Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dean had used the first rays of sunshine, which were finally gaining strength after the long, cold winter, to spread his wings.
Literally, because Dean was a dragon.
He flew high above the clouds over the familiar mountain range that was his home, and after a while, he dropped lower to soar over the forests in the valleys.
He enjoyed the warm rays of sunshine that seemed to caress his body and looked at the many different shades of green of the forest that had come to life below him.
He couldn't resist the temptation and flew so low that the tops of the trees brushed his belly here and there.
Dean laughed out loud in delight, which to any non-dragon would’ve sounded more like a mighty roar.
He didn't know how long he had been lingering over this one particular spot in the forest, but he didn't seem to be the only one out here today to enjoy the warm spring day.
Below him, partially hidden by the deciduous trees, a human was trying to keep up with him.
Dean made fun of letting the boy come closer, only to move away from him again with a powerful flap of his wings.
The young man tried to catch up with him again and again, as he was clearly trying to hunt him.
Dean grinned when he saw the bow and arrow in the boy's hands. Nothing he had in his quiver was able to penetrate the hard scale armor of a dragon. But the boy didn't seem to know that, because he obviously intended to try.
'All right,' thought Dean, flying so low over the boy that he knocked him off his feet with one of his wing flaps, 'the games are on.’

The morning had promised a perfect day when the warm rays of sunlight entered through the windows. Sam had been working hard all week and decided for some relaxation to take out his bow and arrow and practice shooting in the little clearing in the nearby forest.
He‘d been learning how to use a bow from the age of six, as his father was adamant about him needing to be able to protect himself from those murderous dragons who had killed his mother when he was two.
All through the fall and winter, he had worked on making a bigger bow for himself, and he was itching to try it out.
He’d outgrown his former one a year ago and now had to get used to the qualities of the new one.
The clearing that was his practice ground was a good bit down the main path in the forest, but not too close to the path so he wouldn’t accidentally endanger anyone who was walking by.

After practicing tirelessly for an hour, Sam had taken a break and slowly chewed on a piece of dried meat he had brought along as he sat on the forest floor, leaning against a tree.
He was watching his surroundings as he chewed, the first bees looking for nectar, and two squirrels chasing each other in the tree tops.
A dark shadow briefly flitted across the clearing, and Sam stopped mid-chew, searching the sky for clouds or anything else.
He could hear a rumbling like thunder, but there was no cloud he could detect. The tree tops were swishing like a strong wind blew through them and then the shadow reappeared for a moment and this time Sam had been able to see the source.
He held his breath for a while because, so far, he had never seen a dragon alive. Mainly, he had heard about them, but a few villages over, they had a dragon vertebrae in the marketplace, and Sam knew these dragons were huge, judging by the sheer size of it.
Jumping to his feet, Sam stuffed the dried meat back in his pouch and grabbed his bow and the quiver with all his arrows and stepped into the clearing, searching the skies.
When he spotted the shadow again, he set off in a trot, following the path in the direction that the dragon had flown.
Sam hadn’t seen too much of it, yet, as it was high up and far away, but it seemed to be a dark color. Black. Maybe gray.

After a few minutes, suddenly the dragon was quite close and Sam could see it shimmering in a dark green, but as he stopped and lifted his bow, his arrow flew up, although not nearly high enough.
With a soft curse, Sam began tracking the dragon once more. He needed to get much closer and somehow get that beast to hover if he wanted a chance to shoot it.
Having lost track of time, Sam eventually stopped. He‘d come close a few times and had even sent another arrow at the dragon, but now he had lost him from eyesight again.
Panting a few times, Sam looked around himself. He had not paid attention to where he had been going, and this part of the forest looked unknown to him. It was a lot rockier, and Sam would have to be careful where he stepped.
Just as he decided to find his way back, the dragon reappeared, and even though Sam couldn’t shake the feeling that this monstrosity was toying with him, he set out to follow him once more.
A moment later, there was no doubt about the dragon‘s game, because he came swooshing lower than before, and Sam stopped to raise his weapon, when the mighty flap of the gigantic wings sent him flat on his back. The wind swirls caused by the dragon were like small tornadoes that made Sam not only lose his aim but also his footing.
“For heaven’s sake, this accursed creature…,” Sam growled as he picked himself up and stopped down to collect his bow. “Just you wait, I’ll get you. And then we’ll see who’s playing games!”

Dean laughed again, and once more it must have seemed like thunder to the boy, but Dean didn't realize it.
His keen hearing picked up Sam's growled curses, and Dean enjoyed himself royally as he glided lower over the treetops again, allowing the boy to make up ground and catch up. But just as he was aiming another arrow, Dean shot low over the young man and sent him face-first into the soft moss of the forest floor.
Laughing, the dragon rose into the air again, and the sun broke on sparkling deep green scales.

For a moment, Sam stayed down. Not because he had hurt himself, but because he was getting frustrated. Who did this arrogant murder dragon think he was that he could just make a fool of him instead of facing him?
Determined, Sam pushed to his feet and resumed his pursuit.
He had been way too young when his mother was killed, but his father had told him in gruesome detail what had happened. And that story had sparked the desire in Sam to get his revenge one day in some way.
Of course, he had no idea if this was the dragon responsible, but for the moment, it didn’t matter. He needed to catch him, and then he would find out.
Picking a small twig from his hair, Sam tossed it aside and scanned the sky. There was that dragon. He growled and rushed after him, vaguely aware of the further change of terrain. It was getting fairly cool, and there seemed to be some kind of water running somewhere below him. He could hear it faintly, but not see it.
A minute later, Sam understood where the sound of water came from because he just managed to stop himself as he approached the edge of a ravine that carried water right at the bottom. Forced to change direction, Sam followed the dragon as much as he could along the ravine, splitting his attention between tracking the monstrous dragon and staying on the path.

Dean looked back and caught sight of the human boy, who was now running after him on the narrow path that led along the ravine, trying to catch up. He had to hand it to this human, he was persistent.
"All right," Dean muttered, "then you should get something for your troubles."
The dragon rose high into the air, so high that he was barely visible to the naked eye, and then shot down at the boy like a projectile, only slowing his dive at the last second to fly so close over the human's head that his hair brushed Dean’s stomach scales.
With a loud laugh that sounded like thunder, he soared upwards again.

At first, Sam thought he had lost the dragon, but a moment later it was clear that he hadn’t. To the contrary, the dragon seemed to be aiming for him.
Sam planted his feet down and raised his bow, aiming as well as he could. But he had no experience with the speed of a dragon and let go of his arrow too soon. It crashed down somewhere without having reached the creature, and a moment later, Sam’s eyes grew wide as the dragon came closer and closer.
Almost certain that he was dead already, because there was no way he would survive a collision with that beast, Sam defiantly stayed rooted to the spot. He would not show the dragon any fear.
The draft of the dragon passing him by a split hair threw him backwards once more in an involuntary somersault, and it took Sam a moment to realize he was not dead.
He was, however, quite close to that ravine and glanced down for a few moments. It was deep and made entirely of rock. Somewhere behind him, there had been some running water, but now there was none.
The rumbling thunder sounded again from above, and Sam looked up as he searched for the dragon.
“I’ll get you, I promise you that, you nasty…lindwyrm,” Sam growled as he pushed to his feet. He would have to find a way to cross that ravine soon, since the dragon kept leaving in that direction. But for now, there was no path across it in sight.

"Lindwyrm?" Dean muttered, "I'll give you lindwyrm in a minute!" He soared up again and then dashed towards the human even faster than before.
This time, he let him feel his wings by sending the boy to the ground with a light blow from his mighty wings.
With a voice like thunder, he roared so loudly that it echoed off the walls of the ravine "Lindwyrms don't have wings, you idiot!" and with that he took to the air again, hanging huge and menacing over Sam for a tiny second with his wings fully spread before turning again and flying over the ravine.

Sam could feel himself slide across the rocky ground and knew he would have a few bruises and abrasions. Still, he smiled when he got to a stop, but it wasn’t a cheerful smile. He found it satisfying that a dragon like that would be bothered by such a small thing as a word. Of course, Sam knew that lindwyrms didn’t have wings, but it was good to know that dragons could be offended as well. What it was good for, Sam didn’t know, however. He would find out.
Back on his feet, Sam quickly scanned his hands and forearms, but there were only minor scratches. His bow miraculously had survived until now, and Sam quickly counted the arrows in his quiver. There were eight left. Maybe he could make one of them count.
Falling into a light trot, Sam followed the path, occasionally stopping to scan for a fallen tree or anything that would help him cross the ravine.
To his disappointment, there was nothing, and while the ravine was narrow, it was way too far to jump across.
The dark shadow appeared from above the edge of the forest as the dragon swooped by again, just out of reach, because before Sam had pulled out an arrow, he was flying across the ravine once more.
Sam hefted his eyes on the mighty tail of the beast and jogged and climbed along the path that was varying in size itself. Sometimes it got right to the edge of the ravine and Sam had to be very careful and other times it was wide enough to ride two horses side by side.
When Sam had made some ground on the dragon again, or maybe that dreadful beast had waited for him as he seemed to enjoy teasing him, the path got to its narrowest yet, and Sam walked slowly, focused on where to set his feet. Suddenly, a noise startled him, a noise other than the rumbling of the dragon. Sam had no idea what it was and lifted his head to look out for danger. And then his foot slipped.
Or rather, the part of the rock he’d stepped on got loose and dropped down the ravine, pulling Sam with it.
Sam gave a brief shout and flung himself around to grab hold of anything, but there was just the smooth rocky path, and his fingers found no purchase whatsoever. A second later, Sam felt himself falling, bouncing along the rocky wall, still desperate to grab hold of something. Of anything.
An instant later, all air left his body as his fall was broken by a rock projection. A sharp pain shot through his arm and torso, seemingly ending in his head, but he had no air to scream. The last thing he was aware of was sliding off the projection back to tumbling down the steep slope before everything turned black.

Dean had just flown back up and above the clouds when he heard a startled cry from far below him and then the sound of boulders crashing into the ravine.
He turned back and sank lower to see what had happened.
The boy was nowhere to be seen and when Dean took a closer look at the path, he spotted the place where the boy had obviously fallen.
"Oh, damn it," Dean breathed, startled. He had only wanted to have fun with the boy, but he certainly hadn't wanted anything to happen to him.
The gorge was narrow, and it was deep. He would have trouble with his wings, as the ravine was too narrow to spread them out. But Dean didn't have time to think about it now, he could hear the human moaning in pain.
Slowly and carefully, he let himself glide down, pressed tightly against a wall of the ravine, and looked around for the boy as he came to stand on the bottom of the ravine.
Then he discovered him. He lay a little further down, one arm splayed out at an unnatural angle and covered in blood. When Dean reached the boy, he saw that he had an open fracture in his left arm and that the bone must have damaged one of the major blood vessels because the boy was bleeding profusely. Dean wasn't a healer, but he knew enough about wounds and injuries to be sure that the boy would die if he didn't help him.
Dean didn't hesitate for a second. He shifted into his human form and took a firm grip to fix the fracture. Fortunately, the boy was unconscious and didn't notice. Afterwards, Dean tore the boy's shirt to make a makeshift pressure bandage. He then tended to the bleeding head wound, which was certainly painful but fortunately not life-threatening.
The fracture, however, was, and the boy needed to get to a healer as soon as possible.
Dean shifted back into his dragon form and gently picked the boy up with his huge claw. He carefully clutched him in his claw as the boy whimpered in pain and regained consciousness. There was naked panic in his eyes for a moment, so Dean hummed reassuringly and said in his deep, melodious dragon voice, "You're safe, boy. Nothing will happen to you."
And then he began to climb up the steep wall of the ravine, his precious cargo clutched gently to his chest in his claw.

Sam’s consciousness returned slowly. He was vaguely aware of someone being there, moving him around, but he lacked the strength to open his eyes or even make a sound. He tried to remember what happened, but thinking hurt as well. Even breathing hurt, so Sam just let himself drift.
He had no idea how much time had passed, but at one point he felt himself being lifted. His whole body screamed at him, and he managed to make a sound before his eyes cracked open a little.
What he saw, blurry as it was, didn’t make any sense to him, since it seemed to be a gigantic cage that lifted him. Then his head rolled a little, drawing another painful moan from him, and he saw a little more.
Instantly, he remembered what had happened, and his eyes went huge as he recognized the dragon he’d been chasing. His breathing sped up despite the pain, and his blood was pumping faster through his body because he was in the claws of a godawful dragon.
The monstrosity seemed to feel his panic and hummed. It was an oddly reassuring sound that calmed Sam. Something inside him told him the dragon meant him no harm, that it was helping him.
Sam had no idea how he knew or why the dragon did what he did, but he heard the gentle voice that made his body vibrate gently, that promised him the same thing he’d felt. Safety.
Sam blinked his eyes, body relaxing once more, and the pain overruled the ebbing panic. He couldn’t suppress another painful moan as his arm screamed at him and his ribs protested every breath. His head was throbbing and fuzzy, and with the knowledge of being safe somewhere deep within himself, Sam passed out once more.

Dean cursed quietly.
The human boy was badly injured and urgently needed a good healer.
The best healer he knew lived with them and was a dragon. But he couldn't take the boy home with him, for an infinite number of reasons. So he hoped that the village he had flown over had a healer who knew his trade. Because the boy didn't have much time left.

When they reached the forest floor above, Dean felt the boy trembling in his claw. The loss of blood made him freeze.
Dean was torn.
There were laws that forbade him from helping the human. These laws were there for a reason, and Dean knew that. But if he did nothing, this boy here would die. His breathing was shallow, he was waxy white in the face, and losing far too much blood.
Dean looked down at the boy in his claw and knew he couldn't watch him die.
He lifted the other front claw to his mouth, which was filled with huge, razor-sharp fangs, and bit open his wrist. Dark, red-golden blood bubbled up and shimmered in the light of the afternoon sun.
He gently dipped a talon into his blood and let it drip carefully onto the boy's arm wound. He then dripped a little on the head wound and looked down tensely at the human boy. Gradually, the heavy bleeding stopped, and the wound began to close slightly.
Dean had made sure that the boy would survive. But no one would ask why. At least he hoped so. He could have healed him with his blood. But there were other... risks involved. So he just made sure that he’d survive.
Once the boy's cheeks had regained some color and he was no longer trembling so much, the dragon rose into the air and held the claw with the boy protectively against his chest. Carefully, he blew his warm breath over the boy to keep him warm.
When, after a little while, the village finally came into view, Dean looked for a place where he could land unnoticed.
He carefully put the boy down and shifted into his human form.
Then he lifted him into his arms and hugged him close.
As he walked with him towards the village, he hummed softly and reassuringly to the boy and kept saying, "Don't be afraid. Nothing will happen to you. I'll take you to safety."

Sam was surrounded by a sound. He couldn’t determine what kind of sound, but then again, he couldn’t determine anything else but pain. It was like he only existed in levels of pain.
He wanted to cry for someone to help him, but sucking in air to do so sent an excruciating, tearing pain through his body. He was barely aware of the pained moan that escaped him because suddenly sucking in air was a real effort.
It was like his body was screaming for oxygen, but breathing was painful and his arm was on fire. Sam’s head hurt and his eyelids didn’t obey at all. His world reduced to more pain and that unidentifiable, but calming sound and to his growing need for oxygen. And then his world faded to black again.
Dean could feel the young hunter in his arms growing weaker. He didn't know why he knew that or how, Dean just knew he had to hurry, the boy desperately needed a healer.
And then, at last, the gates of Brynmor appeared before them and Dean quickened his pace.
He was only stopped briefly at the gate. When the guards realized that he was holding a seriously injured man in his arms, one of them escorted him to the village healer.
"Jonas, here comes someone who's found Sam. Sam's hurt!" shouted the guard.
Seconds later, the door opened and a middle-aged man with a friendly face let them in. He led Dean into a room, where Dean carefully placed the boy on the treatment table.
He reluctantly let go. Something inside him didn't want to leave the boy, Sam, alone.
He gently put his hand to his cheek and said softly, "I'll be back, Sam." With that, he left Sam to Jonas the healer, who would hopefully help the boy, and left the room.
Jonas immediately picked up that Sam was in a critical state and got to work right away. He barely noticed that man who had brought him in leaving again. He had so many questions. What had happened? And where?
There wasn’t time to ask them, though, so Jonas just acted.
At first he undressed Sam to his braies and began to clean the multiple scrapes and scratches. Some were deeper and needed to be covered up.
Jonas had sent Oscar, the guard, to find Rowen, who usually helped him if he needed help.
Sam’s arm was swollen and still bleeding slightly and after a few touches Jonas understood the arm was broken. He asked Rowen to bring a splint and bandages to make a cast and immobilize the arm and then went on inspecting Sam’s torso.
Dark bruises were already seen everywhere around and Jonas carefully palpated the ribs for any breaks. There were spots where he wasn’t quite sure so he decided to treat Sam like his ribs were damaged.
With Rowen’s help he bandaged his torso in a supportive way and frowned when he inspected Sam’s abdomen. It was bruised with massive hematoma and felt quite firm to the touch.
“What in the world happened to you, Sam?” Jonas whispered softly. He sent Rowen to brew a tea that had anti-inflammatory qualities and to bring some of his pain killing powders.
Finally he checked Sam’s head, finding bumps and bruises as well as slightly uneven pupils. He instilled the powder mixed with the tea into the young man’s system, glad that Sam reactively swallowed.
Finally he made sure Sam was covered in blankets and was resting comfortably, or at least as comfortable as possible.

Dean had quickly withdrawn from the village as he didn't like spending long periods of time among so many people.
Besides, he always had the feeling that the humans would quickly find out that he wasn't one of them.
Dean had run quite a distance back into the forest and towards the ravine before changing back into his dragon form. He took to the air and made his way home.
But his thoughts kept circling around the young hunter. Dean shook his head. Why couldn't he stop thinking about Sam? Sam. He said the name quietly to himself a few times, tasting it on his tongue, then growled as he realized what he was doing.
He had to get away from him, put distance between himself and the hunter. Yes, exactly. Then he would stop thinking about him.
Dean soared higher into the air and flew towards the mountains.

Sam was confused. It was dark. Pitch black. And besides that his world was a sea of pain and heat. He tried to move, but it only made the pain worse and he moaned.
Then there was a sliver of dim light when he tried to open his eyes. That was it. His eyes were closed. That’s why it was so dark. But why was opening his eyes so difficult?
Sam needed help, but as he tried to call for it, there seemed to be little air to do so and all he could manage was a pitiful moan.
What had happened to him? He’d been chasing this beast… a monster. No… a dragon. Was it?
Sam didn’t know anymore. All he knew was that he wanted the pain and heat to end.

Jonas stirred from his seat when he heard those silent, wrecked sounding noises. It seemed that Sam was regaining consciousness, so Jonas got up to look after him.
His eyes grew wide and he frowned in concern when he saw the reddened face, like from a fever, and heard the way Sam struggled for breath.
“Sam?” he called gently, touching the back of his hand against Sam’s cheek. He was burning up.
Quickly Jonas fetched a cloth soaked in cool water and began using it to cool down Sam. Maybe he would become more lucid and could tell him what hurt most.
But Sam didn’t open his eyes or speak. He just kept breathing harshly, like there was not enough air.
Licking his lips, Jonas checked on the bruises again and noticed that Sam’s abdomen had an even harder feel to the touch. The bruise was massive and he wondered if he should send Rowen to the neighboring village to fetch their healer to help him.
William Campbell would not be pleased if he found his son in this state and he would be absolutely livid if he would die.
Taking more of the tea, Jonas spoon fed a mostly unresponsive Sam more of it in hope it would keep his fever in check.

Dean had already covered half the distance when something inside him told him that he had to turn back immediately. He could literally feel that the young hunter was getting weaker and weaker and was dying. He could feel his pain, his fear. Sam seemed to be calling out to him. Dean had no choice. He listened to the call and turned back.

Sam knew he was not alone. He could hear his name being called and a touch, but he couldn’t respond.
When he felt something touch his lips, he tried to open them, hoping for a cooling relief and whatever it was that got poured down his throat was just that. Cooling. But it wasn’t enough. He needed more.
Once again Sam tried to call out, but all he heard was a wheezing, rattling sound. Getting air into his lungs became harder by the second and the pain in his body tripled.

Jonas shook his head. He didn’t like what he saw. Sam was in trouble. Calling Rowen, he instructed the young man to keep cooling Sam down and went to his pharmacy to search for another powder and his book. He was worried about the breathing and the hard abdomen, and wondered if he would have to cut open his patient to relieve the pressure. Maybe Sam would breathe more easily then.

Dean hurried because he wanted to get back to the young man he had saved as quickly as possible.
Once he had changed back into his human form, he literally ran back to Brynmor and was about to knock on the healer's door when it opened and a boy of maybe fifteen with red, tousled hair, freckles and brown eyes stood in front of him, looking at him in startled surprise.
"Um, hi," Dean said. "I need to see Sam. I think... he needs me."

“Are you a healer?” the boy asked, looking scared, but not because of Dean. “He needs a healer. Jonas needs help.”
Without waiting for a reply, the boy grabbed hold of Dean’s hand and pulled him inside and to the room where Jonas was standing over Sam with his book in his hands.
“Jonas, he… can he help? Do you still want me to get to Pembroke to get Ailean to help?” he asked.
Dean didn't wait for the answer and said to Jonas, "I can help him. He can no longer wait for anyone from Pembroke. He's dying."
Now that he was in the same room as Sam, Dean felt it even more clearly. Sam was very badly injured, he was in pain.
Jonas stepped aside, intimidated by the man's determined demeanor. "He can't breathe." Jonas said.
Dean nodded, "Out. Everyone out. Please," he added.
When Jonas obeyed and took Rowen with him, Dean stepped up to the bed and pulled Sam's shirt up.
Dean clicked his tongue softly, Sam's abdomen was slightly distended and hard. He was bleeding internally.
Dean saw only one chance to help him. He bit open his wrist and carefully forced Sam to drink his blood. And then he let his blood drip into Sam's wounds.
Then Dean waited.
After a few minutes, Sam began to cough and Dean helped him to sit up. Sam coughed even more and then suddenly, exhausted, he sank against Dean, who slowly let him sink back into bed. "Shhhh," he said quietly, "you'll be fine. The worst is over."

Sam moaned softly. He had no idea what just happened, but he could feel it was easier to breathe and the pain was abating more and more.
He wanted to look up and thank his helper, but he lacked strength and just kept breathing.
When he’d leaned against the man, Sam had picked up a smell that he found pleasant and unique. He couldn’t place it, but he knew it had to do with that man. The only thing about him he knew was that he wasn’t Jonas. Jonas smelled like birch and something bitter.
This was a lot more pleasant to Sam’s nose.
He heard the man speak to him and forced his eyes open into a tiny crack. He couldn’t keep them open for long, but it was long enough to get a brief glimpse of the man. The first thing Sam noticed were the green eyes and the full lips and as his eyes fell closed again he promised himself never to forget those eyes.

Dean gently stroked the damp strands of hair from Sam's face and then placed his hand on his forehead. Murmuring softly, he forced the fever back with his dragon magic and let his magic work its way deep inside Sam to fight the incipient infection. The process was exhausting, as Dean had only done this once before, but he felt the fever breaking and the infection clearing and knew what he was doing was right.
He wasn't sure why it was so important to save this boy who had just tried to kill him, but Dean was doing everything he could to keep Sam alive.
Exhausted, he pulled his hand back and swayed for a moment.
His work was done. Sam was saved. All the boy had to do now was rest and heal.
Dean called for the healer and said in a dull voice, "He'll be thirsty when he wakes up. He needs to drink a lot. But apart from that, he's fine." Then his vision went black and he collapsed silently.

Jonas had been pacing up and down outside the room that this stranger had banned him from. Rowen was cowering on the floor, looking scared and Jonas finally stopped at the door to listen. But there was nothing to be heard.
Just as he resumed pacing, he heard a call from inside and immediately entered with Rowen right on his heels.
Sam was resting on the bed and Jonas could see right away that he was better, than he wasn’t critical anymore. Just what had this stranger done to achieve that?
When the stranger talked, Jonas resumed his frown. This man had been very energetic when he’d sent him out of the room and now looked like someone who hadn’t slept in days, weeks even. He had to strain his ears to understand what he was saying and then looked on in horror to see the stranger collapse.
Rowen reacted faster and barely managed to avoid the stranger hitting his head on the floor.
“What’s happening?” the boy asked with a trembling voice.
“I… I’m not sure,” Jonas replied and knelt next to the fallen man. He did a quick check of his vitals and then looked at Rowen.
“Whatever he did with Sam, it completely exhausted him. He’s overly warm but not frighteningly. Help me get him on the cot over there.”
Together the men carried the stranger to the cot and Jonas made sure he was resting comfortably.
“Prepare some watered down juice for him for when he wakes up,” Jonas told Rowen and went to Sam to check on the boy.
What he saw there left him speechless. Sam was still unconscious, but his fever was gone and his abdomen felt a lot softer again. He seemed to be sleeping and not laboring for air and Jonas had no other explanation than a miracle for it.
“Did he… like, transfer his energy to Sam?” Rowen asked when he showed up next to Jonas.
“I don’t know. But it has to be something like that.”

When Dean came to, he heard voices. Human voices. Startled, he opened his eyes and sat up. He felt dizzy, but managed to stay seated and look around.
His gaze fell on the other cot. The young hunter!
Dean stood up, staggering, but he managed to drag himself to Sam's bed. "Sam," he whispered and put his hand on his forehead. The fever was gone.
Dean expelled his breath in relief, only now realizing the healer and the boy were staring at him open-mouthed.
"Sorry. I must have exhausted myself a little. Thank you for taking care of me." He politely bowed his head to Jonas.
An old, respectful gesture that the youth of today no longer knew. But this young man was different. Very different, as Jonas found.
Jonas felt the urge to put out his hand to steady the stranger, as he was still a little wobbly on his feet. But he sensed that this wouldn’t go over well.
“You have no need to be sorry, young man. I think we have to thank you for saving Sam. I don’t know what you did, but it saved him. I was afraid we would lose him. So, thank you.”
Jonas smiled.
“May I ask your name, so we know who we need to be grateful to?”
Rowen had stared at the stranger with big eyes when he dragged himself over to check on Sam. Then he quickly retrieved the glass of juice he had prepared and held it out to the man.
“Here, have this. It’s just juice and spring water. Do you know Sam? He’s so lucky that you brought him here and then returned. I wish I knew how you helped him,” he said, words bubbling from his lips in his excitement.
Dean gratefully accepted the glass and drank it down in two big gulps. "Thank you," he said. His voice sounded deep and full again, just as it had at the beginning when he had sent Jonas and Rowen out of the room.
"Can I ask you for another glass of this?" he asked and then turned to Jonas. "My name is Dean." He looked Jonas in the eye and something in his gaze made him appear much older than he obviously was. "I found this young man out on the edge of the ravine. I don't know what happened, but he was badly injured. I'm just glad I could help. I...," he hesitated and then asked quietly, "I'd like to come and see him, if you don't mind?"
Rowen quickly took the glass and mixed the juice and water again to hand it back to Dean. “There you go. I like your name,” he said with a small smile. Jonas chuckled and shook his head at Rowen before turning to Dean. “Dean, my name is Jonas and this young chatterbox is Rowen. We’re very glad you helped Sam. Maybe he can tell us what happened when he wakes up.” He glanced at Sam for a few moments and then looked straight into Dean’s eyes. “So, you don’t know Sam. But you saved him. Back at the ravine and now here again. Of course you can come and see him when you want to. I’m sure he will want to thank you in person as well.”
Dean nodded, "Thank you. I... I feel the need to look after him. I can't explain it, but I feel responsible for him." That was the truth. But only part of it. What Dean felt was much more intense, much stronger. And he had no idea how to name it or even explain it.
He turned his gaze back to Sam. And again he gently placed his hand on Sam's cheek. But this time it wasn't to feel his temperature. No, this time Dean put his hand to Sam's cheek to touch him, to connect with him. "You're going to be all right, I promise," he said softly to the sleeping Sam, completely oblivious to the fact that he wasn't alone.

Sam was laying still.
He had no idea where he was and what had happened. But he knew that the last time he’d been vaguely aware, all he knew was pain. And fear. The need for oxygen.
Right now all that is gone. Instead he felt a warmth touching his cheek that was pleasant. Instinctively, Sam leaned into that warmth and breathed deeply. He wondered if the absence of pain meant he was dead and the warmth he felt was the afterlife, the perpetual absence of anything unpleasant.
Again Sam took a deep breath. He couldn’t be in the afterlife, could he? He wouldn’t need to breathe if he was dead.
There was only one way to find out, and that was opening his eyes. Yet, that proved to be impossible for the moment. Whatever strength he had possessed, seemed to have gone. So he did the next best thing and leaned into the warmth again.
Dean held his breath. Had Sam just nestled his face in his hand? No, he had definitely just imagined it. Dean was about to take his hand away when it happened again. Sam was definitely nestling his face in the palm of his hand. The gesture was a sign of trust and had such a subtle intimacy that it made Dean shiver. Unconsciously, he gently stroked Sam's cheekbones with his thumb and repeated softly in his deep, warm voice, "Shhh. It's okay. You're going to be okay."

Rowen watched the display with wide eyes. Hadn’t Dean just said he didn’t know Sam? And yet the way he touched him suggested otherwise.
The boy was aware that now wasn’t the time to question anything, so he kept his mouth shut and just exchanged a glance with Jonas.

Sam shivered involuntarily when the warmth he was leaning into stroked his face. And the voice he then heard - or was he imagining it? - was pleasantly deep and made his insides feel warm.
The hint of a smile spread on his face and then Sam fell asleep once more.

Dean took a deep, shaky breath and finally pulled his hand away. And the second the physical contact between them was broken, the magic of the moment was gone and reality crashed down on Dean. He cleared his throat sheepishly when he noticed the healer and the boy again.
"I'm going now. But I'll be back tomorrow. Give him enough to drink when he wakes up," he reminded Jonas once again. Then he said goodbye and left.

Jonas nodded and Rowen softly said goodbye to the stranger, to Dean. Then he helped Jonas to clean up around them and volunteered to watch Sam for a while.

Sam was dreaming. In his dream he was chasing a dragon, a gigantic, marvelous creature, but he had to hunt it. He had to hunt it because dragons were monsters. They had killed his mother and even though he couldn’t actively remember it, he had heard the story often enough from his father.
Suddenly the dream was changing from hunting after the dragon to tumbling down a ravine. He remembered the pain, but also… a gigantic cage? Dark, greenish skin that felt different than anything he had ever touched. There was something calming, a hum? And then? Sam remembered green eyes looking at him. The most stunning green he’d ever seen and Sam felt an urge to try and open his eyes to find those green ones.
Waning daylight shone through the window and Sam squinted immediately. Where was he?
Slowly, as he opened his eyes further, he pushed up on his elbows, wincing softly at the mild discomfort he felt in his body, and looked around. He was at the healer's, Jonas. So, someone must have brought him here from wherever he’d fallen. Next to him in a chair he recognized young Rowen, who was asleep.
Sam wanted to speak to wake him, but his mouth was parched. He smacked his lips and looked around, finding a mug filled with some tea. Reaching out with his hand, Sam patted Rowen’s leg and the boy’s eyes flew open. “Sam!” Rowen called and smiled. He immediately caught on to what Sam was trying and helped him with the tea. “You’re awake. That’s wonderful. How are you feeling?”
Sam slowly drank the lukewarm tea and then cleared his throat. “I’m… fine, I think,” he rasped and had more tea.
“Fine?” Rowen smiled. “That’s great. You had us worried. Don’t go anywhere, I’ll see if I can find Jonas.” With that Rowen left and Sam slowly finished the tea and settled down to take stock of himself while he waited for Jonas.

Jonas was in the kitchen preparing a stew when Rowen came running in excitedly and announced that Sam was awake.
Jonas took the stew off the stove and hurried into the other room.
And sure enough, Sam was awake and sipping his cup of tea.
"Sam!" exclaimed Jonas with relief, "You've caused us a lot of worry. I'm glad you've woken up. How are you feeling? Are you in pain? Your arm and a few ribs are broken."
“I’m sorry,” Sam replied, voice still a little rough. He looked at his splinted arm. “I’m feeling my arm and the ribs, but… not bad. How long have I been laying here?” He vaguely remembered being in pain and that somehow some kind of warmth had taken care of it. “Is my father back from his trip yet? What did he say?” Sam knew his father wouldn’t be happy about him not being able to do his duties and he didn’t quite fancy another lecture. Instinctively he rubbed his uninjured fingers over the old scar along his ribs. “What happened to me? I think I fell, but it’s all vague and I don’t know what was reality and what… a dream.”
"You've been here since noon today. We don't know exactly what happened to you. You seem to have fallen into the ravine. Anyway, you were found on the edge of it. But we don't know how it happened and how you got out of there. I was hoping you could clear that up. But you've probably cracked your skull pretty badly." Jonas shook his head and stroked his fingers through his blond beard "You were in bad shape, Sam. Very bad shape. I didn't know what to do. Your abdomen was as hard as a board and you had a high temperature. You would have died if Dean, the man who found you and brought you here, hadn't saved you."
Sam swallowed as he listened to Jonas. How could he have been there only this short time and gone from being in a bad state to… this? And who was Dean? “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I’m not sure what happened and what… was a dream. I think I was hunting.” Sam wouldn’t say what he was hunting because despite everyone knowing his mother had been killed by a dragon, nobody had seen any dragons for… forever.
“Who is this Dean? I don’t know anyone by that name. Is he from Pembroke? Or maybe from Dewsbury?” Sam was thinking hard. He knew everyone here and quite a few people from the neighboring villages. But not anyone called Dean. “He didn’t happen to have green eyes, did he? I was dreaming of green eyes.”
Jonas scratched his head "I honestly don't know where he came from. He suddenly appeared on my doorstep this afternoon, holding you in his arms and asking for help. He left you here and went away. I don't know where he went. And then you got worse by the minute. I had already considered cutting open your abdomen. But most of the patients die anyway. So I just sent Rowen to get help, and Dean was at the door again. He saved your life. I don't know how. He kicked us out. And then collapsed afterwards. Almost as if he had given you his energy." Jonas shook his head. "I have no idea. I don't know what happened. And yes. He has the greenest eyes I've ever seen. Big, deep green eyes."
Sam gasped soundlessly and his eyes widened. So he hadn’t imagined green eyes. “They’re beautiful,” he whispered and then cleared his throat.
“What do you mean, he gave me his energy? How?” Sam was scratching his head but stopped when he came across a healing wound. With a frown he looked at Jonas. “I’m only here for a few hours?” That was good news as far as his father was concerned. But Sam had so many questions. He could see, though, that Jonas didn’t have the answers, either. “Do you think he’ll be back?” he finally asked. “I would like to thank him.” And Sam wanted to see his savior. He needed to see that man again, to see those eyes and to find out if he had been the warmth he remembered.
Jonas nodded and seemed relieved. This was finally a question he could answer. "He'll be back. Tomorrow. He asked if I would mind if he looked after you. He said he feels responsible for you and wants to make sure you get better." Jonas frowned "He said he didn't know you. But he was very worried about you."
“Tomorrow,” Sam repeated with a slight smile. “I don’t know why he would be feeling responsible for me. I don’t think he pushed me down the ravine. I was hunting, as I said. I must have slipped.” He would ask this Dean when he came by, how he had found him and why he felt responsible, but only after he had thanked him. “He sounds very nice and knowledgeable,” he finally said. “You say I would have died if he hadn’t saved me with his energy? And he collapsed after he helped me? I hope he’s okay.”
Jonas shook his head defensively "No, I didn't say that. I said he saved you. And that I don't know how he did it. But he fell unconscious afterwards and it seemed that way to us. But that's nonsense, of course."
“Oh,” Sam hummed. “I see.”
He took in his bandages and gingerly felt along his stomach, which felt normal to him, although it was somewhat tender. And he could see the bruises. “I don’t think I understand how he helped me, if you don’t understand it and you’re a healer. But I’m glad he did. Could I have some more of that tea? My mouth feels dry.”
"Dean already said you'd be very thirsty," Jonas replied and poured Sam another cupful.
As he watched him drink, Jonas frowned and said, "I'm an idiot. I should have asked him if he had taken a room at the inn, or offered him the chance to sleep here. He's probably on his way to one of the neighboring villages on foot, but it's too far to get there before nightfall today." The healer looked guilty. "I didn't think to ask him to stay here and now he might have to sleep outside."
Sam forced himself to drink the tea slowly. He didn’t want to make himself feel sick by drinking too fast. He set the cup down when Jonas mentioned Dean possibly overnighting outside. “Don’t you think he would have asked to stay the night if he knew he couldn’t get to where he needed to when he left?” he asked. “Maybe he… has a room at an inn here. Or a tent or something in that line set up nearby. Did he say what he was doing in the area?”
Sam resumed drinking the tea and was just done with it when Rowen entered the room with a tray and three bowls of stew. “I thought maybe we could eat together?” the boy asked.
Jonas shook his head "I honestly don't know. But the way he acted... he seemed very modest to me. I don't think he would have asked for a place to sleep." He fetched two chairs and took the tray from Rowen. He carefully placed it on Sam's bedside table and then handed everyone a bowl of stew and a slice of bread. "Bon appétit," he wished them and then sat down on one of the chairs to eat.
Sam felt his mouth water at the smell of the stew. He first finished his tea, however, and then slowly began to eat. It tasted delicious.
“I hope he isn’t just sleeping under the full moon but actually has a bed to lay his head tonight,” Sam pondered as he glanced through the window. It was getting darker and in about half an hour the sun would have disappeared altogether.
“Is there anything for the pain that I can take, Jonas? It’s quite dull, but my arm has a stabbing pain once in a while and I would like to rest at night. Maybe tomorrow I can get up and move around a little.”
"You're drinking it right now," Jonas replied. "This is willow bark tea, it has a pain-relieving effect. And I think you should stay in bed tomorrow. You only narrowly escaped death, you should take things slowly." Under no circumstances did Jonas want to risk Sam's condition deteriorating again. William Campbell, Sam's father, would give him hell if anything happened to his son in his care.
Sam eyed the last sip of tea in his mug skeptically. “This is medicine? It tastes much too nice to be medicine,” he muttered and then looked up. “Stay in bed? I… it’s just a broken arm, isn’t it? And some bruised ribs.” Sam looked down on himself. He didn’t want to upset Jonas so he decided not to fight it until the next day. “Maybe I can wait and see how I feel tomorrow?”
Rowen had just finished his bowl and grinned. He knew what Jonas would say but he preferred to keep quiet about it because he did not want to be at the receiving end of Jonas’ wrath.
Jonas frowned and shook his head "Another day in bed won't kill you. But if you get up too early and overdo it, that will kill you for sure. And then I have to answer to your father. And I can do without that." To emphasize his words, he crossed his arms in front of his chest and looked sternly at Sam from under bushy blond eyebrows.
Sam’s jaw dropped. He hadn’t expected Jonas to react that adamant.
“Okay,” he replied softly. “I’ll stay in bed.” If it was that important to Jonas, he would stay in bed. Granted, he also didn’t want to upset his father. He knew what he was capable of. But he wasn’t sure what would upset his father more, Sam not resting when the healer ordered it or Sam resting when it didn’t look rest worthy to William Campbell. “I’ll stay in bed,” he repeated and then fought to stifle a yawn. Hadn’t he just slept a while? Why was he tired again? “Is there a way I can relieve myself and… brush my teeth? I don’t know why, but I feel sleepy again and I don’t even know why.”
Jonas nodded, immediately back to the friendly, soft man Sam knew "Of course. I help you to get up carefully and accompany you to the bathroom. I'll help you so that you can relieve yourself and bring you something to brush your teeth. In the meantime, Rowen can make your bed, you don't have to sleep on the cot here." Jonas helped Sam to stand up and then slowly walked with him into the bathroom. There, he opened his pants enough for Sam to simply slide them down. "I'll bring you some clean clothes, pajamas, and underwear. Let me know when you're ready and I'll help you get changed." With that, Jonas left him alone.
Sam reflected for a moment when Jonas left. It felt odd not being able to do things himself. His arm was strapped up and in a cast and he had never once wondered how one would do everyday chores that usually were no problem or hardship.
Since his torso was bare, Sam just shimmied out of his pants and then realized how hard it was to push down any pants one handed. Finally, he had taken care of everything, called Jonas and let the man help him get changed.
Then he brushed his teeth and finally left the bathroom again. His bed was waiting for him, nice and clean, and Sam would have been lying if he had said he wasn’t happy to be back in bed.
“Thank you,” he smiled and sank into the pillows. “I really appreciate you taking care of me. Both of you,” he added and smiled at Rowen. Then he yawned once more.
Jonas smiled "That's my job, Sam. So don't worry about it. We'll get you sorted out. It's just like Dean said, you've been through the worst and now it just needs to heal. Good night. And call for me if you need anything. You shouldn't get up alone the first few times." Jonas closed the shutters so that Sam wouldn't be woken by the morning sun, turned out the light and then quietly closed the door except for a small crack, which remained open so that he could hear Sam calling if he needed anything.
“Good night,” Sam returned the wishes and got as comfortable in the bed as possible. For a while he still listened to the soft voices and the everyday clattering. Then he just closed his eyes and let himself drift.
He slept comfortably and only woke once, briefly, because his arm was throbbing. But a change of position took care of that discomfort.

