fic: whiskey soaked (for the ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
werewolfbigbang) - 2/2
Nov. 11th, 2010 12:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
puchuupoetTitle: Whiskey Soaked
Author: Puchuupoet
Fandoms: Supernatural/Boondock Saints
Pairings: Sam/Dean, Connor/Murphy, Dean/Connor, Sam/Dean/Connor
Word Count: ~11,000
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Incest, threesome, violence, implied werewolf sex
Disclaimer: Not mine, never happened, completely fictional.
Part One
"Sparse but homey," Connor says as he unlocks the door, the wolf pushing past his legs to head towards the mattresses. It curls up on one with a broken whine of contentment, glaring at Sam and Dean from across the room.
"Think Murphy's trying to send you a message boys." Connor heads over towards the sink in the far corner. "You two can have mine and I'll make sure Lassie shares with me."
"And we'll stay on our side and he'll stay on his?" Dean can't get the feeling of the teeth and the massive amount of pressure they promised out of his head, and he's looking forward to not ever experiencing that around his throat.
"Ahh, he's an independent thinker, you know. That's something you're going to have to take up with him." Connor wipes his hands on his jeans before heading back, sitting down next to Murphy on the mattress.
Murphy leans against him, slowly sliding til he's on his back with his feet up in the air. Connor grins down at him, reaching over to scratch a trail from his chest to his belly, chuckling when he hits the spot that makes Murphy's back leg start to twitch.
"Tell us if we're interrupting anything," Dean jokes, but his words hang in the air, til he feels three pairs of eyes resting on him and he tugs at his collar.
"Uh, bathroom's behind the far wall?" Sam asks, breaking the silence and Connor nods, his eyes not leaving Dean's face. Sam's footsteps echo in the concrete room, and then the sound of a thin tap being turned on.
"You're brothers."
Dean furrows his brow. "Yeah? We went over this already, when Cujo there was having a little too much fun with my arm." Murphy snorts, paws flopping uselessly in the air, his jowls drooping into a grin.
"Naw, not just that. You're close, right? Used to be, at least."
"Where's this headed?"
Connor shrugs. "Nowhere, if you want. But something's been broken and it's already fucking painful watching the two of you, even for this short amount of time. Don't see how anyone could stand to be around the two of you like this."
"Well, thankfully we don't have to worry about that. Us and the car, and we get along fine." Dean's voice sounds perfectly level to his own ears, but he gets nervous when Murphy twists over, landing on his belly to stare at Dean with clear light blue eyes.
"How long've you been telling yourself that?" Connor scratches at the base of Murphy's ears. "And has he been thinking the same?"
"We're on the same page." Dean's response is short. Even though he's starting to get annoyed, he's also feeling small even though Connor and Murphy are the ones staring up at him.
"Same page might work for some folks, but you're not like that." Connor points his finger at Dean. "If you two don't get back to the same sentence again, the split's just gonna widen on you both."
"Sounds like you know what you're talking about."
Connor gazes at Dean for a moment before dropping his head down to stare at the floor, and Murphy glares at Dean for a moment before nuzzling in under Connor's arm.
"How good are you at folklore?"
"Depends on the folk, really." Dean shrugs. "Moreso than most out there." There's a sudden squeak as Sam walks towards them, rubber soles sliding against damp cement, and he shrugs apologetically as he stops by Dean.
"Shapeshifters?" Connor lifts his head to meet Dean's eyes.
"Sure."
"Werewolves?"
"That's why we're here." Dean quirks an eyebrow at Connor. "We all know that."
"Oh, do we now?" Connor's gaze flickers over to Sam. "And what're you planning on doing about it?"
Dean stares at Connor, trying to get a read on him. But Connor's face stays clear, the only movement coming from Murphy shifting restlessly next to him.
"People were dying, we had to check it out." Dean glances over at Sam. "Turns out the people dying aren't the nicest bunch of folk out there."
"Ahh, you've had to kill then before?"
"When needed, to save lives."
"So you're out there defending the defenseless then?" Connor leans back on his elbows, starting to relax. Murphy lays his head down, jaw resting on Connor's stomach but his eyes locked on Sam. Connor smoothes back his fur. "He's taking a liking to your brother."
Dean snorts out a laugh. "That's what you need Sam, a track record."
"You know, the cursed aren't always the monster." Connor's voice trails off this time, and Dean's gaze flickers down to watch as Murphy noses into Connor's belly.
"We've come across that before as well."
"And did you buck the system? Twist it around so that the high and mighty were the ones slashed and broken down?"
"Every chance we could."
"But was that enough?"
"No such thing as ending evil, man. It always seems to find its way back to the surface." Dean answers, locked in on Connor's smirk of approval. Murphy notices Sam first, lifting his head and whimpering as Sam takes a step back away from Dean.
"You disagree?" Connor's voice is curious and prodding, eyes bright and locked in on Sam's face.
It takes a minute for Sam to react and the whole time Dean's frozen, watching him. When Sam finally does shake his head, Dean releases the breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"Good intentions can be misinterpreted for something else."
"Wait, are you changing your mind about all this?" Dean waves his hand vaguely in the air. "Cause you're the one who wanted to shoot them Sam."
"You were the same way Dean, til we got here."
Dean points at the twins. "Look at 'em! Could you really shoot that face, Sam? And the wolf too?"
Connor chokes out a laugh but says nothing, eyes flitting between the two men.
Dean shakes his head. "You want to have this conversation now?" He glances at Connor and Murphy before lowering his voice. "There's nothing good about lying and betraying family, no matter how you try and argue it."
Sam opens his mouth, but Connor cuts him off. "Come on now, before things are said without thinking." He looks at Murphy, who wags his tail. "I'll admit we dragged you away from the party down below before it really got started. Drink?"
"God, yes please," Dean says.
"Sorry about the lack of seats, we're not that used to hosting guests up here. Lost out on the couch a couple months back. Fucking chewed it all to pieces." Connor sits up, waiting for Murphy to move before standing. "We've got the beds though, make yourselves at home."
Dean heads towards the unoccupied mattress, sitting down near the foot of it. It takes Sam longer to sit, finally brushing past Dean to sit on the same side as him.
Connor heads over to a beat up dresser against the opposite wall, the top littered with assorted liquor bottles. He grabs two before heading back, pausing to lock the front door. There's a pair of rosaries hanging by the door, swinging in Connor's wake. In the low light Dean sees his fingertips reach out, almost brushing the worn wooden beads but pulling back at the last minute.
Connor catches Dean's gaze as he sits facing him, and he offers Dean one of the bottles before setting the other down. His fingers fly over his boot laces, untangling them so he can kick them off towards the foot of the bed.
Dean glances at the label, but it's faded and worn, despite the bottle being almost full. "Drink much?" Dean asks, unscrewing the top.
"Always." Connor takes his bottle, opens it up and takes a long pull from it. "Just not alone in my room with my thoughts."
