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It’s a long time before Samuel and Dean are able to leave the police station.
Everyone wants to talk to them, everyone wants to touch them. It’s all Samuel can do not to snap at some of the more forward of their new found fans, many of whom are young and objectively attractive. Samuel knows Dean would never take anyone up on what they’re offering, but that doesn’t mean that Samuel enjoys watching women and men throw themselves shamelessly at his brother, or his brother’s harmless flirting back.
“We need to do an interview,” Dean says, leaning into Samuel, lips brushing Samuel’s ear. “Pick someone.” He waves to the redhead from the steps of Hunter Corp.
“Not her,” Samuel says, feeling petulant. Yes, he’d just kissed his brother on the steps of the police station in front of five hundred cameras after they’d just announced to the world that they’re soulmates, but you’d never know it by the way everyone is acting. He scans the crowd, looking for the oldest, least attractive person with a professional camera he can find. “Over there,” he says, pointing. The gentleman in question is short, balding, and portly but his suit is well made and expensive.
“Hellhound Daily?” Dean says, laughter in his voice. “Really?”
Samuel scowls. Of course Dean knows who he is, but it’s too late now. “Him.”
Dean looks up at him affectionately, slides his arm around his waist. But he doesn’t kiss him, or tuck his hair back, or drop to his knees to fumble at Samuel’s trousers–all things they could be doing if they could just stop talking to people and signing autographs and taking fucking selfies. He must see something of how Samuel’s feeling, because he pulls Samuel closer.
“You know what? I’ll just call him, set something up for tomorrow.” Dean rises on his toes to kiss Samuel’s cheek and Samuel feels instantly better and worse, grateful to Dean for understanding and embarrassed by his near tantrum. But he can’t help it. He needs Dean, needs to be alone with him, without their newfound celebrity distracting his brother and taking his attention away from Samuel.
There’s a car waiting for them on the other side of the lawn, the Hunter Corp logo removed for discretion, their driver Tahmaoh leaning casually against the driver’s door. He sees them heading his way and nods slightly. Samuel knows he’s livestreaming everything back to their father, and on impulse he tugs on Dean’s hand, pulling him back and kissing him even more soundly while the crowd cheers around them. That should give their father something to think about.
Dean waves to the crowd as they climb into the car, both of them settling back into the soft leather with a sigh of relief, though Samuel’s sigh is much deeper and more heartfelt than Dean’s.
“You love this, don’t you,” Samuel accuses, and he’s only half joking. Dean is a man of the people, far more so than Samuel–they are two halves of a whole, Dean drawing Samuel out of himself and Samuel the calm oasis Dean can always return to when he’s given too much of himself.
And, occasionally, reminding him that there is someone else who also needs him.
Dean gives Samuel a wide grin. “Are you telling me that you didn’t enjoy staking your very public claim, little brother?” He’s practically vibrating in place, soaring on the waves of approval and love from the crowd. “It sure felt like you enjoyed it.”
“I wouldn’t need to enjoy it if–”
Dean’s phone rings, the familiar tone setting Sam’s teeth on edge before Dean even answers. He doesn’t want to talk to their father right now, and he doesn’t want Dean to talk to him either. He already knows what John wants–the two of them, called on the red carpet. But he can’t stop his brother, so he just has to listen as Dean says yes sir and no sir and as soon as we get home sir until he finally hangs up and sighs.
“John wants us in his office as soon as we get home.”
Just as Samuel suspected, and he makes a split second decision. “Then we’re not going home.”
Dean gapes at him for a moment, clearly not expecting even more rebellion from Samuel so soon after their press conference. “Sammy–”
“I want you,” Samuel interrupts, trying not to whine. His voice softens, drops. Is it really manipulation if it’s all true? “I need you.”
Dean melts against him, his big brother instincts overriding everything else. “I’m sure John will understand,” he says, leaning over to kiss Samuel’s cheek again. “Tamaoh, take us to the Driskilll, please. We’ll call you when we’re ready to leave.”
“Your father has instructed me to bring you straight back to Hunter Corp,” Tamaoh says placidly, and Samuel can practically feel his blood pressure rising. He looks at Dean–he can’t say anything without tipping off Tamaoh and by proxy their father. Dean looks back, his brow furrowed in confusion, so Samuel very slowly and deliberately puts his hand on the door handle. He’s fairly certain his father hasn’t installed locks on the back of their private vehicle, though Samuel supposes he might after this. He glances out the windows, calculating the best moment for their escape–traffic is heavy and slow, thanks in part to their impromptu press conference, and there’s a traffic light coming up–
“Well, maybe just a quick stop in Chinatown,” Samuel says with careful cheerfulness. “I’m out of my favorite tea.”