Dean had left the village in a hurry when he realized that the young man he had rescued had gotten under his skin more than anyone else ever had. It was only when he was high in the air that his head seemed to clear and he wondered what on earth had just happened.
He flew home and landed on a rocky plateau near the cave where he and his father lived and tried to organize his thoughts. Why he could still feel the young hunter was a mystery to him. Maybe his father knew what was wrong with him.
Dean took to the air again and returned home a few minutes later.
"Dad, are you there? I'm back!" he shouted, looking for John.

A golden brown dragon was hovering high above the cave that Dean had landed at now. John had been searching for his son, as he had been gone a lot longer than planned. Of course Dean wasn’t a hatchling anymore, but a father would never stop worrying for his child. He had spotted the unique green shimmer of Dean’s blackened scales and slowly spiraled back down to where his son had landed. Even before he had touched the ground, he heard his son’s call and something in the tone made him return a bit faster.
“I’m here, Dean,” he replied as he touched down and looked at his son with searching eyes. At first glance he looked perfectly fine, so John swallowed down his worry and waited for what Dean had to say.
“Are you okay? You’re back late. I was getting worried.”
Dean turned to his father, relieved. "Dad," he greeted him and nodded, "I'm fine. I think. But... something happened. And I...," Dean searched for words, "I don't know exactly what."
He haltingly told John about his encounter with the young hunter. And little by little, he explained the events of the day to his father. Right down to the strange connection he seemed to have with Sam. He told his father in all sincerity that he had saved Sam's life and that he seemed to be connected to the boy from that moment on. He felt him. And had the almost overwhelming feeling that he had to protect Sam. He quietly concluded his story with the words "I had to force myself to go, Dad. I wanted to stay with him. There was no way I was going to leave him alone. So I forced myself to go. And now.... I'm miserable because I'm not with him and I don't know if he's being looked after properly. I... what's wrong with me, Dad?" Dean looked at his father with barely concealed concern, hoping that John had answers to those questions.

John listened to what Dean told him intently. When he came to the part of using his blood to heal the young hunter, John’s eyes widened and he puffed a smoke ring from his nostrils. He remained silent for a while after Dean had finished, going over everything in his head before speaking.
“There’s nothing wrong with you, my son,” he finally said in a soft, rumbling voice. “But you did something you felt compelled to do without being fully aware of the consequences it may hold.” His brown eyes glittered golden when he looked into Dean’s green ones.
“When you used your blood to help the young man, you started a ritual that is usually just done among dragons that intend to spend their lives together. I understand that the ritual hasn’t been completed, but I’m afraid you already feel its pull. The blood is calling for you to complete the bond. That’s why you’re miserable. That’s why you worry about that hunter.”
If he was honest, John had wanted to scold his son for a moment. It had been a foolish thing to do to use his blood to help the human. But he couldn’t be angry with Dean, because he himself had taught him to help every creature. He had merely neglected to teach Dean that using his blood to heal a human could have the same effect as it had among dragons, because dragons also had a human form.
“You may not want to hear what I’m saying now, but you should probably not return to see him. The blood will call even louder to you and I doubt you wanted to bind yourself to the boy.”
Dean looked at his father with a shocked expression "I... I did WHAT?! Bound me to the boy? In the sense of....?" Dean bounced back and shook his head vehemently, "No. Nope. Never." he stated. He had only wanted to help the young hunter. He didn't want him as a partner. He didn't want anyone to be his partner yet. He had fooled around with a few of the girls here and there. But entering into such a life-changing relationship was not his plan. Especially not with a guy, and certainly not with a HUMAN.
John blinked his eyes and hummed calmingly for a moment. He could understand Dean’s distress, but it couldn’t change what had happened. “I know you didn’t mean to create a bond. But unfortunately that’s what you have done. And I’m afraid, there isn’t a way that I know of that can reverse the process. Since the ritual hasn’t been completed, it may just be enough to stay away from the boy. With time, the blood that is craving completion, will lose strength and dissolve.” At least that was what John was hoping, for Dean’s sake. “It may feel like a withdrawal to you, however.” John breathed deeply, watching his son’s reaction. “Was there no other way to help the human? You shouldn’t have flown underneath the clouds at all, you realize that, right?”
Dean took a deep, shuddering breath. Then he shook his head. "I had no choice. If I hadn't given him my blood, he would have died." Dean closed his eyes for a moment. And then he remembered a detail that he hadn't thought about during everything that had happened. "I felt a connection to him even before I gave him my blood," he said quietly.
John’s eyes widened.
“What exactly do you mean by this, son? A connection? As in an attraction?”
He began pacing in front of the cave and little smoke rings continuously rose from his nostrils. What Dean had told him among dragons meant that the blood bond would be especially strong once it had been consumed. Under no circumstances should Dean return to see that boy unless he was prepared to stay with him for good.
“This makes it even more important that you do not return to see him again, Dean. Do you understand? A connection, an attraction, enhanced a blood bond. You should not go beneath the clouds again for… for a century. He won’t be around then anymore.”
Dean looked at his father with wide eyes and shook his head slowly "No. It wasn't an attraction I felt. I felt... him. I felt his pain and his fear. And I... I knew he would die if I did nothing. And that was BEFORE I gave him my blood. Then I took him to the healer and wanted to leave. I turned back because I sensed that he was dying. That was after I gave him my blood for the first time." Dean was silent for a moment and then whispered, "A century? That's... very long."
John watched his son, feeling for him. He knew he had only wanted to help and felt sorry that it resulted in such consequences.
“I know. It may be a bit less, but humans can live to be a hundred.”
Then John clouded himself in smoke, thinking about what Dean had told him. He had felt the human’s pain and fear. It sounded like a bond of a different kind, but… that was impossible.
“I’m proud of you for helping the boy. I really am. But I have to think about what you said, that you felt his… pain. His fear. There is such a thing, but it’s very rare and I have only heard about it being between dragons. Not humans. And especially not between a human and a dragon.”
"And if it has nothing to do with this bond? You said that only happens between dragons, but not between us and humans. I'm not attracted to him in... in THAT way. I...," Dean growled in frustration, "I don't want to bang him, I want to protect him, Dad. Even from me if I have to." Dean forced himself to calm down "I know how this sounds. But trust me when I say I have to look after him. I sense that he is in danger. And I know he needs me. Please, Dad. You have to trust me and let me go." Dean pleaded. "We both know I won't stay away from him. But I'd rather have your permission and your blessing to protect him."

John puffed another few smoke rings into the air, a clear sign he wasn’t happy and needed to think. After a while he let the smoke dissipate and looked past Dean into the distance, right where the cloud ring protected their realm from the human eye.
“You think he’s in danger?” he asked. “Danger from what? Or who?”
Dragons were very protective when it came to their own and if Dean felt that protectiveness towards a human, John wanted to understand it. Because things like that didn’t just happen. At least not as far as he knew.
“I understand why you want to follow this… pull, and protect him. Just promise me, be careful. Humans are dangerous, even if they seem soft and vulnerable. I already lost your mother, I don’t want to lose you as well.”
John looked at his son urgently and then stepped closer and wrapped his wings around the both of them.
“You have my permission. And my blessing. But please, promise me, look after yourself as well.”
Dean sighed with relief and leaned against his father for a moment. "Thanks Dad," he whispered.
After a while, he released himself from the embrace and started pacing back and forth. He shook his head and answered John's questions "I don't know what kind of danger or who is threatening him. But I... I could feel it. I could taste it in the aura that surrounded him. He is in great danger and I know that if I don't protect him, he will die. I don't know how I know that. But I'm as sure as I am that the sun sets over the mountains there." Dean looked at his father urgently.

John inclined his head and thought for a moment. He knew if Dean didn’t go, if he would stay here like John would prefer, then he might be safe, but he wouldn’t be the same Dean anymore.
“I know you’re sure. Would you like me to come with you, to help protect that… human? The very same human that tried to hunt you with an arrow.”
John’s offer was sincere. Not because he didn’t trust his son. He knew Dean was strong and resourceful and would make a fine leader if he chose to. It was an offer for support. He wanted Dean to know no matter what, he could always call on him.
Dean denied with a shake of his head, "Thanks. But I have to do this on my own, Dad." Suddenly a small smile flitted across Dean's serious face "He's not a very good hunter. He hunts dragons with an arrow."
Dean settled down on his lair. "I wasn't in danger for a second."
John nodded, having expected Dean’s answer. He watched as his son settled down and proceeded to move over to his own lair.
“Never underestimate a human, son,” he then said cryptically. “He may never have seen a dragon. But if you get too close to him in your dragon form, he may realize that those arrows aren’t the right weapon. We don’t want him to get that idea and swap armory, do we?”
He settled down and rested his head on his claws. “Tell me a little about him. What does he look like?”

Dean's smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. His father was right. Humans were only no danger if they didn't know how to kill dragons and that dragons were capable of shapeshifting.
He also rested his head on his claws and said "He's young. Younger than I first expected. And he's tall, as tall as I am in my human form." Dean closed his eyes as he tried to remember the young man
"He smells like the forest and fresh air, not like most people, like dirt and large towns. He has brown curls and a friendly face." Dean opened his eyes "That's all I remember, his face was covered in blood afterwards and he was unconscious. His name is Sam."
“Brown curls,” John repeated and hummed. “Somehow that sounds soft and cuddly, and not like a hunter. His name is Sam?” When John was young he had done what Dean did now. At times he’d gone and watched the humans without letting himself be seen.
Their names were so different from dragon names, but he had liked the shortness of most and decided to keep one of the names for himself. John had been easy and he’d liked the sound. Which was the same with Dean. It was short and sweet and not hard to pronounce, unlike Oisin or Gwydion.
“Sam sounds short and sweet, I think I can remember that.”
He smiled. But then he became serious once more.
“What’s your plan now, son? How long will you stay with the humans? When will I see you again? And how will I know if you need me?”
Dean liked it when his father got that soft look in his eyes. That meant he reminisced about a life that had lasted many, many centuries, and sometimes he told Dean about it.
Tonight didn't seem to be one of those nights.
"I will return tomorrow. And I will look after him as promised. I don't know yet if I can stay around him without it seeming weird. I will see you every few days. If you don't hear from me for more than two weeks, then I'm in trouble and need your help."
John’s eyes narrowed somewhat when Dean mentioned being in trouble, but then he nodded.
“Very well,” he hummed. “Two weeks and not a single day longer.
You know, you just reminded me of your mother. She always knew what she wanted and was not afraid to confront me when we had different opinions. I… miss her.”
John closed his eyes for a moment when he pictured Dean’s mother and sighed.
“Don’t make me miss you, too.”
John opened one eye and looked at Dean fondly before closing it once more.
Dean could tell that right then his father was relaxed, despite him not being happy about Dean’s plans. Because there was a slight waft of smoke rising from his nostrils, as it always did when John was ready to sleep. It would stop once John was asleep, but he’d started doing this when Dean was really small, because John had noticed it comforted his son. And he needed all the comfort he could get after losing his mother.
“Good night, Dean,” John hummed and shortly thereafter he was asleep.
"I wish I could remember her," Dean replied quietly, watching as a waft of smoke rose from John's nostrils. Dean followed the smoke with his eyes until it was lost in the darkness of the cave above them and looked back up at his father, who was now fast asleep. "I love you, Dad." Dean breathed softly and then closed his eyes to dream of the young hunter.

Chapter Text

Sam was waking to the smell of freshly brewed tea that was being placed on the table next to his bed. He stirred and blinked his eyes open, seeing Rowen busy preparing his table for breakfast.
“G’morning,” he mumbled and then stretched as much as it was possible with his cast. A small hiss escaped his lips as the arm protested against the movement. He had almost forgotten about his injury for a moment and sighed.
“Did you sleep here at Jonas’ place as well?” he then asked.
"Good morning," Rowan replied cheerfully. "No, I got here an hour ago. My mother needed help setting up her stall at the market this morning and my father was out in the fields early. Mother said I should make myself useful here." He held out his hand to Sam to help him sit up. "Jonas said you should drink a cup and eat something before you get up. Then the pain will be easier to bear."
“An hour ago?” Sam echoed. “What time is it?” He felt like it couldn’t be much later than 7am. Taking the mug, Sam slowly drank the tea and looked around. “I think I need to go to the bathroom soon. I vaguely remember Jonas threatening me not to do that alone, yet. Can you give him a call or is he out on duty as well?” Sam wished he could do things by himself but he had seen that he would have to take it slow.
"It's already half past eight. Jonas told me to let you sleep because sleep is the best medicine. And he's out in his herb garden. I'll get him." Rowen hurried off and returned just a few minutes later with Jonas. "Good morning, Sam. How are you?" he asked as he stepped up to him and quickly checked the cast.
"I've brought you an arm sling. When you've finished and eaten breakfast and are feeling well, you can join me in the garden. An arm sling will help support your arm."
At the mention of an arm sling, Sam frowned slightly. But the frown was forgotten when Jonas mentioned joining him in the garden. That sounded a lot better than having to stay in bed. “Sounds like a deal,” Sam smiled and picked up the toast Rowen had brought for him.

After he’d finished his breakfast and Jonas had helped him with the bathroom affairs once more, Sam felt a lot better already, despite having to hold his arm in that sling. “I’m ready to go out,” he announced once he was dressed. There was a slight pain along his ribs and arm, as well as his head, but he figured the tea would take care of it, soon. After all, it wasn’t enough to make him stay put. “So, what are we going to do in the garden? Get more herbs for the tea?” he asked, curiously.
Jonas smiled, "No. Not for the tea that relieves your pain. This is willow bark. However, I have a lot of medicinal herbs in my garden. I'm sowing new seedlings and you can sit in an armchair and watch. That's all I'm allowing you to do today." He helped Sam outside and into the armchair.
He was just turning to his seedlings when Rowen came running out, his cheeks flushed, "Jonas. He's here. Dean. He's back. And he's asking for Sam."
Sam sat up a bit straighter in the armchair to look around Rowen but he couldn’t see anybody.
“Dean is back so soon?” Jonas asked. “Then I believe he did take a room at the inn.” He smiled relieved and then glanced at Sam who was looking around to find Dean. “I’m sure he’ll be here in a moment,” he said reassuringly. “You know how Rowen runs like there’s a pride of lions after him when he’s excited. I think Dean made some impression on him.” Rowen blushed a little deeper, still catching his breath.
“Yes, he’s going to be here in a minute, or two. I was just checking on my mother when I saw him. He wanted to know if you’re okay, Sam, and I told him to come and follow me. He should be…” Rowen looked around and then smiled. “There he is. Dean! In the garden,” he called and waved the stranger, who wasn’t that much of a stranger anymore, over.

Dean had followed the boy a little slower to give him time to announce him. He followed him through the house and then stepped out into the garden.
He nodded in greeting to Jonas and then looked around searchingly.
Finally, his gaze fell on Sam and for the first time they looked into each other's eyes.
Dean held his breath and for a moment, time itself seemed to stand still.
The connection to Sam hit him hard and directly. He felt him as clearly as he felt himself.
Dean exhaled and said in his deep, velvety voice, "Hello, Sam. I'm Dean and I found you in the woods."

Sam’s eyes fell on the young man as he stepped around Rowen and he felt an instant connection. Like he knew Dean, or rather, like his soul knew him.
Sam’s eyes locked on Dean’s green ones and he remembered having seen them vaguely when he was barely conscious. He smiled when Dean spoke to him and nodded, before clearing his throat.
“Hello, Dean,” he replied, his voice slightly raspy. “I heard that you saved my life not only then. I don’t think I was in any shape to thank you for that.” Without taking his eyes off his savior, Sam got to his feet, because he wanted to look Dean in the eyes on the same level and not from below. “Thank you for saving me, even though you don’t know me. It must have been my lucky day, despite the fall. I’ll be forever in your debt.” He held out his uninjured hand to show his gratitude.
It took Dean a moment to tear his gaze away from Sam's face and look at the outstretched hand. He finally took hold of it and almost groaned out loud.
Warmth flowed through him and a sense of belonging. It was more than the feeling of being responsible for someone he had saved.
Sam belonged to him. Dean knew the moment their hands touched and the certainty was as irrefutable as the fact that it was impossible.
He was a dragon. And Sam... Sam was a human.

The moment Dean took his hand, Sam felt like he was on fire. Not in a bad way, but there was something that drew him to this stranger, to Dean, and he had no words to describe it. Not that he could have said anything, because touching Dean literally took his breath away.
Sam felt strong and weak at the same time and the connection of their hands was all that kept him upright. His vision swam for a second as he felt dizzy and he instinctively willed his foot a step forward towards Dean as he leaned against the stranger.
Sam felt he was safe as he leaned against Dean and he hoped he wasn’t scaring away the man with his unusual reaction. He couldn’t explain it anyway.
A couple of breaths later Sam felt like he had gathered enough of his wits again to stand on his own, but found that while he knew he should step away, he couldn’t. He craved the contact like his body needed it to heal. “‘m sorry,” he mumbled a moment later and rested his head on Dean’s shoulder.

In that moment, it was just Sam and him, and as Sam sank against him, Dean shivered. The unexpected closeness felt like a long-lost part of him had suddenly reappeared and was finally back where it belonged.
Dean couldn't explain what was happening to them, but he sensed that Sam felt it too and was just as powerless against it as he was.
A soft clearing of a throat behind them reminded him that they were not alone and he pretended to catch Sam. "Okay, I got you," he said softly, leading Sam back to his chair.
When Sam had taken his seat again, Dean reluctantly took a step back, breaking their physical connection.
He took a deep breath and when he lifted his head, his eyes met Jonas', who stared at them both open-mouthed and finally asked, "And you're sure you don't know each other?"
"Definitely," Dean replied, looking at Sam.

Sam nodded. He was glad to be sitting down because the loss of contact to Dean felt like someone twisted his insides.
“Positive,” he breathed and returned Dean’s gaze.
“Can we… go inside? Have a moment?” he then asked both Jonas and Dean. He had so many questions and he felt Dean might be having some as well. And something told Sam that these things were better talked about when they were alone.
"Yeah," Dean nodded, not sure what would happen when they were alone or what he would say to Sam when he asked questions he didn't have the answers to himself.
He helped Sam back up and shivered again when they touched, but he led Sam inside, to a chair, helped him sit down and forced himself to step back.
Then he looked Sam in the eye with compelled serenity and waited.

Sam sighed when he sat again and took a deep breath. Then he looked at the man before him carefully. He was certain they had never met, but he seemed so familiar. And he felt like there was in invisible connection between them.
“This is going to sound weird, but… I’m sure I never met you before, that I don’t know you. Yet you seem so familiar, like I’ve known you all my life. Like my soul knows yours.
When we shook hands just now, it was like there was a gateway, a connection. Like a magnet that pulled me towards you and I felt weak, physically. I have no explanation for it.”
Sam breathed again and looked at Dean once more.
“I hope I didn’t make you feel weird and… I wonder, did you feel like that, too? Or is it just me?”
Dean returned Sam's questioning look with an outward calm. He was in turmoil inside.
What should he answer? How much was he allowed to reveal?
Dean's gaze darted searchingly back and forth between Sam's eyes, instinctively exploring the inner connection he had with the young hunter.
He only sensed confusion and something that made Dean sit up and take notice. Innocence. Sam's heart, Sam's soul was innocent. He was a hunter, but he had never killed.
Dean saw a pure heart.
Was that it? Was that why he was so drawn to Sam? Dragons used to be the protectors of the innocent before they had to hide from humans. His father had once told him that every second or sometimes only every third generation, a human was born with a pure soul and an innocent heart and a dragon became their protector. The dragon was not chosen at random, but the pure soul of the human chose the dragon, who was the only one able to protect them, because there was an invisible bond between them that connected their souls.
But that was centuries ago. It couldn't possibly be that Sam was this human and the dragon he had hunted was his protector and soulmate of all people.
But Dean sensed no falseness in Sam and decided to be as honest as he could without revealing himself or breaking any promises to his father.
"I can feel it too. This connection. The feeling of knowing you all my life. It's not just you. I feel it too."
“You do? I’m not just imagining it?” Sam asked. “You feel it, too. But… how? How can it be that we know each other without ever having seen each other? And why does it feel like… like I touched lightning when you shook my hand? Did you feel that as well?”
Sam pondered his own question, nibbling his lips. “I don’t really remember what happened. Jonas told me you brought me here and that you saved my life. I know I was out there alone. I always go alone and I think I was incredibly lucky that you happened to find me. Did you feel a connection then already? That helped you find me?”

Dean pulled up one of the other chairs and sat down so that Sam didn't have to look up at him. Then he said, "I heard something. A scream. Boulders falling into the depths. I followed the sound. When I found you, you were very badly injured. Your arm had to be set quickly, the bone was sticking out and you were bleeding heavily. I did the initial treatment of your wounds and then carefully picked you up in my arms to bring you here. That's when I felt it. This connection. This certainty that I have to help you because...," Dean broke off and laughed nervously, "Please don't laugh at me, I know how crazy this sounds, but I knew I had to help you because I'm the only one who can." He looked Sam in the eye and hoped he hadn't revealed too much of his feelings, because no one wanted to get hurt, right?
“I fell down the gorge?” Sam asked, because the only kind of depth around was that gorge. Usually he stayed clear of it, because it was dangerous with loose rocks on the edge that one wrong step could kick into falling and taking a person with them. Why had he gone there and risked it?
Slowly shaking his head, Sam looked up and into Dean’s eyes again. They fascinated him. The color, the intensity, like they looked right into his soul.
“I’m not laughing,” Sam promised. “I’m just glad you were in earshot. I have no idea why I went there.”
He fell silent once more and thought about Dean’s words.
“You were the only one who could help me. Because you were probably the only one who heard me. What you say now, having to set my arm and all… nobody would have found me, right?”
Sam shivered at the thought. His father would have been mad if he hadn’t been anywhere around upon his return, but he doubted he’d have searched for him long. And definitely not in the gorge.
Dean shook his head "I didn't mean it like that. When I brought you here, I left after that. But the further away I got, the more clearly I could feel that you needed me. I came back. I knew the healer couldn't help you. Only I can do that. And that's exactly how it was when I got back here." Dean took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on Sam, unable to look away.
Sam just sat there, silent, taking in what Dean had said. Did that mean, he had felt him deep enough to sense he was in trouble? That something was wrong in a way that the healer, Jonas, wouldn’t be able to deal with?
“You felt me even though you were leaving? And… and I would have died after all, if you hadn’t returned? Is that what you’re telling me?”
Sam began breathing a little faster. The way Dean told him, the way he spoke had a tone in it that told Sam more than he wanted to know. He wouldn’t merely have died, but it would have been painful as well.
“How… how did you manage to save me?” he finally whispered. “I don’t think I remember anything, but I know I remembered your eyes. I… was I awake at some point? Did I look at you?”
Dean took a deep breath, "I don't know. I came here and... I was with you. But after that... I must have been unconscious for a short time." Dean stuck to the truth as best he could. The fact that he had given Sam his blood had to remain a secret.
Sam watched Dean for a while. What he told him, Sam still didn’t know what had happened. But maybe Dean himself didn’t really know and thus couldn’t explain it to him. “You were unconscious? Did… whatever you did exhaust you? Took away all your energy? I hope you didn’t hurt yourself and… that you recovered from it quickly. I may not understand what all you did for me, but… I’m still here, right? Thanks to you.”
"I'm fine," Dean replied. "But you're here, in the healer's house. Shouldn't you be with your family?" Dean had expected Sam to be taken home as soon as he was able to be transported. Instead, he was still with Jonas. Dean found that strange. John would be at Dean's side from the first moment and would not leave his side until he was healthy. Where were Sam's parents? Or maybe he had a girlfriend?

Sam’s eyes flashed in alarm for a split second. “I’m living with my father,” he said quietly. “He’s gone for a job a few towns over and won’t be back for another few days. That’s why I’m here. Jonas doesn’t want me to be there all alone and frankly, I’m thinking of asking him to stay here until I’m all healed. I… my father isn’t the understanding type, you know?” Instinctively, Sam placed his free arm on his shirt, right above the scar. “His thinking is that if I’m not bleeding to death, I can work.”
Sam looked down for a moment and then nodded. “It will only work as long as he isn’t here and he hasn’t seen me moving around. At least that means I have another few days of healing.”
Leaning back, Sam then eyed Dean once more. “What about you? Are you going to stay here a while longer?” He sounded hopeful, he noticed, and he was. Because Dean seemed to be a nice guy and there was this connection they had that Sam longed to explore and understand.

Dean hesitated. He still had the feeling that Sam was in danger. But it was weaker and more diffuse than the moment he'd found him injured in the ravine.
Dean didn't know if the feeling was just an echo of the fall or if Sam was actually in danger. And if Sam was the one human with a pure soul and an innocent heart, then he had chosen Dean as his protector without even knowing it.
Dean nodded, "I think I'll stay a few days. Like I said, I feel responsible for you. So I'll stay and look after you, if that's all right with you."
A soft smile broke on Sam’s face and he nodded. “That’s very much all right with me,” he replied. There was something about Dean that made him feel like that he felt responsible for him. “Where are you staying? At the inn? I’m sure Jonas’ idea of letting you stay here still stands. If you like to, I can ask him.”
Sam sat up again, waiting for Dean’s reply in order to get up.
In his face, Sam suddenly saw something that he couldn’t place immediately. Was it concern? Worry? As in more than feeling responsible for him? “Are you okay?” he then asked softly, remembering how Dean had told him that he passed out after helping him. What if he hadn’t fully recovered but didn’t want to say it?
Dean forced himself to relax. He was here, Sam was fine under the circumstances and he could look after him, so there was nothing to worry about at the moment.
He smiled at Sam, "I'm fine. Seriously, it's all okay. I don't have that much money on me if the offer still stands that I can stay here... I can pay for my food of course..." Dean's smile turned sheepish, but he maintained eye contact with Sam.
“I don’t think you have to worry about that,” Sam replied. “I can pay Jonas for the treatment and it should cover everything around it as well. I’ll let him…”
“Did I just hear my name?” Jonas said as he knocked and entered the room. He looked around a little concerned, but seeing both of them fine, he relaxed again. “I sent Rowen to the baker to bring fresh bread. We could enjoy some food together, if you’re both up to it.”
He looked at Sam and then at Dean.
“Jonas, does the offer of housing Dean for a few nights still stand?” Sam asked right away, ignoring Jonas’ question about food. “I can cover all the expenses.”
Jonas shrugged and nodded, "Yeah, sure. Don't worry about the money, we'll sort that out. First of all, it's important that Sam gets better. And I have the feeling that when you're with him," Jonas turned to Dean, "he feels better straight away."
Dean looked from Jonas to Sam and back to Jonas and replied, "I... Thanks for the offer. I feel kind of responsible for Sam and I'd like to stay with him, at least until he's better."
Jonas nodded. “I appreciate what you did for him. Without you, we would have lost him and maybe never have found him.”
At that moment Rowen came bursting into the room, hugging a bag full of bakery goods to his chest. “I’m back. I’ll get tea and coffee running. I mean… who wants a coffee and who wants tea?”
Jonas pointed at Sam. “Sam, you should stick to tea for the moment. Me, I’ll take a tea as well. What about you, Dean?”
Sam nodded at the mention of tea. He did like coffee, but for the moment he was content with tea. “Is there a way we can have scrambled eggs? I’m craving them, I think,” he asked.
Dean had never eaten human food before and had no idea what they were all talking about, so he said, "I'll have some tea too. I don't want to be a bother. Besides, tea sounds very tempting right now." He smiled and then said, "Can I take Sam outside or where are we going to eat?" He had no idea about these customs either, but wanted to make himself useful.
“Outside?” Jonas repeated. “I was going to suggest the living room. There’s a fairly big dining table. But, it is quite warm, we could go and sit outside.”
Rowen’s eyes lit up. “Outside sounds wonderful,” he squealed and without waiting for a reply he dashed off to prepare tea for everyone.
“I guess that’s settled then,” Sam remarked and got to his feet. Maybe he put a bit too much emphasis on standing up, because he got dizzy for a moment and reached out for Dean’s arms as he swayed.
Instinct took over and Dean caught Sam without moving much. "I've got you," he murmured, looking deep into Sam's eyes. He held the young hunter close for a moment before slowly releasing him and merely supporting him with one hand under his healthy elbow. He cleared his throat and then said, "Maybe try a little slower, you're not fully recovered yet."
Sam blushed slightly. He wasn’t used to needing support. In fact, he usually did everything not to need it. His father had taught him to be strong and tough and by now Sam felt vulnerable when he showed weakness. But with Dean, it didn’t feel bad. “Thanks, I will,” he replied and then accepted Dean’s support to follow Jonas outside.
“Sam you should sit down again right away, Dean, can you give me a hand and help bring everything outside?” There was cutlery and plates to be carried as well as butter, cold meats, a cream cheese that Jonas had made himself and flavored with herbs from his garden, some jam from the red currants they’d had and a tiny bit of honey from the village’s hives.

Once the table was set and everyone was seated, Dean paid close attention to how the three humans ate so that he could imitate them.
He took some bread and spread butter on it and then placed a slice of cold roast on top. When he took the first bite and chewed, he opened his eyes in surprise. He had never tasted so many different things at once, because dragons didn't have taste buds.
Jonas saw Dean's reaction and grinned, "Good, huh?"
Dean nodded and mumbled with his mouth full, "Oh gods, yeah. I don't think it's ever tasted this good."
Jonas laughed and said with obvious pride, "The crust of the roast is made with fresh herbs from the garden. That's the secret."
Dean just nodded and concentrated on the rest of his bread.
Sam smiled when he saw Dean enjoying the food. He was sipping on his tea and still wondered what to make for himself. Finally, he decided on a freshly baked bread with pumpkin seed crust and spread the cream cheese on it before cutting some slices of bell pepper and cucumber to add onto it. The bread was indeed very nice and Sam enjoyed every bite of it.
“The roast Jonas makes is always the best,” he lauded the healer’s work. “It’s like he makes it with magic. Melts in your mouth and is very tasty. But, if I could make a suggestion, Dean, try a bit of the bread with that honey. You can practically taste the wildflowers the bees got the nectar from.”
Dean swallowed the mouthful he had just enjoyed and looked at the golden liquid, the smell of which was sweet and heavy in Dean's nostrils. He shook his head, "No thanks. Sweet dishes are not my thing. I'd rather stick to bread and this delicious roast."
Jonas beamed, "The boy knows what's good, Sam. Leave him alone. Let him eat what he feels like."
Sam looked at Jonas with big eyes and then nodded slowly. He liked sweet spreads as much as savory things and to him a piece of freshly baked bread with a bit of butter and honey was the perfect way to end off his breakfast. “It was just a suggestion,” he replied and then busied himself with slicing a tomato to have with a little salt and pepper. They were really flavorful and Sam ate slowly to savor it. “So, what do you think of the tea?” he then asked Dean.
"Oh. Yes. The tea." Dean had forgotten all about the tea and now poured himself a cup of the steaming hot brown liquid and then put the cup to his lips and drank it down in one gulp. "Very good." he assured Jonas, who stared at him open-mouthed. "What?" Dean asked, confused. "Have I done something wrong?" Did they drink the tea with this sweet stuff called honey?
What Dean didn't realize was that the tea was hot. Very hot. And he drank it as if it had just come out of cold storage.
Sam’s reaction wasn’t that different from Jonas’ and Rowen was too busy with the almost empty jam pot to have noticed, but at Dean’s question he looked up.
“How are you not burning your insides?” Sam asked, completely baffled. “This is freshly brewed, steaming hot… I’m already burning my gums when I sip to taste if it has cooled down a little already.”
Jonas nodded and then shook his body to clear his mind. “You’re used to drinking hot drinks like that? It can’t be any different, but still, it’s mind boggling that you can drink this like it’s… spring water.”
"Oh...," Dean breathed. He felt hot and cold inside, he hadn't been paying close enough attention to how humans ate their food and was now in need of an explanation.
"I... um... I'm a little embarrassed to admit, but I... um... I have a pretty high tolerance for hot drinks or food. I don't know why that is. My dad is like that too. When I was little, my friends often let me make bets with strangers so we could earn money for sweets." He held his breath and hoped his excuse would be accepted.

“That sounds like a neat trick,” Sam breathed. “Sweets were something my father never got for me. He is of the opinion they have to be earned by hard work and whatever I do, it’s never quite enough for him. Which is why I like honey and jams so much.” He looked at Dean for a moment and then realized he had said those words out loud instead of in his mind. Glancing at Jonas, he just shrugged with one shoulder. He figured Jonas knew more or less how things were at the Campbell’s. While Brynmore wasn’t all that tiny, William Campbell’s house wasn’t very far from the healer’s place. They knew each other.
Jonas remained silent and looked at his plate a little uncomfortably. William Campbell was a man with whom you better not mess with. Of course, he knew that William often beat Sam or punished him in other ways. And when the boy was still little, he often tended to his wounds. Secretly, of course. William was of the opinion that these things would make Sam a man. Jonas saw it differently. A little boy of five did not need to have his bottom spanked with a belt until he could no longer sit. That didn't make a child a man.
But Jonas remained silent, because William scared him.
Dean sensed the tension and also that what Sam was saying had a deeper meaning that he hadn't yet grasped.
Quietly, but with a dangerously blazing fire in his eyes, he said, "Then you should be able to enjoy any sweet you fancy now. And if your father gets upset about it, he'll have to get past me first." And Dean meant it. Every word.

