Part Six: About Time

“Dean.”  Sam stared into his and Dean's room at the Roadhouse in abject horror.  “Dean, tell me I'm having a vision.”

Dean looked at him sharply, “How the hell is that going to make it better?”

“Because if it's a vision, maybe we can prevent it or something.”

“I hate to point this out, Dorothy, but your visions generally involve a certain yellow-eyed demon and while this may be terrifying beyond all reason, it's hardly demonic.”

“Shit.”

The last job they'd done had put everyone in bad shape.  To be honest, they were lucky to be alive and John had said he wanted to check in on some contacts of his and that Sam and Dean should go take it easy for a week or two - specifically, that they should go to the Roadhouse and keep a low profile.

Dean had protested with, “Come on, we're not babies, Dad.  You're just as hurt as we are.”  Sam saw through that routine, though, and did his part with, “I want to see Aunt Ellen,” and other sentimentalities until Dean had rolled his eyes and caved, calling Sam girly names until they were on the road.

In truth, Sam knew that Dean wanted this just as much as he did and it had nothing to do with nearly getting killed.  Being on the road for two months with John had worn all of them down.  Sam could only watch as Dean puffed up and flirted with the girls, trying to be the son he knew his father wanted, while simultaneously sleeping with his younger brother, all the while working on that whole ‘forgiving Dad for abandoning them' thing.  It was a balancing act that Dean was only going to be able to keep up for so long if he didn't get a break soon.

At least in the last few weeks, things had settled down some.  After their encounter with the voodoo priestess, Dean and John had managed to have several conversations that weren't laced with heavy sarcasm and Sam had started to feel less like a mediator - a roll he was not suited for when it came to his dad.  Dean had even managed to tone down his sexual innuendo where Sam was involved.  Not that he'd stopped altogether, because... well, Dean was still Dean, no matter what face he was putting on.  So, with that in mind, the boys had gotten into the Impala and driven back to Nebraska, leaving John to his contacts.

Of course, Ellen had been glad to see them, she always was.  Especially seeing as a group of twenty some odd bikers had decided that the Roadhouse looked like a good place to get drunk that night and she could use all the help she could get, which Sam happily volunteered them to provide as soon as they'd changed out of their dirty clothes.

Taking their duffel bags from the car, they'd gone around back, waving to Ash, who was bringing what looked like the eighth bag of trash out of the bar, and made their way to the house, expecting to dump their stuff on their beds, and maybe do a little kissing and groping before working the rest of the night.  Except that their plans had been thwarted the minute they looked in their room to find their beds missing, replaced by one, much larger bed, complete with new comforter and three pillows.

Sam inched forward and slowly placed his duffel down on the bed.  “Okay, this... this might not mean anything.  Maybe we're just... I don't know, reading too much into it.”

Dean opened the dresser on his side of the bed and flinched.  “Because Ellen suddenly rearranging our room to look like a honeymoon suite doesn't mean a damned thing.”  He held up his hand and Sam's face turned bright red.  Condoms?!  She'd put condoms in their room?

Sam opened his mouth to reply, but he couldn't get anything out.  Finally, after Dean had put them away and he didn't have to look at them anymore, he managed to find words.  “That doesn't mean anything.  You're always flirting with everything female that walks in the door.”

“Oh, yeah, Einstein?  How many of them have I ever brought home?”

None.  Not a single one.  The few times Dean had had sex before Sam, it had been on hunts, with complete strangers that he was never going to see again and he'd always done it in store rooms - once at a girl's apartment.  He'd never brought any of them to his room, not even the back seat of the Impala, which was as close to home as Dean had been willing to admit to back then.

“Okay, so maybe they're for me.”  Dean didn't even bother to answer that, just laughed and threw his own duffel on the bed, opening it.  “What?!”

“You, pick up a girl that I didn't throw you at?”  He was referring to Sarah.  Sam still felt guilty for leading her on.  “Come on, Ellen knows better than that, Sammy.  If I'm hard to pull when it comes to the ladies, you're practically celibate.”

“Shut up, jerk.”

“Bitch.”