“Your father–”
Dean nods, message received, and as one they pull the handles and step out of the barely moving car. Tamaoh shouts in confusion, but by then they’re already moving–Dean running through the crowd in the direction the car was facing, Samuel running the opposite direction, just as they’d planned. Of course, this contingency was supposed to be for escaping monsters, not their father, but Samuel doesn’t care as long as it works.
Sam turns the first corner he comes to and slows to a steady walk. His height tends to attract attention, but Sam has learned quite a few tricks to disguise himself over the years–he shortens his stride, drops his shoulders, pulls his arms in close to his body. At the same time he pulls his phone out of his pants pocket and drops it into the RFID pocket on his jacket, a minor tailoring detail that he and Dean had incorporated into their wardrobes while Sam was away at Stanford to maintain a semblance of privacy. He absolutely does not put it past their father to track them down and bring them back to the HunterCorp offices now that Tamaoh has undoubtedly relayed word of their rebellion.
A few more blocks and Samuel detours into the nearest metro station. He pays cash for five tickets and leaves four of them at the hub. The other goes into his pocket as he exits the station and hails a taxi.
“1st National on Elm Street,” he instructs the driver, and settles back with his eyes closed, picturing Dean going through the same steps on the other side of town. He wishes they could do this together, but as Dean had explained back at Stanford when he was setting everything up, separating at the beginning would force John–or anyone else looking for them–to split their resources.
“Hey,” the cabbie says abruptly. Sam opens his eyes and sees the man watching him warily in the rear view mirror. “Ain’t you that Hunter that’s been in the news? The one that killed a man in Nebraska a few weeks back?”
Samuel sighs. “No, of course not,” he says quickly, and pushes a tiny bit of magic into the words. “I don’t even look like him, really.”
The cabbie relaxes. “Nah, I guess you don’t. Someone needs to take a look into that Hunting business, though. Who knows what they’re getting away with? Could be anything.”
“Could be,” Samuel agrees. “You know, it’s a nice day out, I think I’ll walk from here.” He pulls enough money to cover the fare and a modest tip from his wallet. He doesn’t want to stand out in the man’s memory in any way.
“Sure, man, if that’s what you want.” The cabbie doesn’t seem fazed by Samuel’s abrupt change in plans, but that’s not surprising. One of the few spells Samuel can cast is susceptibility, the ability to make others more inclined to believe the caster. Of course using magic on humans against their will is strongly prohibited, but as weak as Samuel’s casting is, it’s unlikely that anyone will notice, even the driver.
Samuel steps out of the cab, uneasy from the close brush with discovery. Hopefully he’ll be just one of many fares in the driver’s memories, but Sam finds himself wishing that John had not been so adamant about not training him and Dean to use the admittedly meager abilities they had gotten from Mary. If Samuel could have just erased the cabbie’s memories…
Samuel shakes off the thought. Taking the easy way out through magic leads nowhere good–HunterCorps files are full of stories that illustrate how very easy it is to wind up on a dark path. His long legs cover the two blocks to the bank in short order, and he feels a sense of relief when he slips into the cool, dim interior. The guard on duty nods politely when he steps through the scanner–no weapons, no magic, just the strength of his body and what lives inside him. Samuel’s never been inside this bank before, and he breathes a sigh of relief when the agent ushers him into the safety deposit room. His fingerprint unlocks the box and he takes out a wallet containing a driver’s license, several credit and debit cards, and two grand in cash. There’s a house key and passport also–he shouldn’t need the passport now that he’s been cleared of wrongdoing, but he doesn’t want to leave behind a link to this identity in case his father manages to trace their steps. It’s too bad they have to burn one of their IDs, but Samuel can’t go back. Not right now, not after coming so close to losing Dean–first to death and then to prison. He needs this time with his brother, time without recriminations or guilt or their father’s anger seeping into the very walls of the building in which they live and work.
Samuel tucks everything away and exits, smiling graciously at the attendants and the guard as he leaves. There’s another train station six blocks away, and he arrives just in time to slip on board, the doors nearly closing on his jacket. Just a little while longer, and he and Dean will be together while they figure out their next steps.
Dean’s waiting for him when he arrives, pacing anxiously while pretending to watch TV.
“Samuel,” he breathes, his eyes lighting up–beautiful and soft, the love there all for Samuel and no one else. “I thought–” Samuel’s mouth finds his, cutting him off–there’s no room for darkness here, now. There’s only the joy of reunion and the need quickening Samuel’s pulse. Samuel’s drowning in need, suddenly, still, always, and he clings to Dean unashamedly, soaking in his presence like they’ve been apart for years instead of hours. Dean holds him close, outwardly calm, but Samuel can feel tiny shudders running through him, feel a hint of warm dampness on his shoulder.
“You were right,” Dean says when Sam can finally let him go. “This is where we should be.”
