Reason Has No Relevence, Supernatural, NC-17 Part Two

[phantisma]

Fic title: Reason Has No Relevance-Part Two (Index)
Author name: aka phantisma
Artist name: raggedy_edge
Genre: SPN Wincest
Pairing: Sam/Dean, Sam/Jess, Sam/OMC, Dean/OMC
Rating: NC-17
Word count: ~26,000
Warnings/Spoilers: Dub-Con first time Wincest, Dub-con between Sam and an OMC, dub-con/non-con Dean/OMC, brainwashing, het sex, group sex

Summary: Everyone knows Dean can't help himself when it comes to touching things he really shouldn't, and that one day it may get him into trouble. When he touches an African mating idol and throws it to Sam to keep from getting caught, they're both caught in a need for one another that neither of them expects or wants. Sam tries to outrun it, but his running only lands him inside a cult that preys on sex and sexual deviance. When Dean finally finds him, Sam sets his sights on bringing Dean inside with him.









He traded the bus ticket for one that got him most of the way to California. When the bus stopped in some rinky-dink town in the middle of the night, Sam slipped an envelope in the mail with no return address. It would get to Bobby's about the time Sam was supposed to. It was all he could manage of goodbye, just asking that they let him go, let him find whatever it was that would make him happy and asking them to please not look for him.

Not that it would matter. They would look, at least at first. Sam had already done everything he could to cover his tracks. Maybe he was wrong though. Maybe Dean knew and if he did, if he knew that Sam still wanted him, that Sam dreamed about him, craved his touch, he would be disgusted and maybe that would be enough.

By the time he got to Reno, he had about eleven dollars in his pocket and a couple of bottles of water in his backpack.

Sam broke out one of his fake IDs and found some dive bar as far from the big casinos as he could, figuring he was less likely to get himself into trouble where the security wasn't nearly as tight. He stood in the shadows, watching the pool tables for a while. He wasn't nearly as good as Dean with the hustle, but he was better than Dean at the game.

He put on his best "aw-shucks" country-boy in the big city face and moved in closer, watching a guy that was pretty good beat a pretty girl in cowboy boots. As she moved away, Sam cleared his throat.

The guy looked him over. "You next?"

"I don't know, mister. I'm not very good."

"I'll go easy on ya."

"I don't have much money."

"Fifty bucks. I'll even let you break."

"Well, okay."

"I'm Bill." The guy racked up the balls.

Sam picked out a cue stick. "I'm Sam. It's my first time in Reno."

"Yeah? Where from?"

"Minnesota." Sam said, randomly picking the first state that came to mind. He stepped up to the table, adjusting the cue ball. He made the break messy, but enough to sink at least one ball, grinning up at the man. "I don't usually get one in the first time."

"Lucky break."

"I guess." Sam eyed the table, moving around the side and picking a shot. His ball missed the hole by inches and ricocheted off the rail into several others, scattering them. "Your shot."

He played well enough that when he doubled down he'd be believable, but bad enough to actually lose by quite a bit. His last shot only missed going into the hole because of the angle, leaving his opponent with only one ball and a perfectly placed cue ball, which wasn't as easy as some might think.

"Damn. I guess that's that." He started to reach for his wallet, but the guy grinned at him.

"You did pretty good there at the end. Want to have another go?"

Sam hesitated, wallet in hand. "Double or nothing?"

"If you think you can handle it."

Sam nodded. "Okay, I guess so. Your break then."

He played the next game close, edging past Bill just at the end. He finished with just two balls on the table, Bill's number 9 and the cue ball. He beamed. "I can't believe I made that shot! That was awesome!"

"One more." Bill growled, frowning at the table. They had started to draw attention, a couple hot girls in tight fitting jeans leaning against the wall watching. "One more game, $200."

Sam had him. He glanced at the girls. "What do you think ladies?"

"I think you should do it," the dark haired one said, though her eyes were on his ass when she said it.

"Okay, one last game." Sam agreed.

Bill racked the balls and Sam stepped in to break. The trick with the last game was always to play good enough to win, but not so good that you got made for hustling. That was the part Sam always had trouble with. He sank two shots and missed one to give Bill a chance at the table. Bill had clearly stepped up his game, sinking three in a row and barely missing the fourth. Sam licked his lips and stepped in when it was his turn.