"He has a good point there Dean," Sam points out, reaching out to snag the bottle from him. He lifts the bottle to his lips, sucking down a mouthful.
"Right, and your liquid addictions were so much healthier."
"Boys, boys, come on now." Connor gently kicks out at Dean, socked toes hitting Dean's shin. "We've got decent whiskey and stories and a soft spot to sleep. You can fight later."
"You're letting us crash here?" Dean takes the bottle back from Sam, his body warming as the liquid hits his stomach.
"I'm too much of a gentleman to get you drunk and then expect you to make it down all those stairs." Connor smirks at Dean, and Dean's suddenly mindful that Connor's foot is still resting against his leg.
Sam coughs suddenly, and Dean's aware of Connor's smile deepening at Sam's reaction.
Dean nudges Connor back. "You don't wear them." He nods towards Connor's collar. "How long did it take before you realized it scarred?"
Connor stares at him before raising his hand to rub at the side of his neck. "First time it happened. Wasn't anyone around to explain any of it, so it was all trial and error, doing the best we could."
"The first time?" Sam's brow is furrowed. "When were you bit?"
Connor shakes his head. "Never was. It's all in the bloodlines. Our pa's pa's pa, so on and all that," he says, waving his hand around. "Fucked something up back in the homeland, pissed off St. Patrick, so it goes, and what you see before you is the end results." His hand lingers on Murphy's head.
"So how come you changed and he didn't?" Sam asks, taking another long drink.
"One of the few things we don't share, odd enough. Dunno why, but Murph here got stuck with the seven year plan."
"And you?"
"Every seventh year."
"What's something else you two don't share?" Dean asks, nicking the bottle back from Sam, and if his fingers still on Sam's grip longer than normal, he's ready to blame the alcohol. But Sam just pauses, lets Dean brush over him before releasing the glass and Dean can't tell if the tremble in his gut is from the whiskey or something deeper.
Connor leers, subtly spreading his legs but Dean's eyes are drawn to the movement. "Have you had enough to really want to find out?"
Murphy whines, reaching out with his paw to whack at Connor's thigh. Connor chuckles before drinking more. "Murph here's the jealous type, if you haven't noticed already." Murphy whines again, struggling to sit up on the mattress. He leans against Connor, staring across at Dean as he noses up against Conner's throat, tongue catching a loose drop of whiskey off of Connor's lips.
The mattress moves under Dean as Sam shifts around next to him, and Dean lets the whiskey drag him down, leaning back on his elbows. It's making him bolder than usual, and he grins at the way Murphy's watching him.
"He's the one getting jealous? He's getting to second base with you right in front of us."
"Dean..." Sam's voice is heavy with warning, but Dean's past caring what his brother thinks of his lack of boundaries. Dean reaches out to shove at Sam, but Sam leans far enough away for Dean to just tip over onto the mattress, aided exponentially by the whiskey.
"Dammit Sam." Dean's voice is muffled by the fabric. The mattress rocks suddenly and Dean buries his face in the blankets, trying to make his head stop swimming. There's warmth against his back and a sudden damp nose snuffling against the nape of his neck. Murphy works his way around, tiny licks along Dean's jawline and Dean can smell the whiskey on the wolf's whiskers.
Dean finally rolls over, Murphy pulling back to get out of Dean's way until he settles back down. Dean keeps his eyes closed once he's on his back, focusing on the darkness and the soft whimpering noises coming from Murphy. He can hear Connor and Sam talking, feels the bed move as Sam struggles to move over to the other mattress.
A chill runs through Dean and he makes an unhappy noise, reaching out for a blanket. He brushes against fur and freezes, unsure of where the teeth are. Murphy snorts before moving closer and sitting next to Dean. Dean flinches when he feels the muzzle sliding along his belt, Murphy pushing up on his t-shirt to lick a stripe along Dean's belly.
Dean bursts out laughing, blames the liquor and the stress of it all, and when he opens his eyes he sees Murphy grinning back at him, tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth.
"Your brother's got a purdy mouth," Dean comments, looking over at Connor and Sam. Connor smirks at him, eyes flickering between Dean and his brother. Sam's just watching him, mouth set in a thin line and Dean wants him to be closer, wants to pull him in and swallow him down and make everything go back to the way it was.
"Sammy..." Dean starts softly, but there's a loud crash from the foot of the bed that makes them all look. Murphy looks guilty, nosing at the empty glass bottle that's tipped over, tongue snaking in to try and get at the last drops.
"Fuckin' dog," Connor admonishes, and when Dean looks back Sam's not meeting his eyes anymore.
---
It's been awhile since Dean's shared a room with other people, let alone werewolves. He has one knife left on him, strapped to his calf and tucked underneath his jeans. Sam's on his side, back to Dean and even though he didn't expect anything else, Dean feels the gesture stronger than he had thought.
They had finished the two original bottles and then a third on top of that, Connor making his way back to the dresser with the ease of a practiced drunk. He had stripped off the bloody shirt by that time, the bullet hole almost completely healed, and he had just grinned at Sam and Dean's reactions. "Some perks to this whole shifting business," he had murmured, eyes locked with Dean's.
Despite the alcohol, Dean can't sleep, and he manages to stand up and stumble towards the toilet. He winces at the loud echo his piss makes in the flat, but the only reaction is a snort and whimper from Murphy as he flops from side to side next to Connor.
Dean's pants are stiff from too much work and not enough cleaning, and by the time he makes it back to the mattress he decides to kick them off completely. He sits down on the mattress with a whump and his fingers stumble over the leather straps of the knife sheath.
He lies back down, pulling the blanket back over him but a shiver still runs through his body. He's used to sleeping in the cold, wrapped up in a dirty blanket in the backseat of the Impala. But here, the concrete surrounds them, making the room feel like a freezer.
"Why not get closer?" Connor's whisper startles Dean and he manages to focus his eyes on the other man's face. Connor's facing him from the other bed, his blanket pushed down to his waist. In the glow from the outside lights, Connor's scar is clear, the skin around his neck curdled where the holy beads had touched it. It starts to smooth down the further down Dean looks, until all he can see is a faint outline of a Celtic cross on Connor's stomach. Connor huffs out a breath, catching Dean's attention and Dean has to think about what they were talking about.
"To Sam?" And Connor nods. "Not really the best idea right now." He and Sam have been partners since the Apocalypse, business as usual, efficient and helpful. But there's that final line still waiting for them to cross, to push past the betrayal and lies and Dean's not ready for that yet. Better off with a partner than losing Sam completely, all over again.
"Bullshit." In one smooth move Connor's slipping from his bed to Dean's, and in the low light from the streetlights outside Dean can see the ridge of his ribs smoothing out to the curve of his hips and ass.
Connor's suddenly there, pushing up against him and Dean has no place to move but back, bumping into Sam. Sam just groans, pulls in tighter around himself and stays still.