Sam’s jaw dropped slightly and he looked at Dean, mesmerized. Had this basically still stranger just promised to protect him from his father’s moods? The thing was, Sam had not even the ghost of a doubt that Dean meant what he said and would pull through, and it was clearly evident that he wouldn’t lose a confrontation with William Campbell. “I… you… you’re going to protect me?” Sam whispered softly and tried to figure out whether or not he was merely imagining the blazing flicker in Dean’s eyes, like there was a fire burning in them.
"Yes." Dean replied calmly and took another bite of his bread and roast.
The calmness with which he spoke that one word and the finality of it left Jonas speechless. This young man had just promised Sam that he would protect him from William Campbell. And there was no doubt that he would keep his promise.
Jonas stared at Dean and wondered if he had actually just seen fire flash in those unusual green eyes. But he shook his head, it couldn't be. He cleared his throat quietly and, to ease the tension at the table, asked if he should perhaps squeeze a few oranges in case anyone wanted juice and then looked around questioningly.
It took Sam a moment before he was able to tear his eyes away from Dean’s to look at Jonas.

“Please,” he said softly and with a slightly trembling voice in reply to the question for orange juice. He was feeling wound-up inside because those words Dean spoke, the way he promised to stand up for him when he himself couldn’t, really made him feel emotional in a way that he would never show to his father. Because his father didn’t believe men should show emotions.
Sam had been taught to keep his emotions hidden but with Dean around, he felt that no matter what he did, Dean knew exactly what was going on inside him. And Sam wasn’t sure how that made him feel.
Safe, was a word that came to mind. Protected was another. He looked at Dean, suddenly a little frightened which he managed to hide, at least from Jonas and Rowen. “You don’t know my father and what he’s capable of. Just please don’t risk your safety for mine.”
Dean nodded, "That's right. I don't know your father," he agreed calmly with Sam and took another bite of his bread, chewed and swallowed the bite, then put the bread on his plate and wiped his fingers on the napkin before turning to Sam.
Sam was struck by the full force of Dean's gaze as he said serenely, "And you don't know what I'm capable of. If I promise you that you're safe with me, then you're safe with me. Period."

Sam’s eyes were locked on Dean’s for a few long seconds. It wasn’t because he doubted him. It was because he couldn’t believe someone was willing to protect him.
Those in the village that knew what was going on at their home chose to keep quiet or only act secretly to help Sam out a little. They were all scared of the man his father had become after a dragon killed his wife. At least that’s what old Airell once told him.
Finally, Sam nodded. “I trust you,” he replied like it was the most obvious thing to say. And he did trust Dean. He barely knew him for an hour, but he knew he could trust him. And that Dean would protect him. “Thank you.”
Dean held Sam's gaze a moment longer and though he didn't say a word, his eyes spoke volumes. Flames burned in their depths, promising to become a firestorm if Sam was ever in danger.
Then he nodded and turned his attention to the remaining cuts of roast, which he carefully placed on a slice of bread, spread with homemade mayonnaise and then ate with relish.

Sam was unable to take his eyes off Dean. He still felt overwhelmed by the vehemence with which Dean promised him to keep him safe.
He had never thought that someone not only would care but also stand up to his father if needed. Sam knew he had tried to do so for himself on regular occasions and he had the scars to tell the story.
Subconsciously his palm cradled the worst of his scars on his abdomen.
When he was younger, he’d once tried to escape a punishment for forgetting to sharpen one of the knives his father had asked him to and William Campbell had chased him through the house with that same knife. Until Sam had tripped and knocked his chin on the edge of the kitchen table, leaving him with a gaping wound.
Or that time, when his father had been drunk and Sam really still didn’t know what he had done to earn his father’s ire, but alcohol and William Campbell weren’t a good mix. His father had taken a broken beer bottle and caused the scar Sam was currently clutching.
The knowledge that he now had someone in his corner to fend for him left Sam speechless with gratitude. He knew how to fight for himself, to defend himself, but his father had a knack for taking him by surprise when he was in that mood.
“You’re amazing, you know that?” Sam mumbled after Dean had almost finished the bread. “You deserve all the sliced roast on this planet, especially when it’s as juicy and flavorful as Jonas’.”
Dean raised his head and looked at Sam in stunned surprise. Amazing? What did Sam mean by that? And why did he deserve all the roasts in the world? Oh, probably because he'd saved Sam.

Dean smiled and said, "I don't think it was that exciting. Anyone who found you bleeding and injured in the forest would have taken you to a healer. It was nothing special."
Sam lifted his head. “Yeah, maybe that is nothing special. But…,” he looked over to Jonas and Rowen. “That’s not what I was talking about. You saved me at the gorge. You saved me again, here. And now you promise me you will keep saving me, that you will continue keeping me safe. That is special. You don’t really know me. You don’t know anything about me. And still, it feels like we know each other, right? And you… you promise me to be close, to look out for me. That is what I mean.”
Dean looked Sam in the eye and again there was something calm and wise in his gaze that seemed far beyond his young years as he replied, "I know you. I mean, not measured in days or years, but I know you. I know that you have a good heart. A pure heart. You are a hunter. But you have never killed before. Your heart is innocent. And you know me. Because in your moment of greatest need, you chose me to be your protector. You know me as well as I know you." Dean said this with a matter-of-factness that amazed Jonas. But, as strange as it seemed, he believed Dean. And THAT was pretty crazy, Jonas thought, and preferred to keep his mouth shut.

Sam’s lips were parted when Dean talked and he soaked up every word he said. Just how did he know that so far he hadn’t killed before? And what did he meant that he chose him to be his protector? Sam knew it was correct, but he had only realized that in the moment when Dean had put it into words.
“I… how?” Sam muttered, awed. “You’re not wrong but I don’t think I can grasp everything you just said. I know you’re right, but I don’t know how.” Sam closed his eyes for a moment. This situation asked for a lot of his energy and somehow he felt he wanted to be alone with Dean for this conversation.
Dean was also of the opinion that such a conversation should only take place in private and also sensed that Sam was exhausted. He said quietly, "You look tired. Maybe you should lie down and rest for a while? I can stay with you if you want. Or I can stay in the garden. But first I'm going to get you back to bed, okay?" Dean stood up and then held out his hand to Sam to offer him his help.
Sam nodded and took the hand Dean offered. But before he let Dean guide him back inside, he looked at Jonas. “Thank you for the food, Jonas,” he said, mustering a smile. “It was delicious and just what I needed. You, too, Rowen. Thank you.”
Then he walked back into the house with Dean and without protest let himself down on the bed. “Thank you. I can feel now that I’m not completely up to scratch. You can stay here with me. I would like to continue talking to you, but just being outside was exhausting. I’m only now beginning to realize the extent my injuries had. Or have.”
"I'm sure you need a few more days of rest to recover. Your body's been through a lot." Dean said quietly and pulled a comfortable armchair and footstool by Sam's bed, where he sat down and then looked at Sam with a smile. "I'll sit down here. If you want to talk, then we'll do that. If you want to sleep, you can do that and I'll sit here and watch over you."
“I feel pretty wiped out,” Sam admitted as soon as he was off his feet. “But I still want to talk a bit.”
He smiled at Dean who sat down in the comfortable looking armchair. “You said I chose you to protect me. And I get it as a metaphorical thing. But, how did you mean that, literally? Did you know what I wanted? What I needed?” Sam stifled a yawn and snuggled a bit deeper under the covers.
Dean looked at Sam seriously now, "No, that wasn't a metaphor. You chose me. In fact, it was your heart, your soul that chose me. That sounds crazy now, but it's the truth and you can certainly read about it in your history books. Many centuries ago, it was completely normal for these things to happen. Every two or three generations, someone like you was born who had a pure soul and an innocent heart. This person finally chooses someone like me as their protector. Because a pure heart needs someone to protect it. And that someone is me in your case. I can feel you. From the moment you chose me, I could feel you. I know what you need because we're connected." Dean had answered truthfully, he'd just left out the part that revealed him for what he was. A dragon.

Sam vaguely remembered a story like that. But he’d thought it wasn’t true. That it was like a fable or something. “You think what… what I’m feeling inside when I’m near you, is because we’re connected in some way?” Somehow it made sense when Sam spelled it out loud. It sounded just how he felt. Connected. He closed his eyes, listening to his thoughts and emotions. He was calm. Calmer than he thought he could be when knowing his father would find out about his accident soon. And he knew it was because of Dean. “I can feel you,” he whispered and smiled briefly and looked at Dean once more.
Dean nodded, "Yeah. You can feel me." He just wondered how he should explain this to his father. Because by now he was firmly convinced that Sam and he were connected in a way that hadn't existed for centuries. And it scared Dean a little, because he had no idea how it was supposed to work, since Sam was never allowed to know that Dean was a dragon.

Sam stayed silent in wonder for a little while. He just couldn’t understand how he could feel Dean and Dean felt him and how by the Gods it was possible to feel like Dean had always been part of his life when he only just met him.
“Can you tell me a bit about yourself? Do you have any siblings?
I’m an only child. My mother was k… she died when I was really young. I hardly remember anything about her.” Sam licked his lips and just looked at Dean with big eyes as he waited for him to speak.
Dean looked at Sam with those mysterious green eyes and said quietly, "I'm an only child. I also lost my mother when I was very young. My father brought me up alone, he never found anyone else to love and so he gave me all his love. My father is a wise and good man who I look up to and admire. And I am grateful that he is always on my side, no matter what. My family lives very far away from here, high up in the mountains. We're in the mining business and I'm on my way back from some deals I had to do for my father." He looked at Sam with a cocked head and smiled, "Now you know everything there is to know about me. I'm not particularly exciting."
Sam had been hanging on Dean’s lips when he’d been talking.
“I think you’re very interesting,” he replied. “So, we’re both only children. Maybe that’s why we feel connected.” He thought about what Dean had told him about his father. “Your father sounds like someone you can look up to,” he then said softly. “My father is a hard worker but he wants everyone around him to be just like that. He makes weapons… knives, swords, arrows, axes… anything that’s sharp and can kill. He’s pretty far known here for that skill and he’s gone to deliver a load of axes and swords a few towns over. He kind of expects me to follow in his footsteps. The bow I’ve been hunting with I made myself. But I don’t want to create things that can kill people. I… he’s not really happy about that. So, I guess I’m not really that exciting either.”
Dean looked at Sam for a very long time and there was something soft, almost tender in his eyes when he finally said quietly, "You were raised by a man who scares you even now, even though he's your father and you're an adult. Your father is a weaponsmith and obviously a very good one. He seems to be a hard man, respected and feared by the villagers. And yet you have kept a pure soul and an innocent heart and refuse to follow in his footsteps. I think you're actually very exciting, Sam Campbell."
Sam used his good hand to rub his face with. There was only one thing that William Campbell really taught him. Or maybe two. Fear him. And prepare to hunt a dragon.
Suddenly Sam’s eyes grew wide.
“Dean,” he whispered. “I remember why I was out there. I… I was hunting,” he said and closed his eyes for a moment. He knew people in the village had always told him that dragons didn’t exist. Even though his father claimed his mother had been killed by one. But that day, when he fell, he’d been hunting one.
“I was hunting a dragon,” he whispered. “And I didn’t pay attention to where I was and where I stepped. And I fell. I remember the pain, and then nothing.”
Breathing deeply Sam then shook his head. That wasn’t quite right. There was something else he remembered. But it couldn’t be true. Because he remembered being conscious for a moment and being carried out of the gorge by that dragon. But Dean had saved him. Maybe his head had been scrambled good, then, and his brain mixed up hunting the dragon and being saved by Dean.
Dean held his breath. So Sam remembered him after all. The dragon.
Dean leaned forward and looked at Sam with glittering eyes. "A dragon? Sam... there was no dragon. You were lying on the edge of the ravine. Badly injured. But you were alone." Dean said gently.
Sam looked into Dean’s eyes, confusion evident in them. He felt so sure he hadn’t imagined it, but how could that be? Dragons were monsters, according to his father.
“There was a dragon,” he insisted. “At least when I was hunting. I know everyone claims they don’t exist, but why would my father tell me that they k… that they exist when they don’t? Why would he…” Sam had wanted to ask why his father would have trained him to hunt and fight a dragon if they weren’t real. But since he had no proof, he didn’t want to make that strain on his budding friendship with Dean. “I just remember hunting one, clearly. I don’t remember anything else clearly.”
Dean looked at Sam thoughtfully and then asked cautiously, "Let's say there actually was a dragon," he paused, he had to be careful not to give himself away, but he needed to know more about Sam's motives. Why did this boy, who didn't want to kill, want to hunt a dragon?
"So let's assume there was a dragon... then why are you still alive?"
Sam looked up abruptly. “You believe me?” he asked. “Everyone else always tells me dragons don’t exist. With the exception of my father.” He licked his lips, thinking about Dean’s question. “I don’t know why I’m still alive. Maybe… maybe he thought I couldn’t survive the fall. But… it wasn’t like he was hunting me. I was hunting him. Or her. I don’t know.” Maybe he was still alive because dragons weren’t the evil monsters he’d been taught they were. But Sam couldn’t know that for sure. “I don’t know,” he repeated.
"I believe that you believe there was a dragon. And so far I have no reason to doubt you. But you were obviously seriously injured. As if you had fallen into the ravine. So the dragon could have killed you at any time. He obviously didn't do that. But he wasn't there after you climbed out of the ravine and I found you," Dean said, looking at Sam calmly. So Sam had actually tried to hunt him down. But refused to kill otherwise. Huh.

Sam remained silent for a while. He had honestly no idea what had happened after his fall. All that he was sure of was a feeling of being safe. He had that feeling with Dean. Dean had saved him. “I don’t know what really happened. And if I’m honest, I don’t know if I ever will know. But I know I’m happy that I’m alive, that you found me and that you made sure I didn’t die. I just… I would better not tell my father what I was really doing when it happened.” Because his father would be furious if he had been hunting a dragon and let it get away.
Dean nodded, "All right. Your father doesn't need to know that you saw and hunted a dragon and that this dragon spared your life. If it's that important to you, then it's something between you and me." Dean was silent for a while. He didn't know what to make of Sam. But he felt that Sam belonged to him and he knew he had to protect him. By now he had the feeling that this need wasn't an echo of yesterday, but that Sam was still in danger. And he needed Dean.

Sam looked at Dean with big eyes. He couldn’t really explain why he told Dean all that, but he knew he was safe with him. And maybe that was what he needed. Sam gave Dean a sad smile. “Thank you. Because… if my father knew, he might feel the urge to finish what the dragon didn’t do.” And wasn’t that a mess? That Sam knew his father would be furious enough to not care whether or not his son lived when it was about killing a dragon? A dragon that he claimed was so evil that he killed his wife, Sam’s mother. “I’m a real mess, no?” Sam asked. “I’m scared of my father. Not always. But when he’s angry… he becomes a nightmare. Maybe I need to move away. You said you live far away, maybe I should go with you.”
Dean's eyes flared and a dangerous fire blazed in them as Sam spoke of his father. Slowly, Dean leaned forward and asked with a deceptive calmness , "Are you saying your father would kill you? Your own father?"
Was that the danger he sensed? Was it Sam's father that Dean had to protect Sam from? He would stay with him and find out.
He replied quietly, "First of all, you'll get better. And then you can think about where you want to live."

Dean’s question took Sam off guard. Was that what he was actually saying? Did he think his father would really kill him? He had come close, at the incident with the glass bottle. But William Campbell had been drunk and Sam wasn’t sure he would have done the same had he been sober. Or was that just him trying to tell himself why he was still there? “I don’t know if he would kill me,” Sam replied slowly, hand subconsciously pressed above his scar. “But when he’s angry, he doesn’t know when to stop, I think.”
Dean gritted his teeth so hard that his jaw muscles pulsed and his eyes glowed with a dark fire. With only laboriously enforced calmness, he finally said, "He's your father, Sam. It's his job to protect you. And not to be the one you need protection from."
Sam looked at Dean with big, unfathomable eyes, which at that moment were almost black.
“When my father is angry, everyone needs protection from him,” he replied in a hollow voice. Then he swallowed and blinked his eyes.
“I know he should be there to protect me. I just think that my mother’s death traumatized him so badly that… he wants to make everyone feel his pain. Including me.”

Dean remained silent. He could clearly feel Sam's fear, his pain. And his dragon nature wanted to do what he was here to do - protect Sam. The problem, though, was that Dean would then orphan Sam and that was certainly the wrong approach. At least, Dean was sure his father would see it that way.
Slowly, to calm himself, he took a deep breath and then said quietly to Sam, "I know that a sorrow shared is a sorrow halved, but I'm sure it's meant differently than your father is practicing. You've endured enough pain. This ends here." Dean spoke with such calm and certainty in his voice, with such finality, that he couldn't have said more clearly that Sam was safe from now on.
Sam continued to look at Dean. He understood very clearly what Dean was saying and his stomach knotted up a little. “I don’t want him to hurt you,” he said softly. “I've only known you for a short while, but I feel like I have known you forever. I also know you’re very strong. I mean, you carried me here and I’m no light weight. But… I’m scared he will hurt you if you protect me from him. And I would hate that. When he’s angry, he doesn’t think or fight fairly.”

Sam remained silent for a while. He could see and feel that Dean meant it. And Sam was certain he could pull it off, too. Still, he worried for the young man that had become his friend in such a short time. “You said it before, that I chose you as my protector,” he stated. “What exactly do you mean by that? How did I choose you, when I didn’t even know you, yet? Do you think it wasn’t a coincidence that you came across the spot where I had fallen?”
"It was no coincidence. It was fate. At least that's what I believe. And I don't know any more than what I've already told you. Many centuries ago, a bond like ours was something sacred. Because someone like you had to be protected. That's why it needed to be someone like me." Dean looked at Sam urgently. Something in his green eyes told Sam that was all he was going to get out of Dean at that moment.

Dean was silent for a while, but looked at Sam closely and finally whispered softly, "When I look at you, I see a familiar face. How can that be? And why are you touching me in a way that no one has ever touched me before?"
Sam wanted to believe that as well, that it was fate. He’d needed someone like Dean in his life and now he had found him. There was just something about him that made him feel like… home.
Sam shuddered briefly. “I don’t know how it can be, but I feel it as well. You may not know what I experienced, but you know who I am. And the other way around. I don’t understand it and I can’t explain it. But… I like it. It makes me happy.”
Dean didn't know exactly what to call the feeling he had when he looked at Sam or was near him. He nodded and said quietly, "It's a good feeling." Dean suddenly stood up and squatted in front of Sam, looking up at him. Sam could now clearly see a smatter of freckles on the bridge of Dean's nose and cheeks. And right around the pupil, he had golden spots in the otherwise deep green iris. Dean breathed softly, "I've never felt anything like it."

Sam’s racing heartbeat was proof that he hadn’t felt anything like that before, either. He could lose himself in those eyes. They were unlike any color he had ever seen before. And they were beyond beautiful. They were magical.
Without thinking, Sam stretched out the hand that had been clutching at his scar and he gently let his fingertips trace over Dean’s freckled skin. Sam felt an attraction to Dean that he couldn’t name. He hadn’t ever felt it before. It was admiration and trust, and somehow there was love in it as well. Or… a crush. And that confused Sam. Because Dean wasn’t a girl. He might not have a girlfriend at that moment, but he’d been with girls before. What he felt now was similar and yet so different and much more intense that it left Sam’s head spinning gently. “You feel… intense,” Sam finally admitted as his eyes dropped down to those full lips and Sam’s body reacted. “I…,” he tried again, but he didn’t know how to say what he felt.
Dean held still as Sam's fingertips stroked his face. Goosebumps spread across his body and a warm feeling gathered in the pit of his stomach.
"Me? I feel intense?" Dean took a shaky breath, "I'd describe it the other way around."

He had noticed the look Sam was directing at his lips and hardly dared to breathe. He had no idea what was happening, but Sam was casting a spell that he couldn't escape.
Sam shivered once more and watched his fingers as they moved across so his thumb could ghost across those lips that he didn’t know why they drew him in so much.
And then, feeling a hint of those warm lips underneath his skin, Sam leaned forward and touched his lips to Dean’s. Just for a split second, but it was enough to make his heart skip a beat as a sensation like being struck by lightning rushed through his body and his heart threatened to jump out of his chest.
What was he doing? He liked girls. But Dean was just mesmerizing him so fully that all girls in his mind vanished at that contact. He had never felt like that when he kissed a girl, and this had merely been the briefest of touches.

Dean froze. Had Sam just kissed him? It had only been a tiny second, just the hint of a touch, but Dean felt like he knew his destiny for the first time in his life. It caught him completely off guard and was so immediate that it made him dizzy, but this tender touch, this chaste kiss, triggered more emotions in him than the full blown sex with his last girlfriend.
Dean blinked and then, following an impulse, he shoved his hand into Sam's hair, grabbed the back of his head and pulled him close to kiss him.
His lips were warmly and securely on Sam's, moving beneath his, and his tongue caressed tenderly along the seam of Sam's lower lip, asking for entrance, which was promptly granted. He deepened the kiss, making it a sensual and very erotic experience.
Just when Sam thought his heart was calming down a little again, he felt Dean’s hand in his hair as the other man pulled him closer a little and kissed him like Sam had never been kissed before.
The only thing Sam could feel were Dean’s lips and tongue on his as he heard the blood rushing through his ears. Dean kissed him and it felt so right. Sam grunted softly, not as a complaint, as his brain finally caught up with him and he began to kiss Dean back. His tongue was exploring Dean’s oral cavity just like Dean explored his and there was nothing besides that experience that existed anymore. This was everything Sam wanted, he realized, and he only broke the kiss, reluctantly, when he ran out of air and needed to breathe. Panting hard, he stared at Dean, chasing his taste on his lips with his tongue.
For a moment, Dean forgot where he was and what he was. Only Sam mattered and kissing him was like a revelation.
It was as if Dean was only now really realizing what it meant to open up to another being, to surrender and accept what they had to give.
And then Sam broke the kiss.
Dean blinked. And reality hit him like a bolt of lightning. He was a dragon. Sam was human. Whatever had just happened couldn't be allowed to happen.
Dean stared at Sam wordlessly with eyes wide open.

When Sam’s mind stopped spinning, he looked into Dean’s eyes, searching for any indication that they were okay. That this had been okay. He had just kissed another man. And he wasn’t even into men. And he had no idea if Dean was. Had he mentioned a girlfriend?
Suddenly Sam’s heart was racing again. This time it was because he worried that Dean would be upset. Sure, he had kissed him back, but… what if it had just been a reflex? Then again, hadn’t his initiation been a reflex as well? Sam ran his hand through his hair and closed his eyes for a moment. This was something he couldn’t figure out and it confused him massively that he, out of his own volition, had kissed another man. And he had enjoyed it. More than any kiss before.
“Dean,” he started, voice trembling a little. “I’m sorry. I… not because I didn’t like it. I did. Very much so. But I forgot myself when I brushed my lips over you. It was just… I couldn’t help myself. I should have asked and… don’t be mad at me, please.” Sam looked as confused as he sounded because it all happened so fast and he had no idea if what happened was wanted by either of them.

Dean broke free from his stupor and took a deep breath. He rubbed his face with both hands and looked out of the window for a moment.
Finally, he turned his eyes back to Sam and said calmly, "I'm not mad at you. I kissed you back. I don't know exactly what just happened between us, but I think it was the special circumstances that brought us together. That must have had some kind of influence on us and our feelings. I... I'm not into men."
Something in Sam's face made Dean hasten to add, "I'm not saying I didn't like the kiss. I liked it. It's just...," he broke off. 'I'm a dragon, you're a human,' Dean thought. 'It can't be.’

Sam licked his lips and then nodded. “Yeah, I know. We both are into girls and this was probably the special circumstances bubbling over. I’m glad you’re not mad at me.” He gave Dean a small smile to underline his words. “Although I have to admit it was the best kiss I shared with anyone.”
And it was true. Sam had kissed a few girls and it had usually been good, but the kiss with Dean? Mind blowing. “We’re good, right? You’re not going to get up and leave never to be seen again, right?”
Dean raised his eyebrows in genuine surprise. "What makes you think that? Why should I do that? I gave you my word. I'm a d...," he interrupted himself at the last second, "I never break my word. I promised you to protect you. And that's exactly what I'm going to do."
“I know you’re a decent man,” Sam replied. “I didn’t mean to imply that you’d not keep your word. I think I’m just a little insecure, because I have not always experienced people keeping their word. I’m sorry.” Sam hung his head for a moment and closed his eyes. Now that the adrenaline from the kiss subsided he could feel this past hour and a bit had taken their toll on him. How could his body still be so weak from the fall? “Dean… I would like to sleep a bit now. I’m… knackered. I guess you kissed away all my energy.” Sam smiled fondly and pulled on the duvet to cover himself.
Dean stood up. "Okay. Then you should get some rest. I'm close by." He looked down at Sam for a moment with an indecipherable expression before he left the room and quietly closed the door behind him.
He leaned against it for a second and closed his eyes. Gods, what had he gotten himself into?

It took Sam a while to get his spinning mind to calm down enough that his worn out body could find rest but when he finally slipped into a sleep, he slept like a stone.
His dreams were filled with dragons and Dean and them kissing, but it was never anything that Sam could grasp before the scene changed again. Eventually the dreams stopped and he slept deeply as his body recovered.

Dean had returned to the garden outside and sat down on one of the chairs.
He watched Jonas handling his plants and herbs. There was something calming about that. And as he sensed that Sam was also coming to rest and slowly slipping into deep sleep, he also relaxed a little and closed his eyes.
He wasn't asleep, but he was resting.

Sam slept soundly and deeply and when he finally returned to awareness, he kept his eyes closed for a while longer, just to enjoy being comfortable. Jonas’ bed was quite good and a bit softer than what he had at home.
Somehow at some point Dean’s words about his father floated through his mind and Sam wished he could meet that man. He sounded like the perfect father and Sam allowed himself to daydream a little about having a father like that.

Dean was tired, but sleep wouldn't come. Partly because he wanted to be there when Sam needed him and partly because he had so many things on his mind. But no matter which direction his thoughts took, they always ended up back at the kiss with Sam.
Why had he returned the kiss? Why didn't it bother him that Sam was a man?
And why did he hate the fact that Sam was human and therefore off-limits?
Dean sighed. Sleep was out of the question for him at that moment.

At some point Sam’s bladder began pressing him, so he slowly got up and took his time to go to the bathroom. He felt a little sleep dizzy but made it without problems. Then he returned to sit on his bed, taking a few breaths. His arm was aching mildly and the crusted over slash on his head was beginning to itch.
Sam’s thoughts unerringly drifted to Dean. Was he waiting outside or doing some things in town? And how would it feel to look at him now after they had kissed.
Sam felt his insides tingle a little at the thought and he couldn’t figure out why that was the case. Dean was good looking, yes. And he had saved him. He was very nice and Sam loved his company and also his protective side. But… he liked girls. Girls liked him. Iona and he had been together for a year before she decided that Kirran was a better match for her and things had only not worked out with Nia because her father was scared of Sam’s father.
Sam’s thoughts returned to Dean and his insides tingled once more. What was going on? Did he really have a thing for him? He couldn’t have, could he? Taking a deep breath, Sam decided to check if Jonas was around to ask for some help with washing himself.

Dean tried to distract himself from his merry-go-round of thoughts by concentrating on the sounds around him.
Rowen was busy digging up the soil in the beds at the back of the garden, as Jonas wanted to plant the seedlings there. Dean heard the spade plunge into the ground and Rowen panting with exertion.
Jonas was also at the back of the garden, rattling the small pots containing the seedlings.
Suddenly the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck stood up and without opening his eyes, he knew that Sam was still in the house, but standing at the door.
Dean didn't know what to say, so he sat still for the moment and kept his eyes closed.

Sam remained in the door frame for a moment. Both Rowen and Jonas were busy and Dean seemed to be asleep in one of the wooden garden chairs. He didn’t want to wake him. Dean had probably lost enough sleep already tending to him. But he also didn’t want to interrupt Jonas and Rowen, knowing their work was important to keep the medicinal herbs growing and the vegetables as well. Slowly Sam made his way towards Dean and settled in another chair close by. He would be quiet and see if Dean was really asleep. If that was the case, he would simply wait until he would wake up before asking him for some help.
Sam’s stomach fluttered again when he took in Dean’s features. How could someone look so beautiful and still very much masculine and strong? Sam subconsciously licked his lips as he leaned back in the chair and grunted softly when the experience caused his arm to protest a little.

Dean felt Sam take a seat next to him and also heard the soft grunt of pain. Dean braced himself inwardly against the feelings Sam was triggering in him and slowly opened his eyes, looking directly at Sam.
“Oh, you’re awake,” Sam said softly. “I didn’t want to wake you.” He found himself drawn to Dean’s eyes, the green being so mesmerizing that he had to willingly tear his eyes away. Blinking, Sam breathed deeply and then smiled. “How are you feeling? Are you enjoying the garden air? I think it smells even better when the lavender and lemon balm are blooming.”
"I was just resting," Dean replied. "I like being outside in the fresh air and an herb garden like this actually smells good and it's easier to relax here."
He looked at Sam for a moment and then asked, "Were you able to sleep? How's the arm?"
Sam nodded. “I did sleep, yes. My arm? It’s… aching but not too bad. Still, I came out here to find someone who could help me wash myself. I’m not sure the arm is up to that, yet. Would it be acceptable for me to ask you to help me? I wanted to ask Jonas when I saw you sleeping, but he and Rowen are busy.” He looked at Dean with his slightly slanted eyes and locked the feelings that overcame him when he looked at Dean away in his mind. At least, he tried to.
Helping Sam wash himself was something Dean should definitely not do. Dean should keep his distance and only approach if it was absolutely necessary. But Sam looked at him and Dean heard himself say, "Yeah, all right. I'll help you, of course, if you want me to. Go to the bathroom, I'll join you after I've heated the water."
Sam smiled broadly.
“Thank you. I know you don’t have to help me, but it means a lot.”
He pushed himself up from the seat and made his way back to the house, heading to the bathroom. He struggled a bit with getting his shirt off but eventually managed to, even if he had to hold his breath to keep the pain in check.
Then he stepped out of his pants but kept the underwear on.

Dean fetched a kettle and filled it with water. At first he wanted to put it on the stove, but then he looked around, he was alone, so he heated the water in the kettle with his fire. That was quicker.
He came into the bathroom with the kettle just as Sam had undressed. Dean froze for a moment. Of course, Sam was almost naked. He wanted help with the washing. So what had he expected? Nevertheless, he had to force himself not to stare at Sam.
He poured the water into a washbasin and said quietly to Sam, "I hope it's not too hot."
Sam dipped a finger into the basin and nodded. “It’s warm but not too hot. Thank you.”He then reached for a wash rag and wet it before grabbing the piece of soap. It was a little more difficult to soak the rag with foam but he managed. Washing around his torso, Sam did by himself but when it came to his armpits, he noticed that either side was hard to do with just the one arm. He pressed his jaws together and tilted a little so his injured arm would hang at an angle and created space for easier access. After he had washed there, Sam rinsed the rag and then applied more soap before looking at Dean. “Can you help with the other side, please? I don’t think I can do a good job with that arm.”
Dean took a deep breath and then nodded. "Yeah," he replied softly and then took the washcloth.
Slowly and thoroughly, he began to wash Sam's back and then worked his way up to his armpit. Sam lifted his arm so that Dean could wash him there and then he rinsed the soap out of the cloth and washed Sam again. From time to time, his fingers brushed against Sam's warm skin and Dean suppressed a shiver. Finally, he dried Sam's back with a towel. When he had finished, he said quietly to Sam, "I'm done."

Sam held absolutely still when Dean washed him. It felt incredibly good, because it was like Dean knew just how much pressure to use and which spots to get.
The first time Sam felt Dean’s fingers brush his skin, it took him by surprise and he shivered in response. He could feel his heart fluttering and felt his body reacting to the touch. He willed himself to think of other things because he didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of his savior.
When Dean announced he was done, Sam exhaled and then turned to look at him. Gods, those eyes, he could get lost in them. They were even more mesmerizing than Nia’s bright blue ones. “Thank you,” he replied in a raspy voice and then cleared his throat. “It felt good.” After holding Dean’s gaze for another moment, Sam reached for a towel to dry himself off, ignoring the slight tent in his undergarments completely. Why did his body have to react like that in Dean’s presence? He breathed deeply and then looked at the other man. “I think I can handle the rest. If you… you can wait outside so I can call in case I need help?”
Dean nodded, "All right," and was about to turn away to leave when he saw that the towel had fallen. So that Sam wouldn't have to bend down to pick it up, he bent down and got it. When he stood up again, he was very close to Sam, so close that his arm brushed Sam's thigh and stomach. And when he lifted his head, he was only a few millimeters away from Sam's face.
Dean held his breath as his and Sam's eyes crossed and the young hunter's cat eyes mesmerized Dean.
For seconds they just looked at each other and finally Dean whispered, "I should be... I... I have to...," he broke off, unable to take his eyes off Sam.
Sam gasped when Dean brushed his thigh and his stomach very close to his scar. Immediately his heart raced again and he could feel himself being tense because having Dean this close to him made him want to do things he certainly shouldn’t do. “I know,” he whispered at Dean’s unfinished sentence. Just like Dean he was unable to break their gaze. He should step back, he should use the towel to do what it was meant for, to dry himself off. Instead, Sam leaned forward and brushed his lips over Dean’s again.
A shiver ran through Dean's body as Sam's lips touched his again. As light as the contact was, Sam's taste hit Dean with a force that would have brought him to his knees had it not been for the closed bathroom door directly behind him.
He made a sound that almost sounded like a sigh and then pressed his lips to Sam's.
Slowly, but unwaveringly, he kissed Sam again, ignoring the voice in his head shouting at him that this was a very bad idea. Sam's taste was addictive and Dean wanted more of it.
At the same time, he raised a hand and his fingertips gently stroked along Sam's side, up and down and then over Sam's back. The touch was delicate and light as a feather, Dean simply couldn't resist touching Sam's skin. So warm and soft and so very different from dragon scales.

Sam had no idea why he had touched his lips to Dean’s again. There had been this irresistible pull and now Dean was kissing him like he did earlier. Sam knew he should back out, but he couldn’t. Because he didn’t want to. Dean’s kiss was like the air he needed to breathe and after a moment, when their tongues touched, it felt like another lightning bolt went through Sam’s body.
And then he realized Dean’s fingers were stroking his bare skin, leaving goosebumps behind in their trail on his sides and causing him to swallow down a moan.
Sam wondered what was happening for a split second but then decided it wasn’t important. His good hand came to settle on Dean’s clothed hips and Sam knew his fingers were digging into the fabric hard enough that they might just leave a mark. Just then one of Dean’s fingers brushed the edge of his scar and Sam shuddered and hissed softly.
Dean wasn't sure what was happening to him right now. He kissed Sam, even though he knew it was wrong. But he couldn't just stop. He didn't want to.
His fingertips seemed to stroke over slightly rougher skin and it made Sam shiver. Dean wasn't sure if that was good or not, so he placed his hand warmly and securely on the small of Sam's back.
He instinctively deepened the kiss and licked deep into Sam's mouth to taste him fully. Dean got goosebumps, Sam's closeness, the kiss... It was all overwhelming. But so, so good.
As Dean deepened the kiss, Sam’s head began spinning. Never had a kiss felt this intense and he had no intention of stopping it even though he knew he should.

Suddenly Sam realized he was leaning heavily against Dean, the other man’s hand cupping his back to keep him close. Sam could feel Dean’s shirt getting wet because his undried torso was leaning against him, but it didn’t seem to bother Dean. Letting his tongue lick into Dean’s mouth, Sam finally realized it was Dean’s taste that he was chasing as much as the touch. He moaned again and didn’t even notice that his fingers, that had been resting on Dean’s hip, had moved up and slipped underneath his shirt, digging into his skin now.
Dean shivered hard enough for Sam to feel it and goose bumps covered his body again. Sam leaned into him, seeking the contact as much as he did, and that alone was mind blowing.
Dean detached his lips from Sam's, gasping for air. He whispered, "Sam...," but he didn't know what he wanted to say anymore, so he dove back into the kiss. It seemed impossible to stop, and if he was honest, he didn't want to stop.

Sam heard his name, the way Dean’s voice sounded rougher and deeper than before even and it was music to his ears. He welcomed the renewed kiss and savored Dean’s taste for some long moments more before pulling back reluctantly.
“Dean,” he croaked, panting heavily. He didn’t know much better what to say, but he knew they would have to talk about what was going on between them before this would go any further. He was already incredibly hard in his underwear and really didn’t want to embarrass himself in Jonas’ bathroom.
“Talk?” he panted and looked at Dean with lust blown eyes. His fingers digging into Dean’s skin were testimony to the effort it took for him to not just give into everything and continue the kiss and go even further.
Dean's eyes were glassy and feverish and there was a fire burning in their depths that was never seen in human eyes, but Dean wasn't fully in control of his human body at that moment.
He realized that Sam had interrupted the kiss. For what? To talk? Dean frowned. The last thing he wanted to do now was talk. He wanted to kiss Sam. His dragon nature was not used to being denied something he wanted.
He closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them again, their gaze was calm and the green no longer flickered hot and glowing, but seemed cool and distant. He slowly took a step back and let go of Sam.
"Sure," he replied and turned to leave the room. He certainly wasn't going to keep standing there and catching a rejection while Sam was practically naked.
Dean went back to Sam's bedroom and waited for him to come out. And it was there that he first noticed that the front of his shirt was damp. Dean stepped to the window and closed his eyes. What a mess.