The first shot was easy, the cue ball lined up perfectly on Sam's number 6. He dropped the three next on a long shot banked off the rail and into a side pocket. The four was a hard shot and almost didn't sink, bouncing off Bill's number two and sending it spinning off to the far side of the table. That left him the number one and the number five, plus the eight ball.

Sam circled the table, fidgeting with his cue. He didn't want to leave Bill too much time, or any easy shots. Bill was watching him close, and Sam couldn't help but notice, so were a few guys that looked like friends of Bill's. He exhaled slow and lined up his next shot. He dropped the five, but dropped the cue ball too, forfeiting the turn to Bill.

Bill grinned and pulled the cue ball out, circling around to place it. "Too bad kid." He watched Bill sink two of his four, then make a nearly impossible shot to sink the third, leaving the cue ball lined up for an easy shot on his last ball.

Sam held his breath, eyes focused on the pocket. If the ball went in, Sam was in trouble. Big trouble. All Bill had to do was sink the 8 ball then, and Sam would have to cough up $200 he didn't have or try to convince the man to play one more game, one Sam would have to slam, whether or not that branded him as a hustler.

He made the stroke, smooth as could be. Sam's eyes narrowed and he chanted no no no no no under his breath as the cue ball connected with the number two and sent it straight for the pocket. Sam closed his eyes, waiting for the drop. Instead, he heard Bill curse.

Sam opened his eyes to find the ball spinning in place just shy of the pocket, like a breath of air would knock it in. As it slowly came to a stop, Sam moved to the table, blinking. There was no way he should have missed the shot.

"Fuck, what the hell?" Bill leaned over the table, trying to see what had gotten in the way.

Sam licked his lips and looked for the cue ball. It was sitting a few inches from his last ball, lined up for an easy bank off the side rail and into the corner. He took a breath to steady his nerves and made the shot, sinking the number one ball. He stood up, watching the cue ball spin over the green velvet.

He felt eyes and looked up. Bill and his three friends staring at him. "Um…eight ball in…" he eyed the two likely pockets and pointed to the side nearest him. "…here." He tried to make himself seem nervous and awed and not confident at all as he took the shot, watching the black ball bounce off the rail and across the green fluid and easy into the hole. "I-I won." He turned to the girls watching. "Did you see that? I won!"

He turned to Bill who was seething. "How the hell does that happen?" He looked to his friends. "I don't lose to some hick from Minnesota. Not ever."

"Well, you did tonight, Bill." The shorter of the two girls said, smirking and handing Sam a beer. "Pay the man so I can get him drunk and take him home with me."

Sam choked on the beer, sputtering as Bill dropped a pile of twenties on the table. "I'm sorry, what?" His hand moved to grab the money, pocketing it before turning.

"I'm Mandy, this is my sister Chelle."

"Uh, Sam. I'm Sam."

She slid a hand up Sam's arm. "We've never seen anyone take Bill for two games before…and you have the hottest ass I've seen in weeks. So how about you come to the bar, let us buy you a few drinks and we'll let you take us home and do all kinds of nasty, dirty things to us."

"I…uh…" Her hand was on his chest until Bill pulled on her arm.

"I don't think so."

She pulled her arm away. "You don't own me, Bill." She threaded her arm through Sam's and started toward the bar. Chelle trailed after them while Bill and his friends stared.

"I really think I should—” Mandy put a shot in his hand.

"Shut up and drink." She pushed the shot up to his mouth and Sam had no choice but to drink it, or let it spill all over him.

Chelle handed him a beer to wash the shot down with, and Sam couldn't help but grin at the sight of himself in the mirror over the bar. Dean would be proud; here he stood, having successfully hustled a pretty decent pool player, a pretty girl on each arm, and apparently about to get very, very lucky.

Sam's grin faded a little at thought of his brother. Dean would be all swaggering confidence, cocky grin, one arm around each waist, letting them pour drinks into him. Sam swallowed and turned away from Mandy with the next shot. He couldn't do this.

He shook his head and backed off a step. "I gotta…" He gestured toward the restroom and bolted, dodging through the crowd until he got to the relative quiet of the bathroom. Dean would never forgive him for blowing a chance like this. He could almost hear his brother's voice in his head. It had his cock hard, aching inside his jeans.

He'd never been with anyone. Well, except for Dean. And he couldn't even think about what he would do with those two girls. All he could think about was Dean…the way Dean's hand curled around his cock…the feeling as Dean came inside him. Sam stood in the only stall and eased his cock out.