"What the fuck..." Dean starts, but Connor gets there faster, pressing his mouth to Dean's with a soft whimper that makes Dean's breath catch. His hand finds Dean's face, cupping his jaw before running his thumb over Dean's cheek.
"When's the last time this happened?" Connor asks softly, and there's an open honesty in his eyes that catches Dean off guard.
"What, having a default threesome cause my brother's in the same bed?" Dean's walls are doing the best to build themselves up for him, but Connor knocks them all down with another kiss.
"You need this." And when Connor says it that way, it almost seems that simple. Dean needs something and should expect to get it; should get it. But he starts shaking his head, soft movements that grow more determined, until Connor stops him with a bite to his lower lip.
"You're broken, aren't ya?" Connor noses up against Dean's cheek, whispering the words in his ear. He slides the rest of his body closer as well, one leg sliding over Dean's, pinning him down and pulling him in. "Nothing wrong with that, unless it's that you don't want to be fixed." He nips at Dean's earlobe and Dean can't stop the shudder that runs through his body.
"He's not the same." Dean doesn't mean for it to come out but it does, broken and harsh when it hits the air. He pulls away from Connor's hand, pushing his face into the worn pillow.
"Bullshit," Connor tells him, and when Dean opens his mouth Connor kisses him quiet. "We talked, you know," he murmurs when he pulls away from Dean, and Dean feels his heartbeat slow.
"About what?"
"Bits and pieces. Glossed over your line of work, the," Connor pauses, searching for the right word, "magnitude of it all. Before and after."
Dean's head is muddy, overwhelmed and exposed and now he knows why Sam was so pissed when he found out Dean had told Cassie so long ago.
"We all have our secrets," Connor's voice is soft as he moves his hand up to stroke over Dean's hip. "Nothing wrong with that, or admitting you can't do it alone."
Dean starts to bristle at Connor's words, but Sam's snorting in his sleep and moving around, so he bites his tongue. He slides his hand around the nape of Connor's neck, pulling him back in so that Dean can murmur against his skin.
"He's not the same," Dean repeats, mind flashing over the past few months. The long silences, the distances they both keep from each other now. It's easier to blame Hell, blame Lucifer for the resulting silences than try and face it all head-on, raw and exposed.
"No one stays the same." And there's a fond teasing in Connor's voice. "Want me to point out my brother over there, in case you've forgotten?"
Dean's shoulders shake and even he can't tell if he's ready to laugh or cry. He pulls his face away from the pillow, turning to look at Connor. "So, you got me drunk to play therapist?"
"Hate to tell you but I didn't offer up my stash just to play with your mind." Connor smirks at Dean and slides his hand down to Dean's shoulder. "I'm sure you have amazing stories of far off lands," he murmurs, tracing over the scar on Dean's upper arm. "But that's not really what either of us is looking for, is it?"
Connor keeps moving his hand lower, pausing over scars and old wounds before resting low on Dean's back. Connor meets Dean's gaze again, and all Dean can do is bite his lip and grip at Connor's arm when Connor tugs his boxers down.
"Come on, make a little noise for me now." Connor's voice is a slow purr as his hand wraps around Dean's cock. He tightens his grip as he slowly starts to stroke Dean, leaning forward to press his mouth against Dean's neck.
Dean whimpers at the touch, his hips rocking forward and he can feel Connor's cock against his thigh, slick and hard and the touch leaves Dean tightening his grip on the other man's arm, sliding his other hand down to grope at Connor's ass. A gasp escapes from Dean, seemingly loud in the vast space and he can hear Murphy respond with a low whine somewhere from the other bed.
"He'll wake up," Dean gets out, and his eyes widen at Connor's laugh.
"He's been watchin' you writhe around for a bit now." Connor sounds pleased. When Dean starts to twist his head around to look Connor catches his face with his hand. "Stay where you are now." Connor's eyes darken as he licks his lips. "You don't get to look."
Dean's eyes flutter shut when the mattress starts to move and Sam draws in. There's an awkward familiarity there, the way Sam positions himself against Dean's back. Connor's hand keeps moving on Dean's cock, both men pushing in closer until Dean's trapped between them.
Sam's pressed tight against him, arms wrapping around Dean, pulling him closer and Dean can feel how hard Sam is. He doesn't mean to roll his hips backwards but he does, and the resulting groan is completely worth it.
"I've got you Dean, I promise. Just let me," Sam tells him, voice broken and wanting and all Dean wants to do is twist around and hug him, comfort him like he's always done. But Connor's watching, fingers tightening around Dean's cock and Dean knows what he really wants.
"God Dean, please, just let me, just..." Sam's hands are roaming all over Dean's body, glancing over Cas' mark to go further down, to tangle with Connor's fingers around Dean's dick and that's it, Dean's done.
"Yes, Sam, fuck, yes." Dean pushes back, reaching around to grab at Sam's thigh, to ground himself.
"Christ man, you can wait long enough for some slick, right?" Connor's voice is teasing and then Sam's snickering as well, and all Dean wants is for Sam to fuck him, slide inside and take over so that Dean can finally let go.
He keeps his eyes closed as he hears Connor rustling around, but then Sam's pulling away from Dean, soft apologies as he slicks himself up. Dean groans when Sam first slides a finger into him, the feeling familiar enough but so far in the past. All he can do is whimper, grinding back against Sam and praying that Sam knows what he means.
Sam adds another finger before Dean tries to twist around, kissing at him messily and desperate. "'m ready Sam, come on."
Dean knows what to expect, the painful stretch that has him grasping at the mattress as Sam's fingers dig into his hips. A broken whimper slips out from him, his body shuddering forward, but Connor's there to meet him, teeth on Dean's throat.
"Holy crap," Dean manages to get out, Connor still smelling like copper and whiskey and sweat and the feeling of Connor's teeth closing around Dean's pulse has him pushing back on Sam, fingers reaching out to grab at Connor's hips.
Connor's hand slips down to start slowly jacking Dean off again, and Dean doesn't realize Sam's bottomed out until he feels his breath against his shoulder. Sam stays still for a moment, watching Connor's fingers until he slides his arm around Dean's waist, pulling Dean tight against him.
Connor pulls back, admiring the mark left on Dean's skin. There's a low whine behind him, and Dean sees Murphy sitting there and watching, his tongue lolling out of his mouth.
"How long have you been waiting for this?" Sam whispers in his ear, pulling his attention away from the brothers and all Dean can do is shake his head, not ready to commit to that question out loud. "I'm gonna get it out of you one way or another," Sam grins against Dean's neck and all Dean can do is whimper in response.
Sam starts moving slowly, long strokes that leave Dean shaking and pressing back as much as he can. But Sam's holding on to his hips, holding him in place so there's nothing for him to do but lie there and be fucked.
