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The Impala rarely knew dead silence, a silence so deep and heavy that it sank into the bones, cold and gripping. The kind that no one dared to break, because if they did, it meant admitting that something had gone dreadfully wrong. Even on her worst days, the Impala was filled with the sound of quiet breathing and soft rock, keys clinking gently against each other as tires met rough, country backroads, the nearly inaudible hum of the driver trying to stay awake.
But not this day.
This day, she is silent. Despite the heavy foot against the gas, there is nothing. No keys shuffling, no muffled road against rubber. It is as if the entire car is a sound proof room, and they’re the only things in it. Every once in a while, moss green eyes shift to the right, taking in the silent form slumped against the door, long legs tucked into himself as far as they will go.
Dean doesn’t dare interrupt the silence. As long as he can see the slight shift as his brother breathes, his clenching fist in his lap as he stares out the window…that’s enough. For now, that’s enough. His eyes go back to the road and the heart wrenching ache fills up the quiet space. There’s no need for speaking; Sam’s white knuckles and shuddering shoulders say it all.
Sam is never sure when to make the first move, not since Jess. Everything was so easy with her, so right, he never had to worry about it. But now, standing in front of Madison as they discuss how they can’t just go back to the way it was, all he wants is to know how she tastes, what her lips feel like, how she feels against him.
And then she’s grasping at his shirt, pressing her lips desperately to his, and he doesn’t have to wonder anymore. She’s warm and her lips taste like strawberries. He’s always been amazed by how girls manage to do that, seemingly without trying. He’s been with her all day and there is no reason she should taste that way, but as his tongue swipes along her bottom lip and a fresh taste of that sweet fruit hits his taste buds, he forgets why he even cares.
He picks her up, grips her by the hips and spins her around, and God, she fits perfectly in his hands. His fingers span across her thin clothes and sink into soft flesh, and suddenly it’s too much; there’s too much to touch and kiss and feel, too many clothes, and he almost feels angry that he doesn’t have more hands. He does the next best thing, lifts her up and groans as the weight of her shifting pushes against him and her legs wrap around his waist, and trap her between his body and the wall. He may only have two hands, but that doesn’t mean he can’t use what is there to his advantage.
He balances her against the wall with his hips and pulls off her shirt, and he hisses as she scrapes her nails up his back, snagging his button up as she goes and pulling it over his head, too. His hands bury in her hair and he has a split second to think about how soft it is before her hands travel south and start working at his belt buckle. His lips trace along her jawline, pauses at the soft spot behind her ear and he smiles against her when she gasps. He moves down and gently sucks at her pulse point, closes his eyes at how alive she feels, each beat warm against his lips.
He barely hears the clink of his buckle as it finally comes undone, is unsure how he manages to step out of his jeans as he stumbles down the hall and towards Madison’s bedroom, doesn’t even remember how he knows where it is. Somewhere between the living room and her room, he impresses even himself when he unhooks her bra with one hand, snapping it open with a precision that, until that moment, had been nonexistent.
And then they’re in her bedroom, fire crackling in the fireplace and he drops her onto the bed. She smiles up at him, and he can tell it’s guarded, like she can’t believe everything is just…fine…but he quickly covers her body with his, his hand snaking its way between them so he can unbutton her jeans, and the look disappears. He shimmies her pants and underwear down in one swift pull, tossing them to the side without taking his eyes off of her. She is beautiful, and he pauses, wanting this moment to last; the first time he really sees her. She tilts her head and looks at him, a smile playing on her lips as she watches him, still kneeling at her feet.
It’s enough to break him out of his reverie. His hands slide up her legs, slow, so slow, and she tilts her hips up, silently begging for him to do something, anything. His hands stop at her knees, and he gently pulls them apart to give him space as he settles between them. He wants to drag this out, make it last, but he can’t stand not tasting her. And the moment he does, the moment his tongue sweeps her wet opening and lingers on that bundle of nerves, it’s like a shock to his system. He can hear her crying out, can feel her fingers bury in his hair and grip, but he can’t focus on anything else but the sweetness dripping onto his tongue.
He’s read tales of sirens that beguile and lure, promising them a treasure and a life long love, only to crash into the very rocks calling to them, stranding them with nothing. And in this moment, he understands, understands how that sweet siren song could pull them under as she practically sings his name and he realizes that he’s lost and found at the same time. Lost in the sway of her hips, but for the first time since Jess, found.