He stroked himself fast and hard, remembering the sound of Dean's voice as he moaned in heat, whispering his name as he came into the toilet. He couldn't go out there and face those girls. Maybe if he hid in the bathroom, they'd get bored and move on to someone else.

What Sam needed to do was get the hell out of the bar and find some cheap hotel to crash in for the night. He'd take the two hundred dollars in his pocket and get a bus ticket to Palo Alto the next morning. Maybe if he went to the school and explained his situation they'd let him enroll for the summer semester, get into dorms early…or maybe he'd have to get a job for a few months.

Either way, he really didn't need Mandy and Chelle and all that went with them. Not now.

Sam pulled the money out of his pocket. He didn't want to be walking through this neighborhood with that kind of money floating loose. He'd lose it if anything happened. He considered his shoe, but didn't really want to walk on that much, not when he didn't know how far he'd have to walk.

He ended up settling for his underwear, tucking the money in before zipping up. Not the most original idea, but he was starting to really feel the alcohol, his head buzzing as he let himself out of the stall, shouldering his backpack.

Sam ducked out of the bathroom, keeping his head low. He just had to get to the front door without the two girls spotting him. He used other people as shields, inching forward until he reached the door. Okay, so Dean would never, ever do anything like this. Dean would still be at the bar, drinking and kissing…Sam groaned and closed his eyes, breathing in the stifling heat of the Reno night air.

He opened them quickly when a fist connected with his stomach.

"Over here."

Hands dragged him away from the door, fists hit his face all before he got his bearings enough to yank himself free, staggering back, only to be grabbed by still more hands. "Hustling me at pool is one thing boy, but you ain't man enough to be walking off with Mandy."

Sam was shoved forward and got a good look at his situation. Five guys circled around him. Sam wiped at the blood already coming from his nose. This wasn't going to be pretty. "Okay, guys, really…is this necessary?"

The fist to his jaw said that it was necessary and Sam moved with the blow, coming back with one of his own. He may have been outnumbered, but these guys were going to know they'd been in a fight too before it was over.

A steel-toed boot in his knee knocked him down and he covered up as other boots joined in, trying to protect his ribs and his face and lashing out with his own feet.

Almost as suddenly as it all began, the beating stopped. A hand fell on his shoulder. "Hey. Hey, you okay?"

Sam opened his eyes, blinking up at the face of some woman in a uniform. "I…uh…think so." He struggled to sit up. "Nothing broken I don't think."

"Well, maybe that nose." She smiled when she said it. "Harry?"

A man in uniform squatted on Sam's other side. "He'll live, Sue." He gestured up at the men who had just been beating him. "You want to press charges?"

Sam shook his head, regretting it as it set off clamoring bells and thunder inside. "It was just a misunderstanding."

"You sure? These boys are trouble."

Sam let the man help him. "Thank you Officers. I'm okay."

"Let us at least give you a lift." Sam looked at Bill and his friends, proud to see at least a black eye or two.

"Yeah, okay…I…" He wanted a bed, but maybe just getting the hell out of town was better. "I was on my way to the bus station."

"Right then, Harry, you got this?"

Harry nodded and Sue herded him toward the police car. Sam fussed with his nose as he got in, but didn't think it was broken. He tilted his head back, squeezing gently to stop the blood flow.

"You sure you don't want to go to an emergency room?" Officer Sue asked.

"Trust me, I've had worse than this and not needed an emergency room."

"Awfully young to be getting beat up at a bar, aren't you?"

Sam looked at her, trying to decide if she was going to make things difficult. "Like I said, misunderstanding." He cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably. "I'm on my way to school in California."

"School, eh?"

"Stanford." It was silly, but sitting here alone he just wanted someone, anyone to be proud of him. To be proud of what he'd managed to accomplish. With as much as they moved around and as little emphasis as his father ever put on education, Sam had managed to get a full scholarship to a tough school and no one knew but the guidance counselor in the small town he'd left behind when he'd slunk away on a bus without even finding the nerve to call his brother and tell him. "Full scholarship and everything. I just need to get there."

"You sound like a smart kid. Smart enough to keep your nose out of trouble."

"Yes ma'am." The car came to a stop and Sam opened his door. "And thank you."