It doesn't take long for Dean to feel the curl in his toes, the faint feeling that has his breath hitching in his throat. "Fuck, Sammy..." And he can feel Sam's breathless laugh against his neck, the warm huff of air making the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
"Connor," Sam calls out, and suddenly Connor's pressing tight against Dean, reaching over his shoulder to draw Sam in for a messy kiss. He grins at Dean before wriggling his way down the bed, sucking a mark into Dean's hip that leaves Dean trying to thrust forward.
Dean's eyes are closed when Connor wraps his mouth around his cock and he's fucking thankful for that, not sure if he'd be able to last any longer if he had seen that happen himself. He's floating though, so close to coming but Sam's not moving, just whispering nonsense into Dean's ear that Dean's pretty sure he's going to blame on the whiskey in the morning.
"Sam, please," and Dean hates begging, hates asking for anything but he's on the cusp, so close to breaking apart he can feel the cracks in his toes starting to crawl up his legs. Connor groans around Dean's cock, reaching behind to stroke at Sam's sac and trace a finger around his dick, brushing up against Dean's hole.
Sam swears, fucking into Dean hard and coming with a groan and Dean follows suit, hips jerking forward within Sam's grip. Connor moans around Dean's dick, swallowing as much as he can without gagging, and Dean tangles his fingers in Connor's hair, encouraging him on.
Dean shudders when Connor finally pulls back, sliding back up Dean's body to kiss him hard. Dean tries to pull him closer, tasting blood when his teeth catch on Dean's lower lip, but Connor slides from his grasp. He leans over Dean's shoulder instead, leaving a smear of blood on Sam's mouth when he kisses him.
"Fucking take care of him, ya hear?" Connor doesn't bother to lower his voice, and Dean feels Sam's fingers tighten on his hips. "Both of you," he adds, glancing back down at Dean. Dean nods, too tired to do anything else and he halfheartedly grabs at the blankets he thinks are nearby. Connor snorts and stands, making his way towards the other bed.
---
Dean doesn't know how much time has passed when he finally opens his eyes, but it's still dark in the loft. He's twisted around now, facing Sam, and when he moves he can feel the ache in his body. He tries to untangle himself from the blankets but Sam reaches out and snags Dean around the waist.
"You're warm, what are you doing?"
"Let go, it'll just be a minute." Dean relaxes though, lets himself get pulled back in.
"Mmm, cleaned up already," Sam murmurs, his eyes slowly blinking open.
"You never do."
"You passed out, dumbass. I didn't want to wake up with you stuck to my leg or anything." Dean sees a smile flicker over Sam's face.
"Is that what he meant by take care of me?" Dean smiles, but his touch is cautious as he slides his hand up Sam's side, letting his fingers slow over his ribs.
"Something like that." Sam leans forward, pressing his forehead against Dean's. "We'll figure it out as we go."
"Mmm." Dean starts to talk, but Sam shuts him up with a kiss.
"Sleep now though." Sam slowly rubs a circle on Dean's back with his thumb and Dean lets himself fall into the touch.
---
Dean wakes up to the sound of garbage trucks and horns blaring. He tries to shift his legs, finding them tangled up in someone else's. The loft's lit up with sun, bright and harsh and Dean does his best to bury himself back under the covers.
There's an arm slung around his chest, fingers clutching at the blanket beneath them, pinning Dean in place. He blinks a few more times, trying to get his bearings and sees Connor watching him with a smirk on his face.
"You." It comes out garbled and rough and Dean coughs a few times, trying to find his voice. "Was it all some whiskey fueled dream?"
"Sweet enough that you'd think to dream of me, but no." Connor tilts his chin at Dean. "Look behind you already."
Dean twists his head around as far as he can, gently bumping into Sam's nose. Sam's arms tighten around Dean, and for a moment there's a look on his face that takes Dean back to when neither of them had anything to fear from the world.
-----
"So, you two have any plans now?" Connor's voice is calm, but Murphy's pacing around the loft, shooting Sam and Dean glares whenever they meet his eyes.
Dean looks at Sam before shrugging. "We're here to do a job. And in our line of work, it's better not to leave jobs half-finished. You know, for safety's sake."
Murphy's on Dean in a flash, rearing up to drop his paws on Dean's shoulders, his teeth bared dangerously close to Dean's face and a growl rumbles out of him.
"You wanna call him off me?"
"I don't know. Do I?"
"And after all we shared last night." Dean's smirk falters as Murphy snaps at him, and Sam lets out an exasperated sigh. "We heard you guys might have a dick problem around town. And I'm sure your line of work crosses over with ours from time to time."
Connor stares at Dean before barely nodding his head. "Murph, leave the man alone already."
Murphy pulls back with a low growl and drops to the floor, stalking over to lean against Connor's leg. "How long d'you think you'll be in town?"
Dean shrugs again. "Don't have any active cases at the moment, but I'm sure we could call around, dig something up."
Sam interrupts. "Are you saying you do want us around or are just counting the hours til we drive away and you can go back to your thing."
"Our thing does seem to be working though. Grab a paper while you're in town, you'll probably see us in it."
"You or your shadows?" Sam asks.
"One large black blur's the same as the next in my book," Connor grins. "Adds an air of mystery to it all even."
"Being a werewolf's not enough mystery for you?" Dean butts in.
"You'd be surprised how quick it can get to become bored of licking yourself. Not as much fun as you'd think, really."
Dean shakes his head, trying not to picture Connor twisted around like that. "Not really what I was going for there."
"Ahh, but you liked it, didn't ya?" Connor leers at Dean, dropping his hand to skritch at the base of Murphy's ears. "If you two do end up back here, look us up and we'll get Doc to treat you right next time around. On us, even."
---
It's a short hike to the Impala, and Dean's pleased to see she's there in one piece, nothing missing or dented. He runs a hand along her side before popping the trunk and emptying his pockets and holsters.
A few wrong turns and then they're finally close to finding the highway, and Dean pushes the car to a happy roar as he accelerates up the on ramp.
"Where to?" Dean asks, glancing over. Sam already has a map out, a file folder open in his lap underneath the large sheet of paper.
"Got an email from someone down south needing help in Florida, and there's some crop circle stuff going on in New York."
"What sort of help?"
"They're claiming zombies, but I don't know. Seems like a popular answer nowadays."
"Anything closer?"
Sam looks up and smirks at Dean. "Not ready to leave Boston yet?"
"I dunno, I mean, I'm sure there's shit going down somewhere in this town. We just have to find it." Dean blames the sudden increase in heat on the car and cracks open a window.
"I'll bet Bobby'll know someone who knows where we could go. Or at least who to ask around these parts."
"I'll give him a call." Sam glances over at Dean. "Any other calls you want me to make?"
"Like what?"
"Bet you're missing Connor's mouth already." There's a teasing tone to Sam's voice, but when Dean looks over at him, there's a warmth there as well that's been missing the past several months.
"Fuck you," but Dean's laughing, trying to cut across traffic to the closest off ramp.