Sam panted heavily once Dean detached himself and left the bathroom. It took him a moment to collect himself enough to finish what he had come to the bathroom for in the first place. He dried himself off with trembling fingers and then attempted to get his shirt back on, failing miserably.
His good hand was trembling too much and the other one protested as soon as he tried to lift it.
Licking his lips, Sam decided to forgo washing his lower body for the moment and pulled on his pants. After glancing in the mirror, Sam tried his shirt once more and finally succeeded.
And now he had to go out there and face Dean so they could try to figure out what was happening to them. Between them.
When Sam stepped into the bedroom, he found Dean by the window, eyes closed. His heart fluttered briefly and Sam admonished himself to stay calm. He needed to be calm to talk with Dean about what happened.

“Hey,” he said softly as he stepped up to the other man, stopping a few steps in front of him. And then he didn’t know what to say. He looked into Dean’s eyes again, lips parted and ready to speak, but his mind was thinking of what happened in the bathroom again and how much he had liked it.
“I never kissed a man before,” he started, just letting out what was on his mind. “I never thought I wanted to kiss a man. I’ve only ever been interested in girls but when I met you now, and when you were so close, something happened. My heart started racing and I just couldn’t help myself.
You kissed me back and you have no idea how happy it made me. But… you said you like girls as well, and yet you kissed me back with such intensity that my head started spinning and by the Gods I would be lying if I said I didn’t want all of you then.
But I’m hurt and that bathroom is so tiny and I got overwhelmed… Dean… what is happening? Why am I so attracted to you that I just can’t seem to stop looking at you, and thinking of your lips on mine and wanting to taste you? I hope I’m not completely making you think I lost my mind now, but… I think I’m falling for you.”
He’s been taking another step closer to Dean, just one, and now looked at the other man, not knowing how he would react to this revelation. Would he be mad? Angry about something? Did he even feel the same or did Sam just tell himself that Dean enjoyed the kissing and touching just as much?

Dean listened in silence. At first he had been annoyed that Sam had turned him down. His dragon nature was neither patient nor forgiving. But the more Sam talked and the longer Dean listened, the more he realized that it was his fault that they were here now. This whole mess was Dean's fault. Because now he remembered the conversation with his father and the fact that he had given Sam his blood. He had thus created a bond that only existed among dragons who had entered into a life partnership. And this bond between Sam and him was unfinished. Sam was attracted to him because of the dragon's blood, Dean thought, and sadness could be read in his eyes. Sam didn't mean him. It was his blood calling for Sam. Dean looked away, back out the window, because he couldn't bear to look at Sam. He closed his eyes for a moment to regain his composure before looking at Sam again. He said quietly, "I think you're confused. The fall on your head, the blood loss and the whole stress you’ve been through... it was all a bit too much. And now you think you're attracted to me because I saved you. You are confusing gratitude with incipient love. And I didn't realize it right away. I shouldn't take any more advantage of your failing health and stay away. I will protect you, nothing will change that. But this," he pointed back and forth between them, "this won't happen again. I'm sorry."
Just like that, Sam’s face closed down. Of all the things he might have expected, this hadn’t been it. At Dean’s words, Sam felt like he’d been sucker punched. He had enough experience with physical blows as well as verbal ones and he’d developed a way to protect himself over the years. The truth was, he hadn’t expected this response. It had taken him by surprise, but he hoped Dean hadn’t caught onto the hurt flickering in his eyes before he had control over himself. “I don’t think I’m confusing anything,” he replied, “but I understand and respect your words.” With that Sam turned and walked towards his bed and dropped down to sit. He was fighting his emotions, he didn’t want Dean to see that he was struggling to keep himself calm. Absentmindedly he scratched the scar on his abdomen and stared at his feet. Did Dean really think that his injuries were responsible for his attraction? Sam didn’t know what to make of it but he knew it stung. “I’m going to lay down a little,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I made you think this was about gratitude. I AM grateful, but that isn’t why I kissed you.”
Of course Dean saw the hurt flare in Sam's eyes. And of course he saw that Sam was struggling with his emotions.
He was a dragon, but he wasn't stupid.
And of course it wasn't gratitude that Sam had kissed him for. It was Dean's blood. But Dean couldn't tell him that without also revealing that he wasn't human. He looked sadly at Sam and then just nodded. "Okay. Then I'll leave you alone." he said quietly and left the room.

The second the door closed behind Dean, Sam began to shiver. Had he gone too far? It had been him who had initiated both kisses. Had Dean felt pressured into kissing him back? Maybe his father had been right. He couldn’t do anything right. Sam gave a mirthless laugh. He could already hear him lecture him about how stupid he’d have to have been to let the dragon get away instead of getting revenge for his mother. He would tell him he wasn’t worth all the training he’d put into the arrows when there were no results when it mattered. And then falling and almost killing himself? Needing to be rescued by a stranger? Sam breathed deeply, partially to calm himself down and partially to ban those thoughts from his mind. He wouldn’t let his father get into his head.
After a short while Sam got up again, walked to the bathroom and finished his washing job. He now dressed in the clean clothes Jonas had put out for him, even if changing his shirt was agony. It would stop aching again after a while. Sam settled on the bed once more, laying on his good side and facing the window that he now stared out of without really looking.

Dean looked up at the sky. It was afternoon. If he flew home now, he would be back by nightfall.
He went to Jonas and let him know that he needed to stretch his legs a little and that he would be back by nightfall, then he set off.
He breathed a sigh of relief as soon as he broke through the cloud cover and could see the mountains back where he came from. He only hoped that his father was home so that Dean could confide in him and ask for his advice.
He landed on the ledge in front of their cave and shouted, "Dad? Dad!" before rushing inside.

John had spent the morning seeing to everything in their realm that needed his attention. He’d flown to survey their lands, made sure that old Raulin didn’t teach the youngsters any more nonsense than they came up with all by themselves already and had finally returned to his cave to settle for a nap. He didn’t expect his son back anytime before sundown and dozed a little, only to be woken by a frantic voice calling him. “Dean?” he called, instantly alert, because Dean returning like this couldn’t really mean anything good. “What’s happening, son?” he asked with concern when he set eyes on his boy.
"I think I've really fucked up, Dad," Dean groaned as he approached John. And then it all bubbled out of him at once.
The first kiss and that he hadn't thought much about it. But then came the second kiss and he told John what Sam had said. He concluded, "I didn't consider that he might be physically attracted to me. And I didn't expect my blood to have such a strong effect on him. He feels rejected by me. And I don't know what to do now." Dean dropped onto his lair, completely confused and exhausted.
John’s expression had gone from worried to surprised and concerned in a matter of seconds and when his son had ended, he was blowing several smoke rings from his nostrils. “You kissed him,” John repeated Dean’s words. “Twice. Despite having a thing for girls,” he pointed out. “I’m not sure this is because of you giving him your blood, son. I mean, not solely. Sam is a human. You did create a bond with him, but it’s something that so far is known only to work between dragons. I’m not sure it can conjure up such a strong, physical attraction to you in a human.” John wondered if old Raulin knew if that was possible. He pondered about all he had heard for a while and then placed a calming wing on his son’s shoulder. “We will figure out if that bond is responsible and what to do. Raulin or Alva may know. But… you told me that Sam feels rejected by you. How do YOU feel about it all, because the issue with the bond is, it affects you both.”
"Well," Dean began, "actually, he kissed me. I merely reciprocated. But... yeah, okay. I kissed him." Dean lowered his head onto his claws and sighed heavily. "That's the problem. I definitely like girls. I don't know why I react differently to Sam. But to stick to the truth, I liked it. And I didn't want to stop. And I'm sorry that I had to reject Sam. I couldn't tell him that I gave him my blood. Especially since...," he looked at his father, "I haven't even told you this yet, but I am firmly convinced that Sam is this one human who was born with a pure heart and he made me his protector without even realizing it."
John lifted his head in surprise. “You think what?” he asked. The scenario Dean was describing hadn’t been the case for decades, or even centuries. It was so rare, John remembered only one of those that he’d witnessed, and that had been terminated by the human’s death when he had been a very young dragon. “What makes you think that, Dean?” he asked. “Are you sure that is what you think he is? And what he did? This is such a rare event, we can’t afford to be wrong about it.” John looked at his son urgently. “If you are not mistaken, this may be a much bigger thing than it already sounds like.”
Dean nodded. "I'm sure of it. As I told you, I could feel him long before I gave him my blood. And I had time to think about it. The stories you used to tell me. It was exactly the same as in these stories. One moment he was just a fun diversion for me. But the next moment I just want to protect him and have to pull myself together so that I don't stand in front of him snarling to defend him against whoever. He is a hunter who has never killed. It is repugnant to him. He is a gentle soul and has a pure heart. I can feel it. And don't ask me how I know that he has chosen me as his protector. I just know that's the way it is."
John thought about his son’s words for a few moments. If things were as he said they were - and he had no reason to doubt it - then this might change the course of the dragons’ attempt to stay hidden from humans. Because he doubted in that case Dean could keep his nature secret from Sam. “What are you planning to do, son?” he finally asked.
Dean shook his head, "I don't know. I hurt him when I rejected him. I know it was the right thing to do. But I feel bad about it." He was silent for a moment and then said out loud what John had only thought before, "If we're connected because he made me his protector, then I won't be able to hide my true nature from him for long. I don't know what to do, Dad."
John cloaked himself in a plume of smoke, a clear sign he was thinking. Once the smoke had cleared somewhat, he looked at his son with sharp eyes. “First, son, why did you reject him? Is it because you prefer girls? Because he’s not your type? Or because he is human? You have to figure that out first. Because if you don’t resolve this for yourself, you will feel yourself compelled to protect him but his presence will be agony for you. Maybe for him as well.” As for the other obvious problem, John knew it would be inevitable to keep it secret. “If you feel you can trust him, and you keep your bond up, you might want to try him. Tell him it’s important to keep a secret. See how he reacts and then decide if he’s worthy.” John blinked his eyes. “BUT you have to be very sure. Because if he tells every human, then we will find our realm invaded. The clouds won’t be able to keep us safe then.”
Dean thought for a while and then asked, "You mean you want me to test him with a secret that's not as serious as me being a dragon?" Dean nodded. Maybe he should do that. And see if Sam proved himself worthy. His gut feeling already told him that he could trust Sam. But in this case he had to be sure.
And why had he rejected Sam? "It's not because I like girls. I don't even think I care. I rejected him because I like him. And won't lie to him. I am a dragon. He is a human. How is that supposed to work?"
John scrunched his eyes questioningly. “Why do you think love won’t work between a dragon and a human? There used to be a time when those connections… weren’t really common but also not that uncommon.” He puffed a small, singular smoke ring from one nostril. “Spend time with Sam. Find out if what you feel is correct. That he wants you to protect him. That you like each other, be it as friends or… more. But you have to be careful.
There should be no third party involved. Are you sure he doesn’t have a girlfriend? Or some other romantic agreement?”
Dean blinked, "How can it work if he can't know what I am? I can't start a relationship with a lie like that. You taught me that."
A heavy sigh escaped him and then it was Dean who blew clouds of smoke through his nostrils in frustration, "I don't think he's with anyone. He said he's falling for me."
“Son, I never said you should start a relationship with a lie. Testing him if he is trustworthy, if he can keep a secret, THAT secret, has to come before a relationship. And a relationship should only be considered if that is what you would want. Both of you. You say he told you he’s falling for you. What would your response have been if he was a dragon? Or you a human?”
Dean looked at John and without missing a beat he replied, "I would have kissed him." He shrugged, "I'm not much of a talker." He lowered his head back onto his claws and his wings hung languidly from his body. He closed his eyes. John could see that the whole situation was getting under his skin. Finally, Dean asked quietly, barely audible, "You wouldn't mind if I tried to find out if this could work between us?"

John breathed deeply. He was Dean’s father and he loved his boy more than himself. What he wanted was to see him happy. Of course a few little grand dragons would be nice but definitely not more important than Dean’s happiness.
Right now Dean seemed torn. He was trying to unite what he wanted and what was right and that wasn’t always easy. “If you need my blessing to find out about that, you have it. If you don’t find out it will bug you for the rest of your life. So… do what you need to do, but remain mindful of our realm.”
"Thank you," Dean breathed, and as quiet as the words were, John could hear the deep relief in them.
Dean stood up and hugged his father with claws and wings. "You're the best dad in the world," he whispered in John's ear before breaking away from him again and saying on his way to the cave entrance, "I have to hurry so I can be back by nightfall. Maybe it's not too late and Sam will still talk to me. I'll be back soon. Good night, Dad."
With that, Dean took to the air and made his way back to his hunter.

Sam had remained in bed, trying to fade out the thoughts about what Dean had said. At times it worked and then Dean’s voice was back again in his head. Was he really only attracted to Dean because he had saved him? Because he’d been injured and Dean saved his life? Sam knew that wasn’t the case, but obviously Dean wasn’t interested in him the same way he was interested in Dean. It was okay. Dean had a right to decide what he wanted. But Sam had been sure, after those kisses, that Dean was interested in him as well. Obviously he had been mistaken.
When the door opened after a tentative knock, Sam had kept his eyes closed, pretending to be asleep. He knew it wasn’t Dean who entered the room, but he wasn’t ready to talk to anyone, yet. A few moments later the door had closed again and Sam was alone again. Alone and unable to get his mind to rest, so he kept staring out of the window.

When Dean came back, it was already dark.
Jonas told him that Sam had slept all afternoon. Dean wasn't so sure. He had the feeling that Sam just wanted to be alone. And he probably wanted to be alone now, too. But if Dean was to stay with him and protect him, then they had to sort out what was between them. And so Dean took a deep breath and knocked softly on Sam's door before entering and walking over to the bed Jonas had made ready for him. He sat down and said quietly, "Sam? I think we need to talk. About what happened earlier." Dean waited to see if Sam would respond or not.

At the knock this time Sam immediately knew that it was Dean. He pressed his lips together and braced himself for what Dean wanted to say. When Dean had finished, Sam remained quiet for another few moments before closing his eyes and rolling onto his back and then the other side to face Dean. With clenched jaws he pushed up into a sitting position. “You want to talk?” he asked in a neutral voice. “I thought you said what you wanted to say. I’m probably still concussed and confused. And what happened between us won’t happen again.
I don’t see how you could explain it any clearer.” There was no emotion in Sam’s voice, no hardness or reproach. Sam had learned to keep emotions out of his words when it came to these kinds of talks. “I understand that. And you don’t have to worry about me.” So, what else could Dean want to talk about?
Dean looked at Sam quietly for a moment and then said softly, "See, you forget that we're connected and I know you're nowhere near as indifferent as you're acting now. You said you are falling for me. And I rejected you and hurt you. I am so sorry about that. That wasn't fair. And I should have been honest with you." Dean was silent and let his words sink in for a moment before he continued, "I'm afraid of what might happen between us. Not because you're a man, but because a relationship between you and me would involve a lot of problems. And I don't know if you're ready for that. Hell, I don't know if I'm ready for that! But I know that you get under my skin like no one ever has before. And I know that you're important to me, so important that I'm sitting here now opening my heart to you and hoping it's not too late."

When Dean said he had hurt Sam, Sam felt the tiny stab at his heart all over again. But then Dean told him he was sorry for it and Sam lifted his eyes to look at Dean faster than he had wanted to. Maybe it was true. Maybe they were connected. But maybe Sam needed to see for himself that Dean meant what he said. Which was nonsense altogether, because he knew Dean meant it. He could feel it. “There are… always a lot of problems in a relationship of any kind,” Sam replied quietly. “Sometimes more, sometimes less. I told you I’m falling for you. And I didn’t say that because of what happened. It wasn’t because of that. I was falling for you before I decided to kiss you. You kissed me back. It felt like you wanted to feel me as much as I wanted to feel you. I’m not going to deny that I feel hurt. I’m also confused, but not because I hit my head or am injured. You say I’m important to you. Does that have to do with our connection?” Sam’s voice was still low and carefully unexcited. He didn’t want to get his hopes up too much but Dean could probably tell from the way he stared at him that he was hoping. Very much so. “So, what are you trying to tell me? That it’s not too late to try to figure out what we feel for each other?”
Dean shook his head, "I don't know what exactly it is that draws us to each other. Maybe it's our connection. Maybe it's more. I only know that I like your closeness and I liked our kisses. Very much so. And this intensity scared me. That's why I reacted like that earlier. I needed a moment to clear my head, but I didn't mean to hurt you." He looked Sam in the eye and answered his last question calmly, "That's what I said. That’s what I’m hoping for. But it's up to you to make that decision. I'm here."
Sam shivered. He wanted to make that decision. This was Dean. Granted, he didn’t know Dean that long yet, but he knew, he felt that he could trust him. Unlike his father, who often had said one thing and done another. “I’m scared, too,” Sam finally admitted. “This is all new to me as well.” He licked his lips and looked up into those green eyes. “But I’m here as well.”
They sat opposite each other for a while, looking at each other and both remaining silent. But finally Dean said quietly, "Okay. We are both here. We both want to explore this thing between us more and we're both also scared of it at the same time. Maybe it's a good idea to use the time your arm needs to heal to get to know each other better. What do you think?" Dean looked hopefully at Sam.

Sam’s eyes were big and wide and he blinked when Dean looked at him. “I think that sounds nice,” he whispered. Then he gave him a careful smile. “It was cold here when you were gone,” he continued a little louder. “I thought you wouldn’t return today and I feared you’d see me like a burden. Because of that protection you talked about. And maybe because of that connection that I can’t grasp, yet.”
"I said I'd come back when it gets dark. And I don't see this connection as a burden. It is special. Rare and sacred. At least where I come from. And if I make you a promise, then you can feel if I'm lying or not." Dean looked deep into Sam's eyes and said softly, "Our bond is not a burden, it's something I cherish. And that is sacred to me." He leaned forward and whispered, "So, what do you feel?"
“Sacred?” Sam asked, voice cracking slightly. Dean’s words lit a fire in the pit of his stomach and he could feel his body trembling for a moment. “I feel… overwhelmed. Positively overwhelmed… I don’t have words to describe my emotions.” Sam could feel his face glowing, his whole body actually, like he could never be cold again, because Dean was there. “Maybe it sounds odd, but I feel like I belong to you… belong WITH you. Not as a possession. As a… treasure.” Sam was struggling for words but his eyes were locked on Dean’s and they were sparkling with joy and excitement. “A treasure that is one in a million. You are one in a million.”
Dean blinked. He hadn't expected this answer. He had just wanted to know if Sam could feel that he was telling the truth. That he wasn’t lying. And then Sam said that he felt like a treasure with Dean. Dean had to suppress a smile. After all, Sam didn't know he was talking to a dragon.
He cleared his throat and then said quietly, "I'm only with you one in a million. Because our connection is so special and so rare."
Sam’s eyes lit up at Dean’s reply and he didn’t know whether it was the bond getting even stronger, or if his mind was getting accustomed to it, but he knew immediately that Dean meant just what he said. Only with you. With him. With Sam. He smiled. “You know, I can feel that. I wasn’t sure before, because that’s a completely new sensation to me, but I can… literally feel that you mean that. That you’re not lying to me. You weren’t lying to me about being back before nightfall and about our bond not being a burden. You said it’s sacred. That… is the strongest word for it and that blows my mind right now.” Sam licked his lips and blinked his eyes because he felt his emotions threatening to get the better of him. Not that Dean would find it ridiculous. He knew that with certainty. “I’m glad you found me when I needed you, and not just because you saved my life. You’re… you keep doing that, saving my life, you know?”
Dean nodded seriously. "Yes, I know. That is why you chose me. Your soul realized that I'm the only one capable of protecting you, that's why it chose me and made me your protector." Dean looked at Sam with clear green eyes. He was aware that what he was saying could easily sound ridiculous. But it was the truth. No more and no less.

Sam nodded, for a moment incapable of speaking. It sounded crazy. Nobody he knew ever talked about souls being able to recognize one another, or bond, even. But when Dean said them, they made sense. And they were so blatantly true. “I know,” Sam whispered. “I can’t comprehend or explain it, but I know. I didn’t even know I needed protection, but apparently my soul knew.” Sam took a deep breath that he released very slowly. “Dean? When I fell… were you nearby? Did you… did you maybe hear me scream?”
Dean looked at Sam blankly for a moment before answering quietly, "I heard a scream and then boulders crashing down somewhere."
That was the truth. That's why he had turned around and looked for Sam.
Sam closed his eyes for a moment. He hadn’t missed the brief blank look but it was probably Dean remembering what happened. Thinking back to that moment.
“Do you remember how long it took you to find me? I… I’m just wondering if my soul was already calling for you that clearly, then.”
Sam didn’t remember much. And what he remembered didn’t make sense. That dragon… the dragon carrying him had to have been a fever dream. He didn’t think dragons who killed humans would care for other humans. “That dragon I told you I hunted,” he carefully started again before Dean could answer. “You said you didn’t see a dragon. It’s probably just my mind, but I keep thinking that he… she… carried me out of the gorge. That must have been my concussion. I just don’t know why I keep seeing those glimpses in my mind. A dragon would never do that, right?”
Dean cocked his head. There was a cautious expression on his features. Sam couldn't know it, but he was about to be tested.
"What makes you say that?" Dean asked, his tone neutral. "Why should dragons never do that? What's wrong with that?" And then he said quietly, "And why do you think you're misremembering? Why would your brain make up a thing like that?"
Sam looked at Dean with uncertain eyes. He wouldn’t just tell anybody because everyone he knew - besides Dean and his father - would tell him dragons didn’t exist. Dean had believed him that he’d been hunting a dragon. He wouldn’t disregard whatever he had to say now. Sam knew that. He could feel it. “People in this village say dragons are… fiction. Not real. They don’t exist. My father taught me differently. But he told me dragons are evil. They m… they kill people and steal others. If he’s right, why would that dragon, that I hunted, care whether I was dead or alive? If dragons are what my father said, he or she wouldn’t have come to rescue me. To make sure you find me. That’s why I think my brain made it up.” Sam told Dean everything, because he knew Dean would believe him, and he knew that Dean would know immediately if he lied to him. And Sam would never risk Dean’s trust.
Dean took a deep breath. Now it was important that Sam was someone he could trust. And he hoped that Sam would prove himself worthy.
"Can I tell you a secret, Sam? Something that nobody knows and that you can't ever tell anyone about?" Dean looked at Sam trustingly with wide eyes.
"You have to swear. You must never tell anyone about it. Never."
Sam lifted his head a little. Dean’s tone was serious and a little hopeful and after what they had just talked about, he knew he would keep any secret that Dean would trust him with. “I swear on my mother’s grave, I will never tell anyone about what you’re going to say,” he said with the same seriousness, lifting his good hand. He crossed his index and middle finger, touched them to his lips and then to his heart. He hoped where Dean grew up, that gesture meant a sacred vow as well.
Dean followed Sam's gestures in confusion, wondering what it meant. But Sam's expectant expression seemed to be an indicator that he would take Dean's secret to his grave.
He took another deep breath and said, "I know that dragons exist and that they are peaceful creatures. Your rescue? That was no accident. Because the dragon saved you, I was able to bring you here." That was the truth. Without Dean in his dragon form, Dean in human form wouldn't have been able to save Sam.
"But if people find out that there are dragons, they will start hunting them. That's why you mustn't tell anyone what happened to you. Especially not your father." Dean knew he was asking a lot of Sam. And he knew that if Sam broke his promise, no one would believe him, because Jonas had already told everyone that Dean had saved Sam. And Dean was human. Wasn't he?

Sam’s jaw dropped slightly. So… dragons were real? He could feel that Dean was sincere with him. “The dragon saved me?” he whispered. “I didn’t… fever dream that? I… he… I know I felt safe. I…”
He fell silent for a while. It was a lot to process and Sam could feel his hands trembling, unable to stop it. “So they’re real. I mean… I hunted one. And he saved me. I wanted to kill him and he… saved me?”
Sam knew he only went after the dragon to kill him because he’d been drilled to kill dragons. His father had hammered it into him that dragons were bloodthirsty monsters that killed innocent humans and deserved nothing more than being killed. Besides his father, everyone had always claimed dragons belonged in fairy tales. They weren’t real. Still Sam had trained. And then he saw that dragon in the sky. His father’s words had rung in his ears, dragons needed to be hunted and killed. But the dragon had saved him. So while Sam now knew that his father hadn’t lied to him about the existence of dragons, had he lied about them being monsters? Uncaring, bloodthirsty monsters? Sam shuddered. Dean wasn’t lying. He could feel that very clearly. Closing his eyes, Sam tried to still his spinning head. “I… I swear I will never tell a soul,” he rasped. “I already feel bad about having tried to hunt this dragon. He didn’t have to help me. Most humans wouldn’t have helped me if I had basically tried to kill them beforehand.” Sam’s eyes locked on Dean’s green ones like they were his anchor now.

"Like I said, dragons are peaceful and when they're young, they're also quite playful. I guess your dragon just wanted to play with you and then saw you crash. Dragons are also compassionate creatures, which is why he couldn't just leave you to die at the bottom of the gorge, I suppose." Dean now looked at Sam urgently, "But if the humans find out about this, then very soon there will be no more dragons. Because humans won't rest until they've wiped out what they don't understand."

Sam looked at Dean, eyes big as he listened carefully. “How do you know so much about dragons? Are they still around where your village is? Are you missing a dragon there?” He sounded very interested. This sounded so different from what his father had told him about them. And somewhere deep inside him, he hoped that this was the true story, but he couldn’t shake what his father had told him about his mother’s death. Why would he tell him something that horrible if it wasn’t true?
Dean now had to be careful about the things he told Sam and said quietly, "We see dragons from time to time. We leave them alone and they leave us alone. Only very rarely does one come near our village. It's usually a youngling who wants to play." He saw the curiosity in Sam's eyes and looked at him urgently, "Promise me you won't tell anyone a single word about this."
Sam blinked his eyes.
“I promise,” he replied. People in Brynmore thought dragons were make belief anyway. But for his father. But Sam had no reason to tell him anything. “You don’t have to worry, Dean. I promise.” He kept his gaze on Dean’s, giving the other man a chance to see his sincerity. After a while, he smiled warmly and then asked him. “Are you going to spend the night here? On that bed again?”
Dean looked at Sam piercingly for a moment as if he could see to the bottom of his soul and then suddenly straightened up and laughed softly with a dark rumble in his chest before he nodded and replied, "Yeah. This bed is mine for as long as you want me here."
Sam’s eyes became a shade darker as his smile broadened. “What if I don’t want you there?” he asked. “What if I’d want you… closer?” By now Sam had subconsciously noticed that the closer he was to Dean, the more relaxed he felt. And despite him having been in bed all afternoon, Sam hadn’t rested. To the contrary. He may not have moved, but his mind had been at it all the more. “Have you had dinner yet? I know it’s late, but I pretended to be asleep when Rowen came to check if I was hungry. I could ask for the food and we share?”

Dean's stomach grumbled more than loudly in reply and Dean blushed sheepishly. "Sorry. I actually haven't eaten yet and I'm so hungry I could devour a whole ox." His hunger was so great that he only now realized what Sam had said about their sleeping situation. His eyes instantly went black and he growled softly. Then he took a deep breath and replied, "I know you can feel that I want you. I just don't want to hurt you," he nodded at Sam's broken arm. "You know?"
“A whole ox?” Sam gasped. That sounded like Dean was very, very hungry. “I’ll find Jonas in a moment.”
Then he looked at his arm for a few moments and closed his eyes, thinking. “I understand. I just thought, maybe we can just be close without endangering my arm. We could get to know each other even more.”
Just then Rowen knocked on the door and stuck his head in. “Jonas made a roast. Would you like to join us out here or prefer eating in here?” he asked, eyes darting back and forth expectantly between Dean and Sam.
Dean grinned knowingly "Ah? To get to know each other better, you have to sleep in the same bed? I see." Dean knew that if Sam invited him back to his bed later, he wouldn't be able to say no.
At Rowen's question, he cocked his head and said, "We're coming out. Then it won't smell like food here when we go to sleep."
“Good idea,” Sam agreed. Rowen beamed and dashed off to announce them. “He’s something else,” Sam grinned. “Can you help me get my shoes? It’s not that easy with just one functioning arm.” He looked at Dean for a moment then, wondering if he should comment on sleeping in one bed. “I think being in one bed is perfect for getting to know each other better,” he finally said. “Or how do you usually do that?”
Dean stood up and then squatted down in front of Sam to help him into his left shoe and then his right. When he finished, he held Sam's foot gently in his hands and his thumb stroked small circles around Sam's ankle as he said, "We don't usually meet in bed, where I come from. So we get to know each other like normal people do. On the market, in a café, outside in a garden. Something like that." His eyes sparkled with amusement, but his smile was clearly seductive.
Sam raised an eyebrow. “Like normal people do?” he echoed. “Are you insinuating I’m not normal just because I threw myself down a ravine to meet you? Huh. I thought that’s how it was done.” Then he laughed. “So what happens after you met in a café? Or in a garden.”
"Yeah, but no," Dean replied seriously, "that was a liiittle bit extreme. You could have just come up to me and said 'hi'." Then Dean grinned almost wolfishly and replied in a low voice, "What happens then? Well, I usually get laid."

Sam blushed furiously as his jaw dropped. Dean’s voice made his body vibrate and Sam didn’t know whether it was the timbre or what he had said. He caught himself a moment later. “Oh,” he said. “So… how often have you met with someone in a café or garden?” He dug his teeth into his bottom lip for a second and then raised an eyebrow with a curious smile. “Because that was the first time I tried the version with the ravine. I usually have a hike in our hills with… people I meet. Girls I meet. Because that’s… I mean, you know.” He smiled shyly again and couldn’t tear his eyes off Dean’s grin because it pushed many buttons.
Dean's grin turned into something else, something knowing, something predatory. "I see. So you've already heard about the flowers and the bees. And why do you have to go hiking in the mountains if you want to get laid? Don't you have a place here where you and your girl can be undisturbed?"
Sam’s eyes widened comically. “Have you met my father?” he asked and then shook his head. “I mean, it’s not like I never had sex in a bed. But actually not that often in MY bed. The mountain meadows were nice, though, as well. In summer. It’s warm and nice and smells good.” He looked at Dean, curiously. “So, what’s your favorite memory regarding sex?”
"Hmm. I don't know exactly," Dean replied. He could hardly say that his favorite memory was how he and Kalyndra had done it in flight. That had been fun and exciting. And nothing humans could do. So he said, "I think, the first time with a girl I really liked. We were both excited and nervous, but it was still pretty good. What was yours?”
Sam smiled shyly. “In that mountain meadow. We tried a few different ways and… spent like a whole day there. I definitely enjoyed that. And I’m pretty sure Nia did as well.” He remembered she told him it was the best sex she’d ever had. Sam licked his lips. “So… do the girls in your village also like being pleasured orally? I was really scared the first time we tried that.”
Dean laughed, "Yeah, I think every woman likes it when we men make a genuine effort and oral sex is definitely something where you can show if you were listening when she told you what she liked." He leaned back and looked at Sam. The boy obviously looked innocent and might have a pure heart, but then the innocence thing was probably not to be taken literally when it came to being able to bind a dragon to himself.
“Sounds like you made out with a few girls. Is it… are they easy to convince to have sex? Over here they’re often tentative, because most parents here want their daughters to go into marriage as a virgin. Nia and Iona… they were way too curious to wait, though.” Sam licked his lips for a moment as his eyes settled on Dean’s lips. They looked so tempting and he had to breathe deeply to keep his calm.
Dean looked at Sam with dark eyes, "How do you know if you can ride if you've never been on a horse?" He cocked his head. "I've ridden quite a few horses, yes," he then said. He noticed that Sam's gaze kept falling on his mouth. Interesting. Sam didn't seem to be thinking about Nia or Iona at the moment.

Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s what some of the older people believe. Something about devotion and stuff.” He took in Dean’s words about his riding experiences and felt his stomach flutter. “So… about those ‘horses’… what do… what do you like?” Sam tried to will his heart to beat a bit slower to keep his focus. Dean was very attractive and that was distracting Sam quite a bit. “I… Nia and Iona were both potential marriage partners, but I did have a few more ‘rides’. One off deals, sort of. There was this traveler once. A woman. Not quite my age, a little older. She… liked my eyes and taught me a few things the two nights she stayed here.”
"What do I like?" echoed Dean. That was difficult to explain. Dragons made love differently than humans. Dean leaned forward, looked deep into Sam's eyes and smiled in a predatory, seductive way "I don't tell all my secrets on the first night. And who knows, maybe you'll find out for yourself one day.”

Sam held his breath for a second as Dean leaned closer. “So… does that mean I have a… a chance?” What was he saying? He’d never had any interest in guys, let alone had sex with them. Why was he thinking of that now? “It would be a whole new experience for me,” he added in a whisper, almost like to himself. He really didn’t know why he was suddenly attracted to guys, but Dean? Dean was just the hottest man Sam had ever met and even before they first kissed, Sam had felt an attraction beyond friendship for him.
Dean leaned forward a bit more and replied in a husky voice, "It depends. Do you WANT a chance? And I don't mean gaining a new experience. I'm not a fairground prize that you can win and then never pay attention to again. If you want a real chance, you have to ask for it."
Sam just looked at Dean without backing off, trying to measure his breathing. He could feel Dean, knew that Dean meant it. And Sam knew Dean felt him as well.
He didn’t want to see what would happen with Dean merely for another experience. But he’s never had anything with a guy before. Not for experience nor anything serious. He had no idea what his father would say and if that’s what he really wanted. Dean felt like the best thing that ever happened to him, though, and he didn’t want to mess things up. “I know you’re not a toy, Dean. Just like I’m not a toy. You know I feel something for you. Something I can’t explain. But I like it. I do want a chance. Would you… I mean, I’m a guy. You’re a guy. Are you interested in me like that?” Sam was excited and confused, a little scared. But he wanted to be with Dean a lot more than right now. And somewhere deep inside him he knew that if Dean wanted to, Sam would go to the ends of the world with him.

Dean was silent for a very long time, looking at Sam with an unreadable expression in his eyes. "Am I interested in you in that way?" Dean repeated Sam's question and then, instead of a verbal answer, he leaned forward the last bit to close the distance between them and kissed Sam.
Slowly, very deliberately and, above all, very eloquently. Then he leaned back again and looked at Sam out of dark eyes, in the depths of which a green fire seemed to blaze.
The second Dean’s lips touched his, Sam’s world lit up like a firework. The way Dean kissed him made Sam’s stomach flutter, his heart began to race and stumble and he was sure he moaned softly in response before kissing Dean back, or rather, joining into the kiss, that was more like an intimate dance.
When the kiss ended and Sam looked into Dean’s eyes, lips parted and glistening, he could see them flickering with desire. Sam knew he wanted to see those eyes again and again and after a few moments of catching his breath, he leaned forward this time and kissed Dean with an intensity that he’d never kissed anyone before. The world around him faded out and only Dean existed for Sam. A shiver ran through his body, like a confirmation that he’d finally found his other half. His soulmate. Sam didn’t know how he knew, but he knew this was all he ever wanted.

Dean made a soft sound of surprise when Sam kissed him so intensely. He perceived Sam's feelings and they confused him, to say the least.
Sam had an emotional epiphany, so to speak, he perceived a sense of belonging, of connectedness and of absolute certainty. Sam seemed to feel the human equivalent of Dean's dragon certainty that he and Sam were bonded. What confused Dean about it was the emotional part. He didn't know what that meant.
But he pushed these thoughts aside in order to concentrate fully on this moment and this kiss.
He intensified his efforts to kiss Sam in a way he had never kissed anyone before and had never wanted to. But Sam? He wanted to kiss Sam like that.
Sam melted into the kiss, soaking up everything Dean gave him and returned it in the same manner. Kissing Dean felt more natural than anything he’d done so far and Sam caught himself wondering how sex with Dean would be.
He moaned softly at the thought and his fingers found their way to Dean’s neck, gently pulling him closer and threading his fingers into Dean’s hair.
Dean shivered and kissed Sam deeper.
He pushed Sam onto the mattress, making sure that his injured arm was safely by his side, and was over Sam to kiss and feel his whole body at the same time. Dean's left hand settled on Sam's hipbone and his right hand was on Sam's cheek, caressing it tenderly with his fingers.
He growled low in his throat as he deepened the kiss. The dragon in him wanted to mark his property, wanted to hide his treasure from the world and lock himself in this room with Sam forever.
A perfectly normal reaction to what they were doing here. Or not?
Dean honestly didn't care, all he wanted was Sam.

When Dean pushed him down on the mattress, Sam moaned softly. He wasn’t used to be handled like that. Usually he was the one who took control like that. The only time he was being maneuvered that way had been when his father enforced his will and a shiver ran through Sam’s body at that thought. This was Dean, however. And Dean had only protected him so far. Sam’s mind relaxed and he loosened his grip in Dean’s hair. Instead, he let his hand settle on Dean’s hips and gently began stroking the skin underneath the shirt.