Sam threw his dirty shirt at Dean, who dodged and threw his own.  Sam raised an appreciative eyebrow at his brother's naked torso and pulled his second shirt off slowly.  He waited until Dean's gaze had shifted lower, following the faint trail of dark hair to the low slung waist of his jeans, before throwing his undershirt, catching Dean full in the face.

“Now who's the bitch?”

Dean opened his mouth to retort, but froze, his eyes wide.  From behind him, Sam heard.  “Oh, don't stop on my account, boys.”

Sam whirled around to face Jo, who was standing in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest.   “How long have you been standing there?” He was already frantically reaching into his bag, pulling out the first shirt he could find and shoving it on.

“Long enough and let me tell you, little Sammy, I never would have guessed you were hiding that under all those clothes.  Seriously, do you let him win?”

“Hey!”

She waggled her eyebrows at Dean.   “Don't worry, lover boy, you're no slouch, either.  Just that Sam's got like a whole head on you and... just damn.  Explain to me, Sam, why you cover that up?”

Dean scowled, but he knew what Jo was doing.  It wasn't easy to get Sam to blush; well, it wasn't easy for anyone else to get him to blush and right now, Sam was bright, tomato red.  “What are you doing in here, anyway?  I thought you where holding down the fort?”

Jo moved her arms away from her body, showing her sopping wet shirt.  “One of the bikers thought I'd look good in beer, so I stepped out to change.  Hurry up, though, because I am so passing them onto you.  Consider it pay-back.”

As much as Dean wanted to complain, he couldn't.  Jo had done more than her fair share of stepping in for Dean.  Sam chuckled as she went across the hall to her room.  Reaching over, Sam shut the door, his face still an obvious shade of pink as he pealed off his baggy jeans and pulled out the cargo pants he wore on laundry days.

“Dean, do you think Ellen knows?”

“How?”

“I don't know, but... what about the condoms?”

“You never got her ‘safe sex' talk, but honestly, as much fun as it was teasing you about them, they're probably just precautionary.  In case one of us decides to get frisky with a patron.”  Dean didn't bother changing pants, just stretched a new shirt on and winked at Sam.

“I don't know...”

“Look, we've never actually done anything while we were here, so how could she possible know?  Just play it cool, baby brother.”

“Don't call me that!”  Sam yelled after him, but Dean was already out the front door and Sam sighed.  He grabbed his second shirt, putting it and one of his almost clean hoodies on, then followed.  Dean was probably right.  They'd always been careful, never doing much more than a few, inconspicuous touches, nothing that couldn't be explained away, even when they were alone in their room with the door shut.

He gave the room one last look.  The beat up bedside tables that had always sat squished together between the two singles were now separated by the ominous, sinister looking queen bed.  The twin dressers that had always been two or three feet apart were pushed together as well.  It was disconcerting.   The thought that this might have something to do with them - as in Ellen knowing that they had sex together - was more than a little intimidating, but at the same time, he kind of liked it.

With a sigh, he closed the door behind him.  At least this way, they wouldn't have to try and sneak the beds together at night, or remember to pull them apart in the morning. 

*****

Turned out the bikers weren't all men.  In fact, five or six women peppered the dirty group of rough riders and every single time Dean turned his back, one of them would inevitably smack his ass.  Sam should have been annoyed, he usually was when women flirted with his brother, but he couldn't be, mostly that was because Dean was, and seeing the tight, frustrated look on Dean's face just before he reigned it in was somehow enough to temper Sam's mile-wide jealous streak.

Jo was currently playing a game of poker against some unlucky rookie Hunters who were about to lose over a hundred dollars a piece.  Ash was in the back pretending he could cook and annoying the hell out of the kid Ellen paid to make the stuff that passed as food.  Sam was tending bar with Ellen, because more people ordered drinks than food around here.  He couldn't do the complicated stuff, but this wasn't the kind of place that served mixed drinks.

After they closed up at two, Dean would insist on training with Sam out back before bed, because he'd want to test Sam's reflexes when he was exhausted.  Sam would know it was because Dean wanted to work off the frustration of having to put with being groped by brawny women in leather, who were, as Dean would put it, so not his type.  Then they'd go to bed and lay awake for a few minutes, listening to each other breathe, but not saying a word, because sometimes there didn't need to be words between them.