“I should get that in writing,” Samuel teases, and kisses Dean again, slow and sure this time. Still full of need, but he can think now, instead of just react. “I still can’t believe we told them. All of them, the whole world–” He laughs, high on wonder and freedom and Dean. “Everyone knows now, we don’t have to hide–”
“Never again,” Dean says, and now it’s his turn for desperation. “No more stupid questions about grandkids and settling down, no one looking at you like they can touch--” He’s shoving Samuel’s coat off, scrabbling at the buttons on his shirt until he finally just grabs to fistfuls and pulls, buttons flying everywhere, his eyes fluttering closed when he gets his hands on Samuel’s skin at last.
“Never again,” Samuel agrees, and pushes Dean back, toward the living room–the bedroom’s too far, Samuel doesn’t want to wait that long to be inside his brother. Dean lets himself be pushed–guided--both hands tangled in Samuel’s shirt as he stumbles back and back until his knees bump against the ridiculously large and overstuffed sectional that takes up one whole wall of the apartment.
“Need you,” Dean murmurs against Samuel’s skin as he sinks into the cushions and drags Samuel down with him. Samuel leans into him, swinging one leg over Dean’s hips and twining their hands together as he presses his brother back, caging him in with his arms and his body and his love.
“You’ve got me,” Samuel gasps. “Now and always–”
It’s a struggle to get their clothes off, neither wanting to let go, but it’s better–so much better–when they’re both naked. When they’re skin to skin as well as soul to soul. Dean pushes Samuel back enough to grab the bottle of lube sitting openly on the coffee table, laughing when Samuel raises an eyebrow.
“You’re a sure thing,” he teases, pushing the bottle into Sam’s hand, and Samuel has to laugh with him because when it comes to Dean, it’s true.
Samuel opens Dean up fast and sloppy, both of them too eager for more teasing. Dean hisses when he pushes a third finger a little too soon, but he just drags Samuel down kiss when Samuel tries to pull back.
“I’m ready,” he says, breathing the words into Samuel’s skin. “Just need you inside me, little brother, just do it.”
Dean’s body opens for him easily, welcomes him as he slowly pushes inside. He’s hot and wet and so, so tight, and it’s all Samuel can do to hold back, not come like he’s fifteen and daydreaming about the day he finally gets to touch his brother. Dean holds him close, whispers easy, easy as he strokes Samuel’s hair and back, kisses away the hurt and the joy and the fear of everything that’s happened. There’s nothing left but them, primal and fierce in their love and need until their souls touch, come together the way they’re supposed to be.
Letting go is always hard, the feeling of loss as their souls resettle into their own bodies and they become separate people again, but the feeling is just as sweet in its own way and Samuel only feels a twinge of regret. They’ll be together again, they’ll be together for the rest of their lives, and he knows, now, that no one will ever be able to keep them apart.
The next few days are among the happiest of Samuel’s life. They shower and change, washing away the touch of everyone who isn’t them, and by unspoken agreement leave the day’s events behind. Samuel checks on their investments and calls Jared and Jensen to get updates on how filming is going. The two actors are currently in Europe working on a television series about two brothers who hunt monsters outside the system–vigilantes who help those the big corporations often ignore. Between makeup and a little movie magic, they look just different enough to keep everyone’s eyebrows in place and John from suing them, though Samuel won’t be surprised if he tries anyway.
While Samuel works, Dean spends his time in the kitchen, singing off key and concocting his culinary masterpieces. Samuel has no idea how he does it, but somehow, in between Hunting and getting his MBA, his brother had learned to cook. He doesn’t get to often–their father keeps them busy and frowns upon such plebian activities when they have household staff available, but Samuel knows how much Dean enjoys making meals for them like they’re an ordinary couple.
“Jared and Jensen are having the time of their lives,” Samuel tells Dean when he brings out heaping plates and cold beers. He’d kept it simple tonight–turkey burgers with veggie cheese and bacon, sweet potato fries, kale salad. Dean eats his burger without a bun, of course, but steals half of Samuel’s fries to make up for it. “Jared says the director, Kripke, is completely unhinged, but in a fun way.” He smiles at Dean fondly. “Getting them out of porn and into network TV has been good for them.”
“When does the show reveal that they’re soulmates?” Dean asks, eyeing Samuel’s remaining fries hungrily. Samuel pushes them over, but only after his brother eats his salad. His soulmate is not dying of a heart attack before he hits thirty.
“Season 2, I think,” Samuel says distractedly. Dean’s licking salt off his fingers and Samuel’s having a hard time thinking about anything other than what else he could be licking. “They want to build up a little tension beforehand, leave the audience guessing.”
“Not the only thing building tension,” Dean teases, his eyes dropping to Samuel’s lap. He drains his beer, head tilted back so that Samuel can admire the long line of his throat as he swallows every drop. “And I know just how to work it all out.”