Dean raised his head and looked at Sam with eyes that burned a dark, green fire in their depths. Sam's fingers on his skin gave him goose bumps, something that was new to him but felt strangely good. And Sam's body beneath his was warm and soft and hard in just the right places.
Dean couldn't imagine ever wanting anyone as much as he wanted Sam at that moment. And that's exactly why he had to stop. Sam deserved better.
Dean took a deep breath and sat up. "Sorry. That was too much. We had agreed that we would get to know each other better while your arm was healing. And I forgot myself for a moment. I'm sorry." He could still feel Sam's fingers on his skin and subconsciously leaned into the touch more.

Sam remained on the pillows, breathing heavily to try and catch his breath as well as realizing what had just happened. For a moment when Dean had sat up, he’d felt disappointed, but Dean had a point and Sam worked on sorting his mind as well as his breathing.
When he’d finally got himself back under control, he slowly sat up and shivered while he was at it. The memory of Dean on top of him was still fresh and despite the conflicting thoughts he’d had for a second, Sam noticed that he had enjoyed that. Feeling Dean smothering him had been so different from anything he’d ever experienced.
“Don’t be sorry,” Sam finally whispered, reluctant to withdraw his fingers from Dean’s skin. “It wasn’t just you. It was… I was there, too.” Sam moved his hand willingly and busied it running along his injured arm. “I liked what you did,” he whispered after a few moments. He liked it because it had felt good, Dean had felt good and somehow overrode the negative connotations he’d had with being pinned a little.

They were now sitting next to each other on Sam's bed and Dean looked at Sam from the side, wondering why this boy was so damn attractive to him. It couldn't just be their bond and the effect of his blood. Or could it? He had to ask his father about it.
Dean leaned towards Sam and pressed his lips to the young hunter's. It was a gentle, chaste kiss and when Dean straightened up, he murmured, "I liked it too."

Sam sat there, motionless for a second. Then he broke into a broad smile. “You know, I never even thought about kissing another guy. But I have to say, those were the best kisses I ever had.” Sam let his feet dangle out of the bed again, looking at Dean who was looking down at him. “And I didn’t just like the kisses. I… liked the way you felt.” Sam felt very sure that being with Dean would be all he needed. He was willing to follow him to wherever he lived, because Sam’s feelings told him, they belonged together. He had no idea how it came that he felt this strongly in such a short time, but he did and he loved it and he didn’t want to lose it. Any of it.

Dean looked Sam in the eye "You liked the way I felt?" he finally asked quietly. And then added, "And I like the way you feel. Perfect and as if you were made for me." He was thoughtfully silent for a long time, but he gently stroked his fingers over Sam's.

“Yes, I can’t describe it, but… I liked that you didn’t feel like a girl. But even though I never thought I would enjoy being… pushed down and kissed, I did.”
Sam’s eyes fell on Dean’s fingers, watching intently. “Is it… common, where you come from, for men to like each other? Or would it raise eyebrows? I think over here it would be eyebrows, but nobody would say anything. Or… maybe most people won’t say anything.”
"It's not particularly common, but I know at least one couple who have been together for years, and they're both men. Nobody says anything about it or judges. They're not hurting anyone, so why should we bother?" Dean replied. "I don't think anything would change if I took you home with me." What would raise eyebrows, though, was the fact that Sam was human.

“That sounds sensible,” Sam nodded. “I like that way of thinking.” He moved his fingers and interlocked them with Dean’s. It felt right. Like the natural thing to do.
“You told me that sometimes you see dragons where you live. Are they… do they all look the same? Or are they different, like we are as well. Like, different colors or shape of head… things like that?” Sam’s thoughts were back at the dragons and he didn’t know why. But somehow in his mind Dean and dragons were interlinked. It was probably because Dean had saved him and he’d been hunting a dragon before.

Dean looked at Sam and answered carefully, "No. Dragons don't all look the same. The color of their scales is different. The shape of their heads and their body size vary. No two dragons look the same. I think they are very similar to humans in that respect."
Sam licked his lips and then nodded. “That… makes sense. The dragon that I saw… he was really big. Like big as a house. Are they all around that size? I’m sorry if I’m asking too many questions. I’m just curious, because… I don’t really know anything about dragons in that sense.”
“Younglings?” Sam asked, eyes growing big. “I… I don’t think that I saw him up close, I mean, you know I was only half conscious and… How are you not afraid of them when they are that big?” If that dragon, that killed his mother, had been an adult, it had been an easy task for him to kill her. But why did he then only kill her? Sam didn’t know.
Dean looked at Sam in surprise "Why should I be afraid of them? Because they are huge? That's not a reason. They won't hurt me and I won't hurt them. There's no need to be afraid." He took a deep breath "Sam... we live in peaceful coexistence with the dragons. None of us would even think of doing anything to them. And they stay away from us."

Sam looked at Dean for a long time and he was sure that Dean could feel the conflict in him.
He hadn’t ever seen a dragon until a few days ago. But he had heard horrible stories from his father. Including the killing of his mother.
Because of those stories Sam had let his father train him to become a hunter. He wanted to avenge his mother’s death. Not for his father, but for him. For having to grow up without her. And for turning his father into who he was. But after what happened, after being saved by that dragon - and Sam realized that this dragon could have killed him a zillion times over if he’d wanted to - he was confused. So many things didn’t add up, but why would his father tell him a dragon killed his mother if that hadn’t been the case?
“Okay, I have to admit, I can’t imagine that, but I believe you. I think… I think I need to get out of this village. Yes, the people are nice and helpful, but…” But his father wasn’t. And Sam had a feeling he needed to find things out for himself, which meant getting away from here. He breathed deeply. “When do you think I could travel with you?” he asked.
Dean looked up abruptly, "You... you want... you want to come with me?" No! Dean thought, no way. That was absolutely impossible. He couldn't take Sam with him. Because then Sam would find out what Dean really was, and Dean couldn't take that risk.
And his father would never allow a human to set foot in their realm.

“I was thinking about it. Yes. Dean, you don’t understand… I…,” he stopped. Hesitated. Should he tell Dean what was weighing on his mind? How would he react? “I told you that I was hunting that dragon that saved me, right? I’ll tell you why I did that, but you have to promise me not to tell anyone about it. Not even your father.” He looked at Dean urgently. “I need to tell you why I can’t stay here after being unable to capture the dragon.” Or worse, he added in thought.
Dean could feel how upset Sam was. And that there was something that was weighing heavily on his mind. And he could tell that Sam needed something from him that no one else had ever given him. A sincere promise.
He nodded. "All right, then. If it means that much to you, then I promise whatever you tell me will stay between us. I won't tell anyone. Not even my father," Dean promised seriously.

Sam released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d held. Dean had promised to keep this between them. And he knew deep down that he could trust Dean. “Thank you,” he started with a raspy voice. “I… this isn’t easy for me, talking about it. It’s not like I have a real memory of it. It’s mostly because my father kept telling me about it. At the same time he prohibited me to tell anyone about it. He’d remind me about it whenever I questioned it, and he was very persuasive.” Sam lifted his shirt a little to reveal the scar on his ribcage. He was sure Dean had noticed it already. “I swear it feels like there’s still some glass stuck in there even after all those years.” Sam swallowed hard and let his shirt drop down once more. “When I was barely two years old, my mother was killed. My father told me it was a dragon.” Sam’s voice was trembling as he continued very softly. “I just remember there was a lot of blood. According to my father the dragon tried to steal her, but when he wouldn’t let her go, he killed her. The village, they say dragons don’t exist. They think my father has gone mad with grief. Some… some whisper behind his back, suggest he had something to do with her death. But why would he do that and then tell me it was a dragon? He told me every day. I must never forget. I need to be ready to avenge her death. Which is what he trained me for. Which is why… I hunted that dragon. If he finds out what happened now, I would be better off with a bloodthirsty dragon, if they really are that way. Because something tells me it wouldn’t just be a broken glass bottle as a weapon.” Sam fell silent, but his pulse raced as he looked up at Dean, anxiously awaiting his reaction.
Dean looked at Sam, completely perplexed. He had expected everything. But not... this.
A dragon?! A dragon had supposedly killed Sam's mother? No way. Dean was sure that his father would never have tolerated such a thing. This dragon would have had to answer to John and Dean would have known that for sure.
"I'm so sorry that you lost your mother in such a terrible way. I can't imagine how awful that must have been for you. And I don't know what to say. I just can't imagine that a dragon could enter your village unnoticed, kill your mother and then disappear again unnoticed. That sounds... crazy." He looked at Sam for a long time. “I promised I'd keep it to myself. And I'm keeping that promise."

Sam began to shiver when Dean promised him again. He had no idea why it had such an effect on him, but he was glad that he’d told Dean. And that Dean hadn’t told him it was nonsense. “You don’t know how much that means to me,” he replied and then dropped down on his bed. Telling Dean, hearing his promise, it seemed to have zapped all of his strength.
For a while he was just laying there, breathing, sorting his thoughts in his mind. Finally he turned his head to have a clear view of Dean. “I wish that what my father told me isn’t true. That he made it up to cope with… her passing. But I’m afraid to know what really happened IF he made it up. I’m afraid of him, and I hate being afraid of him. But that is the reason I can’t remain here.”

Dean looked at Sam from unfathomable eyes for a long time before he replied, "You haven't actually believed for a while that a dragon killed your mother, have you? And when you finally got to see one for yourself, you realized that a dragon is huge and can never enter a house and kill someone unnoticed. He would destroy the house. And the whole village would have noticed something like that. But if it wasn't a dragon, then there's only one person left who could have done it. And you're afraid to say it out loud. You're afraid of what he might do to you if you do."
Dean sat up and his voice became insistent, "Sam, he can never hurt you again. I promise you that."
Sam listened to every word Dean said, soaked them up greedily. It was beyond him how Dean knew all his thoughts. It was probably their bond that was responsible. “I know that,” he whispered. “You promised me. But it’s not easy to banish those fears that I've had for… forever. That I couldn’t ever mention to anyone. I can’t wrap my mind around why he would do that, why he would tell me what he told me. And make me live in fear.” Sam sat up again, still shivering a little. “So, you understand why I don’t want to stay here?”
Dean nodded, "I understand that."
That was all he said. He didn't know what else to say. He couldn't promise Sam that he would take him home, because Sam was human. But he also couldn't allow Sam to continue living under the same roof as his mother's murderer. Not even when it was his own father, who obviously didn't shy away from hurting his own child. The long, badly healed scar on Sam's ribs proved that.
But Dean didn't yet know how to solve this dilemma. So he kept quiet and instead of saying anything else, he reached out to Sam to take him gently in his arms and give him comfort, at least for a while.
Sam let himself sink into Dean’s arms, relishing the comfort. It was something new to him but felt so natural. He felt safe. Dean’s warmth quickly suppressed his shivers and Sam breathed deeply because the way Dean smelled was even increasing the comfort he felt. “This feels good,” Sam sighed and closed his eyes as he leaned heavier into Dean’s hug.

Dean closed his eyes and concentrated on not thinking about anything so that Sam could continue to relax.
After a while, however, they were interrupted when there was a knock and Rowen entered. He cleared his throat sheepishly when he found the two of them huddled together and said, "Do you want to come to dinner or not?"
"We're coming." Dean replied quietly and sat up.

Sam had completely forgotten that Rowen and Jonas were waiting for them and blushed a little. “Sorry,” he mumbled and got himself up to follow Dean outside where Jonas and Rowen were waiting at the table. Jonas was looking at them curiously and Rowen was trying to hide a smile behind his hands. “I’m sorry we took so long to join you. There were things we needed to talk about and I for my part forgot all about the food. So, I apologize,” Sam said as he took his seat. “It smells delicious,” he then remarked as he drew in a breath.
Dean sat down and thanked him for the food and waited for Jonas to start before shoving the first forkful of roast into his mouth himself. He sighed as he ate. Human food was really very tasty and he couldn't get enough of it. But since his stomach could hold much less when he was in his human form, he ate slowly and enjoyed it much more.
Sam also ate the roast, even though he felt more tired than hungry. It was delicious, as were the roasted potatoes and the garden salad that Rowen had made from freshly picked produce. “I don’t know how I can repay you both for taking care of me and feeding us like that,” he finally said to Jonas. “I know it’s what you do, since you’re a healer, but I still feel very much in debt. And not just to you both, but to Dean as well.”
He looked at Dean and smiled. “Would you like some more of the roast? That slice you had was just too small to make sure you’re getting all the energy you need.” He had a sip of water before reaching for another slice for himself as well.
Dean nodded. It was obvious to everyone at the table that Dean tasted everything, but nothing more. The only thing he actually ate seemed to be meat. And he ate it with obvious relish.
When he had finally eaten three slices of roast, he looked up at Jonas and said "I thank you for your hospitality. Not everyone would be so welcoming and hospitable to a complete stranger. I will show my appreciation when we leave. I promise."
Jonas looked at the handsome young man and, strangely enough, believed every word he said. Dean would thank him and compensate him for the kindness shown to him. Jonas smiled at Sam and Dean "First Sam will get better. And everything else can wait."
“I’m already better,” Sam replied. “Thanks to the three of you. It’s just that arm that needs a little longer, I think.” He looked at his injured limb and hoped it would be at least usable by the time his father was back. “Can I do anything to help clearing up?” he finally asked since everyone had finished and he didn’t want to seem like someone who just took without giving anything.
"Nah," Jonas shook his head. "Dean can help clear the dishes and Rowen and I can do the rest. Seems to me you two have a thing or two to talk about. Sam, you have a good night and Dean, if you could just put the plates in the sink, that would be very helpful."
Dean got up and did as he was told, then wished a good night too and followed Sam back to their shared bedroom.

It took Sam some willpower to not immediately settle on the bed. Instead, he waited until Dean had closed the door and then smiled. “You know something?” he asked. “You’re even less of a fan of sides than I am, but the way you relish that meat? Like you haven’t had any in weeks. Jonas is a wonderful cook, but I’m not half bad. I promise that when my arm is working fine again, I’ll cook for you. To show my gratitude.”
Dean blinked. Had Sam... had Sam just offered to bring him a meal? Dean blinked again. No. He must have meant something completely different. Or not? Sam couldn't possibly know that among dragons, the offering of a meal was usually done by the female dragon when she chose her mate.
Sam was not a dragon. So he couldn't have meant it like that. Dean sighed. Too bad. He said quietly, "That would be nice. Even if you don't have to do it."

Sam blinked his eyes. “I know I don’t have to. But I want to. I like cooking. I’ve been doing it for years. My father didn’t often bother to cook. It was bread and whatever on it. Or maybe a soup. So I taught myself to cook. I was watching old Mairwen when she made her famous meals. I swear it will be edible.” Sam had felt a fleeting sensation that felt a little like disappointment when Dean had spoken, but he shook it off, because he had to be imagining it. Still, he’d felt the need to explain himself. “Do you like cooking?” he then asked.
Dean looked at Sam with wide green eyes, whose expression remained a mystery, and shook his head slowly. "No. I can't cook. At least... not well. I tend to char everything." Dean admitted truthfully.
The strangely queasy feeling in his stomach remained. Why did it suddenly matter whether Sam offered him a meal or just wanted to show his gratitude? Dean rubbed his cheek, lost in thought. Sam began to mean something to him that had nothing to do with the bond between the pure heart and its protector. And that confused him deeply.
“I can teach you. If you want to, of course.” If Sam was surprised that Dean couldn’t cook, he didn’t show it. It would be enough if one of them could cook.
Sam startled when he finished that thought. Was he already imagining living with Dean? He’d never even thought about a relationship with another man, but he was already picturing living with Dean, who was basically still a stranger to him. At the same time, Sam realized that Dean was anything but a stranger, but he had no idea why. Probably because of that bond.

Dean looked up "Huh? Oh. Yeah, maybe," he replied absentmindedly and then said, "I'm going to the bathroom to freshen up." He did as he said he would, brushed his teeth, relieved his bladder, and washed himself. He then returned to the shared bedroom. He began to undress in front of Sam, without thinking about the fact that humans usually went into another room to do so. When he was standing there in just his underpants, he looked for the clothes he needed to sleep in. He got into his pants and finally put on his shirt, then sat down on his bed and looked back at Sam, who was staring at him open-mouthed.
Dean smiled nervously. "Everything okay?" he asked quietly.

Sam had waited for Dean to finish in the bathroom, but when he’d been about to get up and occupy the bathroom after he’d left it, he’d been rooted to the spot. Dean had started to get undressed right in front of his nose, and after all their kissing, Sam had been spellbound right away. Was Dean trying to tease him? Sam licked his lips and tried to will himself to move, but his eyes stayed glued to Dean’s body. Bit by bit, he got to see more and more skin, and he swallowed hard. Dean was gorgeous.
Well-defined muscles covered by velvety-looking skin with a splatter of freckles in some spots made Sam’s knees feel weak, and when Dean asked if everything was okay, Sam blinked and realized that Dean had already dressed again. Lifting his eyes, Sam dug his teeth into his lip for a second. “I’m okay. I… you’re gorgeous,” he rasped. It wasn’t like Sam usually looked at semi-naked men, but he knew that Dean was the most beautiful man he’d ever seen. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. I’m just… I want to kiss you again.” Sam’s final words were just loud enough for Dean to hear them, and his eyes were locked on Dean’s like they were bound by a spell.
"Oh. I... thank you?" Dean replied to the compliment. It felt strange to hear a man say that, and at the same time, it was... nice.
And then Sam said he wanted to kiss him again.
Dean stared at Sam and swallowed hard. His body immediately reacted with goose bumps and shivers. "I think... I believe... I... it's okay, I guess," he finally breathed.
Sam’s eyes grew a little bigger, and he stepped up to Dean. Very slowly, he moved in to capture Dean’s lips, shivering when they finally touched. With great care, he kissed the other man and then moved back a little once more. “Your lips feel magical, and I love the way you taste. I never felt like this before, but… I just can’t seem to get enough of you. Just let me know if this isn’t what you want.” Sam waited another second and then claimed Dean’s lips again, his kiss now deeper and with more power as he was struggling to keep himself under control.
Dean let out a soft, surprised moan as Sam kissed him. Although Sam had announced the kiss, it was still surprising to Dean how carefully and gently Sam kissed him first before kissing him a second time with such intensity that Dean instinctively let himself sink backwards onto the bed he was sitting on.
He put both hands to Sam's face and kissed him back without holding anything back.
Sam was barely aware of Dean sinking to the bed and taking him along because his mind was drunk on the kiss. His whole body was tingling as they kissed like their life depended on it, like the kiss was all that kept them alive. Even his arm was forgotten because Dean’s taste, the way he smelled, and the things his tongue did with him overrode any other sensation. And then Sam instinctively rocked his hips against Dean’s, causing him to groan because it felt so good and at the same time like it wasn’t even close to enough.
Dean's whole body seemed to be on fire as Sam rocked his hips against his. Dean shuddered and his body stiffened, so much so that he had to hold himself back from turning Sam onto his stomach and taking him on the spot. Something was stopping him, making him react much more gently than his dragon was used to.
His hands dropped to Sam's hips and held him, carefully rocking him at the right angle and in a smoother rhythm against Dean's hips. He kissed Sam, bit his lips delicately, and breathed, "Careful. Don't rush it."
Sam shuddered at the connection and feeling Dean’s hands on his hips, basically guiding him. “I’m trying,” he gasped because the sweet sting of Dean’s bite only made him want more. More kisses, more touches, and… more of Dean. Everything of Dean.
Redirecting his focus, Sam managed to slow his kisses and take in more of Dean at the same time until he finally managed to lift his head a little. “What’s happening, Dean? I feel like I can’t get enough of you, like the more I get, the more I want.”
Dean looked up at Sam, his pupils so huge that his eyes seemed almost black, and only a thin green ring of his iris was visible. He shook his head. His lips were deep red and slick as he replied, "I don't know. Whatever happens here, it happens to both of us. And whatever you want, you can have." That was exactly how he felt. And apparently, Sam felt the same way. That's why Dean saw no problem in giving in to these feelings. It didn't feel wrong, on the contrary. Nothing had ever felt so right before.

“Whatever I want?” Sam repeated slowly. Like he had to say it to believe it. “I… I want you, Dean. I want to be with you and in any way that I can, and I have no idea how to… to do it.” He brought up his hand and let his fingers rub tenderly along Dean’s lips and then along his neck. Once he reached the hem of his t-shirt, he pushed his fingers underneath and shivered as he felt Dean’s warm, soft skin and the muscles rippling underneath it. “Can you take off that shirt?” he asked with bated breath.
"That's okay. I know how to do it," Dean replied. At Sam's request, he sat up and took his shirt off again. He shivered, but not because he was cold.
"I mean it when I say you can have what you want. But I think we should still be careful and take things slowly. You're still hurt." But even as he said that, he pulled Sam closer once more and kissed him again.
“Hmmm,” Sam moaned because whatever he wanted to say got lost in the kiss. His good arm wrapped around Dean’s torso, and he let his hand roam all over his back. “You feel amazing,” he whispered when he had to take a breath and rested his forehead against Dean’s. “I know I’m still hurt. That’s why I think maybe you can decide what we do. You’re the one who treated me, you know what should be okay and what shouldn't. And… you said you know how to do it.” Sam smiled a little, knowing that Dean couldn’t see it. But he also knew that Dean was aware he was smiling. His fingers came to rest on the small of Dean’s back, and after a few moments of hesitation, he let his fingertips slip underneath the waistband of Dean’s underwear.
Dean shuddered again under Sam's touch. It was not the first time he had made out in his human body, and he had also had already sex in human form. But never with a man. Never with someone who got under his skin as much as Sam. And as if all that wasn't enough to be completely messed up, it had never been with someone who unknowingly bound himself to him by ancient magic.
Dean swallowed and then nodded slowly. "I think as long as we're careful, everything is okay. I mean anything but actually doing it. I think that should wait until your arm has healed. And besides, I'd really rather be undisturbed than we are here." As he spoke, he slowly sank back onto the mattress with Sam.

When they came to rest on the pillows, Sam just watched Dean for a few moments, eyes huge. “I share your sentiment about being somewhere more undisturbed. I’m just afraid that by the time my arm is healed, we won’t be undisturbed in my home as well. But for now, I just want to be with you, kiss you, feel you.” To underline his words, Sam let his fingers scratch over Dean’s skin again. “You know what amazes me? Somehow, your skin feels so different when I compare it with that of the girls I’ve been with. It’s not like it’s rough, it’s just different. And I like that.” He kissed Dean again, slowly, but with growing passion. His tongue explored every part of Dean’s mouth, and he shifted his hips to feel more of his body.
"When the time comes, we'll find a solution. You don't have to go back to him, Sam. I don't know how yet, but I'll find a way. And that includes privacy," he replied breathlessly between kisses. His hands had come to rest on Sam's hips again, but now he slid them under Sam's shirt and slowly stroked up his spine to Sam's shoulders. He pulled him closer and allowed Sam to roll his hips against him.
Every inch of skin that Dean was touching on his back felt like it was on fire, and Sam shivered as he pressed himself closer to Dean. “Help me take off my shirt?” he whispered against Dean’s skin and then stole a quick kiss. “Want to feel you like that.” While he spoke, his hips were gently rolling against Dean’s, and Sam knew Dean could feel his excitement without much trouble. But he didn’t care. Dean had said it was all right.
"Yeah," Dean breathed, pushing Sam's shirt up so that he could carefully pull it off without affecting Sam's injured arm.
Then he let himself fall back into the pillows and looked at Sam again out of wide eyes that seemed to burn with a dark green fire.
"What now?" he asked, leaving Sam to decide which way he wanted to feel him, deliberately holding back so as not to startle Sam.

Sam sank against Dean’s skin, consciously measuring his breathing because his heart was threatening to jump out of his chest from excitement. He breathed a few times, contemplating Dean’s question. What now? He wanted everything, but it did scare him in a way. And of course, everything was out of the question today. He wasn’t even certain getting completely naked was advisable because Rowen or Jonas could show up at any moment. But he knew he wanted more. Needed more.
“I want to feel you,” he whispered, hoping Dean would know what he meant. To make sure he couldn’t misunderstand, his fingers pushed inside Dean’s underwear once more and stopped just above his loins, lingering there like an unspoken question.
Now it was Dean's heart that almost jumped out of his chest as Sam's finger slipped down the front of his underpants.
But Dean took a deep breath, forced himself to calm down, and reached out for Sam, only to put his hands to his face and pull him closer to kiss him. He nibbled gently on Sam's lower lip and whispered, "You're touching me. You feel me. Am I rejecting you? No, am I?"
“No,” Sam breathed, lips still parted to give Dean a chance to continue nibbling on them. There was something about that that made Sam feel all gooey inside. Taking courage from Dean’s words, Sam carefully pushed his fingers further down, just until the tips bumped against the base of Dean’s cock. Sam gasped and held his breath. For the first time, he felt another man there. It was strangely familiar and yet absolutely foreign, but above everything, it felt exhilarating.

Dean held still, even though he had to summon all his willpower not to flinch. Sam would certainly misinterpret that, and Dean definitely didn't want that. But the tender way Sam touched him tickled. In his human form, Dean was actually ticklish in a few places on his body. Sam had just found another one. "It's okay," he encouraged Sam in a low voice when he sensed his uncertainty and looked at him with clear, green eyes.
Sam’s eyes flickered with desire, and he gently pressed his lips against Dean’s before becoming a bit bolder. His touch became firmer, and he let his fingers travel all along the length of Dean’s shaft, keeping a certain pressure that he knew he liked on himself.
Dean’s cock felt just like his own and on the other hand, completely different and Sam began to explore every inch of it. He changed the pressure and his grip, gave it a few squeezes and a little jerk. And then his lips began moving over Dean’s as he synced his hand movements with them. His grip became firmer as he kissed Dean more intensely and relaxed to a light touch when his lips barely touched Dean’s.
Dean sucked in his breath sharply and shuddered violently as Sam's fingers wrapped around his shaft.
Sam's hand was larger than the dragoness’, whose human form had been as delicate and small as her dragon form, and the feeling was like nothing else. Holding still became more and more difficult as Sam found his rhythm and Dean channeled his dragon nature to let Sam explore what he wanted.

Finally Sam held Dean’s cock in a gentle but firm grip and leaned back a little to look at those flaming green eyes. “You feel so much better than I could ever imagine,” he said with an enamored smile. “So… do you, do you want to touch me as well?”
Sam wasn’t sure he would survive such a touch, but he knew he needed to feel it. To feel Dean on him.
"I thought you'd never ask," Dean teased him, grinning crookedly. "But I think you'd better let go of me. And just focus on you." He was pretty sure Sam would be less in control than he was, and then he didn't want his cock to be in that big hand and possibly bruised with excitement.
Sam blinked his eyes and then slowly released Dean’s cock, like he was afraid he wouldn’t get that opportunity again. “Focus on me?” he asked. He never really just focused on himself. He had heard that girls think of it as selfish, and regarding other things besides sex, he had learned that focusing on other things was expected. Especially from people like his father. “I’ll try that,” he then added and licked his lips. He had no idea what to expect because when he’d been with a girl, it had been a simultaneous caressing or all about the actual sex.

Dean looked at Sam for a moment with a mischievous grin and then went down on him.
In that instant, Dean didn't think about the fact that he'd never done this before, or that he'd never had the desire to have sex with another man before, nope. At that point, all he could think about was that he wanted to show Sam that there was someone who cared about him and wanted to give him this experience without expecting anything in return.
He took Sam's cock in his hand and closed his lips around the glans a second later.
Then, without thinking about it, he swallowed Sam deeper into his throat. It took him two tries before he could relax his larynx enough for Sam to slide deeper. Then Dean found a slow erotic rhythm and held Sam's hips pressed firmly to the mattress with his free hand, using his superior physical strength to keep Sam from accidentally choking him.
For a second, Sam was a little flustered. He didn’t know what to make of Dean’s grin, and when Dean then went down on him without further warning, Sam grunted in surprise. He’d thought Dean would do what he’d done. He’d never expected that Dean’s first contact with his cock would be his lips around his glans. Sam groaned again, and his muscles stiffened as he tried not to jump out of his skin. Dean’s lips felt velvety but Sam couldn’t think about it further because Dean just continued and sucked him down, making Sam shiver with the effort to hold still. His hands dug into the sheets for support because the warm, wet heat of Dean’s mouth felt out of this world. Sweat was collecting on Sam’s forehead, and he panted, keeping his eyes glued to the sight of getting his first blow job. He’d done almost everything with the girls, but neither of them had been willing to give head, and Sam hadn’t forced the issue.
“Fuck,” he grunted, a sound that came from deep within and was testimony to Dean’s efforts taking away his ability to think. That hot, velvety sensation, paired with the way Dean took more and more of his cock down his throat, blew Sam’s mind and his hips rocked forward. It took Sam a second to realize Dean had him pinned down, but he couldn’t focus on anything like that because the way Dean sucked him, he was getting dangerously close to ending what he’d only just started.
“Dean,” Sam managed to croak, legs tensing with the effort to keep control over his body, even when he wanted nothing more than just to lose that control.
Dean could feel what this was doing to Sam, and he could clearly feel how much power and control he had over Sam's body and his pleasure. He enjoyed that his lips and tongue were making Sam tremble all over and that he was the reason Sam was moaning and writhing under his grip.
But then he realized how close to the edge Sam was already and with a wet plop he let Sam's cock fall from his lips and straightened up.
Grinning, he looked down at the young hunter, "I didn't say focus on yourself for nothing."

It took Sam a while to get his act together, to make sure that he wouldn’t just tumble over the edge by remembering how Dean’s mouth had felt. “What?” he finally panted, and his hands twitched as he was playing with the thought of trying to make sure he didn’t come prematurely. But then he feared that the touch would do just that. “Were you tryin’ to kill me?” he then added and smiled at Dean. “Didn’t expect that. You could’ve warned me… more clearly, I mean.”
"But that would only have been half as much fun for me. After all, your reaction was exactly what I was after." Dean grinned broadly.
He blew slowly and coolly on Sam's erection and then licked a wide stripe from his balls up over his shaft to the angry red-looking glans.
"Should I have given a warning here first, too?" he asked, giving Sam an innocent look.
Sam shuddered violently and held his breath. Then, when he was sure Dean gave him a moment, he released his breath noisily. “Yeah,” he rasped. “If you keep that up, I may not be able to give you a warning when it’s due. I never thought this would feel almost better than anything I’ve done. But if you do that sucking thing again, I might just lose my soul.” He licked his lips and gave Dean a crooked smile.
Dean looked down at Sam's erection thoughtfully for a moment and then back up at Sam before saying sincerely, "Honestly, I've never done this to anyone before. I don't know if I can manage it so that it feels good. I don't know if I can handle it. I...," he paused and his gaze sank deep into Sam's, "is that what you want?"
Sam blinked his eyes. “You know, this is a first for me as well. All of this. And… I don’t want you to do something just because you think I want it, but you don’t feel it. I… I hope this is not the only time we’re going to be doing things like this, so we don’t have to do advanced things today.” He smiled and reached out with his good hand to gently pull Dean down to him. “I want to kiss you… and maybe feel your hand on my cock. How does that sound to you?”
"Mmmmh," Dean hummed softly, "kissing sounds very good and I'm certainly not going to say no to that." He let Sam pull him closer and placed his lips gently on Sam's. A second later, his tongue was engaged in a tantalizing dance with Sam's tongue. He reached between their bodies, grasped both of their cocks with his hand and squeezed gently before slowly sliding his fingers up and down their shafts.

Sam had just closed his eyes when Dean began kissing him when he felt Dean squeeze their cocks together and he gasped as his eyes flew open. He’d never felt anything like that before, and the sensation caused his whole body to develop goosebumps. “Heavens,” he panted, trembling hard. “I… I’m not dreaming, am I? You feel incredible.”
"You seem pretty awake to me," Dean replied between kisses. And because he knew what Sam meant, he added, "I only have one hand free, so I had to somehow make it feel good for both of us," and to emphasize his words, he let his hand stroke along both of their erections with more pressure, simultaneously thrusting upward into his hand as he moved it back down.
Sam nodded and smiled. Yes, he was awake, but it still felt like a dream. Better than a dream, even. He tried to concentrate on breathing so he wouldn’t get too close like he had when Dean had taken him down his throat. When he had some type of grip on himself, Sam let his good hand find its way to Dean’s back, slowly letting his fingers trail down until they rested on his buttocks. For a moment, Sam let his fingernails scratch over the heated skin, then he squeezed them possessively. “Dean? I want more. It’s most likely the best experience ever, and I want more.” He looked at Dean with sparkling eyes.
Dean groaned softly as Sam's hand caressed his skin and his nails gently scratched over it. He shivered. He kissed along Sam's jawline up to his ear, and suddenly, Sam said he wanted more.
Dean raised his head. "More? What... what do you mean by more?" Hadn't they agreed that 'more' would have to wait until Sam's arm had healed and they had more privacy?

“I…,” Sam started, pondering. “It feels amazing, but I need a little more to… you know?” He could feel his body needed release, but he didn’t want to ask for it explicitly. He didn’t want Dean to think it was just about getting off.
“What you’re doing to me… your touch, it’s making it hard for me to stay calm. It just feels so right, being with you. It’s magical. And I can’t wait to see how it is when you’re the one who… pushes me over the edge.”
He looked at Dean hopefully, wishing that Dean would understand what he was asking for.
"Oh," Dean breathed a sigh of relief. "I thought you meant..." he shook his head, a little embarrassed that he had assumed otherwise. And then he looked at Sam silently, his green eyes flickering. "No problem. We'll bring this to a pleasurable conclusion for both of us." He tightened the grip of his hand around their cocks and then began to jerk them both off in an intense rhythm designed to push first Sam and then himself over the edge. "Just let go and don't hold back. It's okay." Dean murmured into Sam's ear and nibbled gently on his earlobe.
Sam gasped when Dean gripped them a bit harder. That sensation alone made his erection throb pleasantly and sent a shiver down his spine. When Dean began nibbling on his earlobe, Sam’s gasp turned into a moan. Nobody had done that to him so far, and it made his body tingle all over.
“Ohhh,” he moaned softly, legs tensing again. Dean’s rhythm on their cocks was wonderful, just the right pressure and speed and it didn’t take Sam long to feel his body tensing in expectation. It was like he was on fire, and when Dean’s thumb brushed over his precum-slick glans, Sam shuddered hard as he tried to stifle a groan. Of course his reaction wasn’t lost on Dean and when he repeated the move, Sam snapped his hips forward, right into Dean pumping their cocks. His body grew stiff, and his mouth opened in a silent scream before Sam’s body shook violently as his climax hit, and he exploded hot and hard between them. He felt dizzy from the strength of his orgasm and gulped in the air while his foot had dug into Dean’s skin, searching for anything to hold on to.
Feeling Sam climax was something Dean found highly erotic, something he'd never thought possible since he just wasn't into men. But what actually aroused him more than anything, and was ultimately the catalyst for his own orgasm, was the fact that he was the reason Sam was shaking and shuddering in his arms and had just experienced a very intense climax.
Dean threw his head back and groaned softly as his body stiffened, and then he erupted hot and heavy. He worked their cocks until Sam whimpered softly because he was overstimulated and he himself shook with violent aftershocks.

Despite his spinning mind, Sam could hear and feel Dean following him into ecstasy, and he blinked his eyes open because he didn’t want to miss the view. Dean was even more stunning in climax and Sam watched as his cock, just like his own, kept pumping out his cum. The sight actually made his cock throb once more, spilling the last bit of cum he had in him. “Fuck… ’s was beau..tiful,” Sam slurred, feeling a little lightheaded still. “You…’re stunnin’ when you… cum.” He licked his lips. “Never came this hard before.”

Dean just nodded. He was not yet able to formulate coherent sentences again. His orgasm had been similarly hard and, above all, very intense. Not just on a purely physical level, but on a spiritual level. He had the feeling that something was different between him and Sam. He didn't know exactly what. But now he felt even closer to Sam and even more connected than before. And that was something... good.

When Sam had gathered his wits again, he realized that this hadn’t just been making out with someone he found hot. It had been so much more than he’d ever experienced, and he felt that their connection had somehow deepened again. Not that he could explain why. It was a gut feeling.
Turning, Sam looked at Dean, who was lying still but for his heaving chest. He turned towards him as best as he could with his damaged arm and slung his leg across Dean’s thighs. “I know we’re not officially a couple and that this was a first-time experience for both of us, but… I loved it,” he whispered and placed a tender kiss on the corner of Dean’s lips. "And I think I love you," Sam added in what he thought was his mind, smiling as he rested his head on Dean's shoulder. He wished he could say those three words out loud to Dean, unaware that he had just done so, but he didn't want to scare the other man.
Dean froze. Sam loved him? As in... he's in love with him? And what had Sam said, they weren't actually officially a couple, but the way he said it, Dean had the feeling that Sam definitely saw them as a couple.
His ears were suddenly ringing deafeningly, and he felt like he couldn't breathe.
Dean sat up abruptly and coughed violently, gasping for air and shaking as the cough slowly subsided. "Sorry," he murmured softly, "I kind of choked."
He looked Sam in the eye and replied slowly, "I don't know what happened between us, but I feel like I've gotten closer to you, and not just physically. And it feels good. But it's also confusing. At least that's what it is for me. How do you feel?" He hoped that Sam would explain himself and that his words would then appear in a different light. Because love was a big word. A damn big word.