Except this time they'd be in the same bed.

“Sam?”

He looked up and saw Dean standing across from him, looking expectant.  Oh, right, drinks.  “I'm sorry, what?”

“Two Bud Lights for the Twisted Sisters.”

Sam shook his head as he filled the iced mugs.  “You okay over there?  We can switch if you want.”

Dean rolled his eyes.   “Ellen would kick my ass if I let you wait tables.”

“It's not like it's dangerous or anything.”

“No, but you'd get into a soul searching conversation with every customer who said 'hello.'”

Ellen pushed another glass at Sam and gave Dean the 'get back to work' look that she'd used when Dean and Jo were dating and she'd caught them flirting on shift.  Dean was half way across the room before he realized exactly what that implied.  He shook his head as he delivered the drinks.

It was impossible.  There was no way she knew, unless... he refrained from cursing as he set the beers down and made sure there was nothing else they needed for the moment.  His watch said thirty minutes till it was time to kick everyone out.  Catching Ellen's eye, he made a gesture, indicating that he was going to take and leak.  As soon as he was through the door and out of her sight, he bypassed the restroom in favor of the going out back.

John picked up on the second ring of Dean's third call, his voice thick with sleep.  “Dean?”

“Hey, you up?”

John groaned and mumbled something unintelligible before saying, “Yeah, what's wrong?  Is everything okay?”

“Everything's peachy.  Look, did you tell Ellen about me and Sam?”

“Did I what?”

“Did.  You.  Tell.  Ellen.  About me and Sam?”

He heard John stifle a yawn.  “No, I didn't.  Why?”

“She bought us a new bed.”

“And...?”

“Bed.  As in singular.   As in she expects us to sleep in the same one.”

There was a long pause and Dean was thinking that maybe John was going to confess and so help him, if John had told Ellen, they were going to be back to square fucking one with each other.  But John didn't say that, instead he said, very calmly,  “Look, Dean, I didn't say anything, I swear, but I don't think it's any big secret that you two are always pushing those beds together.  Maybe she just thought she'd save you the effort.”

“Maybe...”  Maybe... maybe he really was just reading too much into it.  It would be nice if that were all there was to it.

“How are you doing?”

Dean felt heady at the concern in John's voice and he slid down the wall so that he was crouched on the balls on his feet.  “A little bruised, ankle hurts like a bitch, but otherwise okay.”

“And Sam?”

“He's fine.  His throat may still be sore, but that's what he gets for allowing himself to get choked all the damned time.”

John chuckled, “I have noticed that.”

Dean put a hand through his hair, gripping it.  Talking with John was never easy.  He knew John was sorry for what he'd done, even understood it, they'd covered that months ago, but that didn't make it okay.  Except the more time they spent together, the closer it got to being okay and, quite frankly, Dean wasn't really sure how to deal with 'okay'.   “Guess he'll have to lay off the blow jobs for a while, huh?   Sucks to be me.”

Two months ago, that would have started a fight.  Now, John saw it for what it was - a self-defense mechanism to keep from having to deal the issues at hand.  So, his only response was, “I'm sure you two can find something else to occupy yourselves.”

Dean almost smiled, but just managed not to and pushed himself up.  “I've gotta get back to work.”

“I thought you two were supposed to be resting.”

“You know better than that, John.  No rest for the wicked, right?”  John didn't respond to that.  He hated it when Dean called him by his first name and Dean knew it.  “Take care of yourself.  Call me if those contacts dig up anything.”

“Take it easy, Dean.” 

Hanging up, Dean stuffed his phone in his pocket and hurried back inside.  Twenty minutes till closing time.

 

*****

 

Surprisingly, the bikers put up little resistance at being shoed out.  Joshua, an old contact of John's and one of the many that had helped train Dean, stayed longer, pulling Dean aside to talk to him after the bar was empty of customers.  Ellen had given Dean an appraising look before telling Joshua he had ten minutes and then he had to clear out.  He could come back in the morning if he wanted.

