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New Chapter Some Sunny Day
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"Hey, Dean," Tom's recorded voice groans in his ear. "I know I said I'd be back this afternoon, but… I am… uh. So, so hungover. I just woke up, I'm gonna take it easy, then grab late brunch with the guys. Urghh. Really late brunch. I'm really sorry. Hope it's okay if I don't see you until tonight. Love you." The message pauses, there is a sound of shuffling and then Tom again. "Uh. Okay." Then a beep.
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Some Sunny Day Chapter 21
@daenw
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Dean goes inside and makes a sandwich, streams a few episodes of Doctor Sexy on Tom's fancy internet TV while fighting off a nap, and then gets up to pour himself a glass of whiskey. Somewhere before the first sip and the last, it's time. He's not sure why, but doesn't fight the feeling. He goes to his room, retrieves the keys to the Impala, and goes out into the yard. First he walks out to the shed, grabs the keys to the truck, and climbs into the driver's seat. He sticks the key into the ignition and turns it, then reaches for the clutch. His hand moves through empty air and he lets out a sound somewhere between a sigh and a groan.
"God. It's a fucking automatic," he mutters to himself.
His hands tremble on the transmission as he puts the truck in reverse, moves it carefully out of the garage, and parks it to the left side of the driveway. He walks back down to the Impala slowly, his legs turning to lead with every step and his hands clenching tighter and tighter around the keys in his hand. He stops a couple yards from the driver's side door.
He's shaking in earnest now. He never shook facing demons, or vampires, or zombies, or werewolves or wendigos. But the idea of getting into that car again is making him almost lightheaded with terror.
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New Chapter
@daenw
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Chapter 19 of “Some Sunny Day”
Tom's swiping around on one of his recipe apps when hears the door to the guest bedroom open and then close. Dean lurches out, smoothing down his hair as he crosses the living room. He's got deep red pillow lines across his face, and Tom can tell by the way his clothes are wrinkled that he slept in them again, which wouldn't have bothered him, but he's pretty sure Dean slept in those clothes all night too.
"Hey," Dean says quietly, and Tom feels another quick wave of relief. He's talking already. He hadn't been able to say a word all day yesterday, even when he had been awake, and he'd had to work up to it for almost two hours the day before. Tom's surprise must have registered on his face, because Dean looks guilty, then clears his throat. "You hungry?"
"I was thinking about getting something started," Tom replies. He points to the beer on the counter, Dean nods. Tom pops the cap off and slides it to the other side of the kitchen island.
Dean takes a grateful gulp. "I… I was thinking I could do dinner tonight. As a thank-you."
"I wouldn't mind watching you work your way around a kitchen," Tom says. He's forcing his tone too light, and he can hear it, but not stop it.
Dean hesitates. "I'm not really… great in the kitchen." He takes another drink from his beer. "Maybe I could take you out?"
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Chapter 22 “Some Sunny Day”
New Chapter finally finished!
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He's never voluntarily drunk wine when something else was available, but the smoothness of it is nice, compared to the bite of whiskey. It's even a little bit sweet.
For a while, Dean just sits in the still water, letting the warmth work into his sore muscles. He sinks further down into the warmth and sighs with pleasure.
And then he realizes that he's feeling… pleasure. He looks down between his legs, where he sees that, yes, his cock is starting to plump. He watches it with detachment for a few moments before he realizes that he hasn't even touched himself since before the apocalypse.
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Some Sunny Day: It’s Gonna Be Okay
@daenw
@amirosebooks
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Sam shakes his head and tries to reset himself before he loses his nerve. "Look, if I do this— swan dive into hell and take Lucifer along for the ride, you have to promise not to bring me back."
Dean's so taken aback he almost slams the brakes, Sam feels the car jerk as Dean's foot moves between the peddles before he lays his foot back down on the gas, and they start to wind even faster through the dark cornfield. "Wait, what?"
"You can't bring me back."
"The hell I can't," Dean spits back.