He practically has to tear his mouth away from her, dipping in for one last taste, before pulling himself up to cover her. She looks up at him, her eyes hooded and dark, and he kisses her, kisses her like he’ll never live to steal another sweet strawberry kiss again. She tightens her knees against him, presses against his hardened length, kisses along his jaw and nibbles his earlobe. He’s nearly gone before they truly get started, and, as he lines himself up to her, he gives her one last look, one last opportunity for her to change her mind. Her kiss is answer enough and he slowly sinks down, biting his lip.
He doesn’t even realize he’s holding his breath until he gasps out loud at the feeling of her around him. She’s so warm and smooth, and her head tilts back, her eyes closed and lip caught between her teeth. Oh, if he could only remember this moment, capture it like a photograph. He moves slowly, not wanting to hurt her, but her hips buck in encouragement and who was he to keep her from that? He speeds up his thrusts, hands once again buried in her long, chocolate hair, and he commits it all to memory; what makes her sigh, what makes her moan and call out his name. There’s too much to remember, to many sensations to even begin to focus on any one.
She moves suddenly, rolling so that he’s on his back, and he watches in awe as she rides him, throws her head back and laughs. It’s a quiet laugh, almost like she doesn’t even realize she’s done it, and it sparks something inside him. His hands slide up her thighs and grab her hips, helping her move faster. Before she can say anything, he flips her back over, stomach to the mattress, then slowly slides into her again. She grips the pillows, the change in position creating more friction, and she gives a muffled cry into the mattress. Sam leans forward, sweeps her hair away from her neck and bites, gently, before moving back around and between her shoulder blades. He sits up on his haunches, pulling and pushing, watching as the shadowy flames from the fireplace dance along the muscles in her back as she moves.
He can feel it coming for both of them, like a giant wave crashing into the sand, or the feeling you get when you’re standing at the edge of a cliff, waiting to fall. He doesn’t want to stop, doesn’t want the sounds she’s making to cease falling from her perfect lips, but there’s time for that later. So he pulls away from her, flips her so that she’s facing him, then pulls her into his lap so that he can look into her eyes, so dark you can barely see the pupils. She gasps as she sinks down on him, and she clings desperately to his shoulders. He will be surprised if there aren’t bruises, but he doesn’t care. He watches as a drop of sweat rolls down her neck and slips into the valley between her breasts, and he dips his head down, swirling his tongue around the pebbled skin of her nipple. The sting of her nails biting into his skin snaps him back to reality, and he can feel her tightening against him, her breaths heavy and quick, before she finally throws her head back, calls his name as she rocks against him.
It’s his undoing. The moment his name leaves her lips, he’s chasing his release right after her, and he drops his head against her shoulder as he whispers her name, almost like a prayer. He feels her fingers running through his hair and he looks up at her, at her smile, and she smooths his sweat soaked hair from his face.
He lays back with her, sighing at the sudden absence of her around him, and she curls into his side, her head on his chest. He looks down at her, eyes closed although she still has a hint of a smile, and there’s a weight lifted. Monsters can be saved, people can be saved. He could be saved. He drifts off to sleep, the thought echoing in his mind. He can be saved.
Sam jerks upright in the seat, and Dean swerves, nearly sideswiping a car heading the opposite direction. He almost yells at Sam for scaring the shit out of him, but when he turns to him, Sam’s face is sheet white, his eyes wide and rolling in panic. Dean pulls off to the side and before the car has even fully stopped, Sam throws the door open, falls to his hands and knees in the gravel, and vomits.
Dean clambers out of the drivers side and rushes around the side of the car to find Sam still on his knees, shoulders heaving. He kneels next to him and rubs a gentle circle on his back; there’s nothing to say. Dean has been there, and so he waits. Sam falls back on his haunches, then shifts so that he’s leaning against the car. Neither of them speak. Dean waits for the inevitable and Sam finally lets the grief take hold, his body shaking with each wrenching sob that comes out of him.
Dean shifts closer, and without a word, puts his arm out. Sam collapses into his side, and Dean comforts him as well as he can. These tears are for Madison, sure, but the kid has lost so much recently that he isn’t sure how much is for her, and how much is for the rest of it. So Dean lets him go, lets the tears flow and the sadness leach out. It’s the only thing he can do. After awhile, Sam’s breathing becomes slow and deep, and he realizes he’s fallen asleep. So Dean waits, sitting in the gravel next to some unknown backroad, and watches over Sam as he sleeps.