Sam watched them while he wiped the bar down.  He didn't need to hear to know what was being said.  'Are you okay?  I was sorry to hear about Caleb.  Is John really back?   Where was he?  You sure you're okay?'  Dean must have had that particular conversation dozens of times.  Even Gordon had called to check in on Dean, and Gordon never called anyone.

By the time Joshua left, Dean was discreetly chewing the inside of his mouth and Sam knew that was never a good sign.  He looked at Ellen, intending to ask if he and Dean could cut out a little early, but before he'd even opened his mouth, Ellen nodded.  He smiled and leaned over, kissing her cheek.  “Thanks, Aunt Ellen, I'll make you pancakes for breakfast.”

“Sam Winchester, I know you boys well enough to know you won't be up before noon.”

He shrugged, still smiling and went over to Dean, who hadn't stopped staring at the table.  “Hey, it's been a long day.  Want to go out back and try to kick my ass?”

Dean looked at him, an unexpected sparkle in his eye.  “I'll do more than try, little brother.  I'll wipe the floor with you.”

They went out back and Sam shucking his hoody and top shirt, straightening his baggy jeans on his hips.  Dean smirked, giving just that little hint before attacking.  Sam was a decent fighter.  Dean was better.   So, when it came to their little sparing matches, Sam ended up spending most of the time blocking.

Arch his back to avoid the foot aimed at his stomach.  Hand up to deflect the fist going for his shoulder.  Dean's hand opened at the last minute and locked on Sam's wrist, using it to twist his younger brother around.  Good hold, but Sam brought his leg behind Dean's and pulled it forward, tripping his brother and controlling the falling so he came out on top and the force of it made Dean let go.

They rolled around on the ground for a minute until Dean managed to gain the upper hand and pin him, one hand on his collar bone, just below his throat, the other holding one of Sam's wrists to the ground.  They laid like that for a moment and Sam was keenly aware that he could have gotten out of the hold.  Dean was stronger, but Sam was far more flexible.  He could twist his hips, throw his leg around and knock Dean on his back so fast, his brother would barely have time to blink.

He didn't.  Instead, he used his free hand to grip the sweaty front of Dean's shirt and pull him down into a heated kiss.  The risk of it made him instantly hard.  They were in the dirt behind the Roadhouse, anyone could walk outside and see them at any minute.  Of course, the door squeaked so loud they'd have plenty of warning, but that didn't make it any less exciting.

Dean pulled away after only a minute and Sam smiled up at him, daring him to say anything.  That was when the door opened.  Or rather, it was kicked open and Jo came out, holding a jingling bag of bottles.  She stopped to give them a long look before rolling her eyes.

“What is it with you boys and wrestling?  You're all over black and blue, you've looked like you're about to collapse from exhaustion all night, and yet you still somehow find the energy to toss each other around the backyard.”

Sam could feel the blush creeping up into his cheeks as he grabbed his shirt off the ground.  However, Dean didn't miss a beat.  He winked at her and gave one of his sloppy smiles.  “Aw, Jojo, don't be jealous.  Come here, I'll toss you around some.”

She dropped the bag as he rushed forward and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, lifting her off the ground.  “Dean!”   She drove her elbow back into his ribs, but Dean only grunted.  “Sam, a little help over here?”

Sam lifted his hands and stepped back.  “Sorry, you got yourself into this.”

“Figures.  Dean, if you don't let me go, I'll take the cheap shot.”

Dean lowered her so her feet touched the ground.  “You wouldn't.”

“Try me.”  Jo was perfectly capable in a fight, she'd been raised same as Dean and Sam, after all.  Part of what made her an affective fighter, though, was the fact that she knew her weaknesses.  She knew she was petite and she knew that she couldn't out-muscle men twice her size in a fair fight.  Fair, being the operative word, because given her weaknesses, Jo never, ever fought fair.

With a belabored sigh, Dean let her go and she elbowed him again, just for good measure.  Picking up the bag, she tossed it on the pile and wiped her hands on her dirty jeans.  “Night, boys.   Sweet dreams.”

As soon as she was back inside, Dean stretched, pulling his arms tight over his head and looked back at Sam.  “You coming to bed, or have I got to drag you?”