Sam shouldered his backpack and headed into the bus station that he had only walked out of a few hours before. His first stop was the men's room, standing under the flickering overhead light to wash up the blood from his face and clean up his shirt as much as he could. No matter what he did, he was going to look like he got beat up.

Already he could see that his left eye was going to blacken and his jaw line was swollen and probably going to bruise. Just how he wanted to show up on Stanford's door, looking like trouble. He fished the money out of his underwear, grateful he'd thought to hide it in case the misunderstanding had gone on any longer.

He wouldn't have been surprised to wake up in some gutter with nothing but his clothes by the time it was over. He sighed and pulled a hand through his hair. One bus ticket to Palo Alto, and he'd have enough left to eat something when he got there, maybe get a room for a night or two. After that…well, he'd figure that out when he got there.



Getting from the San Francisco bus station to anything near the Stanford campus wasn't as easy as he'd anticipated, but Sam finally found himself at a diner near the campus, counting out the last of his money.

He had ended up paying out more than fifty dollars the night before for a room in the outskirts of San Francisco. Another ten getting down the peninsula.

That left him about seven dollars. Sam exhaled. At the very least he should be able to get a meal. He slipped into the diner and took a seat in a booth. Before he was fully in the seat a blonde in an impossibly pink uniform was at the table, smiling at him. "Don't you look like trouble looking for a place to happen?"

Sam covered the worse of the bruising on his face with one hand, wincing a little. "I ah, there was a little misunderstanding."

"Between his fist and your head?"

Sam shook his head, wincing again. The woman, Jessica, if her nametag was telling the truth had no sense of boundaries. "Something like that."

"A girl? Or money?" She leaned on the table to get a better look. "I'm betting on a girl." She inhaled as she stood. "Or guy…whatever, you know?"

She held a pad and a pen and lifted both eyebrows when he didn't answer. "So, what'll you have?"

"Water, and whatever is good for seven dollars or less."

"Ooh, both girl and money, eh? That's a tough one. You just sit there. I'll bring you something good."

She sashayed away, turning to smile at him before she went into the swinging door that led to the kitchen. Sam sighed and tried to concentrate on figuring out a way to get a little cash. He had a credit card in his wallet, but that was only as a last resort. Dean knew the name on the card, and if his brother did look for him, using the card was like drawing him a map.

He could hustle some pool if he could find a bar, but he didn't have anything to start with. He looked up as the waitress returned. She dropped a bag of ice on the table with a towel and a big glass of water.

To his surprise, she sat down opposite him. "Ice your face. You'll thank me later."

Sam huffed, irritated with her, and the whole situation, but he lifted the ice and towel and held it to his face.

"I'm Jess."

"So I gathered." Sam gestured at her nametag. She grinned. "Sam." He pointed at himself, then held out his hand. "Winchester. Sam Winchester."

"Welcome to Palo Alto, Sam Winchester. Here for a reason?"

Sam frowned at her, but she plucked the bus ticket out of his open backpack. "School."

She crossed her arms and waited for more. He exhaled, even more irritated. "Stanford. I…"

"You do realize school doesn't start until the fall, right?"

"Jess, order up."

She got up and went to the window, coming back with two plates of food. She put one in front of Sam and sat down with the other. "I'm taking my break."

The hamburger on his plate smelled really good. Sam ignored her for a moment while he ate, focused on that so he wouldn't have to think about what came next. "I was hoping I could…start early, or something." Sam said after a while.

"Well, this happens to be the first of two weeks where there is almost nobody at the school to talk to. Summer semester starts in a few weeks, but you had to be registered for that a month ago."

Sam squinted at her and got another of her bright grins. "I'm a sophomore, Psychology." She licked at the ketchup on her lips. "You got somewhere to go while you wait?"

Sam didn't even try to hide his disappointment. "Not really. I…" He exhaled. "I have a full scholarship waiting for me…but it took everything I had just to get here."

"So what you need is a place to stay, a job, a friend or two."

"You make it sound like I can just order it off the menu."

She smiled and lifted her burger. "What I'm offering Sam isn't on the menu." Her foot ran up the inside of his thigh, pressing lightly into his crotch.

"I…uh…" He could feel his face turning bright red.

She laughed and pulled back. "Eat. I'm kidding."

He got the distinct impression she only said that to get him to relax. "I happen to have room in my apartment. My former roommate left and won't be back. And, it just happens that Phil…" She pointed to the man Sam could see through the window into the kitchen. "Needs someone who can chop and slice and wash dishes. Interested?"