"I want you to promise me that you won't try to bring me back."
"No—"
"Dean!" Sam cuts him off. "This is my choice. I'm asking you to respect that."
"Well, I don't. You want me to just let you die?"
"Yes," Sam says quietly. He's been thinking about this a lot lately too. It's not that he's suicidal…but he is done. He can see a future where he ends the apocalypse and saves the world. But he can't see a world where he has to keep going after the apocalypse. He can see a world where he's gone, and Dean doesn't have to hunt anymore, and Sam can stop fighting like he always wanted too. It's not that he wants to die, it's more like he realizes that… with the life he and Dean lead, they are going to die sooner rather than later. And he's okay with this being the way he goes out.
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Chapter 14 of Some Sunny Day
@daenw
@amirosebooks
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The first couple weeks after Texas are weird.
It's not that Sam cares, exactly. Dean being bisexual doesn't bother him, or anything. It's just… weird.
Dean does tell him a few things as they drive. He dances around what exactly happened between him and Tom when they were fourteen, just saying that he wishes he had reacted differently when Tom expressed interest. He admits that he was nervous to meet Tom in that bar the first time and that things were pretty tame when they went back to the motel, and that he has no idea where he got the guts to do any of it, even just get the drink. He also tells Sam that he made plans to meet up with Tom before they'd even gotten into town the one time the two of them worked a case in Carthage. He kind of lightly paints in what he and Tom do together on the rare occasions they cross paths. Dinner. Wine. Hot Tub. Scooby Do. Being…together.
After Dean admits that he's had sex with Tom he seems to lose either his nerve or his interest in saying anything else. He cranks up the radio, playing Led Zeppelin too loudly to talk over, and Sam takes the hint.
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@daenw
He doesn’t get texts from Tom anymore. And honestly? He’s relieved. After the things he’s done he doesn’t deserve to have someone like Tom in his life. He’s not going to go back to Oregon and be a drunken mess and wake up to Tom shaking him because he was screaming after yet another nightmare about hell and Alaistar. Tom should be with a normal guy. Hell, maybe the reason that he stopped texting is that he is with a normal guy now.
That would be best. Tom should be happy and Dean should suffer for his sins.
And he believes that… until Anna comes along. She knows, and she kisses him anyway. She knows, and she walks him back out to the Impala anyway.
Dean stops as they are undressing and admits that it’s been a while since he, uh… pitched.
She knows that too, and she wraps her legs around him and pulls him inside her anyway.
It’s the closest thing he’s ever felt to forgiveness.
***
Dean still thinks about those weekends in Oregon sometimes, but less and less. It’s kinda hard to find the time to worry too much about how the life of some guy you’ve slept with a couple times is going okay when you are running around the midwest desperately trying to stop a crazed demon zealot from breaking enough seals to free Lucifer from Hell.
“You sure we shouldn’t ask someone else to take this case?” Sam asks as they pull up to the hotel in Austin. “I mean… we are still no where near finding Lilith and this is clearly just a run of the mill haunting. Anyone could get this done.”
“I wanna work, Sam,” Dean says with as much finality as he can muster. “Heaven, hell, douchebag angels turning up all the time to sneer at us and give us orders and say creepy shit. It’s getting to me. I just want to go in, work a case, salt and burn some bones and help people.”
“We could help a lot more people by stopping the apocalypse,” Sam counters.
“Look, man. We’re working on it. We aren’t there yet, but Bobby’s on it, hopefully the stupid angels are on it. We’re doing what we can to save everyone, but I just… four people have died in this hotel in the last two months. Let’s go stop that from happening to anyone else.”
Sam shakes his head and opens his mouth to disagree.
“Also— ALSO— this place has room service. HBO. Espresso bar for you. Mattress that fewer people have died on or turned tricks on than where we usually stay. You could even go down to the gym. Or the pool. Swim some laps. Come on, you know we need an apocalypse break.”