When Dean coughed, Sam looked at him worriedly for a moment until he breathed normally again. “I know what you mean,” Sam replied quietly. “I felt close to you the moment I laid eyes on you when you came to check on me. And that feeling has deepened ever since. With everything that we do, it becomes stronger and… it feels good for me, too. I have had a few girlfriends, and twice I thought they were the ones I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. But… what I feel for you it’s deeper than what I felt for them. I can’t really explain it, and like you, I’m a little confused. I always thought that to love someone, you had to know them for a long time. But… I think what I feel is that I love you. That I’m in love with you. And I hope that it doesn’t scare you away.” He looked at Dean with big, soulful eyes that told Dean that Sam’s words were not just words. That he meant them. That he meant him.
Dean listened and remained silent. He had to process what he had just heard.
Sam loved him.
Dean could feel it. Warm and soft and safe, this feeling spread through his chest. The feeling of being loved.
"That's crazy," he whispered, combing his fingers through his hair. "How can you fall in love with someone you've only just met, someone you don't even know yet. And still... I can feel it too. I don't know if it's love, I've never been in love. But I know I've never felt anything anywhere near as intense as what I feel for you." He took a deep breath, and his hands shook visibly as he combed his fingers through his hair again.
He was a dragon. A dragon was not allowed to fall in love with a human. What would his father say? And how would Sam react when he found out?
Dean looked at the young hunter, and fear flickered in his green eyes. Fear of being rejected for who he was.
Quietly, he asked Sam, "Would you still love me if you found out I wasn't what you expected?"

Sam’s eyes had been glued to Dean’s lips when he talked, and when Dean said that he never felt anything like that with anyone else, he’d lifted his gaze to Dean’s eyes and smiled broadly. What Dean said next brought a little frown to Sam’s face. “What exactly do you mean, if I found out you aren’t what I expected? I… I don’t expect anything. I just met you because you saved my life, and because you did that, I expected you to be a nice guy. And you are that and so much more. So how can you not be what I expect?”
Dean realized that it was too early to reveal himself to Sam. For although he developed deep feelings for the young man, he didn't really know him. And he knew that his father was right when he forbade him to reveal his true nature. Regardless of whether he was in love or not.
Dean shook his head. "It's okay. I think I'm worrying too much and worrying about nothing."
Sam looked at Dean for a few long moments and then nodded. There seemed to be something on Dean’s mind, but he wasn’t ready to tell him. That was okay. Sam felt it wouldn’t be something that bothered him, because what could it be? They were both young men, so they were not too dissimilar. “All right,” he finally said, and then looked down between them. “I think we need to do something about this mess, and I think I will need your help.”
Dean nodded, "Yeah, we should definitely clean up this mess. And somehow change the dirty sheet without it being too obvious what we've just done here." He stood up and used one end of the sheet to clean himself up provisionally, then quickly put something on and finally helped Sam do the same. He took the sheet and crumpled it up before accompanying Sam to the bathroom.
There he washed himself thoroughly and helped Sam with the things he couldn't manage himself, and when they were finally finished, he rinsed the sheet and then smuggled it into the basket of dirty laundry.
Back in the bedroom, he changed the sheets and looked Sam in the eye. "What now? Do you... Do you want me to go to my bed? And would you like to... talk for a while?"

Sam felt somewhat refreshed after washing, especially since Dean had helped him clean up. After Dean made the bed so it looked and smelled nice and clean, he settled on the edge and sought out the other man’s eyes. “Do I want you to go to your bed? No. But I wonder what would happen if Jonas or Rowen checked in. Would it bother you if they found us in the same bed? And would I like to talk for a bit? Most definitely. I still don’t know enough about you, and I’m sure you want to know more about me as well.” His eyes told Dean how much he wanted him to stay with him, to share a bed. But he was unsure about the consequences if they got caught. And he didn’t want to decide if they wanted to take the risk alone.
Dean's answer came immediately and without hesitation. "I have no problem with Jonas seeing us sleeping in the same bed. But nobody knows me here anyway. So I don't care what people say. If you want me... you want us to be this close, that's fine with me." He looked at Sam for a while and finally joined him on the bed. "Scoot over," he murmured and then got under the covers with Sam. He lay in silence next to Sam for a while, then crossed his arms behind his head and stared at the ceiling. "Do you feel different now that we've...?" he suddenly asked quietly.

Sam’s heart was racing when Dean announced he had no fear of being seen in bed with him. It filled Sam’s heart with a longing he’d never felt before.
The moment Dean made himself comfortable in bed next to him, Sam instinctively settled beside him, making sure a part of his body connected to Dean’s. In this case, it was his good arm being pressed against Dean’s. “I’m glad you feel fine about that,” Sam whispered. “I feel fine about it as well. I just don’t have a clue how people will see it. I haven’t experienced a reaction to that, yet.” He turned his head a little so that it rested against Dean’s arm. “And… feel different how? I feel happy. Relaxed and excited. Maybe a little worried since I don’t know how everyone will accept it, but… it was the best experience I’ve ever had with anyone else. And I really felt it. All of it.” He moved so he could look at Dean. “Do you feel any different?”

Dean thought about it. Did he feel different? "Yeah. I feel different. Changed. Something has happened to me, I don't know exactly what it is, I don't know how to describe it, but I have the feeling that it's something good. But this change already happened when you bound me to you, the moment you made me your protector. I just didn't realize it until now." Dean turned his head and looked down at Sam. The moonlight gave his green eyes a mysterious expression.
"You're happy?" he asked quietly.
Sam nodded with a smile. “I am. Right now I’m very happy. I may not understand how this binding happened and what it means, because I never knew something like that existed, but I feel… I feel something for you, a connection that I never had with anyone else. So, I’m beginning to grasp what it means, that it is something good and that I want more of it. I like you. And I feel something more for you than friendship. I may not know how it will be received here, but I know I want it.”
Dean had noticed that Sam was now saying 'I like you' instead of 'I love you', but he kept quiet. It had probably been the heat of the moment that had made Sam say such big words. And he shouldn't attach any importance to it. But it had felt good and right. And it hurt that Sam now seemed to be rowing back. But Dean didn't let on. After all, Sam said he was happy and that he wanted whatever happened between them. Dean realized at that moment that he would take what he could get, no matter how little that might be.
He took a deep breath and then said quietly, "Maybe not everyone needs to know right away. As long as we don't know what's going on between us, it's nobody's business."

Sam could feel Dean’s breath as he was touching his body and rolled a bit more towards Dean. He placed his leg across Dean’s lap and let his injured arm rest on Dean’s chest.
“Yeah. It’s our business. And it’s all new still. Dean, when you think I’m healed enough to travel a little, can we find a spot somewhere… where we can be alone, to find out all that is going on between us? Could that be done in your village?” He wondered how Dean’s village was, whether there was any privacy there. Sam felt attracted to Dean. Maybe too much already. But he couldn’t resist it. He needed to find out, though, how deep his feelings were going and whether or not they were mainly romantic or natural or both. “This… business between us, it’s all new to me. I… we… you said I chose you, right? I need to find out how I chose you. I know I didn’t think about anything in that line. Maybe my soul felt you. And chose you? But… whatever it is, I don’t think I ever want to change it.” Sam’s fingers drew little patterns on Dean’s chest. “It’s crazy. I’ve only known you for a few days, and I can already not imagine being without you. And that… that is something that tells me that what I feel is more than just… mere friendship. My heart is singing when I’m this close to you. Can you feel that?”
Sam pressed his torso a bit tighter against Dean’s. “Can you hear what my heart is saying?” He closed his eyes and listened.
I like you. I love you. I belong to you. I like you. I love you. I belong to you.
“Can you feel it?” he repeated and then mumbled the words. “I like you. I love you. I belong to you. Dean, I never thought I’d ever feel that I belonged to anyone. But with you, that feeling of love and belonging, it’s coming so naturally.”
Dean couldn't suppress a shiver when Sam spoke. He looked at him wide-eyed and breathed softly, "I don't know if this is love I'm feeling, I've never been in love at all. But I know I've never felt anything like this for anyone else before. And since I am bound to you, you belong to me as much as I belong to you. Whatever that means."
He didn't know if he and Sam were bound together by ancient magic or if it was love that drew them to each other. But he knew he would never let Sam go.

“I think we need to find out what it means,” Sam replied. “But I don’t know if it can be done here. Jonas is a healer. He will hover around all the time because it’s his job, and he worries. And Rowen? He’s a kid. And I think you’re his hero.”
Sam chuckled. “You’re my hero already, because you saved me. And you told me about dragons.” Sam paused for a moment because it made him think again of the story his father had told him all his life. “I think I would like to meet a dragon at some point, so I can find out firsthand if my father… tried to frame them. Dean, am I a bad son for questioning his words?” He shivered slightly.
"No. You're not a bad son. It's more like he's a bad father if you doubt his word," Dean replied without hesitation. And then he added quietly and seriously, "You mustn't talk about the dragons, Sam. With no one. You gave me your word."

Sam lifted his head and looked straight at Dean. “I don’t want to talk with anyone about the dragons. Besides you. I want to talk TO a dra… can they talk? I mean, their mouths aren’t like ours, are they?” He licked his lips as he took in what else Dean had said. “He’s been all the family I had, Dean. Of course, I believe… believed his words. I just don’t know why he would tell me, if it wasn’t… true. Because that would mean… it would mean that he…” Sam trailed off. He couldn’t say it out loud. He didn’t want it to be true that his father had been lying to him his whole life.
Sam nodded. “The worst is, I want to believe him. But I know it’s a lie. And if it’s a lie, then that means that he…” Sam breathed deeply a few times. “What did she do that made him so mad that he’d do that to her?” he whispered. “And if he can do that to her… he won’t stop at me.” Sam once again rested his head on Dean’s chest as he tried to push these thoughts out of his mind. After a few moments, Sam turned to be able to look at Dean again. “They can speak? That’s good. Then I can talk to them if I ever get to see them. One. Maybe.”
"I don't know why he did that. And I don't know why he would tell such a lie. But I know for a fact that he'll never lay a hand on you again. I promise, Sam." Dean replied seriously. And then said quietly, "Yeah. Maybe one."

Sam was lying still, listening to Dean’s heartbeat as he tried to sort through his emotions.
His father had always been strict and demanding. If Sam managed to receive praise, it was usually when he’d done something physical, like splitting wood, or won in the annual combat tournament against someone older. Or bigger. Which had been years ago because Sam had grown fairly tall. But Sam couldn’t remember any kind of comfort when he lost or when he was sad or hurt. He’d always been left to his own devices.
“I know you’ll keep me safe,” he finally replied. “And it’s weird that I can believe that without a doubt, because… it’s new to me. And I hardly know you. But as I said before, it feels like I’ve known you for years.” Reluctantly, Sam lifted his head from Dean’s chest to look him in the eye. “I wish I had met you years ago already,” he said softly.
"Yeah," Dean breathed. Maybe he would have been able to protect Sam much sooner. Maybe Sam would have fewer scars. Dean took his arms from behind his head and then carefully wrapped one around Sam. "We've met now. And I think the universe knows what it's doing and has brought us together at the right time. I'm here and I'm not leaving without you." Dean had no idea how he was going to do that, but he knew he couldn't leave Sam behind.
Sam smiled and leaned into Dean’s arms. He believed Dean’s promise without a sliver of doubt in his mind. Closing his eyes once more, he resumed listening to Dean’s heartbeat. For a while, that’s how they lay, and Sam was feeling warm and heavy and safe, ready to drift off to sleep. But then he opened his eyes once more, as it began to rain outside and the heavy droplets pattered down onto the roof and against the window. “I like the sound of rain,” he said softly, not knowing whether Dean was awake or asleep. “And I like watching the dark clouds roll in, the lightning to flash, and the thunder. And once it all has stopped, and you go outside, the smell is refreshing. That’s the very best part of it.” Sam had no idea why he was talking about that now, but he knew he would love to be safely in Dean’s arms, watching a thunderstorm through the window.
"Mhmm," Dean hummed softly, "I love thunderstorms too. When the rain pelts my scales and lightning flashes beneath me..." His voice sounded sleepy and slurred, and maybe he hadn't said 'scales' but 'face', and Sam just hadn't heard him correctly.
Dean's breathing became heavier and slower, and then he was fast asleep.
Sam had to strain his ears to make out Dean’s soft voice over the pelting of the rain and the beating of his heart. For a moment, Sam smiled to himself. Dean sounded half asleep, and it was adorable.
And then Sam frowned. What had Dean said? Rain pelting scales? He had to have misheard. Maybe… he probably had said skin. Dean had skin, just like every other human. That had to be it. Sam chuckled to himself. They were both half asleep, and with the noise, it was easy to mishear something. And of course, it had to be the lightning flashing beneath the clouds, not beneath Dean. Sam decided to let Dean sleep and tease him about it in the morning. “Good night, my savior,” he whispered. His words were followed by a loud crack as lightning and thunder rolled in as one, and the room, for a split second, was bright as day. Sam snuggled a bit closer to Dean and then allowed himself to drift off to sleep.

Chapter Text

When Dean woke up, it was early morning. The sun was not yet visible, but the sky was already getting a little brighter.
He was tired, but he decided that now was the best time to return home and talk to his father.
Because there was a lot that Dean had to sort out. Sam was now his charge, and he had a responsibility to him. And Dean would fulfill it and protect Sam, just as he had always been meant to.
He got up quietly and got dressed. Then he snuck out of the room and took the slate from the kitchen, wrote 'I'll be back soon' on it in chalk, quietly placed the slate on Sam's bedside table, and then set off for home.
When he was far enough away from the village, he changed back into his dragon form and took to the skies to fly home.

John was hovering high above the mountains, watching the realm from above. Everything was quiet, and he found himself watching the younglings diving low across the tall grass plains, to see who dared to go low enough to feel the grass tickling their bellies. The sun was already reaching every corner of the dragon land, but John could see that far away, where the human realm began, a massive storm had come down sometime during the night.
After circling the area twice more, John spotted a lone mountain goat and placed his wings close to his body, diving down with incredible speed, just to spread the leathery wings wide as he spat out some fire to scare the goat before sinking his talons into it. A moment later, he beat his wings powerfully and flew straight to his cave, the goat dangling beneath him.

Dean broke through the thick layer of cloud and breathed a sigh of relief as his gaze fell on his native mountains. And then he smiled. He could make out a huge silhouette in the distance that he would recognize anywhere. His father had obviously been out hunting and was now flying home. Just like Dean.
When Dean landed on the ledge outside the cave, he shouted, "Dad? I'm home!" and headed inside in search of John.
John had just been ready to start spit roasting the goat when he heard his son’s voice sounding in the cave. He abandoned his endeavor and turned towards the entrance. “In here, Dean,” he called and went to meet him. “You’re coming right on time. I was about to toast the goat, and I’m willing to share if you’re hungry. How are you doing, my boy?”
"Hi Dad," Dean greeted as he entered the cave and flopped down next to John. "Breakfast would be great." Dean gratefully accepted a hind leg of the goat and wolfed it down hungrily. "I'm not too bad. But I'm confused and in it way over my head," he admitted honestly. There was no point in trying to fool his dad. John knew him inside out, and besides, he wanted his father's help.
John watched Dean as he didn’t even want to wait for him to roast the goat. With a small shrug, he also started eating, although it was done way more deliberately than Dean had.
“What exactly do you mean, you’re in it over your head? It’s about Sam, isn’t it? Has something happened?” John sounded calmer than he felt at that moment. He would always worry about his boy and always be there to help him when he asked to be helped. But he hoped Dean hadn’t done anything to endanger their secrecy. “I’m listening, but first, eat up.”
Dean nodded and ate more slowly than before, but was still hungry. When he was sated, he sat up straight and looked at his father with soulful green eyes. "I... Sam and I have gotten closer. Not... not all the way. But... closer. And since then...," he shook his head, "I don't know what I feel or what to call it. Whether it's love. Sam says he loves me. That he belongs to me. And I don't know if that's the case or if it's ancient magic that connects us. And he's scared, Dad. He is terrified of his father. I can't send him back there. His father... I don't know, but he might hurt Sam. He injured him badly some time ago. I saw the scars. I...," Dean took a deep breath, "I didn't tell Sam who I am. WHAT I am. We are not allowed to love each other. And I don't even know if it's love that I'm feeling. But... I'm so confused, Dad."

John listened closely to every word Dean said, the goat forgotten. So, something was developing between Dean and Sam, the human. For a second, John wondered if he should have prohibited leaving the dragon realm. Having close relations with humans was bound to spell trouble.
But it was no use thinking about that now. Dean had encountered this boy, and he had felt compelled to save him. And John was proud of him that he had done that. Dean couldn’t have known what would happen, that somehow the ancient magic would bind them together. And Dean needed his help to figure out how to handle the situation.
“It’s good that you didn’t tell Sam who you are,” he started, voice gentle and quiet but holding an underlying tension. “You say he tells you he loves you. I may not know humans well enough, but I don’t think they fall in love this fast. They hold no magic that can let this happen this fast. You, on the other hand, hold the magic. I don’t know if that is the reason for it. It could be. However you twist and turn it, you’re right. You are not allowed to love each other.” John turned to look his son in the eye. “And yet, you do. You may not understand it, yet, but you’re considering it. Which to me means that you do.” He puffed some light colored smoke rings from his nostrils.
“You’re saying Sam isn’t safe in his home. His father mistreats him? And he is terrified of him?” John walked around Dean towards the mouth of the cave, taking in the sunshine. “No child should be terrified of their parents. You said he has scars? And now you need a place to keep him safe, which… which can’t be here, right?” John nodded to Dean to join him at the entrance. “If you’re sure, if you’re willing to trust me, fly with me?”
Dean had listened to his father without interrupting him. John summarized his problem seemingly effortlessly and didn't seem surprised that Dean apparently had developed feelings for Sam.
Dean had held his breath when John had reaffirmed that their love was forbidden, but there was no reproach in his voice when he stated that Dean nevertheless had feelings for Sam. And when he asked if Dean trusted him and would fly with him, he nodded, "Of course I trust you, Dad. More than anyone else." And with that, he stepped up next to John and looked at his father expectantly.
John nodded. “Let’s fly,” he said and lifted off without further ado. He knew Dean would follow him right away. They flew towards a part of the mountains that dragons usually didn’t go to, because it used to be inhabited by humans. Not as a settlement, but one or the other odd cabin had been set there. Most of them were ruins now, but this one, John had taken care of for… decades.
They flew for almost half an hour before John circled down, scanning the area as he always did.
Finally, he settled on a grass-covered clearing, where the cabin was hugging the rock wall at the bottom of a cliff, hidden by giant fir trees. John waited until Dean had landed next to him and then nodded towards the cabin, which was about a hundred steps away. “This is the place that I used to come to with your mother. Decades ago, when humans still roamed this area, they built these cabins up in the mountains. By now, all of them have decayed because nobody took care of them. But for this one. I took care of it. It reminds me of the time I spent with your mother.”
John fell silent for a few moments and then changed into his human form. “Come on, there’s no way you can get inside if you stay like that,” he called to his son with a smirk and began walking towards the cabin.
Dean looked around in amazement. This place was beautiful and peaceful. He immediately understood what his father liked so much about it.
John's voice snapped Dean out of his stupor, and he transformed into his human form and then hurried after his father, who was already opening the door to the cabin.

John waited for Dean to step inside, watching his son look around in wonder. He had never brought Dean here before, because it had been his venue to be close to the love of his life. And he hadn’t wanted to have to lie to Dean to keep its secret. But now things were different, and Dean was all grown. He would understand. And if John had to give up this hidden location, it had to be for his son’s sake. So his son could be as happy as he and Mary had been. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? This is where your mother and I came to when we wanted to be alone. Nobody knew about this place, and… we quite enjoyed the twosome time in human form. It’s different, as I think you know, and we quite enjoyed exploring the beautiful sides of it.” John wouldn’t tell Dean that this had been the place where he had been created, but he thought Dean might reach that knowledge all by himself. “I was thinking you could bring Sam here. Humans have all forgotten about it, and dragons are not interested in this part of the mountains, precisely because it used to be human land.”

Dean interrupted his astonished look around and turned his gaze to his father. "That's it, isn't it? This is the place you go when you're grieving for Mom. When you miss her so much that you need to be close to her in this place. This is it. Your sanctuary." Dean's voice was quiet and trembled a little. His big, expressive eyes looked at his father with compassion. "And you want to leave this place to me? Are you sure? I... I don't want to take this away from you, Dad. I don't want to take what little of Mom you have left."

John placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder and turned him towards him with a gentle motion. “You’re not taking anything away from me, Dean. There is one thing that I will always have left of your mother. You! And this cabin, it won’t be lost to me. But it will have a purpose again. I’m sure your mother would agree.” John gave Dean a dazzling smile, one that showed his sadness as well as his happiness at the same time. “It’s an offer. At least until there is a better solution. Sam will be quite isolated here. I’m not sure if it’s what he’s used to. But it would keep him safe from that human who calls himself his father.” John could feel an anger boil up inside him at that thought, one he hadn’t felt in decades. He pushed it aside, though, and clapped Dean’s shoulder. “So, do you need me to show you around?”
"Thanks," Dean whispered, "I'm going to bring Sam here so we can figure out where we stand with each other and how to deal with it. He'll be safe from his father here." Dean followed John through the cabin and let him show him the rooms, but his mind was elsewhere.
Finally, he looked at John again and asked, "Why aren't you angry with me? Or disappointed? A relationship between dragons and humans is forbidden. And I, of all dragons... the son of the leader of our flight... I, of all dragons, am breaking this ban. And yet you're not angry. Why not?"
John looked at Dean for a few moments and then walked to the spacious living room, settling down in a comfortable-looking armchair. Then he pointed to another one. “First of all, would me being angry change anything about what happened? About how Sam feels? About how you feel? You say you felt Sam already before his accident. You tell me, you’re bound by magic. I can’t be angry at the magic. Anything that happens that is guided by magic happens for a reason. It would be a waste of my life energy.”
Dean sat down and nodded, "I understand." He was silent for quite a while and seemed to have to overcome an inner conflict. Finally, he looked at John and asked, "Can I get rid of it? This feeling? Can I be his protector WITHOUT having that feeling for him? I... I don't know how to... it's so hard not to tell him what I am, Dad. I feel terrible because I'm lying to him. And I don't want any of that. So, can I get rid of this feeling?"

John considered Dean’s question for a moment. “I don’t think you can, son. If it is love, and if it has been decided by the magic, then there’s no getting rid of it.” He looked at Dean, serious. “It also means, if you are apart, whether on your own volition or by force, you will feel the pain that breaking that bond will cause. Both of you. If this is really what you said, if Sam is that innocent who sought a dragon’s protection, then there is nothing you can do. It’s your fate. And it’s something you can be proud of. Not every dragon would be deemed worthy by the magic for such a protective role.”
"Yeah," Dean replied softly, "I kind of figured that, but I guess I just needed to hear it again." He stared at the tabletop in front of him and, after a long time, said, "I feel more for him than I've ever felt for anyone else, Dad. And I know I can't leave him behind without protection. So I'll bring him here as soon as he's fit to travel."
John nodded. “Good. It will be quite a hike, since you can’t just fly here. He should be fit enough for that and be able to travel for a few days, depending on where his settlement is located. I can help the two of you by stocking the cabin with everything you may need for the first days. If you think you can’t wait until he’s healed up, because his father would try things first, maybe I can help you… transport him here.” If Sam’s father tried to harm him again, there might not be time to hike out. Then he might have to call on the magic to put Sam into a deep sleep, where he could be traveling with a dragon without being aware of it.

"Okay, let's do it like this. His father isn't back yet, so I can't yet assess whether he poses a danger and how great it will be. It depends on when I bring Sam here. Thanks, Dad. I really appreciate your help." Dean looked at John. That's what a father had to be like. And not an ass like Sam's father was. Dean sighed softly.
“You don’t have to thank me, Dean,” John replied warmly. “I’m just doing what I promised your mother I would do. Make sure that you’re happy. And that you’re safe. I’m not the leader of our flight for nothing. After losing your mother, I was angry. Very angry. Sometimes I can still feel that anger. But I promised her not to act on it. To be there for you. To lead the way. That is what I remember every time I make a decision. That is what the elders saw in me when they gave me the lead. And I know, especially since the magic has chosen you, one day you will be just as resourceful a leader as I am.” He smiled at Dean, his pride in his son clearly evident. “Your mother would be very proud of you, my boy.”
"I hope that day is still far, far in the future and that you'll be around to lead our flight for a very long time, Dad," Dean whispered, his throat suddenly very tight. "I'm not ready to lose you yet. So don't you dare die before your time!" There was a vehemence in his voice that surprised even him, but the thought that John would no longer be there to support and guide him with advice and his fatherly love actually scared Dean. Right now, when he needed his father more than ever.
Dean took a deep breath and pushed these thoughts to the back of his mind.
He said quietly, "Sam wants to see a dragon. Talk to a dragon. He wants to convince himself that we dragons are not monsters. And that, above all, we are not the killers his father makes us out to be. I don't know how I should fulfill this wish and whether I should at all. What do you think?" He looked up at John questioningly.
John raised an eyebrow. “Sam thinks we are killers?” he asked, face darkening slightly. “If he has never met a dragon, why does he think that? What did his father tell him?” John could feel himself tensing up because it brought up unwanted memories. Pushing them down, he looked at his son, keeping his exterior calm and interested. “But no matter what he has heard, I don’t think you should talk to him as a dragon. Not without him knowing who you are. And you know you shouldn’t tell him. If he insists on speaking to a dragon, he can talk to me. He doesn’t know me. And he won’t be suspicious because you can accompany him, stay close to him if that’s what he wants. But first, let him make that request again. Maybe… maybe he will forget about it.” John wasn’t sure why he had said that. If Sam was how Dean had described him, for now, he wouldn’t forget about it. Still, Dean could drag it out because there were no scheduled meetings between dragons and humans, and who knew when one would show their face. Maybe that would never be.

Dean shook his head. He had promised Sam not to tell his father anything. That's why he just said, "He told him horror stories, that dragons are dangerous. That we are monsters and bloodthirsty killers. And he trained him to be a dragon hunter. Fortunately, he’s not a good one. Because he doesn't even know that an arrow can't harm our scale armor." Dean sighed heavily. "I'm afraid he'll just be put off for a while, but he'll ask again if he can talk to a dragon."
John observed his son for a few moments. Then he took a deep breath. “If Sam is a bad dragon hunter using those arrows, then it’s only because he had the worst teacher. I don’t know why his father told him those horror stories you mentioned, but it doesn’t sound random. Which means he must have come into contact with a dragon at some point.” While dragons usually didn’t show themselves to humans anymore, there had always been the one odd encounter, just often enough to keep the legend alive while other humans conveniently placed them into the realm of fairy tales. John huffed. “Which, of course, is all for our benefit. I’m quite happy that he won’t harm my son with one of his arrows.”
Dean smiled, "His arrows were toothpicks, Dad. Nothing more. I wasn't in danger for a second. But luckily, Sam doesn't know that."
Dean was silent for a while and then said quietly, "He'll meet a dragon one day. And to protect him, I would be grateful if you were that dragon. And depending on how things go, we'll see if I can or will reveal myself to him."
“Is that why you… played with him?” John asked. “Because he was inadequately armed?” He licked his lips, something that he usually just did in his human form, which he hadn’t taken on in years. “That is why I said he can meet me,” he agreed with Dean. “I know him, through your talking. I know how he thinks and what… bothers him. But let’s not rush it. Let’s hope you have time to get to know each other better and maybe, when he’s healed and still into that subject, we can figure out if he should meet a dragon.”
"At first, he was just a human trying to catch up with me. I had fun letting him get closer and then fly faster. And then I saw the quiver and the arrows. I admit it amused me, and I teased him." Dean shrugged his shoulders and grinned sheepishly. Then he became serious again and nodded, "I'll stall him as long as I can."
John nodded. “Very well. When you return to him, see that he is fit enough to make the trip to the cabin here before you walk here. I will see that there is enough food suitable for humans while I can, so you won’t have to bring too much here the first time around.”
He got up and walked to a window, looking outside. “Your mother loved this place, you know? I’m sure she’s still here in spirit. Somehow.”
The gentle tone and the longing in his father's voice and gaze brought tears to Dean's eyes. He barely remembered his mother. A fleeting image, a vague memory of her voice, that was all he had left of her. But he had the stories his father told him. How much she had loved him. How much she had loved being his mother.
Dean stepped close to his father so that their arms and shoulders were touching and whispered, "I wish she were still with us. I wish she were here now."
John kept his gaze straight ahead and nodded minutely. Then, a few seconds later, he turned towards Dean and wrapped him in his arms. “She would be proud of you,” he whispered in his son’s ear. “Just like I’m proud of you. You may have been a handful growing up, but you turned out more than I could have ever wished for.” Holding Dean for another few moments, John then released Dean again and took a step back. “She would want you to be happy. And if you find out that Sam makes you happy, I’m sure you would have her blessing.”

Dean took a shaky breath and nodded, "I know," he replied, "but I still need to find out if Sam is actually what makes me happy. I need to know if our attraction is based on magic or if we are meant to be together. I... I don't want him to love me because the magic makes him think he's in love with me. I need to know that it's just me. And not the magic."
John nodded. “I understand that very well. I hope you can find out somehow.” He patted Dean’s shoulder and then looked around in the cabin one more time. “Shall we head back? Or rather, I head back to the cave, you find Sam? Or do you need my help in another matter as well?” John didn’t want to dismiss his son, but it was around the time when humans were thinking about breakfast, and he didn’t want Dean to be too late, so Sam wouldn’t get upset or even suspicious.
"Thanks, Dad. I think you've helped me for the moment, and I should fly back to the village now. Sam will already be awake and probably wondering what took me so long. I’ll be home as soon as I can." Dean hugged his father goodbye once more and then set off.
At his usual landing spot, he went down, landed, and changed back into his human form. Then he hurried back to Brynmor and Sam.

When Sam woke up, he was immediately aware that he was alone. For a moment, his stomach knotted, and he had to tell himself not to be disappointed, because it wasn’t like Dean solely belonged to him.
Stretching, Sam made his spine pop and then hissed when his arm also ached unexpectedly, because he had all forgotten about his injury.
When he got up to make his way to the bathroom, Sam’s eyes fell on the slate that held a message for him. He smiled softly and made his way to the bathroom with a spring in his step. Washing proved difficult still, but he managed to do so, and after he got dressed, he made up the bed and walked out of the room in search of Jonas or Rowen.
"Good morning," came Jonah's voice from the kitchen. "I've just finished the coffee. Would you like a cup? I'll make breakfast in the meantime. Is Dean awake yet?"
Jonas came out of the kitchen holding a mug of freshly brewed coffee with milk and sugar for Sam, which he handed to him with a warm smile.
“Oh,” Sam hummed, accepting the mug. “Thank you.” He took a sip and hummed again, appreciatively. “Dean is already out and about. He left me a message that he’ll be back soon.”
Walking over to the dining table, Sam settled into a chair and resumed sipping his coffee. “Have you heard or seen anything about the return of my father, yet?” he asked Jonas. He knew that his father usually sent a message up ahead, mostly to make sure Sam wouldn’t dare not be home when he arrived to wait on him.
"That's something I wanted to talk to you about last night, but I thought a light-hearted evening would be better for you at that moment," Jonas replied. "Your father has sent word that he will be back at the end of the week, or Sunday evening at the latest. I had hoped that he would be away for longer. But now we have to think about how to proceed. I think it makes sense for you to stay here for a while so that your arm can heal. I'm afraid William will let you go back to work too soon." Jonas looked worriedly at Sam.

Sam dropped the mug down onto the table with a slight bang. The end of the week sounded awfully close, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for that confrontation. “Okay,” he finally breathed and continued drinking his coffee. “I don’t think I’ll be staying here in Brynmor much longer. I have to get away from him. I know that. Dean said he will help me achieve that.” He looked at Jonas for a moment. “If he’s already back this weekend, I’m sure we will need some kind of distraction so he won’t try to stop me.”
"You want to go with Dean, leave the village? I'm not going to talk you out of it, it's your life and your decision, but I'd at least like my concerns to be voiced." Jonas said slowly. "Dean seems very nice, and he took very good care of you. Not to mention that he saved your life. Twice. But you hardly know him, Sam. Do you think you're safer with him than with your father?"

Sam remained silent for a few minutes. He hadn’t expected to have to justify his plans at this point. “To be blunt, yes. Anywhere is safer than with my father. You know that, Jonas. You know the scars I bear. And I’m not just talking about the visible ones. Dean is… he cares about me. He didn’t have to come back after initially saving me. He didn’t even have to save me. But he did. And if he weren’t helping me, I would still try and get away from my father.”
Jonas nodded and sighed softly, "Unfortunately, I do know that, yes." Jonas drank his coffee and looked at Sam. "All right, then. We need to figure out something to distract him so you can go with Dean without him stopping you. And you need your things before your father comes back. You shouldn't enter the house when he's back. He won't let you go."
Sam swirled the last of his coffee. “He won’t let me leave if he suspects it will be forever. The few things I can take should be out of that house by then. I do hope that he won’t lock me up for no reason, though. That would be… bad.” He was hoping Dean would be back soon, so he could let him know about this latest development and plan what they could do.
"Good, then you should talk to your new friend about it. I'll help you as much as I can," Jonas replied and then went back into the kitchen to prepare breakfast.
He had just disappeared from Sam's sight when there was a loud knock on the door and Sam could hear Dean's voice a moment later as he greeted Jonas.
Then he came into the room and smiled at Sam, "Good morning."

Sam’s eyes lit up when he saw Dean. “Good morning,” he greeted. “Did you have a nice walk? Or run?” he asked and then scolded himself because Dean didn’t look like he’d been running. “And did you have a good night?” He got up to greet Dean with a hug that he held a little longer and ended with a chaste kiss on his lips.
Dean couldn't suppress a slight shudder as Sam's lips came to rest on his. The memory of last night was still very fresh, and he shook his head to dispel the images.
"Thank you, I had an excellent night's sleep. And the morning walk was refreshing and did me good. I hope your night was pleasant too?" Dean knew that Jonas was within earshot and therefore preferred to remain somewhat formal.
“I slept well,” Sam agreed. “I think my arm is healing nicely, too. It only aches a little when I was in the bathroom and got dressed.” He settled back in his chair and gestured for Dean to sit in another one, certain that Jonas would come with coffee for Dean as well as some breakfast.
“I got word that my father will return Sunday at the latest,” he finally said, wondering what kind of reaction he expected.
Dean was about to sit down and straightened up again. His face was expressionless as he looked Sam in the eye. "This is sooner than expected. But nothing we can't handle. Anyway, I'm prepared to get you out of here if that's still what you want."
Dean sat down and seemed to look deep into Sam's soul. "There's only one catch. The place where I can take you to is very remote. And it's one or two days' walk away."
Sam’s eyes flashed briefly when Dean mentioned having a remote place for them. “If I stay here, I will get hurt again. Of course, I still want out. My father will find out what has happened one way or another, and I wasn’t kidding when I said he would want to finish the job the dragon didn’t. He will feel that I’m an even bigger failure than he already thought.”
"All right, then. Then I'll take you away from here as soon as the week is over. Or do you want to leave after you've seen him again?" asked Dean, who had no idea how Sam wanted to handle the relationship with his father.

Sam remained silent, thinking. He didn’t really want to see the person his father had become. But something inside him told him he was still his father. The only family he had left. And Sam felt his insides twist at that. Finally, he took a deep breath. “Hanging around to see him will be a risk of confrontation. After that, I won’t be able to set foot into my h… house again.” Sam hadn’t been sure whether to say house or home. But home meant comfort. It had never been home for him. “Part of me wants to see him, wants to tell him he won’t see me again. However, I would need to get all I own out of there. Because after that, as I said, I won’t be able to set foot in it anymore.”
"Then we'll get the things you want to take, and I'll make sure we're far enough away from here when he gets back that you won't run into him again." He would probably have to get Sam to the cabin somehow in his dragon form because there was no other way. Sam was still injured and wouldn't be much help to him. But he would decide that when the time came.
Sam nodded slowly. “I think then we should start today. I can walk. But not climb. Will I have to climb?” He shuddered. Knowing he was going to leave felt wonderful and terrible at the same time. He could feel a sliver of fear winding in his insides. But he fought it down. He would have to fend for himself. He would have to be strong and face his fears. And he would succeed, because he wouldn’t have to do it alone.
Dean shook his head, "You still need time to heal. We still have one or two days before we leave. You also need to pack the things you want to take with you."
He was calm and relaxed because he knew that if the worst came to the worst, he would fly Sam to the mountains. It was important to him that Sam's arm healed well. It would be better if he stayed with the healer for the time being.
“Okay. I was thinking that packing goes quickly. And if it’s a day or two to walk… if we get a head start. But I understand,” Sam replied. “You’re probably right. I’m just… I hope we won’t see him or he will behave.”
Before Dean would have been able to say something, the door opened and Rowen entered. “Good morning. I hope you’re hungry. Jonas said I can pick fresh fruit for breakfast. There is still yoghurt to mix it with. What would you prefer? Apple? Pear? Raspberries, blackberries, and peaches. You name it, I pick it.” He beamed at the two, and Sam licked his lips. “How about… a bit of all?” he asked hopefully.
“No problem,” Rowen replied and grabbed a basket from a cupboard. “Be back soon.” With that, he dashed back out of the kitchen. “I hope that’s all fine with you?” Sam asked Dean with a soft smile.