 

*****

 

The thing with beds was that Sam had very few good experiences with them.  He'd spent a good portion of his life in low rent rooms on lumpy, hard mattresses and even his old bed at Ellen's, while superior to the backseat of the Impala, had been overly firm and wafer thin.  Until Jess, Sam hadn't even known beds were supposed to be comfortable.

This mattress, the one he had stared at with so much contempt the night before, was soft and mostly new and really, really comfortable.  He'd sunk into it, wrapped himself around Dean and fallen instantly asleep, not waking up until the sinful feeling of lips around his cock dragged him out of unconsciousness.  Not that he was complaining.  Good mattress, long night's sleep, morning blow job - nothing to complain about there.

Except that he'd been so thoroughly asleep that the shock of waking up to that particular sensation had made him gasp and then moan, momentarily forgetting where he was.  Dean pinched his hip, but didn't stop his slow up and down glide over Sam's cock.  Ellen's, they were at Ellen's, he had to...  Dean dropped his head, taking Sam into the back of his throat and Sam gripped the comforter under him, trying and failing to stifle his moan as he came.

They lay there panting for a few minutes, Dean's head resting on Sam's thigh.   Finally, Sam managed to get his brain to work and he looked down at Dean.  “Want me to return the favor?”

Dean shook his head and held up a spunk covered hand.  “No need, little brother, but since you're feeling generous, you can wash the sheets.”

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”  And Sam couldn't argue with that.

They got up and put on moderately clean clothes.  Dean stripped the sheets and tossed them at Sam, along with the duffel bags, so he could get started on the laundry.  Meanwhile, he went into the living room and found Jo and Ash lounging on the couch, watching daytime programming.  On closer inspection, Jo was watching, Ash had fallen asleep again, which wasn't surprising, considering the program of choice was some talk show.

Dean sat on the couch, wedging himself between the two, purposefully almost sitting on Jo, who pushed him over.  Ash startled awake as he was crushed under Dean's weight.   “Man, what the hell?”

“Sorry.”

Ash mumbled something, but he was already falling back asleep.

Shifting back over, Dean put his head on Jo's shoulder and looked at the television questioningly.  “Dr. Phil?   Seriously?”

“You got a problem with that, Oprah-boy?”

“Touche.”

He sat back up and watched with her, making snide remarks about the woman who let her teenage daughter beat her up.  Jo elbowed his ribs for being insensitive and Dean tickled her sides until it hurt in retaliation.  Ellen came in from the kitchen right about the time the daughter started to get mouthy with the host of the show.

“Sam's cooking a late breakfast if anyone's hungry.”

Jo was up and moving before she'd even finished.  Dean started to follow, but Ellen stopped him with a hand on his arm.  “Is Sam having nightmares again?”

Where had that come from?  “No, not for a while.”

“Visions?”

“On and off, still unpredictable.”

“Anything this morning?”

Dean's heart skipped a very important beat as what Ellen was getting at clicked.  “No, no, nothing like that.  He was... bad dream was all.”

She gave him a concerned frown. “I thought you said he wasn't having nightmares.”

“Well, it wasn't really a nightmare, not like that anyway.  Just your average, run of the mill bad dream.”  She didn't look even remotely convinced.  “He's fine, Ellen, really.  I'm taking good care of him.”

“I know you are.  Dean, is there anything you aren't telling me?”

That was a loaded question and Dean decided to stick to the truth.  “There's a lot I don't tell you.”

He didn't wait for a response, just flashed her a smile and went into the kitchen in time to see Sam swatting Jo's hand away from the bowl of pancake batter.  She waited until Sam turned his back to check on the temperature of the skillet and snuck a taste, only to have her hand smacked again for her effort.

It was like one of those fucking Hallmark card moments, all they needed was some kind of sappy blurb or poem to go with it.  Dean didn't say anything, though, just rolled his eyes and watched Sam and Jo playfully bickering.  As soon as the first three were done, he got up and stole them, before Jo or even Ash - who'd stumbled in at the smell of food - could make a move.