Sam turns and starts walking toward the hotel entrance. “Do you mean any of those things or are you just excited for a hotel bar?”
“Well. I’m not going to turn down an opportunity for a whiskey in the hot tub,” Dean says as he follows Sam into the lobby.
The woman behind the register reminds him of Anna. Sharp features and big eyes. Long blonde hair instead of red.
“Hey there,” Dean greets her. “Agent Antilles, this is my partner Agent Wexley. We will be needing a room on the sixth floor.”
Her eyes go even bigger. “Oh. Um… the… right. Okay. We don’t have any rooms… like for the whole week.” Her thick Texas accent winds around her stilted words.
“Well, that’s fine,” Sam says. We’ll take a room on another floor.”
“We don’t… all our rooms are full. For like the whole entire hotel. Cause… the conference.” She knots her hands together in front of her chest and starts to knead her knuckles.
“You know, this is an important federal investigation. Could we talk to your manager?”
“I am the manager,” she said with a sigh of defeat. “Um… since yesterday. Donna got killed, and then Maria quit, and then Darnell said he’d come in today, but he never showed up. So I said, you know… double my salary and I’ll do it. Wish I hadn’t… but…” she shrugs.
Dean leans over the counter. “Did your boss send you in to work today… alone and defenseless, after four murders.”
She holds her hands up at chest height then slowly reaches for something under the counter and daintily pulls a ridiculously oversized handgun up just high enough for them to see.
“Seriously?” Sam asks.
“It’s Texas,” she says with a shrug.
“There’s no way your grip fits that thing,” Dean says. “And I bet it didn’t fit the grip of the insecure douche-bag who gave it to you. What was your name?”
“Terra.”
“Terra.” Dean unholsters his own gun sets it on the counter and pushes it over. “Here.”
Sam clears his throat. “Agent? Do you think that’s the b—“
But Terra takes the gun and slides her own monstrosity over.
“So… how about that room?” Dean asks, giving her his smarmiest smile.
“We really don’t have any rooms… except… for… those rooms.”
“Those…oh. The rooms where people died.”
Terra nods.
“Alright. Let’s get the keys.”
*** There is a big, unambiguous stain right in the middle of hotel room. Dean stares down at it for a while before digging his EMF meter out of his duffle and flicking it on.
It screams.
One long piercing shriek that punches into Dean’s ear drums like a fist before he can flick the EMF meter back off.
“Have you ever heard an EMF meter do that?” Dean demands.
Sam shakes his head. “No. No I haven’t.”
“What the fuck do you suppose that means?”
“Nothing good. We can’t be looking at just one ghost… I mean…”
“Ghosts on ghosts. Ghosts all the way down,” Dean sighs.
“Haunted objects, curses, maybe witches using ghosts.”
“And ghosts, ghosts, ghosts.” Dean tosses the EMF meter back on the bed. “This was supposed to be a fucking milk run.”
“Alright. Well. We better start canvasing.”
*** The first three guys who answer the door after Dean knocks raise eyebrows at him for being an FBI agent who wants to know about flickering lights or cold spots. Dean is starting to wonder if it might be worth it to go find a janitor’s closet and steal an extra uniform in order to get better information out of people, but the potential of that idea dries up when the next two guys sneer at him for not seeming to have a clear idea of how the electrical fritzes might be part of the crime, and get technical on him in a weirdly aggressive way. Room 625 all but slams the door on him. Dean takes a breath, tells himself that the guy is just some asshole who thinks thumping something makes it work again, and knocks on the next door, flipping his badge open when he hears footsteps inside the room.
“Good afternoon, I’m Agent Antilles, “ He starts to say as the door opens and he brings his badge up to eye height, “Just wanted…”
He trails off when he realizes that he’s face to face with Tom. Who is not in Carthage, Oregon, but is very much right in front of him.
After a pause that feels endless, Dean hears himself auto pilot forward. “To ask you a few questions.”
Tom stares at him. Dean stares back.
“Why don’t you come in,” Tom says.