"Anyways, you're still too sore."
"Bitch."
"Jerk."
~
Author: Puchuupoet
Fandoms: Supernatural/Boondock Saints
Pairings: Sam/Dean, Connor/Murphy, Dean/Connor, Sam/Dean/Connor
Word Count: ~11,000
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Incest, threesome, violence, implied werewolf sex
Disclaimer: Not mine, never happened, completely fictional.
Part One
"Sparse but homey," Connor says as he unlocks the door, the wolf pushing past his legs to head towards the mattresses. It curls up on one with a broken whine of contentment, glaring at Sam and Dean from across the room.
"Think Murphy's trying to send you a message boys." Connor heads over towards the sink in the far corner. "You two can have mine and I'll make sure Lassie shares with me."
"And we'll stay on our side and he'll stay on his?" Dean can't get the feeling of the teeth and the massive amount of pressure they promised out of his head, and he's looking forward to not ever experiencing that around his throat.
"Ahh, he's an independent thinker, you know. That's something you're going to have to take up with him." Connor wipes his hands on his jeans before heading back, sitting down next to Murphy on the mattress.
Murphy leans against him, slowly sliding til he's on his back with his feet up in the air. Connor grins down at him, reaching over to scratch a trail from his chest to his belly, chuckling when he hits the spot that makes Murphy's back leg start to twitch.
"Tell us if we're interrupting anything," Dean jokes, but his words hang in the air, til he feels three pairs of eyes resting on him and he tugs at his collar.
"Uh, bathroom's behind the far wall?" Sam asks, breaking the silence and Connor nods, his eyes not leaving Dean's face. Sam's footsteps echo in the concrete room, and then the sound of a thin tap being turned on.
"You're brothers."
Dean furrows his brow. "Yeah? We went over this already, when Cujo there was having a little too much fun with my arm." Murphy snorts, paws flopping uselessly in the air, his jowls drooping into a grin.
"Naw, not just that. You're close, right? Used to be, at least."
"Where's this headed?"
Connor shrugs. "Nowhere, if you want. But something's been broken and it's already fucking painful watching the two of you, even for this short amount of time. Don't see how anyone could stand to be around the two of you like this."
"Well, thankfully we don't have to worry about that. Us and the car, and we get along fine." Dean's voice sounds perfectly level to his own ears, but he gets nervous when Murphy twists over, landing on his belly to stare at Dean with clear light blue eyes.
"How long've you been telling yourself that?" Connor scratches at the base of Murphy's ears. "And has he been thinking the same?"
"We're on the same page." Dean's response is short. Even though he's starting to get annoyed, he's also feeling small even though Connor and Murphy are the ones staring up at him.
"Same page might work for some folks, but you're not like that." Connor points his finger at Dean. "If you two don't get back to the same sentence again, the split's just gonna widen on you both."
"Sounds like you know what you're talking about."
Connor gazes at Dean for a moment before dropping his head down to stare at the floor, and Murphy glares at Dean for a moment before nuzzling in under Connor's arm.
"How good are you at folklore?"
"Depends on the folk, really." Dean shrugs. "Moreso than most out there." There's a sudden squeak as Sam walks towards them, rubber soles sliding against damp cement, and he shrugs apologetically as he stops by Dean.
"Shapeshifters?" Connor lifts his head to meet Dean's eyes.
"Sure."
"Werewolves?"
"That's why we're here." Dean quirks an eyebrow at Connor. "We all know that."
"Oh, do we now?" Connor's gaze flickers over to Sam. "And what're you planning on doing about it?"
Dean stares at Connor, trying to get a read on him. But Connor's face stays clear, the only movement coming from Murphy shifting restlessly next to him.
"People were dying, we had to check it out." Dean glances over at Sam. "Turns out the people dying aren't the nicest bunch of folk out there."
"Ahh, you've had to kill then before?"
"When needed, to save lives."
"So you're out there defending the defenseless then?" Connor leans back on his elbows, starting to relax. Murphy lays his head down, jaw resting on Connor's stomach but his eyes locked on Sam. Connor smoothes back his fur. "He's taking a liking to your brother."
Dean snorts out a laugh. "That's what you need Sam, a track record."
"You know, the cursed aren't always the monster." Connor's voice trails off this time, and Dean's gaze flickers down to watch as Murphy noses into Connor's belly.
"We've come across that before as well."
"And did you buck the system? Twist it around so that the high and mighty were the ones slashed and broken down?"
"Every chance we could."
"But was that enough?"
"No such thing as ending evil, man. It always seems to find its way back to the surface." Dean answers, locked in on Connor's smirk of approval. Murphy notices Sam first, lifting his head and whimpering as Sam takes a step back away from Dean.
"You disagree?" Connor's voice is curious and prodding, eyes bright and locked in on Sam's face.
It takes a minute for Sam to react and the whole time Dean's frozen, watching him. When Sam finally does shake his head, Dean releases the breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"Good intentions can be misinterpreted for something else."
"Wait, are you changing your mind about all this?" Dean waves his hand vaguely in the air. "Cause you're the one who wanted to shoot them Sam."
"You were the same way Dean, til we got here."
Dean points at the twins. "Look at 'em! Could you really shoot that face, Sam? And the wolf too?"
Connor chokes out a laugh but says nothing, eyes flitting between the two men.
Dean shakes his head. "You want to have this conversation now?" He glances at Connor and Murphy before lowering his voice. "There's nothing good about lying and betraying family, no matter how you try and argue it."
Sam opens his mouth, but Connor cuts him off. "Come on now, before things are said without thinking." He looks at Murphy, who wags his tail. "I'll admit we dragged you away from the party down below before it really got started. Drink?"
"God, yes please," Dean says.
"Sorry about the lack of seats, we're not that used to hosting guests up here. Lost out on the couch a couple months back. Fucking chewed it all to pieces." Connor sits up, waiting for Murphy to move before standing. "We've got the beds though, make yourselves at home."
Dean heads towards the unoccupied mattress, sitting down near the foot of it. It takes Sam longer to sit, finally brushing past Dean to sit on the same side as him.
Connor heads over to a beat up dresser against the opposite wall, the top littered with assorted liquor bottles. He grabs two before heading back, pausing to lock the front door. There's a pair of rosaries hanging by the door, swinging in Connor's wake. In the low light Dean sees his fingertips reach out, almost brushing the worn wooden beads but pulling back at the last minute.
Connor catches Dean's gaze as he sits facing him, and he offers Dean one of the bottles before setting the other down. His fingers fly over his boot laces, untangling them so he can kick them off towards the foot of the bed.
Dean glances at the label, but it's faded and worn, despite the bottle being almost full. "Drink much?" Dean asks, unscrewing the top.
"Always." Connor takes his bottle, opens it up and takes a long pull from it. "Just not alone in my room with my thoughts."
