BUT HARRY STYLES (estrella30) wrote,

New Supernatural fic - Landmarks

Thanks to maygra and oxoniensis for the super speedy betas! Also thanks to Maygra for naming the fic and not even realizing it *g*

Title - Landmarks
Pairing - Sam/Dean
Rating - slash, incest
Summary - "Dean gives directions by landmarks"


Dean gives directions by landmarks. His whole life can be marked by the places he's been, the things he's seen.

Everything’s always two blocks after you pass the broken down tractor on the main road you make a right. Or, that place we went to that was next door to the woman whose shop was possessed by the evil cat. That bar we went to that night where the blonde girl rode the bull and I got into the fight with the toothless guy named Rusty.

He tells years by events. The year dad bought that old Camaro and tried to restore it. Two years after mom died. The year you left.

It’s always up to Sam to fill in the details, it always has been. The road you’re looking for is Route 22. That store was called The Head Shop. That bar was called Smiths.

Dad bought the Camaro in 1992. You’re thinking of 1985. I left in 2000.

That’s always the big one. I left in 2000. They usually stop reminiscing after that.


In Houston they stop for gas at the place down the road from the motel with the pink and purple bedspreads. You remember the one, Sammy, Dean says.

Sam nods his head. The Texaco, he tells him. On Route 40.

Dean smirks and says, whatever, dude, because he doesn’t need the names, he knows exactly where they’re going. Dean always did. Sam may have the names and dates, but Dean knows how to get there, and more importantly, how to get back.


Dean kissed Sam when he was sixteen. It was a random Monday night, and Dad was out hunting something and left the two of them at the motel. It didn’t even seem strange to Sam. They had been sleeping, and then they weren’t, and then they kissed. He’d known his whole life what Dean would taste like.

When Sam was seventeen, Dean touched him. His skin was rough and his hands moved slowly. Sam leaned back against the headboard, biting his lip and watching Dean’s fingers trace patterns across his chest, down his stomach.

Now at twenty-two, Dean knows everything about him. He knows how to kiss Sam right there, touch him right in that spot that will have Sam shaking and moaning and coming in Dean’s hand. He knows everything about Sam, what he likes, what he loves, how to get him to gasp at the ceiling, panting and moaning.

These are the things Sam thinks of in the same way Dean thinks. The time you kissed me. The time you ran your fingers up the inside of my thigh. The time you—and Dean interrupts and says, yes and yes and yes.


They head northwest out of Houston the next day, back to the place near the town where they killed the werewolf in the cemetery that time. Remember? Dean asks him. And then we went to dinner and they forgot your fries so you ate mine and—

Oklahoma City, Sam tells him. Dean nods his head. Sure, he says. We’re going there.


That night they lie together, curled together like fingers in a fist. Dean’s skin is hot. Sam kisses the back of his shoulder. Dean rolls over and pulls Sam on top of him.

They move together slowly. The lights in the room are dim; the TV is playing softly in the background. Sam doesn’t need times or dates or places; all he needs is this. Dean’s mouth. His hands, his fingers, knowing and wise, on Sam’s skin.

Sam drops his head. He bites down on the soft spot just under Dean’s ear, and when he comes he’s thinking of the first time Dean made him come. He thinks it was a Thursday.


Sam lies awake after, watching the TV throw shadows against the wall. Dean is snoring softly next to him, and Sam has his hand resting lightly on the back of Dean’s neck. His face is buried in the pillow. Sam rubs his thumb gently across Dean’s skin.

Hey, Dean mumbles, rolling onto his side. He blinks at Sam in the semi-darkness. What are you doing up?

Couldn’t sleep, Sam tells him.

Dean nods. Sam, is something—

Do you remember when I left? Sam asks. He doesn’t know why he needs to know, he just does. The day I left, Sam continues, it was—

A Tuesday, Dean says quietly. You left on a Tuesday.

Sam moves closer and slides an arm around Dean’s waist. Yeah. It was a Tuesday. Dean watches him seriously and Sam adds, I’m not leaving again, Dean.

Dean smiles then, and leans over to kiss him. I know, he says against Sam’s mouth. I know.

Tags: spn fic
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