They make it to the bedroom this time–just, a trail of discarded clothing marking the way.
“Want your mouth,” Samuel says, greedy as he bites at Dean’s lower lip then soothes the sting with a gentle finger. Dean opens for him, eyes half closed with his own pleasure, every pull of his lips and swirl of his tongue sending a pulse of heat through Samuel.
“On the bed,” Dean orders, releasing him at last, and Samuel falls willingly back onto the soft comforter. Dean grabs his ankles when he tries to move further up the bed, dragging him closer to the edge instead until his ass is supported entirely by Dean’s strong and capable hands. He holds Samuel there, scattering kisses and tiny bites up and down Samuel’s thighs, nuzzling into the join of his thighs. His hair is soft against Samuel’s cock when he sucks a bruise into the tender skin just below Samuel’s hip, a maddening tease when he’s so close to where Samuel needs him.
“Dean–” It’s not a whine, it’s not, it’s just that Samuel is going to die if his brother doesn’t give him what he needs right now--
As though that was the signal he’d been waiting for, Dean looks up at Samuel and smiles. He already looks utterly debauched–his hair tousled, his pupils blown, his lips already swollen and red. He doesn’t let Samuel look away as he slowly licks up the underside of Samuel’s leaking, aching cock, catching a long strand of precome with his tongue on the way up and chasing another on the way down. Samuel clutches at his shoulder, tugging none too gently, but Dean won’t be swayed. He mouths at Samuel’s balls, closing his mouth delicately around each one before dipping lower, lapping at Samuel’s hole, and Samuel nearly comes on the spot. Dean doesn’t do this often–he’s fastidious about germs and cleanliness, even during sex, but when he does–
Dean slides just the tip of his tongue inside, and it’s a miracle Samuel doesn’t come just from this. The fact that Dean is willing to do this for him, the eager way he mouths and licks at Samuel’s hole, the appreciative sounds Dean makes as he dips his tongue deeper inside of Samuel. Samuel’s cock is dripping precome, his balls feel ready to burst. He clutches the comforter tighter because he can’t reach Dean from this angle.
“Dean–” and if this time it really is a whine, there can be no one on earth that could judge him for it. Dean’s mouth is wet and hot, Samuel’s hole is spit-wet and throbbing as Dean fucks him with his tongue.
“Dean, please, I need–”
Dean lifts his head to look at Samuel. His lips are wet, his pupils lust-blown, his face flushed a pretty shade of pink. “I know, little brother. I always know.” This time Dean uses his fingers as well as his tongue, stroking Samuel’s soft inner walls and tender rim as Samuel’s back arches, his balls so tight now they almost hurt. He won’t last long, not with Dean inside him, taking him apart in the best way. He gets his hand on his cock just as Dean crooks his finger again, pressing against Samuel’s prostate, and that spark shatters the last remnants of his control.
“That’s it, Sammy, come for me,” Dean croons, holding him tight, the only thing holding him together as wave after wave of pleasure rolls through him. Aftershocks are still racing up his spine as Samuel sits up and drags Dean to him, needing him closer, needing the taste of them together. He kisses Dean, his own musky scent on Dean’s tongue mixed wiith the familiar intoxicating taste of Dean, the perfect blend of them. They’ve kissed a hundred times, a thousand, and it’s nowhere near enough, will never be enough. He wants to devour his brother, claim Dean in every way possible to do so. He wants–needs–everyone to know this beautiful man is his.
When Samuel reaches between them, Dean’s still hard, a gift for Samuel to play with. He presses the bundle of nerves right under the head, loving the way Dean moans as he sweeps up the slick leaking from Dean’s slit and mixes it with his own come. Dean shivers and arches into him, sliding eagerly through the warm, wet channel of Samuel’s fist, his hands in Samuel’s hair as he breaks the kiss and looks into Samuel’s eyes. “Sammy,” he says, and it’s soft like a prayer or a promise as he comes almost silently.
The love and wonder in Dean’s expression is mirrored on his own face, Samuel knows, and he wishes they could have this always. Wishes there was a way to leave John and Hunter’s Corp behind them. Instead of stolen days they could have endless days of being together, days spent in bed just talking and playing and loving each other, with no one to judge them or try to keep them apart.
Those days may be over for now but Samuel swears on the beat of his heart and the breath in his lungs that nothing and no one will ever take Dean away from him again.
That feeling clings to Samuel through the next two days. He revels in having Dean all to himself–in the handful of years that he’s been out of college, those times have been few and far between. Even when they leave the apartment–carefully, never together, meeting up at pre-selected shops or street corners–there’s a bubble around them, keeping out the rest of the world. Dean’s eyes on him, Dean’s hand in his, Dean’s attention for no one else–it’s a balm to Samuel’s soul and he soaks it up like rain in the desert.