"He has a good point there Dean," Sam points out, reaching out to snag the bottle from him. He lifts the bottle to his lips, sucking down a mouthful.
"Right, and your liquid addictions were so much healthier."
"Boys, boys, come on now." Connor gently kicks out at Dean, socked toes hitting Dean's shin. "We've got decent whiskey and stories and a soft spot to sleep. You can fight later."
"You're letting us crash here?" Dean takes the bottle back from Sam, his body warming as the liquid hits his stomach.
"I'm too much of a gentleman to get you drunk and then expect you to make it down all those stairs." Connor smirks at Dean, and Dean's suddenly mindful that Connor's foot is still resting against his leg.
Sam coughs suddenly, and Dean's aware of Connor's smile deepening at Sam's reaction.
Dean nudges Connor back. "You don't wear them." He nods towards Connor's collar. "How long did it take before you realized it scarred?"
Connor stares at him before raising his hand to rub at the side of his neck. "First time it happened. Wasn't anyone around to explain any of it, so it was all trial and error, doing the best we could."
"The first time?" Sam's brow is furrowed. "When were you bit?"
Connor shakes his head. "Never was. It's all in the bloodlines. Our pa's pa's pa, so on and all that," he says, waving his hand around. "Fucked something up back in the homeland, pissed off St. Patrick, so it goes, and what you see before you is the end results." His hand lingers on Murphy's head.
"So how come you changed and he didn't?" Sam asks, taking another long drink.
"One of the few things we don't share, odd enough. Dunno why, but Murph here got stuck with the seven year plan."
"And you?"
"Every seventh year."
"What's something else you two don't share?" Dean asks, nicking the bottle back from Sam, and if his fingers still on Sam's grip longer than normal, he's ready to blame the alcohol. But Sam just pauses, lets Dean brush over him before releasing the glass and Dean can't tell if the tremble in his gut is from the whiskey or something deeper.
Connor leers, subtly spreading his legs but Dean's eyes are drawn to the movement. "Have you had enough to really want to find out?"
Murphy whines, reaching out with his paw to whack at Connor's thigh. Connor chuckles before drinking more. "Murph here's the jealous type, if you haven't noticed already." Murphy whines again, struggling to sit up on the mattress. He leans against Connor, staring across at Dean as he noses up against Conner's throat, tongue catching a loose drop of whiskey off of Connor's lips.
The mattress moves under Dean as Sam shifts around next to him, and Dean lets the whiskey drag him down, leaning back on his elbows. It's making him bolder than usual, and he grins at the way Murphy's watching him.
"He's the one getting jealous? He's getting to second base with you right in front of us."
"Dean..." Sam's voice is heavy with warning, but Dean's past caring what his brother thinks of his lack of boundaries. Dean reaches out to shove at Sam, but Sam leans far enough away for Dean to just tip over onto the mattress, aided exponentially by the whiskey.
"Dammit Sam." Dean's voice is muffled by the fabric. The mattress rocks suddenly and Dean buries his face in the blankets, trying to make his head stop swimming. There's warmth against his back and a sudden damp nose snuffling against the nape of his neck. Murphy works his way around, tiny licks along Dean's jawline and Dean can smell the whiskey on the wolf's whiskers.
Dean finally rolls over, Murphy pulling back to get out of Dean's way until he settles back down. Dean keeps his eyes closed once he's on his back, focusing on the darkness and the soft whimpering noises coming from Murphy. He can hear Connor and Sam talking, feels the bed move as Sam struggles to move over to the other mattress.
A chill runs through Dean and he makes an unhappy noise, reaching out for a blanket. He brushes against fur and freezes, unsure of where the teeth are. Murphy snorts before moving closer and sitting next to Dean. Dean flinches when he feels the muzzle sliding along his belt, Murphy pushing up on his t-shirt to lick a stripe along Dean's belly.
Dean bursts out laughing, blames the liquor and the stress of it all, and when he opens his eyes he sees Murphy grinning back at him, tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth.
"Your brother's got a purdy mouth," Dean comments, looking over at Connor and Sam. Connor smirks at him, eyes flickering between Dean and his brother. Sam's just watching him, mouth set in a thin line and Dean wants him to be closer, wants to pull him in and swallow him down and make everything go back to the way it was.
"Sammy..." Dean starts softly, but there's a loud crash from the foot of the bed that makes them all look. Murphy looks guilty, nosing at the empty glass bottle that's tipped over, tongue snaking in to try and get at the last drops.
"Fuckin' dog," Connor admonishes, and when Dean looks back Sam's not meeting his eyes anymore.
---
It's been awhile since Dean's shared a room with other people, let alone werewolves. He has one knife left on him, strapped to his calf and tucked underneath his jeans. Sam's on his side, back to Dean and even though he didn't expect anything else, Dean feels the gesture stronger than he had thought.
They had finished the two original bottles and then a third on top of that, Connor making his way back to the dresser with the ease of a practiced drunk. He had stripped off the bloody shirt by that time, the bullet hole almost completely healed, and he had just grinned at Sam and Dean's reactions. "Some perks to this whole shifting business," he had murmured, eyes locked with Dean's.
Despite the alcohol, Dean can't sleep, and he manages to stand up and stumble towards the toilet. He winces at the loud echo his piss makes in the flat, but the only reaction is a snort and whimper from Murphy as he flops from side to side next to Connor.
Dean's pants are stiff from too much work and not enough cleaning, and by the time he makes it back to the mattress he decides to kick them off completely. He sits down on the mattress with a whump and his fingers stumble over the leather straps of the knife sheath.
He lies back down, pulling the blanket back over him but a shiver still runs through his body. He's used to sleeping in the cold, wrapped up in a dirty blanket in the backseat of the Impala. But here, the concrete surrounds them, making the room feel like a freezer.
"Why not get closer?" Connor's whisper startles Dean and he manages to focus his eyes on the other man's face. Connor's facing him from the other bed, his blanket pushed down to his waist. In the glow from the outside lights, Connor's scar is clear, the skin around his neck curdled where the holy beads had touched it. It starts to smooth down the further down Dean looks, until all he can see is a faint outline of a Celtic cross on Connor's stomach. Connor huffs out a breath, catching Dean's attention and Dean has to think about what they were talking about.
"To Sam?" And Connor nods. "Not really the best idea right now." He and Sam have been partners since the Apocalypse, business as usual, efficient and helpful. But there's that final line still waiting for them to cross, to push past the betrayal and lies and Dean's not ready for that yet. Better off with a partner than losing Sam completely, all over again.
"Bullshit." In one smooth move Connor's slipping from his bed to Dean's, and in the low light from the streetlights outside Dean can see the ridge of his ribs smoothing out to the curve of his hips and ass.
Connor's suddenly there, pushing up against him and Dean has no place to move but back, bumping into Sam. Sam just groans, pulls in tighter around himself and stays still.