"Um…just like that?" Sam shook his head. Stuff like that doesn't just happen. Ever.

"Pay sucks, but you get to eat free and the apartment's in walking distance."

"You're just going to offer me your apartment? You don't even know me."

"I know what I need to. You're smart; you got a full scholarship to Stanford. You're resourceful; you got here without any help. You're tough; you took a beating and are still standing."

"How do you know I'm not just lying to you? Maybe I'm some kind of psycho serial killer or something."

The grin faded and she got very serious, looking at him carefully. "I'm a very good judge of character, Sam. I think there's a reason you came into my diner today and sat at my table."

Sam looked around them. He was the only one in the place. All the tables were hers. He had a nagging feeling in his stomach, a suspicion that it shouldn't be this easy. He wanted to say no. He wanted to believe it could all be real though too. She was a beautiful woman and offering him everything he needed right at that moment.

Sam took a deep breath. "Okay, but just until I get on my feet."

She nodded, still quite serious about the whole thing. "Of course."

Sam turned his attention back to his plate as the door chimed and a young family came in. "Ah, duty calls. I'll be back."



That night Sam slept on Jessica's couch. The next day he started working at the diner. Just like that, just like she said. When they weren't working, Jessica turned out to be a witty, friendly woman with a taste for esoteric literature, really cheesy porn movies and late night conversations about whatever random topic came to her over ice cream or popcorn or pizza.

"So…Sam Winchester. You're eighteen, away from home for the first time, but won't tell where home is. You make faces when I say family, so you must have some, but no pictures, no names…you're like a mystery."

Sam laughed nervously and toyed with his ice cream. "Also, you seem to not like chocolate ice cream or strawberry. I'm bewildered."

"Maybe I'm just a vanilla kind of guy." Sam said, putting his bowl down on the bed.

She raised an eyebrow. "Now why is it I don't believe that?"

Sam pulled a pillow from behind him and fluffed it before shoving it between him and the headboard. "Believe what you want, Jess. I'm a pretty simple guy."

"And you want simple things." Jess added, lifting a spoon full of strawberry ice cream. "Like a simple job and a simple bowl of ice cream."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Normal. I want normal."

She smirked at him. "Normal is overrated."

"When you've never had it, normal looks pretty damn good."

"Ah now we're getting somewhere." She licked her lips. "So Simple Sammy hasn't had a normal life. Do tell."

Sam pursed his lips and groused a little. He hadn't meant to lead into that. He sighed and crossed his arms. "It was just…complicated. We moved around a lot."

She moved so that she was straddling over his stretched out legs, her ice cream bowl held up near her face. "We? Who is we? Mom, Dad, sister, brother? Fat Uncle Mike?"

He wanted to fidget, moving his legs under her, his sweatpants riding up his legs a little. She squirmed and pressed down and he swallowed hard as he realized she wasn't wearing underwear under her nightshirt.

"No sister. My mother…" He was obviously going to have to tell her something or she'd never let it go. "My mother died when I was just a baby. My father and brother and I never really settled down after."

She inched up his legs, eyes on his face, even after he looked away. "No Fat Uncle Mike then?"

Sam shook his head. She was sitting on his thighs. "But someone obviously hurt you."

Sam felt the color drain from his face as he struggled to find his voice to deny it. "No…I…"

Her eyes were filled with sympathy as she leaned in closer, setting her ice cream bowl on the table beside the bed. Her hand was cold as it fell on his chest, the chill seeping through the thin material of his sweatshirt. "It's okay Sam."

No, he was pretty sure it really wasn't okay. If he told her…if she knew what he had done, she wouldn't keep touching him that way, wouldn't brush her lips over his and inch ever closer to straddling his groin. Her kiss moved from his lips, up his jaw. "I wasn't…I've never…" Sam couldn't figure out what he was trying to say with her tongue sliding over his ear.

"Are you trying to tell me that you're a virgin, Sam?"

Sam pulled back from her, clunking his head on the wall behind him. "What? No…well, I mean…not…not exactly."

She smirked at him and in one long, fluid motion had her night shirt off and tossed onto the floor. She was straddling over him, naked, long blond hair just tickling her nipples. "It’s an easy question, Sam. Either you are…or you’re not."

Jessica's hand slid down his arm until she found his hand and lifted it up to her breasts. "Ever done this?"