The only exception is the interview with Hellhound Daily that Dean insists they give.
“We need to get our side of the story out there fully,” Dean tells him. “Altogether in one place, not piecemeal.”
“I don’t see why it can’t wait,” Samuel says sulkily. He knows he’s being ridiculous, that Dean isn’t really interested in the short, impeccably dressed reporter assigned to them, but he can’t help it.
“Because there are holes in our story,” Dean says bluntly, and that gets Samuel’s attention. “People are going to start asking things like why we were hunting to begin with if we knew we
were soulmates. We have to get in front of it, and quick.”
Samuel can’t argue with that, much though he might like to. “So we need to get our stories straight,” he says slowly, thinking. “But what if they’ve already talked to John? What if we contradict him by accident?”
Dean hesitates. “John already worked out a story,” he says reluctantly. “There was an encrypted ad in Hellhound Daily yesterday morning with instructions on where to find it.” He opens up a tab on his laptop. “Don’t worry, I’m using a VPN that indicates I’m in India,” he says with a short laugh.
“Yesterday?” Samuel doesn’t mean to sound angry, but how could Dean keep something like this from him?
“I knew if I told you, you’d be upset,” Dean says calmly. “And I wasn’t going to share you with him until I had to. Not during ourtime.”
Samuel can’t really argue with that, either. If he’d known…he would have spent the rest of their vacation fuming over John’s highhandedness. He takes a deep breath and lets the anger and resentment flow out of him, as much as he can.
“Alright,” he says, and as calm as Dean had been in telling him Samuel can still see his shoulders ease a bit. Samuel might feel a little bad about that except that he deserved to know what ridiculous stories his father had made up about their lives together, and he’s not going to feel sorry for being upset about it. “Show me what he came up with.”
Dean turns the laptop over to Samuel and lets him read. In the end it’s not so bad–according to John’s story, they hadn’t gotten tested until after Sam graduated from law school and returned home. There had been questions before that, because of their closeness, but it wasn’t until they began hunting together more often that those questions became urgent. The trip to Nebraska had been intended as a break, a way for them to come to terms with what they’d discovered about themselves and how much they wanted to reveal to the public. It was true misfortune that they had stumbled across a Hunt that there wasn’t time to turn over to someone else, and that everything had gone terribly, terribly wrong.
“That’s not too bad,” Samuel says begrudgingly. “It’s simple and mostly true. We can say we always wondered, but because sibling soulmates are so rare we didn’t think it was possible.”
“Yeah, it’s close enough,” Dean agrees. He kisses Samuel’s cheek. “I’m not sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but I’m sorry you were upset,” he says softly, and Samuel can’t stay mad at him. Not when he’s looking at Samuel like he’d rather die than hurt him. “Let’s get dressed and have an early lunch at that little cafe on 3rd Street. It’s only a few blocks from where we’re meeting Crowley.”
The cafe is just as nice as the reviews had promised, nice enough that Samuel is sorry they won’t be able to come back. It’s on the other side of town from their apartment and they arrive separately, twenty minutes apart, from different directions. Samuel wonders if perhaps they’re being too paranoid, but Dean is adamant that they take precautions.
“I don’t want to burn these IDs unless we have to,” he’d told Samuel as they were getting dressed to go out–t-shirt and jeans with a quarter zip for Dean, sweater and jeans for Samuel, sturdy, comfortable boots that will provide protection but still let them run easily for both of them. “Setting these up is a lot of work, and if John finds out he’ll know what to look for next time.”
It’s hard to argue with that kind of logic, but Samuel is still anxious until he sees Dean sitting at a little table on the sidewalk, just as they’d discussed. He kisses his brother on the cheek, just catching the corner of his mouth, then sits across from him. He’s not surprised to find that Dean had already ordered for both of them, or that his meal is perfect–delightfully fresh salad nicoise with still warm buttered croissants and a bottle of sparkling wine–just because, Dean tells him with a smile that borders on sappy.
They discuss the questions Crowley’s assistant had emailed to Dean as they eat.
“I’m sure this isn’t everything,” Dean says, scanning the list again before handing the phone to Samuel. “Crowley’s sharp as a tack and always looking for dirt. But he’s trustworthy–he’ll print what we tell him without twisting it.”
“When did you first find out you were soulmates?” Sam reads. “Why were you estranged for nearly two years? Why didn’t you call in another Hunter to take over the rawhead case? Tell us what happened in that farmhouse and what happened afterwards with the Le Granges.” Samuel puts down the phone, frowning. “We’ll have to be very careful,” he says reluctantly. “I hope you’re right about this reporter.”
“If things start to go south, we'll just walk out of the interview,” Dean promises. “But, Samuel, this is our chance to get our story out there, or a version of our story that we both can live with.”