Dean looked at Sam for a long time. He watched him as he spoke, the gestures that accompanied his words, watched as Sam spoke to Rowan and how his tone softened when he answered the boy, and he realized again how much Sam already meant to him and that his stomach tightened painfully at the thought that he would be at his father's mercy if he, Dean, didn't take him away from here. So he nodded, "Yeah. That's fine with me. And as for breakfast - I eat everything they put in front of me. I'm hungry after the morning run." He smiled. That was the truth. The flight back here had made him hungry again. What?! He was a big dragon, okay? He needed a lot of food.
Sam smiled. “That’s great. I really like yoghurt and fruit. It’s so… refreshing.” He fell silent, and his expression took on a worried hue again. “I hope whatever business my father conducted was successful. So he doesn’t get here in a foul mood. He will ask me what I’ve been up to. And whether or not I tell him what I hunted when this happened, he’ll sense it. He’s got like a… a sixth sense about that. Or maybe I’m just a bad actor. And it wouldn’t surprise me if he takes one look at you and doesn’t like you. I’m already sorry for that.”
Dean frowned, "I'm confused. You want to wait until your father comes back and see him before we leave? I must have misunderstood you. I thought we'd leave as soon as you were feeling a bit better and you'd gathered a few things we needed to take with us."
Sam’s eyes widened. “Oh,” he made. “I thought you meant breakfast when you said that’s fine. Yes, I’d much rather leave before he gets here.” He smiled at Dean and breathed a lot easier.
Dean shook his head, "No, I... never mind. It's no longer important. We'll leave in a day or two. By then, the bones in your arm will have grown back together a bit, and you can pack your things in peace. We'll still have a two-day head start. That should be more than enough to get rid of your father. Besides, I'm taking you to a place where no one else comes."
Sam licked his lips. “I know you will keep me safe. I don’t know how, but I feel it. My father is a good tracker, but it’s thunderstorm season, as you noticed last night. He won’t find any kind of tracks after a downpour.”
At that moment, Rowen entered, carrying a basket filled with any kind of fruit they had in the garden that was ready for consumption. “There we go, I even found some blueberries. I hope you will enjoy it all.” He went to wash the fruit with clear water and then placed them into a bowl and on the table. Then he brought a big pot of yoghurt and some smaller bowls and spoons. “Jonas went to the baker to pick up fresh bread and something sweet. Would you both like more coffee?”
Dean grinned broadly and confidently at Sam, "Your father may be a good tracker, but I guarantee you he won't be able to follow my trail. I promise you, I'll keep you safe."
Dean then turned his attention to his food and happily accepted the coffee Rowan offered.
Sam just smiled because Dean’s enthusiasm towards food amazed him. He was almost sure that Dean was more interested in food than he was. And that was saying something. Sam grabbed two bowls and added some yoghurt before draping it with blueberries and raspberries, blackberries, and sliced peaches. Finally, he added bits of apple and pear and pushed one over to Dean. “Enjoy,” he said, handing him a spoon before taking one for himself. The yoghurt was creamy and a little sour, like it was supposed to be. And the fruit just popped with flavors, and Sam hummed happily. “Excellent, Rowen. This tastes amazing.”

Dean shoved a spoonful of this stuff, Sam called yoghurt into his mouth, and... shook himself. His face contorted for a moment. He hadn't expected the sourness, as the milk he had already tasted hadn't been sour.
He swallowed and then washed it down with coffee.
He looked at Sam and said, "I think I'll just eat the fruit. This yoghurt stuff isn't really my taste."
Sam frowned a little. “You don’t like yoghurt? I mean, you’re supposed to eat both together. The fruit complements the yoghurt and the other way around.” He looked a little disappointed because he loved yoghurt and fruit and couldn’t imagine how anyone didn’t like it.
Rowen looked at the two and wondered what he could do. It seemed to him that Dean had never tasted yoghurt before, and even though Rowen had no idea how that could be, it was what it was. “You don’t like the sourness of it, right? Usually, the fruit supplies the sweetness, but you could mix in some honey to make it sweeter,” he offered. “But it’s perfectly fine if you don’t want to try. I can take that bowl off you, and you just help yourself with the fruit until Jonas is back. He shouldn’t be long.”
Dean's face fell when he saw how disappointed Sam looked at him.
Then he nodded to Rowen "Yeah. I'm so sorry. But I don't like the sourness. And the consistency is... weird. I'd rather just eat the fruit and some bread later. Maybe with some roast meat from yesterday?" he hoped there was still a bit of it left. Meat was more to his dragon's palate than yoghurt.

“Not a problem,” Rowen smiled and quickly handed Dean a clean bowl. “I think there’s still some meat.” He turned around to check the cooling box under the floor for the leftover roast.
Sam had heard Dean’s words about why he didn’t like the yoghurt and pushed away his initial emotions. “Dean, I didn’t know you never had yoghurt before. I just assumed everyone loves it the way I do. I should have asked first. I’m sorry.” He hoped Dean would understand that he hadn’t intended to force the food on him. “I’ll just enjoy it for both of us.”
"Okay," Dean replied quietly. He didn't know how to read Sam's reaction, because if someone didn't like something among his peers, the others took note and the matter was settled. No one was disappointed.
Sam's reaction had unsettled him, and he would try human food more carefully in the future so that it didn't happen again.
Sam could sense that Dean was guarding himself, and he had no idea what he’d done wrong. He slowly continued to eat his yoghurt as he wondered what could have happened.
Meanwhile, Rowen had found the leftover roast, and when Jonas entered with a loaf of freshly baked bread, which was still a little warm, the smell filled the room quickly. As Jonas sliced the bread with a large knife and Rowen did the same with the roast, Sam finally finished his yoghurt and pushed aside the bowl. Jonas placed the bread on the table, followed by some butter, and Rowen added the roast and some jams and honey and the men both sat down at the table for breakfast. “Sam, have you spoken to Dean about your father’s return, yet?” Jonas asked as he buttered a bread and added some of the roast, while Rowen started with a handful of raspberries. “Yes, we decided to leave in two days so I have time to pack, but we won’t risk running into him,” Sam replied.

"Good," Jonas nodded. "That will give you a bit of a head start. And then I hope he's busy with his business before he realizes you're gone." In his thoughts, he added that he hoped William didn't get the idea that Jonas had anything to do with Sam's disappearance. That would certainly not go so smoothly for him.
Sam nodded and sipped on his coffee. “Maybe it would be better not to tell him anything about what happened to me, and that I left. If he asks, you haven’t seen me. I wouldn’t want the two of you to get into trouble because of me.” He looked at Dean questioningly, wondering what he thought about the situation.
"Unfortunately, a few people know about your injury and that you were here. I'm afraid he'll come here sooner or later and look for you. Until then, I need to be able to give a good explanation as to why you're gone." Jonas looked thoughtfully over the edge of his coffee into the distance.
Finally, he sighed and looked back at Sam, "It doesn't matter, you'll be long gone and your father will quickly follow other leads."
“He probably will,” Sam mumbled. “But I hope whatever he does, he doesn’t blame you. I am an adult after all, and nobody can tell me where I have to be. Not even my father.” Sam leaned back in the chair, suddenly not hungry anymore at all. He was worried that William would let out his anger on those who helped him, and he didn’t want anyone to be harmed because of him. Once more, his gaze came to lie on Dean. He didn’t know where Dean would take him, but he knew that under no circumstances should they tell anyone around. If his father just as much as thought that someone might know where he was… Sam shuddered.

Dean had listened in silence while eating his bread and roast. Sam's gaze had returned to him a few times, and now, as he spoke to Jonas and looked at him again with concern, Dean swallowed the last bite of roast and then said calmly, "He can go looking for you. He won't find you. And if he finds out that no one here knows where you've gone, then he'll leave your friends alone. And nobody knows me here. I haven't spoken to anyone, and I haven't shown my face in the village. Don't worry about it. We'll leave, and you decide if and when you want to come back."
Sam looked at Dean for a few moments and then nodded. “Yes. I’m trying. I trust you. Can you help me with the packing? Pick out what is necessary and what I can leave behind?” He licked his lips and then looked at Jonas. “Rowen mentioned you got something sweet from the bakery?”
Jonas glanced back and forth between Sam and Dean. He could see that Sam needed to get away with Dean, to sort out his escape, in a way. He grabbed a paper bag and handed it to Sam. “There’s pastry in there with a nut mix filling and one with cherry. Take it along and show Dean where you live.” He didn’t want to tell them to pack, but he hoped that the colder the trail was when William got there, the better it was.
Dean reached for his glass of water, drained it in two gulps, and then nodded, "Yeah, sure." He got up and carried his plate, coffee cup, and glass to the kitchen and then came back to take Sam's used dishes to the kitchen as well. Then he looked at Sam and said, "I'm ready when you are."
Sam had taken the paper bag from Jonas and smiled at him gratefully. “Thank you. I’ll do that.” Then he looked at Dean. “I’m as ready as I can be. Thank you for helping me out.”
He walked Dean through the village to a medium-sized house at the edge of the village. At the gate to the little overgrown garden, Sam stopped. “I know it looks bad. I think gardening was what my mother used to do. My father would tell me to shorten the grass and the hedge every now and then, and that was it. That window there,” he pointed to the right of the house, “that’s my room. Maybe I should just get things from there. He only goes in there to… call me.”
Dean took a quick look around. He didn't mind the long grass or the untrimmed hedge. He was a dragon. The nature around him was part of his habitat, and he respected it. He finally looked at the window Sam was pointing at and asked, "Do you want me to come in? Or should I wait by the window there?" He wasn't quite sure what was expected of him. After all, it was his first time helping a human escape as a dragon.
“Follow me,” Sam replied and then walked up to the door. There was a lock on it, but Sam never used a key. He’d lost his years ago but didn’t tell his father. Instead, he found a way to open it with a nail that he’d pulled from the window shutter, and always replaced it after use.
“Come in, please. It’s not much. But it’s my home.” He led Dean through the hallway to his room. “I will probably just pack clothes,” he said after looking around a bit. “If my father checks my room, he will notice what is missing if I take any of these.” Sam pointed at his gallery of crafted bows and walking sticks that he’d carved motives into. Then he walked to his bedside table and pulled the drawer open. “But I will take this. It belonged to my mother.” He took out a little pouch, which he clutched in his hands for a moment. Then he opened the pouch and poured the contents into the palm of his hand. “It’s her necklace. A green jasper in a raindrop shape.”
Dean looked at the carved bows and the walking sticks and said quietly, "You've got talent. Maybe you should make something of it sometime." Then he turned and looked at the pendant in Sam's hand. Something about the stone attracted him. Perhaps it was the green color of the stone or the shimmering polished surface that appealed to the dragon in him, but he stared at the pendant for a moment too long before he simply breathed, "How pretty."
Sam’s eyes lit up. “You like my carving? My father thinks everything beyond functionality is a waste of energy. But he would notice it when they’re missing.”
Then he watched Dean looking at the pendant. “I know. It’s very pretty. He doesn’t know I have it. He… when I was six, I watched him throw it in the pond behind our home. I went in and searched for five days until I found it. I’m not going to leave it here. It’s my connection to my mother.”
"Huh?" Dean tore his eyes away from the stone. "Yeah. I think you should take your carving knife with you. I can get you plenty of wood and branches. Then you can carve whatever you feel like once your arm has healed."
Dean looked at the stone again before looking Sam in the eye. "Then you should definitely take the pendant with you. I'm sure your mom would want you to have it."
Sam smiled again and bent down in front of his bed to pull a leather bag out from under it. It was quite large and had straps on it to be carried on the back. He placed it on the bed and went to the ornamented wardrobe. Pulling out a few shirts and a change of pants, some socks and underwear, he also added his carving knife, which he kept under his shirts. Then he looked around. “I guess that’s it,” he announced and looked at Dean. Leaving the bag on the bed, he stepped a bit closer. “I’m sorry for earlier,” he started. “I’m not sure what I did wrong, but I just want you to know I wasn’t trying to force you to eat or like yoghurt. I like it a lot and I’d hoped we shared that preference. It didn’t occur to me that some people might not like it.”
Dean turned his attention back to Sam and held his breath for a moment because Sam was so close. He raised his eyes to Sam's, who was now looking at him with concern, and exhaled slowly. He replied quietly, "You seemed disappointed that I didn't like this yoghurt. And I didn't want to be ungrateful. But... I really don't like it."
Sam nodded. “I guess I was, but it was because I didn’t realize that there are people who don’t like it. I didn’t have it in my line of possibilities, so it was some kind of a surprise to me. I would never force anyone to like something they don’t like just because I like it. That’s not what I do. If someone has to be grateful, it’s me. Because I owe you my life. And now you’re keeping me safe again. I’m happy about it, and I don’t take what you do for me for granted.” He stretched out his hand and took Dean’s into his, holding it gently. “I feel very lucky that you found me, and I know that not everyone would have taken it upon themselves to carry a stranger to safety. And you did all that even though there was a dragon around. I’m sure most other people would have been too scared to help.” Sam smiled and leaned forward to place a brief kiss on Dean’s lips. “Thank you, again.”
"I'm not like most people," Dean murmured, hooking his fingers into Sam's waistband to pull him closer. Then he looked into his eyes, leaned forward slowly, and finally kissed him again. "And I haven't seen a dragon I could have been afraid of," he answered truthfully before kissing Sam once more.

Sam immediately joined in the kiss and shivered when their tongues brushed.
“Are you telling me that even the size of the dragon wasn’t scary?” Without waiting for an answer, he resumed kissing Dean, stepping a little closer still. He wanted to feel all of Dean that he could, and leaning against him was the best way to do that.
Dean laughed softly, "Well, since you're the only one who saw a dragon there that day, you'll have to tell me if its size was terrifying or not. Because I repeat, I have not seen a dragon on that day." He kissed Sam back with a little more enthusiasm and stood still as Sam stepped even closer to him.
“Hmmm,” Sam hummed, using the kiss to think about what he remembered of the dragon. “He was big. Gigantic. And… beautiful. But I think one swipe with his claw would have been my end.” Sam’s arms came around Dean’s back and slid down to his backside, pulling him closer without conscious thought. “But we already know he didn’t do that.”
Dean made a small surprised sound as Sam hugged him tighter and his hands wrapped around his butt.
He kissed Sam slowly and tenderly and let his fingers gently stroke along Sam's spine. Against his lips, he murmured softly, "You thought he was beautiful?" He kissed Sam again with a lot of feeling. "Yes, he probably could have killed you with ease. Instead, he saved you."
Feeling Dean’s hand along his spine made Sam melt against him even more. “Yeah, he did save me. I don’t know why. And he was beautiful. I have never seen such a color. But being beautiful doesn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous. I have heard…” Sam fell silent and pushed away the things his father had told him. Because there was a very good chance they weren’t true. He knew that by now.

Dean leaned back to look at Sam. "Of course it was dangerous. It was a dragon. But if I remember correctly, you were armed with a bow and arrows. You're a nice guy, and so far, you've never killed anything. But were you less dangerous at that moment because of that? I don't think so, do you?" Dean looked into Sam's eyes for a long time before kissing him once more. Then he broke free from the embrace and said quietly, "If you have everything you want to take with you, then we should go again. This house... Something here is making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I want to get out of here quickly."
Sam dug his teeth into his lips. “If I’m honest, I don’t think my arrows could have done much harm, even if they had reached him.” He grabbed his bag and shouldered it with his good arm. “I have everything I need. What do you mean by this house giving you the creeps?” Sam had grown up in that house. It wasn’t something he thought the word home should depict, but that was mostly because of the things he’d had to endure. He had thought his own unwillingness to call it a home had stemmed from those experiences, but not from the house itself.

Dean stepped out of Sam's room and looked down the hall. He shook his head and said, "I don't know, but something here feels abysmally evil. It's in the walls and floors of this house, and it makes me shiver. I don't want to be here."
Dean looked at Sam again and then nodded as he finished packing. He took the bag from him and said, "I'll carry this. Just get us out of here quickly."
“Okay,” Sam whispered and moved in front of Dean to walk him back through the house and out the door. When they were back on the road, Sam stopped and turned around to take a last glance at the house. “I always thought it was just me who didn’t feel at home in the house we lived in. But… you don’t like it either.” He closed his eyes and turned his back on the place.
“Let’s get back to Jonas’ place. Or… do you want to go right now?”
Dean took a deep breath as he stood on the street again. He had the feeling that a dark cloud had settled around his heart when he had been in that house. And now that he was back on the street, he could finally breathe again.
He looked at Sam, "Let's go back to Jonas. We can't leave right away. First, he has to examine your arm, and if he says you can travel, then we can set off tomorrow or the day after."
“Okay,” Sam replied. He took hold of Dean’s free hand and began heading back to Jonas’ house. With every step he took, two different sensations were spreading through his body. The one was relief, because he didn’t have to get back to that house, but would go with Dean instead. And the other was something he couldn’t describe, but it had to do with his father. He felt that there would be something bad happening still, and he couldn’t shake that feeling. Just before they were about to go into Jonas’ house, Sam stopped and looked at Dean again. “You know, you said that you’re going to keep me safe. Especially from my father. I just want you to know that if anything should ever occur that would put you in danger, I will do the same for you. With all that I am and have.”
Dean looked Sam in the eye silently for a moment.
Finally, he nodded and replied, "Okay. Even if it doesn't actually work that way. It's my job to protect you and save you from all evil." Sam's job was to protect Dean's heart and be his soulmate. But that was something he couldn't say out loud. Sam didn't even know what Dean was.
He took a deep breath and nodded again, "Okay."
Sam had no idea what Dean meant when he said it didn’t work that way. But he’d said okay, which was all that Sam needed. He’d told Dean he would protect him, so he knew that he wasn’t taking anything for granted.

Sam knocked on the door before entering and found Jonas instructing Rowen to find wild herbs and plants that he needed to make his medication. He had used up a chunk of his supply for Sam and had to stock up.
Rowen smiled as he walked past the two to set out on his mission. “Jonas,” Sam started once Rowen had left. “I’m all ready to go to the safe place that Dean knows. I would appreciate it if you could check me over again to see if traveling is fine or if we should wait until tomorrow.” And risk his father coming early or finding tracks after all. Sam knew it was unlikely but not impossible, and he worried.
Dean frowned worriedly. If they left tomorrow, it would be close enough for his father to stock up, but today? Dean made a decision. He would fly Sam to the cabin. He would use magic. Or he would ask John to do it. Either way, they would be gone before William came back and started looking for Sam.
Jonas looked at Sam and then glanced at Dean. He could see both of them worrying, and he knew that the worry wasn’t unfounded. William Campbell was a worry for everyone when he was angry. And sadly, he’d been angry since his wife had been killed. People thought he’d lost his mind from grief because he kept telling stories about how it happened. Nobody knew, though, what really happened. But a dragon? No wonder Sam had thought he’d seen a dragon when he hit his head. It’s all he ever heard. “I would love to keep you here a few more days, but I know it would be better for you if you weren’t here. Why don’t you go to the examination room and take off your shirt. I will just get a few things and then take a look.”
Sam nodded and made his way to said room, and Jonas turned his attention to Dean. “I know why you have to leave. Just, please, make sure Sam won’t overdo it. I know him. He’s been taught not to let on when he’s in pain. Weakness is not something that his father forgave. I will pack some willow bark for you to make tea from. And some ointment for the barely healed wound on his head. And… if you have a way, once you’ve reached your safe house, send a message that he’s safe. It would mean a lot to me. And to Rowen.”
Dean nodded, "I promise. Both. I'll keep an eye on him and I'll make sure you know when he's safe." Dean looked after Sam and then turned back to the healer. "Jonas, I have to leave once more before we can go. I have to... I have one more thing to do. Tell Sam I'll be back in two or three hours and that we're still going tonight." He looked urgently at the healer and then hurried away. He urgently needed to speak to his father. Very urgently.
Jonas frowned briefly but figured it had to do with wherever Dean was going to take Sam. “Of course. I’ll tell him and I’ll keep him busy here. He can help Rowen with washing the herbs when he’s back. Be safe, Dean. And thank you.” Jonas smiled at the man who no longer was a stranger to him and then went to examine Sam. He let him know about Dean’s plans and Sam nodded, thinking in the same like as Jonas did. Once Jonas had made sure that everything was healing very well indeed, he had the younger man help him brew the willow bark tea to drink before the trip as well as to take some along in a bottle.
As soon as he left Brynmor, Dean ran as fast as he could, and that was very fast, to the hidden spot in the woods from where he took to the air in his dragon form and flew home as fast as his wings would carry him.
He started calling for his father while still on the landing approach and then slithered into the cave they shared. "Dad! Dad, I need you! Right now!" he shouted and breathed a sigh of relief when he finally saw his father.

John had just returned from a survey flight, as he did a few times per day. He liked keeping an eye on things, and the frequent flying was keeping his stamina up.
After returning to his cave, he had retreated to his chamber where he kept his most prized treasures, because like any dragon, he had a thing for sparkling, glittering metals. Just when he had rolled himself up and begun to doze, his peace was disrupted by the sound of a rapid approach, and his son shouting for him just because he almost slid straight into John’s chamber.
Immediately, John’s hackles were up. “What happened?” he growled, ready to protect his child and the human he had taken a liking to. “Are you okay? Where’s Sam?”
"I'm okay, Sam's with the healer, but we have to get out of there tonight. The house, Dad. The house, it was... there is... evil. There's so much evil there and I..." Dean spoke quickly and hastily, and rambled in a way that was completely foreign to him. Dean was calm and deliberate, but right now he seemed changed to John.
“Slow down, son,” John replied calmly. He knew Dean needed his calm right now. “Which house are you talking about. And what does it have to do with you and Sam having to get out of there so fast. Take a breath and tell me, slowly. We will find a way to do what you need done, but I need to know more.” John had placed his wing on his son’s shoulder in a comforting way and looked at him as he refrained from puffing out smoke from his nostrils.
"Sam's house," Dean said, taking a deep breath. "We were there earlier and got his things. And I... I could hardly stand it in there. This house is evil. Or more like, it harbors evil. And I could feel it in the walls and floors like a contagious disease. Sam has to get away from there. Today. His father is good at reading tracks, he says. So I have to make sure that there are no tracks that he can read. I have to fly him to the cabin. But if I do it myself, he’ll know what I am. And I think that's too soon. And... Dad. You have to help me." Dean was still speaking quickly, but now his thoughts were organized and his sentences made sense.

“You were in his house?” John replied, thinking. “And you sensed that he’s not safe there? He lived in those surroundings all his life, didn’t he?” John took a deep breath. What Dean told him was serious. If there was an underlying evil vibe engulfing Sam’s house, something bad had happened there. And John knew he would make sure that this Sam was out of evil’s clutches. “I understand why you want to fly Sam out of there. He’s not up to the trip in a hurry, yet, and you don’t want to leave any tracks. I will help you, of course I will. But how do you want to arrange for me to bring him to the safe house without him freaking out? Without him wondering how you got there?”
Dean nodded, "Yeah, he's lived there his whole life. But what I felt in that house was so evil that he can't go back there another day. Sam is pure of heart, Dad. That is the only reason he was able to bind me to him and make me his protector. If he returns to that house, the evil there will corrupt him. And I can't let that happen."
Dean took several deep breaths before he finally said, "I'm telling him part of the truth. That I have found a way and can take him away quickly and without leaving a trace. And that he should trust me. And then... then I'll take him to the clearing in the forest. And you wait there. And you take us to the cabin."
John pondered Dean’s words, weighing the pros and cons. While it was a risk, it was certainly better than knocking the human out for the trip. “You told him you’d seen dragons, right? While it isn’t perfect, I think it’s the best way to help him.”
He moved around Dean towards the mouth of the cave. “You want us to go now, don’t you?” John could feel the urgency in his son, and he knew that Dean had a fine sense of knowing when there was time or not. He trusted him unconditionally and without doubt. “I’m ready when you are, son.”
Relieved, Dean followed his father and then took to the air, John close behind him. Dean flew ahead and showed John the small clearing deep in the forest from where he would make his way back to Sam. He looked at his father and asked, "Can you hold back a bit when I get here with Sam? I don't want him to freak out. We'll be back soon. I'll hurry." Dean nodded to his father and then rushed off in his human form to get Sam.

Sam was sitting just outside Jonas’ house with Rowen, helping him to pestle sage to extract the juices that would be collected in a small flask. Or rather, Sam was holding the flask while Rowen used the mortar. He’d been drinking his willow bark tea and had added whatever medicine Jonas wanted him to take along to his bag. Now he was helping Rowen, which kept him from wondering when Dean would be back.
“As Jonas said, Dean will be back,” Rowen said after filling some more droplets of sage juice into the flask. “He’ll be here soon, you’ll see.”
Sam scrutinized the small flask that by now was about a quarter filled with the sage juice, but Rowen still had lots of leaves to pestle. Then he looked up at the boy. “I know,” he replied. “I’m sorry I’m not a big help, and I hope I’m not holding you up. I know Dean will be back soon. He said so, and I know he will keep his word.”
Rowen was about to reply when he saw Dean running towards them both. He smiled and said to Sam, "I think it's time to say goodbye. Your friend's back."
Dean stopped in front of them and nodded to Rowen, then said to Sam, "I'm ready. We can go when you're ready."

Sam was frozen for a split second. Seeing Dean running like that told him that he didn’t want to lose any more time. “I’m ready,” he replied and got up. Then he hugged Rowen. “Thank you for helping me,” he said as Jonas came outside, bringing Sam’s bag. “You take care of yourself,” Jonas said seriously. “And you let Dean care for you as long as you need it. Rowen and I need you to be safe. Both of you.” Jonas looked at Dean and then handed Sam’s bag to him. “Let us know as soon as you can,” he said softly.
“Be safe,” Rowen repeated Jonas’ words. “I’ll miss you.”
Sam gave Jonas a hug as well and then stepped up to Dean. He looked at the healer and his helper and smiled. “You know I’m very grateful for your care, and I hope that one day we’ll meet again.” Then he looked at Dean. “Lead the way,” he said, ready to pick up the pace.
Dean also said a quick goodbye and then took the bag from Jonas.

After they left Brynmor, Dean walked with Sam towards the forest and finally said quietly, "I'm taking you pretty deep into the forest now. There's a hidden clearing there. And we are already expected."
“Expected?” Sam echoed, surprised. “Who is expecting us?”
He worked hard to keep pace with Dean because it was obvious that he didn’t want to waste any time, but he was glad he had of the tea before because he could feel that he hadn’t done anything similar to that in a few days.
While he was walking, Sam wondered who Dean and he could meet at a clearing that he couldn’t bring to Jonas’ house to pick them up. Was there someone else going with them? Maybe leading them to the safe house?
Dean stopped and looked at Sam. "You trust me, right? You're not going to freak out and go crazy if I answer this now, okay?" Dean looked searchingly back and forth between Sam's eyes.
Finally, he took a deep breath. "You remember when I said I've seen a dragon before? Well, you're about to see one too. Because I was able to convince him to help us and take us to the cabin."
Sam stopped dead in his tracks. “A dragon?” he croaked, throat suddenly dry. “You… we are meeting a dragon? I… is it the dragon that I saw?” His heart was racing as he was trying to comprehend what Dean was telling him. The dragon he had seen had been huge. If he was here at the clearing, how had nobody seen him? Or his tracks? Maybe he usually just flew?
Sam shook his head to clear his mind. “You’re not joking,” he whispered, and it wasn’t a question. “How… how will he help us? And take us to that cabin?”
Dean shook his head. "It definitely wasn't your dragon. The one we're meeting now... he's the leader of the flight and he... let's just say he wants to help me. He'll take us to the cabin in his claws and on his back. You'll be safe in his claw, I promise you that."
“In his claw?” Sam asked tonelessly. His heart was racing at the thought. Just how big was that claw, and wasn’t it razor sharp? He took a deep breath and looked at Dean. He trusted the other man. If Dean said he was safe, then he believed him.
“Okay.” Sam’s voice was still a bit shaky, but he meant what he said. If Dean said he’d be safe, then he believed him. And it was okay.
Dean could sense that Sam wasn't comfortable with the idea, but unfortunately, he didn't have time to slowly prepare him for a meeting with John. "Nothing will happen to you, Sam. He will protect you with his life."
He grabbed Sam's good hand, squeezed it encouragingly, and held it tightly in his as he continued to walk with Sam deeper into the forest.

Sam followed along quietly for a short while. He was sorting his thoughts, and it took him a moment to catch up. “So… you know this dragon well? I mean, you tell me he will protect me. With his life. I’m a human he has never met.” He was watching where he set each foot because Dean was leading him to a part that he hadn’t walked to often. Or at all.
"I've known him all my life. And he has never been anything but kind, gentle, and protective of me. My happiness is more important to him than his own. That's why he'll protect you. With his life if he has to, yes," Dean replied quietly.
He looked at Sam, "I know you've only ever heard what monsters dragons are. But the one you hunted saved you, even though he had no reason to. And the one you are about to meet will do the same for you. Simply because I ask him to. Dragons aren't monsters, Sam."
Sam licked his lips. “I want to believe that. Because you wouldn’t lie to me. It’s still a lot to wrap my mind around. All I have heard about dragons was from my father, and it wasn’t nice things. Not one single nice thing. All the others? They told me dragons don’t exist. That my father became crazy from grief. I had to play to his craziness. He trained me, Dean. To hunt the dragons that nobody believed existed. And then I saw this… giant shadow in the sky. And it looked exactly like what my father had always told me. I… the dragon never did anything to me, but I hunted him because seeing a dragon to me meant that my father had been right.” Sam stopped talking for a moment, unknowingly gripping Dean’s hand tighter. “And yet, it felt wrong. Thinking that my father was right felt wrong. Because of the way he treated me all my life. He just couldn’t be right, could he? I trust you, Dean. You saved me. You and that dragon… you saved me. And if you tell me you trust this dragon and that he will protect me, then I believe it.”
Dean remained silent. There was nothing he could say at this moment that would ease Sam's fears or concerns. The only thing that mattered now was getting Sam to John so that his father could get them both to safety.
Silently, they hurried deeper and deeper into the forest until Dean suddenly stopped and looked at Sam. "If we go out there into the clearing now, don't freak out. That dragon you're going to see, he's going to seem huge, but I swear he won't hurt you. Okay?" Dean smiled encouragingly and then slowly stepped into the clearing with Sam, where John waited patiently for his son and his human friend.

Sam swallowed and nodded, and followed Dean out into the clearing. The dragon Dean had mentioned was even bigger than he had imagined, and Sam’s jaw dropped. The shimmering scales seemed brown one second and then blue or gray the next. The claws were gigantic and looked more solid than anything Sam had ever seen before. Slowly, he lifted his gaze up along the impressive body, over the large wings, up to the massive and strangely beautiful head until they settled on the dragon’s hazel eyes. “Holy grass rock,” Sam exhaled, subconsciously squeezing Dean’s hand. It wasn’t in fear, more in awe, and Sam had to consciously try to relax his hand because he didn’t want to hurt Dean once he became aware of what he was doing.
Dean looked at his father and nodded at him. John returned the gesture by slowly bowing his mighty head. Then, in slow motion, he lowered himself onto his front legs and remained in a sphinx-like position, patiently waiting.
Dean stepped forward and reached out for John, his father lowered his head and gently pressed his scaled muzzle against Dean's palm.
Dean turned to Sam, "See? It's all right. He won't hurt you, Sam. You can come closer."
Sam looked into those hazel eyes once more, finding himself thinking that dragon eyes were unreal and mesmerizing. He stepped forward, next to Dean, and tentatively lifted his hand. “Can I… is it okay if I touch?” Sam asked. “How do I ask him? And does he have a name?” Sam felt his heart beating wildly in his chest, being so close to a creature he hadn’t been sure existed and that he’d been told was evil. Standing this close now, somehow, Sam felt a lot of things. But he wasn’t afraid. It was not only because of Dean’s reassurance, but Sam couldn’t put a name on it.
Dean looked up at his father, who was blowing his trademark smoke rings through his nostrils.
The dragon turned his head towards Sam, bent it a little lower towards him, and said in a deep voice that seemed to resound from everywhere, "My name is unpronounceable by the human tongue, so you may call me John. And I allow the touch."
The smoke rings caught Sam’s attention, and he almost took a step backwards. But he realized quickly they didn’t pose a threat. “John,” he whispered as he stretched out his hand and carefully touched the scales. Sam had expected them to feel cold and slick, but in reality, they were warmer than he had imagined. Probably because of the fire, Sam thought. And they felt like there were a lot of tiny dimples on them. To help with the air resistance, Sam’s mind provided him with. He’s been using a technique to dimple arrow heads to make them fly farther and straighter, and faster, and he was certain that’s what he felt on the scales. “Thank you,” he whispered after a moment and dropped his hand again. “For letting me touch you. And for agreeing to help Dean get me to safety.”
John nodded, "It's a pleasure. I think we should set off soon, too. It's not a long flight for me, but the air is too cold for you humans this high up. And it's only going to get colder when the sun disappears."
Dean nodded as well and said, "Can you carry Sam in your claw? I'll ride on your back. I don't mind the cold quite so much."
John agreed and opened one of his huge claws for Sam to step inside, saying, "It looks more dangerous than it is. I will carry you very carefully, and you will be reasonably protected from the icy winds in there. My body heat will also give you the warmth you need so that you don't freeze too much."
“You’re not going to stay with me?” Sam asked Dean before taking in the huge claw again. Then he realized that despite the size, they would be very cramped in one claw. And John probably needed the others to lift off. “Are you sure you’re safe up there? What are you going to hold on to?” The worry for Dean’s safety was more pronounced than the worry of getting too cold or flying with an actual, real-life dragon.

Dean laughed happily and lightheartedly, climbing up over one of John's paws and then over his lowered wing and onto John's back. He sat down between the transition of the neck scales into the back scales and grinned boldly at Sam. "He won't drop me any more than he'll drop you. Believe me."
John looked at Sam with those warm hazel eyes and said softly, "His life is as precious to me as my own son's. And I will value your life just as much."
Sam watched Dean settle lightheartedly on John’s back and finally looked at the dragon. “I trust Dean. Dean told me he trusts you, so… I trust you, too.” He looked at the giant claw. “How do I do this? Can I hold on to something?”
John carefully unclenched his claw so as not to startle Sam. “I feel honored by your trust. Try settling in the back of the claw, as close to the back as you can. I will close my claw - partially. Just enough so you’re safe. You can hold on to anything, and I will be very careful. I promise you that.”
Sam looked another moment at the claw and then determinedly climbed into his claw. It felt similar to the scales, but without the dimples. Finding a way he could hold on to part of the claw, Sam closed his eyes and relaxed. “I’m ready,” he whispered in a calm that belied his excitement.
Carefully, the giant claw closed around Sam, forming a relatively comfortable hollow for him to sit in. It was also narrow enough that he couldn't be shaken around in it.
A moment later, the dragon moved, and then Sam could hear the beating of huge wings. At the same time, the forest floor of the clearing below him became smaller and smaller.
John said to him, "If you get scared of heights, lean really hard against the pad of my claw and close your eyes."
Sam could hear Dean whooping and laughing, and there was so much joy in it that it was hard not to be infected. "Enjoy it, Sam! You're experiencing something that humans are denied. You're flying!" Dean shouted with a laugh.

Sam could feel the unfamiliar motion in the pit of his stomach and instinctively did what John had suggested. But after a minute, he had to find out what flying looked like and leaned a little to the side to peer through the gaps in the claw.
The landscape was rushing by, and Sam could only make out a sea of green foliage beneath him. He moved a little and tried to look in the direction they were flying. Finally, he saw what Dean was referring to. It looked amazing. Sam’s stomach was still tight, but he felt safe and enjoyed the view. The wind definitely was icy, and Sam leaned as closely as possible with his injured arm against the claw to block most of it, but eventually he felt goosebumps forming on his skin. Eyes still peeled on the rushing landscape, Sam called out to Dean. “You’re right, it’s incredible. I nev…ver thought this was h…how things look from abo…ve. I can’t believe I’m fl…flying.”
Dean laughed in response, and for a while, all that could be heard was the rush of the wind and the steady beat of John's wings.
The dragon had pressed his claw firmly against his breastplate when he heard Sam's trembling voice, protecting him from the worst of the cold. But unfortunately, he couldn't make the flight for Sam without freezing.
After just over half an hour, they flew towards a mountain range that Sam had never seen before. John circled over a spot and then slowly descended. A moment later, he landed and lowered his claw to the ground, where he slowly opened it.
Dean slid unceremoniously down John's wing, as he had often done as a child, and hurried to Sam. He held out his hand to him, "Come on, let me help you."

Sam shivered and took Dean’s hand. He needed the support to climb out of the claw because the cold had made his limbs stiff. “Thank you,” he whispered. “H…how come you’re n…not cold?” After all, Dean had been more exposed than he. Could he really just be used to it? How often did he fly with a dragon then? All those questions disappeared, however, when Sam looked around. He had no idea where they were, but the sight was stunning. Luscious green grass and trees, blue skies, and only a few small clouds visible. The sun was baking down, and there was a pleasant smell in Sam’s nose that reminded him of Jonas’ herb garden in summer. “Is this where we’re going to stay?” he asked as his gaze settled on the dragon once more. “Thank you for your help, John,” he said gratefully and bowed his head. “I think we’re going to be safe here, and he won’t ever find me. I will never forget your help.”
John returned the gesture and bowed his head as well. Then he looked at his son, "Dean, I'll check on you from time to time. You know how to reach me. Until then, take good care of you both."
He turned to Sam and said gently, "You're safe here, Sam. No one has set foot in this place for decades, and it has been forgotten. And you've found the best protector you could wish for in Dean."
John slowly stepped back, turned away, and rose majestically into the air. He circled above them a few more times before disappearing into the clouds.