Sam licked his lips, his eyes trapped on their hands, on the way she was moving his hand in tiny circles over the skin of breast. "Ah…I…once. On a dare. I was thirteen."

She lifted his hand, licking long and slow over his palm before putting it back on her nipple. "That's sweet…How about this?" Her free hand slid up his thigh and onto his slowly hardening cock.

Sam squirmed and shifted as if he could escape the hand. "Yeah…I mean…"

"Yourself?" she asked as her hand closed around him, the material of the sweatpants bunching up under her fingers. As she pulled down, the material came down with it, slowly exposing the head of his cock.

"Yeah…Yeah." His eyes transfixed on the tip of his cock, on her fingers now circling it. Sam's hand twitched on the bed, lifting up to grab her wrist. He didn't pull her away though. No one else, no one other than Dean had ever touched him there, like that. He licked his lips and tried to keep from thrusting up into the tight circle of her fingers.

"Someone else?"

"What?" Sam blinked and looked up at her.

"Has anyone else touched you like this?"

"Dean." Sam froze, but Jessica purred at him. He hadn't meant to say that. He didn't want her knowing about Dean.

"Oooh…naughty boy."

Sam tried to move, wanting to get away, be anywhere but where he was, but Jessica's mouth was on his, her hand stroking his cock, her body moving and before he could figure it all out, she was sinking down onto him, his cock inside her hot, wet pussy. "Someday you'll have to tell me all about him." Jessica said, moving up his cock and sinking back down. "But right now, it's all about me…and you…"

Sam bit his lip as she rode him, his hands falling to settle on her hips. She was smaller then Dean, lighter. When Dean had pressed against him he'd been solid, heavy, every bit of his body a part of what he was doing to Sam. Even when Jessica's full weight rested on his hips he could barely feel her there, all but where his dick disappeared inside her body. That he felt every hot, wet inch of.

As he started to come, he had a brief moment of panic, realizing belatedly that he hadn't worn a condom, but she just bore down on him, grinding against him as she guided the hand she still held against her nipple down to where they were joined, pressing Sam's finger into the wetness, rubbing over a hard nub that made her shudder and ride up on his still mostly hard cock as she groaned.

Her bright blue eyes fixed on his as she climaxed, her body clutching at him, holding him and she grinned as her thighs squeezed him tightly. "Bet Dean never did that."

Sam closed his eyes as she moved off him, flopping down onto the bed beside him. "So…obviously you're not gay."

Sam groaned and covered his face. "Seriously? You…you just…and now you want to talk about…" He shook his head.

"It was just sex Sam. You're so uptight! You need to relax."

"Relax? I'm relaxed." Okay so maybe relaxed wasn't exactly the right word for what he was…but his brain was misfiring and his thoughts about Dean were getting all mixed in with what just happened and he wasn't sure he could trust himself to talk at all.

"Right, because your voice always squeaks like a girl's when you're relaxed." Jessica lay on her side, her fingers walking down his stomach and circling his cock. Sam fumbled with the waist of his sweatpants and covered himself before she could touch him again. "You embarrassed? Freaked out? What?"

"I…don't know." Sam answered honestly. "I just…I've never thought much about…it."

"It being sex?" Jessica lifted an eyebrow and leaned in to kiss him. "You are a guy, right?"

Sam sighed in frustration. Talking to her was difficult. "About…gay or…whatever."

She seemed to accept that and nodded. "Okay, that I'll buy." Her fingers slid under the hem of his t-shirt. "So…now you've had both…and…?"

Sam had always been good at reading people, at knowing what answer they were looking for and giving it to them, because it helped him fly under the radar. Jessica he couldn't read. At all. "And what?"

"Which was better?"

"Better?" The squeak was back in his voice and she smiled at him. "Just…different."

"Good answer." She kissed him again. "So, who is Dean?"

That was where Sam had to draw the line. He sat up, getting off the bed before she could pull him back. "Just someone I used to know. That's all. I don't want to talk about it." He grabbed the ice cream bowls and headed to the kitchen, half surprised when she didn't follow him.

He dropped the bowls in the sink and went to the second bedroom. The one that held his things, all still stashed in his backpack. The used mattress he was using as a bed still lay on the floor with the sleeping bag she had loaned him. He flopped onto the mattress and stared up at the ceiling, wondering where Dean was, if he was looking for Sam.