“And now we don’t have to hide anymore.” Samuel reaches across the table and grabs Dean’s hand.
Dean smiles at him. Dean is so beautiful, his heart is so big, and for some reason the gods or whoever or whatever has deemed Samuel worthy of having this man as his soulmate. And yes, Samuel is ready to tell the whole world that Dean is his and that he is Dean’s.
“Let’s go,” Samuel says. He hands the waitress his credit card as Dean texts Crowley to let him know they are on their way.
They walk into the studio hand in hand. The whispers start as soon as they approach the receptionist’s desk. Samuel hears one person tell another that they always knew Samuel and Dean were a little too close. Samuel drops Dean’s hand to wrap his arm around Dean’s waist.
“I think they all know I’m taken,” Dean says. But he’s smiling as he looks up at Samuel. They are following the receptionist down a long hallway.
Two girls that are passing them giggle and Samuel can feel his cheeks get heated.
Dean stops in the middle of the hallway and pulls Samuel’s head down, claiming Samuel’s lips in a heated kiss. By the time Dean breaks the kiss, Samuel is feeling more than a little dazed and a bit worried about the state of his trousers. “And now they know you are taken as well,” Dean says with a wink.
“You two are so cute,” the receptionist coos.
“I think the word you are looking for is sickening.” Samuel looks over the receptionist's head to Crowley. Crowley is dressed all in black. He’s not wearing a jacket, but has on a thin tie over his silk shirt. His clothes are clearly tailored and fit him to perfection. Samuel is feeling a little underdressed in his sweater, but he knows he looks good because Dean picked out his clothes and Dean has a sixth sense about what Samuel needs. “Gentlemen, if you would follow me.”
The receptionist turns and heads back toward her desk while Samuel and Dean follow Crowley into a small room that’s clearly meant for interviews. There are two chairs set up side by side with a larger chair facing the two chairs and a small table between them.
“Look, I know you boys are used to people kow-towing to your every whim, but that’s not my style. So, I’m not going to make nice and offer you tea or coffee or whatever. I just want to get some answers for my readers, who are all very curious indeed about the inscrutable Winchester brothers.” Crowley sits down and looks up at Samuel and Dean with an expression that borders on avarice.
Dean just laughs. “Yes, Crowley, we get it–you’re a real hard hitter.” He takes one of the smaller chairs facing the table andd makes himself comfortable while Crowley scowls at him.
“He’s a real charmer,” Samuel whispers to Dean as they sit.
“I am when you get to know me,” Crowley replies. “At least when I want to be. I must say Dean, you are looking particularly dapper today. You must introduce me to your tailor.”
“I thought you wanted to skip the pleasantries.” Samuel doesn’t even try to hide his annoyance. There’s bottled water on the table and Samuel grabs one, glaring at Crowley and daring him to comment. He offers Dean the bottle first, but Dean shakes his head, an amused smile on his lips.
“James, we’re ready!” Crowley calls out.
A young man, probably still in college, enters the room holding a phone. He sets it up in an unobtrusive rig, centering the camera on Samuel and Dean.
“James will be recording some footage to post online with the interview,” Crowley explains. Sam untwists the bottle cap. It’s not what they usually drink, a common generic brand to match the commoner who is interviewing them. But he’s pretty much drinking it out of spite, so he takes a drink anyway. “Now, gentlemen–just how long have you been sleeping together?”
Samuel almost chokes on the water. It’s only due to years of etiquette lessons that he’s able to swallow the water without making any kind of sound.
Dean, on the other hand, seems delighted with the question. “You know we aren’t going to be answering that question, but let’s just say–Samuel is a beautiful man and I’ve been quite aware of that fact for a very long time.”
Samuel sets the water bottle down. “Next question, please.”
Crowley shrugs, giving them a salacious grin. “Just giving the public what it wants, boys–can’t blame me for trying, can you? Next question, then: when did you first find out you were soulmates? And why keep that delicious little tidbit a secret?”
Dean grabs Samuel’s hand and kisses the back of it before settling their hands on his knee. “I suspected we were soulmates for a long time–we both did. Even our parents wondered.”
“We both did,” Samuel agrees. “But we’d already made choices about our lives–law school for me, and MBA and Engineering degrees for Dean–that made finding out for sure seem less urgent. Then, after I passed the bar, we decided to return to hunting. After a few injuries, we realized that we had to find out for sure. As for keeping it a secret…” Samuel resists the urge to throw John under the bus, but barely. His resentment for all the ways John kept them apart runs deep, a wound that will never heal. “Dean and I both value our privacy. We would still be keeping that secret if circumstances hadn’t decreed that we needed to make our status known for our own protection.”
“I imagine there was an element of–let’s say–embarrassment in finding out that you are soulmates. After all, you are siblings.” Crowley actually leans over at that, looking at them expectantly.