Ellen kept real maple syrup in the pantry, the kind bottled in Canada and named after the region it was farmed from, but Dean bypassed that for the Aunt Jemima stashed in the back of the fridge.

Sam wrinkled his nose in disgust as Dean slathered it on, drowning the pancakes in thick, processed syrup.   “How can you eat that stuff?  It's like maybe ten percent actual syrup.”

Dean just grinned, putting a large fork-full in his mouth.  God, but that was good.  He almost wished he could have met Jess at least once, just so he could have thanked her for teaching Sam how to cook.

Jo rolled her eyes.  “You two are like an old married couple, I swear.”

Sam gave her that wide eyed look he got when someone stumbled too close to the truth and Dean had to throw something at her to distract her before she saw it.  He scarified a small triangle of gooey pancake to the cause and she gave an indignant squeal as it flew off his fork and nailed her in the ass.

“Dean, those were clean!”

He waggled his eyebrows.   “Want me to lick it off.”

“You're such a pervert.”  But she winked at him and he chuckled back into his plate, trying to ignore the way Sam's face had gone dark.

Ellen came in, carrying a basket of dirty laundry to add to the stack beside the back door and Sam took the pancakes off the skillet and handed them to her before Jo could lay claim.  She took them gratefully and sat down with Dean, who was nearly finished with his and wondering what the odds were that he could get seconds.  Sam shook his head at him and Dean slumped dejectedly.

Sam couldn't help smiling as his eyes lingered on Dean's pouting mouth.  He lingered a little too long, however, because Jo managed to get her finger in the bowl again before he noticed.  He swatted at her again, but she dodged this time, happily licking batter of.  “Sammy, you are the best.”

“I'm only the best if you actually get any, batter thief.”

She flashed him one of those overly cheery smile that split her face just a little too wide, but was somehow attractive all the same.  To punish her, he gave Ash the next round and to punish him for doing that, she stood over his shoulder while he put the next three on.  Well, more like peered around his side with her chest plastered to his back, because he was too tall for her to get anywhere near his shoulder, but it was about the same level of uncomfortable.

He was half tempted to try and keep the next three from her as well, but he couldn't cook one handed and holding them out of her reach was the only way he was going to keep her from getting them.  Handing them over, he patted her on the head condescendingly and pulled away as she nipped at him.  Still smiling, she went to the table and sat next to Dean, pouring on the same artificially sweet syrup that he had.

Sam rolled his eyes.  At least Dean had an excuse.  Before they'd moved in with Ellen, they'd lived off the crap.  Jo had always had access to the real stuff and for some reason, she still preferred the processed generic.

By the time his own were finished and he'd sat down at the table, Ellen had decided that she'd probably better go back to the Roadhouse in case anyone came in.  Hazard of running a bar that was open from 9 to 2 - there just wasn't much spare time for anything other than sleep.  Dean excused himself as well, saying that he was going to start the laundry.  He gave Sam one of those long looks that said the sheets would be going in first.   Probably a good thing, since if they left them there, Ellen might get to them first and neither of them wanted to explain the cum stains.

After a minute of silence, Sam caught motion out of the corner of his eye and looked up in time to see Jo mouthing something at Ash.  Seeing that Sam had noticed her, she set her features back to a sweet smile.  Ash picked up his plate, “I'll just go watching TV, then.”

It was just the two of them now and from the devious glint in Jo's eye, he didn't think he liked that idea.  Maybe he should go join Ash.

“So, have a good morning?”

Sam considered his answer, because there was something behind that question, something in how she stirred a square of pancake slowly in the syrup as she asked it.  It was... deliberate, he just wasn't sure to what end.  Eventually, he settled on, “Yes,” because it seemed harmless enough.

“I thought as much.”  She put the syrup soaked piece in her mouth and Sam narrowed his eyes, trying to read her.  “So, how's the hunting.”

She didn't mean hunting, he could tell in the way she said it, but Sam still wasn't sure what she did mean, so he stuck with,  “Fine,” and drew the word out just like she had.

“Hm.”  It got quiet again and Sam was just starting to think the weirdness was over, when Jo said, “Catch anything interesting lately?”  And that was just it, because she said 'interesting' the same way Dean said it when he was talking about... oh.  Oh!