"What the fuck..." Dean starts, but Connor gets there faster, pressing his mouth to Dean's with a soft whimper that makes Dean's breath catch. His hand finds Dean's face, cupping his jaw before running his thumb over Dean's cheek.
"When's the last time this happened?" Connor asks softly, and there's an open honesty in his eyes that catches Dean off guard.
"What, having a default threesome cause my brother's in the same bed?" Dean's walls are doing the best to build themselves up for him, but Connor knocks them all down with another kiss.
"You need this." And when Connor says it that way, it almost seems that simple. Dean needs something and should expect to get it; should get it. But he starts shaking his head, soft movements that grow more determined, until Connor stops him with a bite to his lower lip.
"You're broken, aren't ya?" Connor noses up against Dean's cheek, whispering the words in his ear. He slides the rest of his body closer as well, one leg sliding over Dean's, pinning him down and pulling him in. "Nothing wrong with that, unless it's that you don't want to be fixed." He nips at Dean's earlobe and Dean can't stop the shudder that runs through his body.
"He's not the same." Dean doesn't mean for it to come out but it does, broken and harsh when it hits the air. He pulls away from Connor's hand, pushing his face into the worn pillow.
"Bullshit," Connor tells him, and when Dean opens his mouth Connor kisses him quiet. "We talked, you know," he murmurs when he pulls away from Dean, and Dean feels his heartbeat slow.
"About what?"
"Bits and pieces. Glossed over your line of work, the," Connor pauses, searching for the right word, "magnitude of it all. Before and after."
Dean's head is muddy, overwhelmed and exposed and now he knows why Sam was so pissed when he found out Dean had told Cassie so long ago.
"We all have our secrets," Connor's voice is soft as he moves his hand up to stroke over Dean's hip. "Nothing wrong with that, or admitting you can't do it alone."
Dean starts to bristle at Connor's words, but Sam's snorting in his sleep and moving around, so he bites his tongue. He slides his hand around the nape of Connor's neck, pulling him back in so that Dean can murmur against his skin.
"He's not the same," Dean repeats, mind flashing over the past few months. The long silences, the distances they both keep from each other now. It's easier to blame Hell, blame Lucifer for the resulting silences than try and face it all head-on, raw and exposed.
"No one stays the same." And there's a fond teasing in Connor's voice. "Want me to point out my brother over there, in case you've forgotten?"
Dean's shoulders shake and even he can't tell if he's ready to laugh or cry. He pulls his face away from the pillow, turning to look at Connor. "So, you got me drunk to play therapist?"
"Hate to tell you but I didn't offer up my stash just to play with your mind." Connor smirks at Dean and slides his hand down to Dean's shoulder. "I'm sure you have amazing stories of far off lands," he murmurs, tracing over the scar on Dean's upper arm. "But that's not really what either of us is looking for, is it?"
Connor keeps moving his hand lower, pausing over scars and old wounds before resting low on Dean's back. Connor meets Dean's gaze again, and all Dean can do is bite his lip and grip at Connor's arm when Connor tugs his boxers down.
"Come on, make a little noise for me now." Connor's voice is a slow purr as his hand wraps around Dean's cock. He tightens his grip as he slowly starts to stroke Dean, leaning forward to press his mouth against Dean's neck.
Dean whimpers at the touch, his hips rocking forward and he can feel Connor's cock against his thigh, slick and hard and the touch leaves Dean tightening his grip on the other man's arm, sliding his other hand down to grope at Connor's ass. A gasp escapes from Dean, seemingly loud in the vast space and he can hear Murphy respond with a low whine somewhere from the other bed.
"He'll wake up," Dean gets out, and his eyes widen at Connor's laugh.
"He's been watchin' you writhe around for a bit now." Connor sounds pleased. When Dean starts to twist his head around to look Connor catches his face with his hand. "Stay where you are now." Connor's eyes darken as he licks his lips. "You don't get to look."
Dean's eyes flutter shut when the mattress starts to move and Sam draws in. There's an awkward familiarity there, the way Sam positions himself against Dean's back. Connor's hand keeps moving on Dean's cock, both men pushing in closer until Dean's trapped between them.
Sam's pressed tight against him, arms wrapping around Dean, pulling him closer and Dean can feel how hard Sam is. He doesn't mean to roll his hips backwards but he does, and the resulting groan is completely worth it.
"I've got you Dean, I promise. Just let me," Sam tells him, voice broken and wanting and all Dean wants to do is twist around and hug him, comfort him like he's always done. But Connor's watching, fingers tightening around Dean's cock and Dean knows what he really wants.
"God Dean, please, just let me, just..." Sam's hands are roaming all over Dean's body, glancing over Cas' mark to go further down, to tangle with Connor's fingers around Dean's dick and that's it, Dean's done.
"Yes, Sam, fuck, yes." Dean pushes back, reaching around to grab at Sam's thigh, to ground himself.
"Christ man, you can wait long enough for some slick, right?" Connor's voice is teasing and then Sam's snickering as well, and all Dean wants is for Sam to fuck him, slide inside and take over so that Dean can finally let go.
He keeps his eyes closed as he hears Connor rustling around, but then Sam's pulling away from Dean, soft apologies as he slicks himself up. Dean groans when Sam first slides a finger into him, the feeling familiar enough but so far in the past. All he can do is whimper, grinding back against Sam and praying that Sam knows what he means.
Sam adds another finger before Dean tries to twist around, kissing at him messily and desperate. "'m ready Sam, come on."
Dean knows what to expect, the painful stretch that has him grasping at the mattress as Sam's fingers dig into his hips. A broken whimper slips out from him, his body shuddering forward, but Connor's there to meet him, teeth on Dean's throat.
"Holy crap," Dean manages to get out, Connor still smelling like copper and whiskey and sweat and the feeling of Connor's teeth closing around Dean's pulse has him pushing back on Sam, fingers reaching out to grab at Connor's hips.
Connor's hand slips down to start slowly jacking Dean off again, and Dean doesn't realize Sam's bottomed out until he feels his breath against his shoulder. Sam stays still for a moment, watching Connor's fingers until he slides his arm around Dean's waist, pulling Dean tight against him.
Connor pulls back, admiring the mark left on Dean's skin. There's a low whine behind him, and Dean sees Murphy sitting there and watching, his tongue lolling out of his mouth.
"How long have you been waiting for this?" Sam whispers in his ear, pulling his attention away from the brothers and all Dean can do is shake his head, not ready to commit to that question out loud. "I'm gonna get it out of you one way or another," Sam grins against Dean's neck and all Dean can do is whimper in response.
Sam starts moving slowly, long strokes that leave Dean shaking and pressing back as much as he can. But Sam's holding on to his hips, holding him in place so there's nothing for him to do but lie there and be fucked.