“No embarrassment at all,” Dean says. He looks directly at the camera. “I am proud that Samuel is my soulmate. As Samuel said, we value our privacy and as employees of HunterCorp, we thought it best to keep the focus of our business on saving lives, not on our private relationships.”
“But even after you discovered you were soulmates, you still hunted together. Isn’t that strictly forbidden?” Crowley asks.
“We didn’t,” Samuel says firmly. “We did not test ourselves with a Heartstone until after I passed the bar and returned to hunting.” He looks Crowley directly in the eyes. “After a couple of injuries, we decided we couldn’t wait any longer, and were tested,” he repeats. “The results came back that we were correct about being soulmates, and we immediately stopped hunting. The trip we were on when Dean was injured was not a hunt, it was a routine interview following a very thorough investigation of two potential HunterCorp employees.”
“But even so, Dean was almost killed, after which you hired a reaper and ended a young man’s life to save your brother. And yet somehow all is forgiven because the public loves annoyingly, romantically handsome soulmates. Why don’t you tell us a little about exactly what happened?”
Samuel looks over at Dean, who nods almost imperceptibly. Samuel knows Dean hates thinking about what happened, but this is they’re here–to get the story out there and put an end to the speculation and lies once and for all.
“Dean was injured rescuing three children from a Rawhead,” Samuel begins slowly. “As you and your readers undoubtedly know, the only way to kill a Rawhead is with electricity, since unlike most Fae they do not have a fatal weakness for iron. And as I’m also sure you know, water conducts electricity very well.”
“So Dean was standing in water when he electrocuted the Rawhead?” Crowley asks, his eyes gleaming. “In a way, then, he injured himself.”
“The basement was flooded,” Samuel says flatly. “There was no other way to save those children, and any other victims the Rawhead might have taken if we’d left it alive.”
“And that was when you panicked,” Crowley prods. “Did you decide immediately to go to the Le Granges?”
“No, of course not. But unfortunately, we were in a very rural area. The closest hospital was very small and not equipped at all to handle an emergency like ours.” Samuel does his best to sound earnest and honest–not hard, given he’s telling the truth. “The doctors did their best, but Dean needed more care than they could give, and it would have taken hours to get to a larger city.” Samuel feels Dean shiver next to him and squeezes his hand, remembering. He can feel the panic flooding his brain, remembers screaming into the phone, begging John to send their helicopter to fly Dean back to the city. But Samuel’s pleas had gone straight to John’s voicemail; his father had never even picked up his phone. To this day Samuel doesn’t know why John ignored his calls that day, and he doubts he ever will.
“So that’s when you decided to go to the Le Granges,” Crowley says, steepling his fingers under his chin. “And made a deal with a reaper to save your brother and kill Marshal Hall instead.”
“No.” Dean speaks up at last. He’s pale, and his hand is sweaty in Samuel’s. “We went to the meeting, and Mrs. Le Granges immediately singled me out. Not surprising, since they knew we were coming.”
“But they didn’t heal you right away.” Crowley sips his whiskey and waves for Dean to continue.
“No. They had already chosen someone to be healed that night,” Samuel interjects. “But watching Roy work, it was clear that something magical was happening. We just didn’t know what at the time.”
“Did it occur to you that the Le Granges weren’t on the up and up?” Crowley asks skeptically. “After all, he could have been in league with the Fae, or any number of creatures.”
“Of course it did.” Samuel tries to keep the exasperation from his voice, mindful that the interview is being recorded. “But remember that we had already researched the Le Granges extensively. We had found no signs that they were connected to any dark or evil entitiies, no rogue witches or psychics in either of their families. As far as HunterCorp had been able to tell, Roy simply had a gift.”
“A very convenient gift,” Crowley murmurs knowingly. “But please, continue.”
Samuel sighs. “We got a hotel room for the night. I cared for Dean as best I could.” He doesn’t tell Crowley about his tears. About Dean’s bravery, or the way he had held Samuel tight and comforted him, even though he was the one dying. He doesn’t–won’t--speak of the way he’d curled around his brother as Dean slept, unable to sleep himself because he was terrified that Dean’s weakened heart would give out in the night and their final moments together would be lost.
“And when you went back the next day, a young man approached you, claiming to have info about the Le Granges. Is that correct?” Crowley’s eyes never leave Samuel, boring into him as he hesitates.
“Yes,” Samuel says finally. “Although to be completely honest, I only vaguely remember him or what he said to me. I was entirely focused on getting Dean–my soulmate–into the tent and on that stage so that he could be healed.” He takes another sip of his water and squeezes Dean’s hand again. “And I’ll point out that none of HunterCorp’s research had come across this young man or his accusations, despite investigating the Le Granges for nearly a year prior to what happened. Other members of HunterCorp had visited their town, spoken with the healed, spoken with the Le Granges themselves, and this man never made himself known to them.” Samuel shrugs. “I don’t know why he didn’t come forward until that day, but he didn’t, and when he finally did, it was too late.”