“You know!”

The devious half smile turned into a full out grin and her shoulders shook with laughter.  “Of course, I know.  You don't honestly think you're that good, do you?  All those steamy looks across the bar, the wrestling matches that are just one step shy of pornographic.  I mean, really, Sam, how many times do you think you can inconspicuously grab Dean's ass in an attempt to get a ‘good grip on him' before someone notices?”

Sam's face had turned bright red and he ducked a little in his seat.  “I... it wasn't that obvious.”

Jo rolled her eyes.  “You know, I'm not the only one who's figured it out.”

His mind blanked and he looked around the kitchen, because... well, he really wasn't sure why he was doing it, except he felt kind of exposed sitting at the table talking about his supposedly secret sex life with his pretty much sister and that was awkward enough without the thought of someone overhearing them.  “Who else?”

“Mom, for one.”

“Aunt Ellen knows?!”

Jo put a hand over his mouth, “Sh!  God, not so loud.  Dean'll hear you.”

“Why don't you want Dean to hear?”

“Because Mom's trying to get him to tell her on his own.”

Suddenly, it made all sense.  The bed, the condoms, the way Ellen kept looking at them, the comment Jo had made earlier.  Technically, this wasn't lying, but sometimes Ellen considered sneaking around behind her back just as bad.  Not that he blamed her, really, but the shades were grayer when it was his own ass he was covering.  “What if he doesn't?”

“He will.”

“But what if he doesn't.”  Because Sam knew Dean well enough to know that he would go through hell and high water to keep Ellen from thinking less of him and Dean was supposed to be protecting Sam, which was not the category ‘fucking' fell under.  At least, not the way Dean saw it.  Sam could have made a convincing argument otherwise.

“Trust me.”  Which, of course, Sam didn't, but he did trust Ellen and this was her game.

“Is she... well, mad at us?”

“For having sex?  No, not really.  I think she was wigged out a little, at first, but she got over it.  Besides, it's not like she can stop you.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you okay with it?”  Sam looked at his food rather than at her.  It had been years since she and Dean had been together, but that didn't mean she still didn't have feelings for him.  Maybe. It was possible.

He looked up at her, because she hadn't said anything and the grin had turned devious again.  “Tell you what, I'll forgive you if you let me watch.”

“That's disgusting, Jo, you're like a sister.”

“Which apparently isn't an issue.”  Sam considered flinging his entire plate at her.  “I'm kidding, Dorkface.  Of course it doesn't bother me.  Now eat up before it gets cold.”

 

*****

 

There was something wrong with Sam.  Not that Sam had said anything, but then that was half the reason Dean knew.  He'd come back in from starting the laundry to find Jo and Sam laughing about something, only the moment they saw him, they both shut down like guilty teenagers.  Then when Dean had sat down, Sam had given Dean his half full plate and told him to finish it.

Sam always finished his food, unless he was really, really bothered by something.  Sam not finishing his food was the equivalent of Dean drinking McDonald's coffee which meant they needed to talk, alone; except that Jo was following Sam around like a baby duckling, or like she had with Dean when they were going out, which was an even scarier analogy.  She practically draped herself over him and every so often he caught her winking at Sam, making Dean more certain than ever that he needed to know what was wrong with Sam.  Not that he thought the two of them were doing anything more then sharing a secret, but that was more than enough to well and truly piss him off.

It was a slow night in the bar, thank god, because Dean was sore and achy and worried and he really wasn't in the mood to run around all night, listening to people bitch about how long it was taking him to get their drinks.  By ten o'clock, he was fuming.  He'd caught Sam and Jo exchanging looks all night and, sure, he knew that things were solid between him and Sam, but the idea that she might know something about Sam that he didn't...

“Dean, I need to talk to you.”  He looked up from where he'd been sending death glares at Jo across the room to see Ellen standing next to him, wiping her hands off and giving him the stern look.  Oh, great, just perfect, because what he really needed to make his night complete was a lecture on something he wasn't even aware he'd done wrong.

