if the problem was that Dad’d been in contact with Bobby only weeks ago, even though he hadn’t tried to contact his sons, as if the problem wasn’t the fact that Dad had once again managed to abandon his sons when they desperately needed him.
Unable to channel his own resentment into something useful, Sam watched his brother stalk angrily around the room for a couple of minutes, throwing weapons and clothing into bags. Guilt about Bobby slowly ate through the morass of inertia left by that phone call – he couldn’t really figure out how to feel about Dad right now… but Bobby needed them. With a sigh, he got up to throw on some clothes.
“Did he say anything else?” Sam asked, breaking the silence once the bags were piled against the door and they were close to leaving.
Dean stopped short, shooting a guilt-heavy glance at Sam before looking away. “Said he’d meet us at Bobby’s in a week,” Dean muttered.
Sam watched Dean move across the room and sling a bag across his back, preparing to leave. He still wasn’t sure what to say, but he moved to rest a hand on Dean’s back.
His brother whirled around, macho tension radiating off of him, “What? We need to hit the road.”
Sam flinched back under Dean’s dark glare. The anger he’d only just buried simmering right under the surface, the sense of betrayal forming a pit of acid in his stomach. “I… You said we were okay. You lie to me about that?”
“What? Sam, no,” Dean responded, his gaze falling away.
“And I’m supposed to believe that when you won’t even look at me?” Sam felt his chest tighten and sweat bead up on his forehead. He closed his eyes as he struggled to keep everything bottled up and under control.
“God, Sammy…” Dean breathed out. “It’s not you, okay. It’s not us… I just…” Dean leaned in and pressed a kiss against his lips, and Sam drew strength from it, letting it steady him. The need for this to be real was a desperate, soul-deep ache. Dean was hovering close enough for their breaths to mingle, and Sam breathed in deeply, letting it fill him.
Sam opened his eyes and looked into Dean’s fear-filled ones, and he knew he’d given up on his father’s approval years ago, but he didn’t think Dean ever would. “He doesn’t have to know, Dean. We just don’t tell him, okay?”
Dean’s gaze skittered away. “He’ll know.”
Sam bit back the sharp retort that he didn’t care. He didn’t. Not after their dad had left Dean to die, not after he’d abandoned them to deal with the curse on their own. Not after he’d essentially disowned his own son all those years ago. Dean cared. He forced his anger down. Dean cared. That’s what mattered. “He won’t, Dean. He’s not gonna guess this. Not this. Not unless we tell him. We’ll find a reason, and we won’t stay together while he’s around. He doesn’t need to know.”
Dean took in a deep breath and looked back at Sam for a long moment, searching for something. Finally, his gaze hardened and he nodded once. “Let’s go find Bobby.”
They grabbed the bags and left the room.
Master Post | Chapter Two
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Yes! Love. Yes. And the artwork is scrumptious. God, this is the perfect thing to come home to after a long day at work. *sigh* :)
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Oh geez, Sam.
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I am still in awe of how skillfully you portray Sam’s panic and insanity.
Your characterizations are very consistent. I appreciate the ability and effort that takes.
Those two are such a hot mess – I don’t know whether to be exasperated or amused.
And the artwork is beautiful!
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