He imagined Dean angry, eyes flashing, fists clenching…angry because Sam left, because he couldn't find his brother…because he needed his brother. Sam's cock filled again, hard at the thought of Dean needing him the way Sam wanted Dean. He started to stroke himself, but then pulled his hand away.

Dean didn't need him. Not like that. The very thought sickened Dean. The fact that they'd been forced to fuck had made Dean hate him, made it so he couldn't even look at Sam. How could he feel so aroused thinking about it?

He rolled to face the wall, staring at some imagined spot until he finally managed to close his eyes and sleep.



It took almost a month for Sam to stop expecting Jessica to kick him out onto the street, or Dean to show up at the diner out of the blue or for it all to fall apart. It took almost two months for him to use some of the money he made working for Phil in the kitchen to buy a few things other than clothes off the rack at the Salvation Army store.

It wasn't like he and Jessica were a couple…not exactly, but it was comfortable. They each lived in their own space, but she would show up in his doorway and smile and they'd end up in his bed…or hers. The sex was incredible and she proved over and over that she was nothing like Dean, but that did nothing to stop him from thinking about his brother.

He had friends. They were mostly her friends, but they seemed to like him too. They hung out at the diner and talked and went to movies and played stupid games. It was so much like normal he let himself believe he could do this, that he could have this.

He got registered for classes and picked up his books and when he got home that night, Jessica was waiting with pizza and a smile. They ended up having sex on the kitchen floor, Jessica on her hands and knees as Sam pounded into her from behind and she squealed when his thick fingers found her clit, rubbing it in tight circles until she came.

It was later, when they were laying on the couch, a movie on the television, casually touching that she asked, "Is this normal enough for you Sammy?"

Her voice was soft and he was comfortable, murmuring, "Yeah, Dean," into her hair before he realized it. Something in the way she said his name made him think of Dean, dropped him into a fantasy of having Dean here, like this.

She didn't react the way he might expect. She didn't stiffen, or get angry, just turned to look up at him, concern in her eyes. Her hand caressed his face. "I'm sorry, Jess. I…I don't…"

"Shhh…" She kissed him lightly. "It's okay. I wish you'd talk to me about him…but I'm not angry."

Sam sighed, sagging under her into the couch. "I…just can't."

"He really fucked you up, didn't he?" She lay against him, setting her head on his chest.

"He…loved me." Sam said hesitantly. "In his own way. I just…needed more and he couldn't give it to me." His heart skipped. It was more than he'd said before, more honest maybe than he'd ever been, even with himself.

They were quiet, the movie playing along without either of them really noticing. "Sam…I haven't said anything before…but…" She sat up slowly and looked at him, tucking long blond hair behind an ear as she put a hand on his chest. "I know someone…a counselor of sorts…he helps people…like you."

Sam couldn't look up at her, at the pity in her face. "Jess…I don't want…"

Her fingers tapped on his chest. "I know. You're a guy. You don't want to talk about mushy feelings." She shook her head, knocking the hair loose she just tucked away. "He's not like that. He…makes it okay."

She bit her lip and sat back, falling to the other side of the couch. "I never told you I was raped." She moved so she wasn't touching him at all. "I was fifteen and the guy was…someone I knew pretty well, or thought I did. It really fucked me up, Sam. I went…frigid. I couldn't let anyone touch me. Daniel helped."

Somehow Sam couldn't see Jess frigid, not when she was so willing to touch, so natural and easy in the way she flirted and loved people. "Jess, I…I'm sorry."

She smiled and stood. "Don't be. If it hadn't happened, I might not have found him…and finding him…changed my life." She turned the television off and turned to look at him. "He's having an open house thing this weekend. We could go…" He must have made a face that expressed his distaste, because she crossed the room and sank onto the couch, kissing his hands and holding them. "Just once. Meet him and if it isn't for you, I'll never bring it up again. Okay?"

The last thing Sam wanted was some New Agey psycho-babble pusher to tell him to get in touch with his inner child or whatever shit he was peddling, but Jessica looked so genuinely concerned and it was just the one time so he found himself agreeing. "Yeah, okay. One time."

She beamed at him and straddled over him, peppering his face with tiny kisses. "You're going to love Daniel."

Sam found it hard to think about Daniel or anyone with her grinding against him the way she was. In minutes he wasn’t even thinking about Dean as she held his cock and slid down onto it.