He didn't say anything, though, just followed her outside, grabbing his jacket on the way out, so he'd have something to put his hands in.  They didn't go far, just outside the door and Ellen didn't bother to close it, which was actually a good sign - it meant she wasn't planning on yelling at him loud enough for everyone else to hear.  Of course, planning and actually doing were often two very different things, especially where Ellen and Dean were concerned.

For a minute, she just stared at him, like she was sizing him up, then she said, “Dean, is there something you want to tell me?”

He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jacket and tried to figure out what she was talking about.  Obviously there was something she was trying to get him to say, because this was how Ellen started those kinds of conversations, but usually he already had some idea what it was about and this time... this time he was just stumped.  “Um, no?”

“Okay, how about we start with why you looked like you were about to jump the bar and throw down with Jo in there?”

“I'm not mad at Jo, Ellen.”

“You could have fooled me.  And just about everyone else.”

Shit.   “Okay, maybe a little, but it's not anything she did.”

Ellen crossed her arms over her chest and waited and Dean shoved his hands so far into his pockets, the seams were stretching.  He wasn't backing down, she didn't need to know anything about him and Sam, that was their business.

“Does this have something to do with her and Sam?”

Irrational as it was, Dean's throat went instantly dry.  “What about her and Sam?”

Ellen shrugged, a little too nonchalantly, but that could be explained by the fact that she knew talking to Dean about anything that involved Sam was like walking through a minefield.  “I'm not sure, but they've been looking at each kind of intense all day.  Do you know anything about that?”

Dean relaxed visibly and pulled his nails out of his palms.  “Nothing's going on between them, Ellen.  You've got my word.”

“How do you know?”

He faltered at the accusation in her tone.  “I just do?”

“That sounded suspiciously like a question.  How do you know?”  Dean shifted feet and his mouth worked, but nothing would come out.  Not that he was really sure what he would have said if he'd been able.

Ellen watched and she waited, but Dean just got stiffer and stiffer and he couldn't meet her eyes anymore and she could tell he was two seconds from bolting.  As much as she enjoyed his discomfort, because he deserved it for the all the hell he put her through on an almost daily basis, she decided it was time to put him out of his misery.

“Dean Winchester, I swear, getting the truth out of you is like pulling teeth.”  He finally made eye contact with her and that was probably the best deer-in-the-headlights impression he'd done in years.   “I know about you and Sam.”

“Wha...”  Now he looked more like a goldfish than a deer.  Ellen almost wished she'd agreed to let Jo take pictures.

“I know about you and Sam, have since you came home after that vampire incident.”

Dean looked to the side and then back at her, guilt written all over his face.  “How?”

She laughed a little and stuck with, “I just did,” because Dean wouldn't have appreciated the truth.

The truth was that they'd stayed a week away from home before coming back and when they finally had, she'd noticed the way Dean and Sam stood just that much closer, the way the sat with their legs spread wide enough so their knees were touching, the way they glanced at each other every so often, as if reassuring themselves that the other was still there.   Honestly, it had reminded her a little too much of the way she had acted with Bill after he came home from a Hunt.  Dean liked to think he was unreadable.  He liked to think that he could hide everything, but to someone who knew him, like Sam and Ellen and Jo and even Ash, it was pretty obvious what was going through that head of his most of the time.  You just had to know what to look for.

“Is this... I mean, are you okay with this?”

“Okay might be putting it a little strong.”  She watched his face fall before letting her own settle into a reprimanding smile.  “But, yes, as long as I have your word that there will be no. More. Secrets.  Not between us.”

Dean nodded, because, really, he could live with that.  He hated keeping secrets from her anyway.  “You know, Sammy's the one that started it.”

“Oh, I figured.”  At his raised eyebrow, she reached up, ruffling his hair.  “Did you never notice the way he looked at you?   Besides, that boy's got more sense than to fall for the kind of pick up lines you throw out.”

And as much as Dean wanted to protest, he knew she was right.  Ellen put her arm through Dean's.  “Jo and Sam can manage on their own for a while, I could use a drink and then I want to hear everything you boys have been up to with John; starting with why you called me last week and said not to watch the Cincinnati evening news.”

-Finis-