It doesn't take long for Dean to feel the curl in his toes, the faint feeling that has his breath hitching in his throat. "Fuck, Sammy..." And he can feel Sam's breathless laugh against his neck, the warm huff of air making the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
"Connor," Sam calls out, and suddenly Connor's pressing tight against Dean, reaching over his shoulder to draw Sam in for a messy kiss. He grins at Dean before wriggling his way down the bed, sucking a mark into Dean's hip that leaves Dean trying to thrust forward.
Dean's eyes are closed when Connor wraps his mouth around his cock and he's fucking thankful for that, not sure if he'd be able to last any longer if he had seen that happen himself. He's floating though, so close to coming but Sam's not moving, just whispering nonsense into Dean's ear that Dean's pretty sure he's going to blame on the whiskey in the morning.
"Sam, please," and Dean hates begging, hates asking for anything but he's on the cusp, so close to breaking apart he can feel the cracks in his toes starting to crawl up his legs. Connor groans around Dean's cock, reaching behind to stroke at Sam's sac and trace a finger around his dick, brushing up against Dean's hole.
Sam swears, fucking into Dean hard and coming with a groan and Dean follows suit, hips jerking forward within Sam's grip. Connor moans around Dean's dick, swallowing as much as he can without gagging, and Dean tangles his fingers in Connor's hair, encouraging him on.
Dean shudders when Connor finally pulls back, sliding back up Dean's body to kiss him hard. Dean tries to pull him closer, tasting blood when his teeth catch on Dean's lower lip, but Connor slides from his grasp. He leans over Dean's shoulder instead, leaving a smear of blood on Sam's mouth when he kisses him.
"Fucking take care of him, ya hear?" Connor doesn't bother to lower his voice, and Dean feels Sam's fingers tighten on his hips. "Both of you," he adds, glancing back down at Dean. Dean nods, too tired to do anything else and he halfheartedly grabs at the blankets he thinks are nearby. Connor snorts and stands, making his way towards the other bed.
---
Dean doesn't know how much time has passed when he finally opens his eyes, but it's still dark in the loft. He's twisted around now, facing Sam, and when he moves he can feel the ache in his body. He tries to untangle himself from the blankets but Sam reaches out and snags Dean around the waist.
"You're warm, what are you doing?"
"Let go, it'll just be a minute." Dean relaxes though, lets himself get pulled back in.
"Mmm, cleaned up already," Sam murmurs, his eyes slowly blinking open.
"You never do."
"You passed out, dumbass. I didn't want to wake up with you stuck to my leg or anything." Dean sees a smile flicker over Sam's face.
"Is that what he meant by take care of me?" Dean smiles, but his touch is cautious as he slides his hand up Sam's side, letting his fingers slow over his ribs.
"Something like that." Sam leans forward, pressing his forehead against Dean's. "We'll figure it out as we go."
"Mmm." Dean starts to talk, but Sam shuts him up with a kiss.
"Sleep now though." Sam slowly rubs a circle on Dean's back with his thumb and Dean lets himself fall into the touch.
---
Dean wakes up to the sound of garbage trucks and horns blaring. He tries to shift his legs, finding them tangled up in someone else's. The loft's lit up with sun, bright and harsh and Dean does his best to bury himself back under the covers.
There's an arm slung around his chest, fingers clutching at the blanket beneath them, pinning Dean in place. He blinks a few more times, trying to get his bearings and sees Connor watching him with a smirk on his face.
"You." It comes out garbled and rough and Dean coughs a few times, trying to find his voice. "Was it all some whiskey fueled dream?"
"Sweet enough that you'd think to dream of me, but no." Connor tilts his chin at Dean. "Look behind you already."
Dean twists his head around as far as he can, gently bumping into Sam's nose. Sam's arms tighten around Dean, and for a moment there's a look on his face that takes Dean back to when neither of them had anything to fear from the world.
-----
"So, you two have any plans now?" Connor's voice is calm, but Murphy's pacing around the loft, shooting Sam and Dean glares whenever they meet his eyes.
Dean looks at Sam before shrugging. "We're here to do a job. And in our line of work, it's better not to leave jobs half-finished. You know, for safety's sake."
Murphy's on Dean in a flash, rearing up to drop his paws on Dean's shoulders, his teeth bared dangerously close to Dean's face and a growl rumbles out of him.
"You wanna call him off me?"
"I don't know. Do I?"
"And after all we shared last night." Dean's smirk falters as Murphy snaps at him, and Sam lets out an exasperated sigh. "We heard you guys might have a dick problem around town. And I'm sure your line of work crosses over with ours from time to time."
Connor stares at Dean before barely nodding his head. "Murph, leave the man alone already."
Murphy pulls back with a low growl and drops to the floor, stalking over to lean against Connor's leg. "How long d'you think you'll be in town?"
Dean shrugs again. "Don't have any active cases at the moment, but I'm sure we could call around, dig something up."
Sam interrupts. "Are you saying you do want us around or are just counting the hours til we drive away and you can go back to your thing."
"Our thing does seem to be working though. Grab a paper while you're in town, you'll probably see us in it."
"You or your shadows?" Sam asks.
"One large black blur's the same as the next in my book," Connor grins. "Adds an air of mystery to it all even."
"Being a werewolf's not enough mystery for you?" Dean butts in.
"You'd be surprised how quick it can get to become bored of licking yourself. Not as much fun as you'd think, really."
Dean shakes his head, trying not to picture Connor twisted around like that. "Not really what I was going for there."
"Ahh, but you liked it, didn't ya?" Connor leers at Dean, dropping his hand to skritch at the base of Murphy's ears. "If you two do end up back here, look us up and we'll get Doc to treat you right next time around. On us, even."
---
It's a short hike to the Impala, and Dean's pleased to see she's there in one piece, nothing missing or dented. He runs a hand along her side before popping the trunk and emptying his pockets and holsters.
A few wrong turns and then they're finally close to finding the highway, and Dean pushes the car to a happy roar as he accelerates up the on ramp.
"Where to?" Dean asks, glancing over. Sam already has a map out, a file folder open in his lap underneath the large sheet of paper.
"Got an email from someone down south needing help in Florida, and there's some crop circle stuff going on in New York."
"What sort of help?"
"They're claiming zombies, but I don't know. Seems like a popular answer nowadays."
"Anything closer?"
Sam looks up and smirks at Dean. "Not ready to leave Boston yet?"
"I dunno, I mean, I'm sure there's shit going down somewhere in this town. We just have to find it." Dean blames the sudden increase in heat on the car and cracks open a window.
"I'll bet Bobby'll know someone who knows where we could go. Or at least who to ask around these parts."
"I'll give him a call." Sam glances over at Dean. "Any other calls you want me to make?"
"Like what?"
"Bet you're missing Connor's mouth already." There's a teasing tone to Sam's voice, but when Dean looks over at him, there's a warmth there as well that's been missing the past several months.
"Fuck you," but Dean's laughing, trying to cut across traffic to the closest off ramp.
"Anyways, you're still too sore."
"Bitch."
"Jerk."
~
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