Pairings eventually Dean/Sam
Spoilers: very vague references to events in season three
Word Count: 2590
Summary: this is a very AU version of events after Dean goes to hell--in this version Sam saves him--maybe.
A/N The title comes from this poem, and the idea for the story very loosely inspired by legends of changelings
Come away O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand
The Stolen Child by W.B. Yeats
That third year, Sam celebrated his birthday by getting pretty damn drunk, alone, and planned on sleeping in, alone. Raphael had called earlier in the morning to wish him a happy, and ask if he was coming in the next day. Sam knew he had a pretty good idea what shape he was in—it only happened a couple of times a year, but when it did, it was epic.
"Yeah, unh…I'll be in tomorrow Raph, unless you need me to be there today…?"
"Nah, how many people do we need on the store job? It's like two feet wide. We got it. See ya tomorrow, okay? Take care of y'self, boss."
"Thanks man. I appreciate you taking care of things."
"Hey, all part of my plan to take over the bizz."
Sam laughed and hung up. He lay back on the couch, held onto the edge of it to stop it spinning, tried not to think…three years. Hunting alone, then going back to school, dropping out again and…somehow or another ending up running a business….
Life was…horrible and mind-numbing and just fucking stupid. But he was under orders to live it so, here he was, living it. He sighed and threw his arm over his face, one long leg sweeping across the floor, one hand on the tile. The couch wasn't really long enough for him to stretch out on but he couldn't even imagine levering himself up and dragging his ass into the bedroom.
May second. Year number three.
Dean. Third year without Dean. *With* him, in the back of his mind always, a presence so constant that he had to cut all ties with any one who knew them both. It hurt too much to be reminded. Alone he could pretend that Dean was a dream, or that he really wasn't gone. He was off somewhere, hunting something and drinking too much some time, and flirting and fucking his way through tons of leggy blondes with soft accents and soft lips…Sam let out a long breath, and let it hitch a little on the way out. He cupped himself and sighed. So much stuff left unsaid, thank God he never let Dean know, never let him see…Dean, happy, grinning from a motel window, thumbs up and two girls just dying to get to know him….
Sam cursed and shoved his hand down his pants and concentrated on the safe images at first, anonymous bodies, faces--and then just gave up and let his mind take him where it wanted to—in a motel shower, where Dean first pushed him against the wall and slid down his wet thighs, a shabby shotgun house in Georgia, hot humid air, wet sheets and a massage that ended up with his dick in Dean's throat—that time in Maine that he'd joined him in the shower and caught his come in his hand and a scream in his mouth…Sam came up off the couch with a shout ground out between clenched teeth, his hips straining upwards into his own hold.
He dropped down, panting, wiping his hand against his shirt. There it was, and he refused to feel guilt. None of those times had ever happened so that made it okay, right? Hadn't happened…but not because he hadn’t wanted it. No, no, he didn’t mean that. Meant he didn’t want…shit. He couldn't keep his eyes open, he was drifting in and out of sleep and he couldn't keep his thoughts on track and—Sam sighed, yawned. Tomorrow it would be better, tomorrow was another day.
He was asleep before twelve.
tbc in part two