“Well, that’s very interesting,” Crowley says, nodding thoughtfully. “Now, Dean. Can you tell us what it was like being healed?”
“I don’t really remember much,” Dean admits. His voice is strong despite his pallor, and Samuel couldn’t be more proud of him. “I saw the reaper, but he turned away from me. My ears were ringing, and I could barely see–all I could hear was the sound of my heart getting weaker and weaker.” He shrugs, trying to play off his fear. “And then I passed out and came too in Samuel’s arms, completely healed.”
“At the cost of another man’s life.”
They’ve heard the accusation before but it still stings. “We didn’t know that at the time,” Samuel insists, his voice rising slightly. “We had no way of knowing what they were doing!” Crowley smiles, satisfied at finally getting a rise out of him.
Crowley leans back into his chair. “Well, there are some that feel you two got away with murder. What do you say to folks who feel that way?”
“I say that they are completely and utterly wrong. I say that I love Dean, and I will not apologize for that. He is everything to me. He is my soulmate and also happens to be the person I admire the most. I cannot wait to spend the rest of my life with this beautiful man.” Samuel looks over at Dean.”He is my life. But beyond all that–Dean has saved countless lives through his work at HunterCorp. He is a fierce advocate for those less fortunate. And the world would be a far bleaker place without him in it. I admit I’m selfish, I saved him because I cannot live without him. But also, there is no world that would be better without Dean Winchester in it.”
“I don’t know the law like my brother does, but I do know that nothing Samuel did broke any laws. He did what he had to do. And, let’s be perfectly clear here, it was the Le Granges who were responsible for murder. Samuel is only guilty of loving me, and for that I will be forever grateful.” Dean leans over and kisses Samuel.
“And the sound you just heard is a million of my readers ‘oohing’ all at once,” Crowley says, looking right at the phone with a smug little smirk. Samuel isn’t sure how he feels about millions of people seeing him and Dean kiss, but then again, hadn’t it already happened on the steps of the police station just a few days ago? “Just one more question, gentlemen, what does the future hold for Samuel and Dean Winchester?”
“We haven’t really thought about it yet,” Dean admits easily. Color is coming back to his face, and Samuel can tell that he’s mostly shaken off the memories of what happened with the Le Granges–though he doesn’t doubt that those memories will be back again later tonight, for both of them. He throws a sideways glance at Samuel and smiles mischievously, winking at the camera. “I hear there’s a couple of openings at Soulmates On Fire now that their most popular actors have retired, maybe we’ll put in an application.”
Crowley gapes at them, completely taken aback as Dean stands and drags Samuel to his feet as well. Dean blows a kiss to the camera. “Have a great night, everyone!” he says cheerily, and turns away, pulling Sam with him back down the hallway the way they’d come earlier.
Samuel waits til they round the first corner before pulling his hand free, but before he can do more than gasp in outrage Dean’s kissing him, hot and sweet.
“Better?” he asks, pulling away after a few moments, and Samuel just stares at him for a moment before laughter overtakes him.
“John is going to murder you in your sleep,” he finally gasps out. “What were you thinking?”
“That Crowley doesn’t want anyone to know he’s a major investor in Soulmates On Fire, or that Jared and Jensen have retired,” Dean says smugly. “No way he’ll air that video now and tank the stock before he’s had a chance to sell--especially since he’ll be getting an email shortly that I recorded the whole thing as well and will release the unedited version if he tries anything.”
Samuel frowns. “I’m not sure antagonizing him was a good idea,” he says, continuing on toward the door. “I know you said he was trustworthy, but he was pretty aggressive back there.”
“He was, and I expected that. I still think he’ll be honest and fair about the interview. However, he’s also been pressuring Jared and Jensen to come back to work for him before the studio releases the last of their backlogged videos, and some of the other actors as well. This is also leverage to get him to back off and reconsider the offer I made him to invest in our production company instead.”
“And when were you going to tell me about all of this?” Samuel asks tartly. They step outside onto the sidewalk into the fresh air and bright sun. “I’m getting a little frustrated with being kept in the dark about our future.”
Dean takes his hand. “Your reactions had to be genuine,” he says earnestly. “But you’re right. Once we get back to HunterCorp and get settled back into our lives, none of this will be necessary anymore. I promise, I will be an open book.”
“Written in code, no doubt,” Samuel says dryly, then smiles. “Let’s go to the park,” he says impulsively. “I want to spend some time in the sun just being with you before we head back to HunterCorp tomorrow.”
Dean smiles up at him with his heart in his eyes. “Sammy, there’s nothing I’d like more.”