Dean cleared his throat and then said quietly, "So... you and me, huh? Then let's go to the cabin. There should be enough supplies for the next few weeks. And furs, blankets, and pillows to make it cozy for us. I think there's also a fireplace. And although we are very far away from any civilization here, we should only light a fire in the fireplace at night if possible, smoke is visible for a long way, and I don't want us to attract uninvited guests."

Sam had his eyes on the dragon as he flew off and listened to Dean talking. There was a lot to take in, still. “Furs, blankets, and pillows sound good right now,” he replied as he walked next to Dean. “I think I need to warm up still. I feel like I’ve been in the lake too long. In winter.”
When they reached the cabin, Sam was mesmerized. He couldn’t imagine how something gorgeous like this could just be in the middle of nothing, in the mountains, and be forgotten. “If this only looks half as good on the inside as it does on the outside, it will be the most stunning house I’ve ever set foot in. I mean, you saw the place where I live. Lived. Jonas’ place is a hundred times nicer already. This here? It looks amazing.”
"I've only been here once. My father showed it to me. It's cozy and exactly what you need right now. A safe place where you can heal. Without fear and without pressure from your father. And you can stay here until you know what you want to do with your life. Because you're the only one who decides, Sam. Just you. Not your father," Dean replied seriously.
Then he opened the door to the cabin and let Sam in.
He put Sam's bag down and looked around.
His father had kept his promise. The cabin had been cleaned, fresh bed linen and warm furs and blankets had been laid out on the large bed in the bedroom. The pantry was full to the brim with food and fresh water. There was firewood in the basket by the fireplace and a bag of Dean's human belongings in the bedroom.
Dean smiled. His father always kept his promises.

As Sam stepped inside, he looked around, eyes big. The cabin was really cozy on the inside, and for a moment, he wondered who it belonged to and who kept it in order.
“I’m speechless,” Sam whispered. “I had no idea there were cabins in the mountains. Especially none like this.”
He dropped onto the cozy-looking couch, seats covered with what Sam judged to be bear pelts. It was soft and warm, and Sam closed his eyes for a moment. “Thank you for this, for keeping me safe here.” Opening them again, Sam adjusted on the couch and settled his eyes on Dean. “When you told me you had seen a dragon, I never thought you meant you’re best friends with one. In your village, do many people have a dragon friend like this?”
Dean turned to Sam. Damn. He had guessed that this conversation would come; he just hadn't expected it right away. He sighed and sat down next to Sam.
"No. Not everyone in my village is best friends with a dragon. But we... we're used to their presence. And for this particular dragon... I'm like a son to him. Which is why he was willing to help me."
Sam looked at Dean for a moment and then nodded. “That’s why you told me that dragons are no monsters. Because you, your village, you’re friends with them. And I’m guessing you have a deal to keep it secret.”
Sam shifted a little, getting himself a bit closer to Dean. “This dragon, John, he’s a giant. But I felt safe with him. I liked the feel of his scales. I never imagined dragon scales being anything but awfully smooth and cold. They’re neither. But Dean, how did you keep warm up there? I’m only now starting to feel myself again, and the flight ended a short while ago.”
Dean chose his words carefully when he replied, "I come from a long line of so-called fireborns. We don't freeze so quickly because we have fire in our blood."
He looked at his hands for a moment before lifting his gaze and looking Sam in the eye. "Sam, no one can know that dragons exist. The only reason these beings are still around is because no one knows they're real. And it has to stay that way."
Sam’s eyes were big, looking back at Dean with sincerity. “Yes. I know. They would be a target. Like… my target. That dragon that I hunted, I’m glad my arrows didn’t reach. Although I’m doubting by now that they could have hurt him.”
He licked his lips before nibbling on them. “What exactly do you mean by being a ‘fireborn’? I didn’t know humans could be something like that. Does it… is it unique to your village, like the knowledge about dragons?”
"Yeah," Dean replied, "something like that. I can't explain to you exactly how it works. Only that we are different." He remained silent. He didn't want to lie to Sam, but he couldn't tell him the truth either. Not yet. His father was right. Sam first had to prove that he could keep the knowledge about dragons and their existence a secret.
Sam’s eyes were still on Dean, taking in his appearance. He didn’t look different to him. Granted, his green eyes were unique and stunning. But he looked just like a human. No glowing skin or something that would suggest it was different.
Finally, his eyes locked on Dean’s lips, and he remembered how they had felt against his when they had kissed. He still had no explanation why he felt so attracted to Dean, because up until now, it had just been girls who made him feel that way. “Okay,” Sam finally said and looked back into Dean’s eyes. “I’m glad you brought me here, and it’s perfect, even, because my father surely can’t track us through the air. I… Dean, when I packed my things, you said you felt something evil in my house. Is it… can you sense those things because of being a fireborn? To me, it always felt… cold, not like home. But I always thought that was just me, and because of what I experienced there.”
"Some people are able to sense these things. I can't explain it, but I know what I felt when we were in your house. And that was not a good thing. My hair on the back of my neck stood on end, and I felt miserable. Physically ill. Something evil lives in that house. Something very evil. And I couldn't stand it there for a second longer," Dean replied quietly. He shivered at the mere memory of it.

Sam thought about Dean’s words, and while he could understand what Dean meant, he had no idea what this evil could be. Unless it was that Dean could feel William Campbell when he wasn’t even there. Sam shook his head. “I’m glad I don’t have to return. It was never my favorite place to go.” Without conscious thought, Sam scooted a little closer to Dean. He liked his closeness, and it helped get his mind off old memories. Leaning his head against Dean’s shoulder, Sam let his hand brush over Dean’s in an intimate way. A tender touch that sent some shivers of the good kind down Sam’s spine. “I think my favorite place is… being with you,” he whispered.
"Then it's a good thing I came with you," Dean replied quietly. He leaned his head against Sam's and closed his eyes. His thoughts were still revolving around Sam's house and what he had felt there. He only hoped he had been able to get Sam out of there in time, because some things were so evil that it was better to keep your distance.

Sam shivered when Dean leaned against him in the same way. He turned his head a bit towards the other man and inhaled his scent. He was still not able to put into words what he liked about it or what Dean smelled like, but it was something that kept Sam spellbound.
He just remained like that for a few moments, a few more breaths. But just when he thought he should turn his head back again, Sam found himself pressing his lips against Dean’s throat, once, twice, and then again.
Dean froze, and then a pleasant shiver ran down his spine. Sam's lips felt warm and soft and heavenly.
It was not the first time he had been kissed in this way. But it was the first time he felt like he did now. As if he were exactly where he was supposed to be and as if everything was exactly as fate had planned.
Sam could feel Dean shivering beneath his lips, only then realizing what he was doing. But Dean didn’t move away or tell him to stop, so Sam, after a brief moment, resumed kissing Dean’s throat and neck.
When he reached the spot below his ear, Sam stuck out his tongue and placed some kitten licks right where the neck met the jaw, before returning to kissing Dean.
Dean held still for a while and let Sam be.
His eyes were closed, and his breathing was shallow. But then he suddenly opened his eyes and gently pushed Sam away from him. He looked Sam in the eye and then said slowly, "Sam... we've only just arrived. You're cold, and you've seen things that no human ever sees. I.... I don't want to be compensation, okay? Not like that."
Sam froze, and his body tensed at Dean’s words. Did Dean think he was doing that for… compensation? He swallowed hard. “That wasn’t for compensation or thanks. But I get it. Not now. I… I understand.” He dug his teeth into his lips and stared at the fireplace for a few moments to sort through his emotions. “I should probably unpack my things. Can you show me which… where?”

Dean grabbed Sam's chin and turned his face back towards him. He looked deep into his eyes and said quietly, "Okay. But let's take it a little slower anyway. All right? We have all the time in the world here. And I just want you to be sure about everything we do or don't do. Do you understand?" He held Sam's gaze for a moment longer and then leaned in to kiss him gently. Tenderly and with the promise of more.
Then he let go of Sam and stood up to take Sam's bag. "Come on. I'll show you where you can put your things. I have to unpack my bag, too."
“Of course I understand,” Sam mumbled as he watched Dean take the lead, heading towards the rooms. “I’m sure about what I was doing,” he then called a bit louder, and followed him.
In the room, he noticed the bed that Dean had put his bag on was quite large, like it was designed for two people. There was a wooden wardrobe with intricate carvings as well as a dresser that looked very similar. Above the dresser, he found an oval-shaped mirror with an ornate frame made of copper or something similar. “This looks very nice,” he stated, looking around and then walking to the window. “And the view is amazing!” He turned around to look at Dean. “In which direction is your village, do you know that? Or… would it be better if I don’t know that?”
Dean grinned at him, "Well, if you were sure about what you were doing, I'm sure it won't be hard for you to remember where we left off and then pick it up later." He started to put his things out of his bag and into the cupboard and shelves when Sam asked him which way his village was. He looked up, "I don't know. Maybe it's better for now if you don't know. And the next time John comes, we'll ask him. If he thinks it's safe, I'll show you."
Sam watched Dean packing his things away and realized that this was a room for sharing. He smiled and opened his own bag.
“Okay. So… John will have a better judgment of what’s safe? I realize you will have to have told him things about what happened to get him to help you, but… how much did you tell him?” A thought occurred to him, and he froze for a second. “Does he know that I was trying to hunt one of his friends?”
"Yeah, John's got a lot more experience in these things, and he's always saved us from all kinds of trouble over the years. I don't want to decide something like that without his judgment," Dean replied. He grinned at Sam's last question and then nodded, "Yep, he knows."
Sam dropped onto the bed, eyes wide. “He knows? And he… he’s not mad or anything? I mean, he helped me. I… isn’t the reason that the dragons want to remain hidden that they don’t want to be hunted? And now he’s helping the man who did just that?” He closed his eyes for a moment while his fingers dug into the duvet. “Why would my father tell me dragons are evil, that they killed… my mother, and need to be hunted? Nothing about his story, the way he behaves, or what he told me makes any sense. But he drilled it into me. He told me about the evil dragons in such detail that I could see them when I closed my eyes. That I… dreamed of them.”
"The dragon you hunted had decided to save your life. And John respects this decision. Besides, he trusts the dragon's judgment. Your dragon seems to have seen something in you that was worth saving," Dean replied. He also lay down on the bed and folded his arms behind his head. "I don't know why your father hates dragons so much that he wanted to frame one of them for this murder. But I know that dragons are not the monsters you think they are. And I think you're intelligent enough to make up your mind."
Sam remained silent for a long while. Of course, he had an idea why his father was looking for someone to blame. But why did he pick dragons? Everyone thought they were a figment of mankind’s imagination. “You know I made up my mind already. I wouldn’t have climbed into John’s claw if I thought dragons were mindless killers. I think… I think my father lost his cool and killed my mother, and then lost his mind and blamed it on a dragon. But… somehow I hope my mother died in an accident and not by his hand.”
Dean just looked at Sam in silence. He knew what he had sensed in that house and was pretty sure that murder had been one of the reasons for the abysmal evil he had sensed there.
But he understood only too well why Sam was clinging desperately to the hope that his mother's death had perhaps been an accident after all.

“Does your father ever talk about your mother?” Sam asked after a while of silence. “I sometimes try to imagine how my mother would be. How she would look now. And if she would like who I am now.”
"Yeah," Dean replied quietly. "He often talks about her. He loved her very much, and she loved us. She was a wonderful mother, and she was the love of his life. I hardly remember her. But I'll always have my father's stories."
Dean turned his head and looked at Sam. "If she loved you, and she certainly did, she'd be proud of you."
Sam pressed his lips together and nodded. “I like to think that,” he replied. “Thank you for saying it out loud.” He then smiled at Dean, trying to push his somber thoughts aside. “I think I should get going with unpacking. Maybe when we’re done, we can check what supplies are here so we can figure out what to cook for food later?”
Dean jumped up and nodded, "That sounds like a plan. I think I saw some lamb in the pantry. That's something I'd like to eat today." He started to put his things away again and seemed to be in a good mood as he hummed quietly and happily to himself.
“Lamb,” Sam repeated as he got up and unpacked as well. “We rarely have lamb. I would have to buy it two towns over because old Neil only has two sheep left of his flock. And they were both rams.”
Quickly, he finished sorting the little things he’d brought, holding his carving knife in his hands for a moment. “Do you think we can search for some wood for me to carve?” he asked Dean and placed the knife on the dresser.
Dean had finished putting his things away and turned to Sam. "Sure. I promised you that you could carve here as much as you like. But first, your arm should be healed so that you don't accidentally hurt yourself."
He stepped next to Sam and took the knife in his hand. "You could try carving a dragon," he said quietly, and put the knife back.
Sam raised an eyebrow. “A dragon,” he repeated. “That sounds like an idea. Just… I don’t think I can do one life size.” He laughed. “Sorry, bad joke. But… I can do a dragon. You might have to describe some things, how they look, but… now you got me hooked.” Sam walked towards the door. “Which dragon should I carve? The one I hunted? Or John?”
Dean looked at Sam with glittering eyes and asked back quietly, "Which dragon would you rather carve? And can you even remember your dragon? What did he look like? Could you see him clearly enough to carve him?"
Sam licked his lips and closed his eyes briefly. Then he nodded. “I wouldn’t be able to be specific with the finer details, because I didn’t see him up close, but I can do the shape and then use what I learned from seeing John up close. Or… I don’t know, are there differences in the shape of scales? The eyes, but for the color, and the wings?” Sam had a vague memory of being carried, but he wasn’t sure if that was really a memory or had been because of his concussion.
"In my experience, dragons are actually very different. Not only in their size, but also in the color of their scales and horns. Not every dragon has iridescent scales or head horns. Dragons are...," Dean thought and finally said, "humans don't all look the same either. It's just harder for humans to recognize the differences dragons have. Most people don't get close enough to notice them."
“I understand,” Sam replied. “I could try, though. And if it doesn’t work, I can try to carve John. Or a fantasy dragon.”
He smiled. “So, how many dragons have you seen, and is there a scale coloring that you like best? Or that is most common? I think the dragon that I hunted was mostly black, but… there was a greenish glint to his scales, if my brain didn’t scramble something up.”
"I don't know, there have been a few," said Dean. He thought about Sam's question for a long time and then replied, "I think I like John's scales best." Dean's voice was soft, very gentle. John's scale armor had been in front of his eyes all his life, under its wings, Dean had sought shelter and warmth and learned to fly.
Yes, so if he chose his father, it was hardly surprising.
“His scales are really nice,” Sam agreed. “I never thought that any flying creature would have dimples in their, hmmm, armor, to make it more aerodynamic.”
In the kitchen, Sam watched Dean as he brought the lamb. “Would you like to prepare the lamb, and I will do the sides? Or how would you like us to cook?” He hadn’t made lamb in a while, but he remembered how delicious the meat was and how the roasted potatoes and the bacon-wrapped beans had complemented the taste.
Dean blushed and looked down at the floor, embarrassed. "I'm afraid you'll have to do the actual cooking. Unfortunately, I never learned how to do it and would definitely burn the meat." Which was the absolute truth, Dean thought.
“Burn the meat?” Sam asked, surprised. “I mean, no problem, I can do the cooking. And if you want to, I can teach you a little.” Sam had learned how to cook pretty early because his father usually couldn’t be bothered but demanded cooked food. A neighbor had taught Sam the basics, and the rest he had learned bit by bit via trial and error. “Do you know what else is in the pantry? Can you show me? I will pick out something nice to go with the lamb.”
"Yeah, of course," Dean replied. He went ahead and first showed Sam the kitchen, which had a sink and a large work surface as well as a large wood-burning stove. There was also a large, wood-lined cellar, which was wonderfully cold and where the more perishable items were stored. The shelves were well stocked here, too. Milk, cheese, and ham were stored there, sausage and sides of pork hung on a pole, and lamb and a side of beef were also stored there. Dean grinned. "There's a lot here that you can teach me to cook."
Next, he showed Sam the pantry, where many different vegetables, potatoes, and rice were stored alongside herbs and fruit such as apples, pears, and cherries.
"Is there anything usable in there?" he asked Sam.
Sam looked around and found a few things he could use and pair with a roasted lamb shoulder. He nodded.
“There is. I am thinking of making a roast, which would take some time to slow cook. I shouldn’t get started too late. I’ll make roasted potatoes as a side, and then you have a choice. Either bacon rolled beans or cheese crusted carrots.” He looked at Dean expectantly, so he knew which items to bring to the kitchen already.
Dean's mouth watered at the mention of the lamb shoulder, and he nodded enthusiastically, "Oh, yes! That sounds good. All of it. I have no idea what one or the other tastes like because I've never eaten either. Maybe you'll pick out what goes best with it?" He looked hopefully at Sam. But then he remembered something important, "Sam, we shouldn't cook in daylight. You can see smoke for miles on a beautiful day like today. So we'll have to do the cooking in the evening."
Sam’s jaw dropped a little. “You’ve never eaten either? What did you eat all your life?” He blinked his eyes for a moment and then shrugged. “I’ll make a bit of both then. It’s a sin not to have had any of it yet.”
Then he looked outside and pondered the remark about the smoke. “Okay. But it will be a late dinner then. Maybe we can have some sliced bread and cold meat, and cheese, then at lunchtime. I did see a loaf of bread here somewhere, didn’t I?” He looked around and loaded Dean’s arms with the vegetables, some hard cheese, the herbs, as well as a piece of bacon that would need to be sliced. “Okay, the lamb I will get later when we start. I’ll just bring out the butter, and then we should be all set for now.”
Dean shrugged, "We live way up in the mountains. Hardly anything grows there, let alone vegetables. So, of necessity, we eat quite a lot of meat." Actually, that was all he ate, but that was a conversation for another time.
He followed Sam back to the kitchen, where he unloaded his burden and said, "I have no problem with a late dinner. We can sleep as long as we want; nobody is rushing us here. It also makes sense for us to move around a lot in the evening and at night. It's difficult to travel at night here in the mountains; the terrain is too dangerous. So it will be difficult to spot us then."
Sam sorted everything in the kitchen so he could make use of it easily later on. Since it was still early for lunch, he looked around and then outside again. “Can we go outside a bit, though? It’s so beautiful and I would like to get a view. Is there maybe a little stream nearby or… can we check for suitable wood for carving?”
Dean nodded, "There's a small mountain stream further up. I saw that when we flew over here. I think it might be a hike of twenty to thirty minutes. We can pack bread, butter, and cheese, maybe some apples, and then have our lunch up there. What do you think?”
Sam smiled broadly. “I think it sounds wonderful,” he replied. “And maybe we take a cup along to have some fresh mountain stream water. I was told you can taste the mountain in it, and it’s really cold and refreshing.” He looked around. “We could use my bag. It’s empty now. I’ll get it quickly.”
Without waiting for Dean’s reply, Sam went to fetch the bag and then packed half a loaf of bread, butter and cheese, a few dried sausages, a cutting board, and a knife. Then he added two apples for each of them and packed two cups on top. “Ready when you are,” he announced, pulling the strings on top closed so nothing would be able to fall out.
Dean just grinned, shaking his head, and grabbed one of the blankets from a basket next to the couch. "You forgot the blanket, huh? What else are we going to sit on? It can be chilly up there." He tucked the blanket under his arm and followed Sam. Outside, he then led the way, and they followed a narrow path that took them further up into the mountains. And just as Dean had suspected, less than half an hour later, they reached the stream and a small meadow at the edge, which was bathed in sunshine and made a perfect spot for a picnic. Dean spread out the blanket there and then simply let himself fall onto it. He closed his eyes contentedly and murmured, "It's wonderful here."
Sam had to catch up to Dean quite a few times. He kept stopping to admire the landscape and a few birds or critters. When he caught up with Dean, he dropped the bag he’d been carrying on his good shoulder next to the blanket and slowly dropped down as well.
“My feet are burning,” he announced after a moment. “I never knew hiking in the mountains could get your feet on fire.” He opened the laces and kicked them off and then glanced at the small, nearby stream. “I’ll cool them off a little,” he muttered and got back up to stand in a shallow area. The moment his feet were emerged in the water, Sam shrieked softly. “Cold,” he gasped, looking apologetically at Dean. “But sooo nice. I just… think I can’t stay in long or they’ll freeze off.”
Dean laughed, "You'd better get back out of the water and bury your toes in the grass." Dean sat up and took off his boots as well. Then he stripped off his shirt and pants and joined Sam in the water wearing only his underpants. He walked a little further down the stream until he found a place where the water reached at least as far as his thighs. There he went under, and when he emerged a minute later, he shook himself, and drops of water from his wet hair flew in all directions.
He laughed happily and lightheartedly and exclaimed, "This is refreshing. The water here is so clear that I can see the pebbles at the bottom."

Sam watched Dean getting undressed as he contemplated whether he needed to get out or stay in the water. That thought went right out the window, though, when Dean submerged in the water and then resurfaced, shaking the water off him.
Sam was spellbound, taking in Dean’s form and the droplets of water running down his body, leaving small, wet trails. His hair, now wet and dripping gently, made Sam want to run his fingers through it, and he forgot that he was fully dressed still as he waded towards Dean. Admiring Dean’s broad shoulders, Sam dug his teeth into his lips to stifle the urge to kiss the droplets off one by one. “Yes,” he croaked instead, without looking down. “I can see them, too.” He knew he would if he looked down, and a moment later, he squeezed his eyes shut briefly and shook his head. When he opened them again, he looked down, seeing that Dean was right, as expected. Then he blinked and bent down, submerging most of himself under the surface to pick up a pebble that had caught his attention. “Look, it’s beautiful. All smooth and… a unique shade of red,” he whispered and then looked at Dean.
Dean shook his head and laughed softly, "Sam, you're still fully dressed. You're going to have to dry in the sun for a while now." He looked into Sam's eyes, saw the dreamy look, the slightly flushed cheeks, and lifted a wet hand to gently brush a few stray strands of hair from his face. He nodded and said quietly, "Yeah. Beautiful." And it was clear he didn't mean the pebble.
Sam smiled happily and then realized what Dean had said. “Oh…, I forgot. I think I was distracted.” He leaned his head into Dean’s hand slightly when he brushed it through his hair. “Hold on. I’ll fix that.” As carefully as he could, Sam exited the stream and placed the pebble on a small boulder nearby. Then he got rid of his pants, which wasn’t that easy now that it was drenched. Getting rid of the shirt was even tougher, but Sam was finally successful and draped his clothes on the same boulder in the sunny bits. “This is better,” he then announced and returned to the stream.
Just as he took the last step up to the other man, he slipped on the rocks and just managed to hold on to Dean’s arm with his good hand. “Woah, that was… not the way I wanted to get in the water,” he gasped.
Dean caught him before he could fall into the water and ruin his splints. "Ho! Be careful! You mustn't get your arm wet. We only have these splints; getting new ones could be difficult."
He stabilized Sam with his arm, which he had wrapped tightly around Sam's middle, holding him securely.
“I’m sorry,” Sam mumbled and leaned against Dean. He shivered slightly, but not because of the cold water. Dean’s hand on his skin just had that effect. “If I keep my arm above the water, can I kneel down?”
"Okay. But be careful. The water will come up to your chest. You need to keep your arm up. I'm here to help you if you want to get up again," Dean replied and let go of Sam so that he could kneel slowly in the water.
“Okay,” Sam nodded and slowly sank down until his knees touched the ground. He kept his arm up high enough, so the water, which was now lapping just below his nipples, didn’t touch it. “Ah, that’s cold, but… so refreshing,” he stated and glanced up at Dean. Since he didn’t want to risk wetting his splint, instead of bending his head, Sam scooped up some water with his free hand and splashed his face before running it through his hair. “Oh, nice,” he exclaimed, unable to keep the slight tenseness the cold water caused out of his voice. He felt like he’d been sleeping on a block of ice and knew he needed to stand up again before he’d feel the cold in all of his muscles. “I’d prefer you giving me a hand,” he said, head tilted up. “Don’t want to slip again.”
"Okay," Dean replied, leaning down to Sam and... scooping him up. With Sam in his arms, Dean waded effortlessly through the water back to the blanket he had brought with him, on which he carefully set Sam down. Then he dropped back onto the blanket next to him, folded his arms behind his head, and turned his face towards the sun. He closed his eyes and murmured, "And now we dry."

Sam yelped when Dean picked him up. He’d thought he would just help him up by holding his hand, not like that. Then again, being so close to Dean’s naked body, he wasn’t going to complain.
On the blanket, Sam stretched out a little, taking a deep breath. He could still feel his muscles being cold, but the warm air and the bits of sunshine that shone through the treetops felt nice and warm on his skin. “This was wonderful,” he said, turning his head towards Dean. “Would it be a problem if we dozed off here? I mean, are there bears or cougars?”
Oh, there were definitely bears and cougars here. But none of these animals would dare go near them. Dean may have been able to change his appearance, but not his very own smell. And it clearly said DRAGON.
No bear or cougar would mess with a dragon. So he replied in a relaxed manner, "You can snooze a little. There are both in these mountains, but they won't come here. I promise."
Sam raised his eyebrows, a protest swirling around in his mind. But he had no reason to doubt Dean’s word. He knew Dean would keep him safe. “Okay,” he replied and closed his eyes after taking a deep breath. The day so far had been most eventful. It wasn’t every day that you packed to leave your house and then got carried away by a dragon to live in a house in the mountains with a stream close by.
Thinking of the stream, Sam smiled because in his mind’s eye he could see Dean again, naked but for his undergarments, wet and… and beautiful. Sam hummed appreciatively to himself, and in his mind, this time, he did go and kiss the droplets of water off the sun-kissed skin.
Dean closed his eyes, too. He wasn't exactly tired, but there was a lot on his mind. Being here with Sam now made things very real between them. And it still unsettled him how quickly his feelings for Sam had become so deep that he could no longer imagine his future without Sam in it. But he had absolutely no idea how this was supposed to work. Love between a dragon and a human was impossible. And forbidden. And how was he supposed to explain to Sam that he was a dragon? Another problem he had to solve somehow.
Dean sighed heavily.

At some point, Sam had dozed off. He’d been exhausted, and it was really peaceful next to Dean on the blanket. The singing of the birds lulled him to sleep, and Sam let his dreams carry him along.
At first, everything was nice, relaxing. Dean was there, smiling at him, they made plans, and they kissed. And then suddenly there was a dark shadow smothering his happiness. Dean was gone, he was back at home, and he was a kid. He heard his father arguing with someone else. Sam couldn’t make out the voice, whether it was male or female.
Then everything was quiet again, and his father was standing in the doorway. There were dark stains on his face and clothes, and suddenly Sam knew what it was. Blood.
Blinking his eyes open, Sam quickly brought himself back to reality. It wasn’t the first time he had dreamed this dream. But it was the first time it had started out nice. And the first time it ended with his father standing in the door.
Sam was no stranger to nightmares, and he had learned not to shout himself awake. It usually brought his father up, dealing with him in his own way. So Sam now kept his gaze firmly on the treetops and breathed consciously, to get himself back to reality.
Dean could feel the shift in Sam. The feeling of trepidation Sam had transferred to Dean. Dean opened his eyes and took a moment to realize that Sam was having a nightmare.
And it wasn't hard to guess what it was about, because Dean could again sense a hint of the evil he had felt in the house.
He saw that Sam was awake, but staring blankly at the sky. Dean grabbed Sam's hand and squeezed it gently, "I'm here. He can't hurt you anymore."
After a moment, Sam returned the squeeze and took a conscious breath.
“I know,” he whispered. He didn’t have to ask who Dean meant. He knew what Dean had said, that they were connected somehow. “I’m okay.”
He shivered briefly and then turned his head to look at Dean. “There was blood on him. He never had blood on him before. And he never came up to… to my room.”
He remained silent for a while. Then he decided he might as well tell Dean more. “I usually dream I’m in my room. I’m a kid, but I can’t tell how old I am. There is shouting. Angry shouting. One is my father. The other voice, I don’t know. I can’t tell if it’s a man or a woman. They’re arguing, and he is angry. Furious. There is more noise, more shouting. I’m frozen to my bed. That is where it usually ends. I wake up. I used to scream myself awake, but that only made him as angry as he had been in the dream. So, I kept quiet. Didn’t show him the weakness he didn’t want to see in me. This time, after the shouting, he came to my room. He just stood there, but he was covered in blood.”
Sam fell silent, listening to himself, to his mind. He felt lighter. Like telling Dean helped put it behind him.
Dean was silent for a while. He processed what he had just heard and tried to recognize the hidden meaning in it.
Finally, he said quietly, "Often nightmares are just that - bad dreams that reflect our fears. But sometimes they are cries for help from our subconscious. If you experienced something as a child that was so terrible that you had to bury it deep down so you wouldn't go mad, then nightmares can be your mind's attempt to remember. Maybe that's the case for you. Maybe you're trying to remember. And now that you know your father's version isn't true, the truth is starting to come out."
Sam nodded as he listened to Dean’s words. “Maybe something wants to come out that I buried deep inside. Maybe it wanted out all along, and I’ve just been too scared. I’m glad I told you about it. So you know what’s going on in my mind. And I hope that talking about it with you will also help.”
Dean looked Sam in the eye for a long time. The fear in it ran deep, and it touched Dean. He wished he could take it from him, but Sam had to help himself first and foremost. "I'm here," Dean said quietly, "I'm here and I'm listening. Anytime."
Sam nodded. “I know. I may not know you for long, but I feel that connection as well. And I know you’re the person I can trust with all of me. You… you’re my safe haven.”
He smiled at Dean to show him he was doing ok and then rolled onto his side. “Is it time for our picnic, yet, or should we test the water again? Maybe without getting all the way in, just dangling the feet?” He looked at Dean hopefully.
"You can always trust me. No matter what I do, no matter how strange some things sometimes seem to you, I will always be there to protect you. There is nothing and no one who can stop me. I promise you that. And I hope you never forget that," Dean said quietly. Especially not when he found out who Dean really was.
He smiled to dispel the melancholy mood and nodded, "We can sit on the stream bank over there. You can dip your toes in the water without endangering your arm." He stood up and held out his hand to Sam to help him up.
Sam smiled and reached up to take Dean’s hand. Once back on his feet, he kept hold of it until he was sitting on the bank, feet in the water halfway up his calves. “It’s still icy, but it feels very nice,” he said, waiting for Dean to settle as well. “I know you said you will always protect me. And I have no reason to doubt that.” He let his legs move in the water and watched his surroundings, trying to see any wildlife. Instead, his eyes fell on a bush with some berries. “Dean, do you see that? It looks like wild blueberries. Can we pick them?”

"Sure." Dean nodded. He dipped his legs back into the water and enjoyed the tingling cold feeling that the water left on his skin. Dragons loved to bathe. Cooling down here and there did them good and was often a pleasant counterbalance to their otherwise rather warm body temperature.
"But later. I'm just sitting again right now. And you, too. And the berries won't run away."
“They won’t?” Sam asked, grinning. “All right. I believe you.” He leaned against Dean and watched the water slowly running downhill, happily bubbling in parts, almost still in others. “You must really like the cold, I mean… the flight with John, and now this water?” Sam pulled his feet out, setting them on the bank for a couple of moments. They needed to warm a little again before he could stick them back in. “Is the water here colder than over there, where we were first?”
Dean shrugged and grinned, "Sometimes I do. And the water here is shallower and therefore warmer than where we were before."
He let himself fall backwards onto the grass, his feet still in the water, and watched the clouds moving slowly and lazily across the sky.

Sam watched Dean with a smile on his face. He knew exactly what he loved about him, and that were many things. Returning his feet to the water, Sam copied Dean and yelped. Quickly, or rather as quickly as he could, he sat back up and turned to check what had been poking his back. A little stone with an upturned edge turned out to be the culprit, and Sam picked it up, tossing it into the stream where it broke the surface with a plop. Finally, slowly this time, Sam lay back down. “That’s better now,” he sighed and looked straight up just in time to see a few birds landing in the treetops.
Dean yawned and looked at Sam out of his big, now slightly glazed eyes. He was starting to feel tired, but he ignored it as far as possible and said quietly to Sam, "I can't protect you from small stones. Sorry." He yawned once more and then turned his gaze back to the sky. "It's so peaceful here. I like it," he murmured.
“I like it, too,” Sam replied. “You sound tired. I won’t be able to carry you back to the blanket, but I will still keep you safe from… those birds up there. And from small stones.” He turned his head towards Dean and smiled. And then he placed a quick kiss on Dean’s cheek.
Dean yawned again and then nodded, "You're right, the blanket is more comfortable and also in the sun. If there's one thing I like even more than a cold bath now and then, it's sunbathing." He stood up and held out his hand to Sam to help him up before lying back down on the blanket. "I'll just close my eyes for a moment. Just for a minute," he mumbled and fell asleep straight away.

Sam watched Dean for a few moments, and when it was obvious that he was asleep, he took one of the cups they brought and crossed the stream to get to the blueberry bush.
Picking them, he couldn’t refrain from trying some, and they were delicious. When the cup was full, Sam carefully returned to their little camp and set it down. He reached into the bag and ate one of the apples before using the other cup to have a drink of water from the stream.
Looking around, Sam spotted a curved branch on the ground, roughly as long and thick as his forearm. He brought it back to the blanket and dug in the bag to find his carving knife. And then he started to carve. At first, he wasn’t sure what he would do, but quickly he realized that he’d begun carving a small dragon.

Dean didn't know exactly how long he'd been asleep, but when he opened his eyes again, the sun was still high in the sky, which meant he hadn't been asleep for more than an hour.
He stretched and yawned. He was still tired, but something had woken him up. And that wasn't the quiet noise Sam's knife made.
Someone was watching them. Or rather, something.
Dean's eyes scanned the higher edges of the mountain, the line of bushes, and the edge of the forest until he finally spotted what was watching them.
He slowly sat up and gently placed a hand on Sam's arm. With a nod of his head, he pointed in the direction of the forest to his left. "See that shadow behind the spruce? Just to the left of the almost bare tree? This is a mountain lion. It's watching us. That woke me up. Don't worry. It's not coming here."
Dean had barely spoken when the mountain lion did just that. It suddenly jumped towards them and seemed to have chosen them both as its prey.
But then something strange happened.
Dean stood up, calmly, and stepped in front of Sam. He just stood there as the mountain lion ran towards them.
And then the wind shifted. The mountain lion stood rooted to the spot, whimpered and howled, and then backed away slowly and fearfully without taking its eyes off Dean. When it was far enough away, it turned around and ran off.
Dean sat down, dropped back onto the blanket, and closed his eyes again.

When Dean had gotten Sam’s attention, and Sam spotted the mountain lion, he felt all his muscles tense. He’d never seen a wild cat, as they usually didn’t come down to where the human settlements were.
Dean’s calmness transferred to him, at least for a moment, because when the predator cat charged, Sam tensed again, dropping the branch and sporting his knife as a weapon to defend himself.
When the mountain lion stopped dead in its tracks and began backing away, Sam’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead. He was speechless and couldn’t believe his eyes when it finally ran off altogether.
By the time Sam recovered his voice, Dean had already stretched out on the blanket again. “Dean?” he croaked. “I… what happened. I mean, why… how…? It just ran off, like, like it was afraid.” He settled on the blanket, cross-legged, knife still clutched tightly in his hand. When he realized that, he put it down carefully and glanced in the direction the wild cat had disappeared into, and then he looked back at Dean.
Dean opened his eyes and looked at Sam. "Do you trust me? Because I said I will always protect you and will always be on your side, even if some things sometimes seem strange to you. I'll explain it to you one day when the time is right." He looked at Sam pleadingly. He would explain it to Sam. For sure. But neither Sam nor he was ready for it yet.
“I told you I trust you,” Sam replied. “I wasn’t lying. But… I’ve never seen anything like that, and I can’t wrap my mind around it. I’m not going to ask, I just… he won’t come back, right?” Sam had collected himself again and took a couple of deep breaths.
“I never had to fight off a mountain lion before. I only once had to fend off a wolf. And a wild boar.” Reaching for the branch he had dropped, he scrutinized it for a few moments before picking up the knife again as well. “Do you still want to rest some more?”
Dean rubbed his eyes. "I'm tired. But I'd better sleep off this tiredness in bed in the cabin. The mountain lion won't come back, but it scared you. That's why I'm not going back to sleep. You can carry on carving, and I'll keep an eye on you."

Sam looked at Dean, holding the knife still in his hand. He could see his tiredness. “It scared me right then, yes. But it’s gone. I saw it moving away. And the way it did so. I know it won’t be back. You can sleep a little, and when I’m done carving, I’ll carve some lunch from the bread for us. And then we can return and see if you can sleep in that bed. How does that sound?” Sam didn’t want Dean to forcefully keep himself awake if it wasn’t necessary. He could handle things. The mountain lion was gone, and if something was going on, Sam could still wake Dean, and he still had his knife.
Dean shook his head. "It's fine. Seriously. I lie down in the cabin and sleep. I'll refresh myself in the stream, and then I'll watch you carve. And make sure no mountain lion thinks you're its dinner." Dean grinned and stood up. A moment later, he was in the water and completely submerged, only to emerge from the river a few seconds later like a being from another world. Wet, but with an ease and naturalness that made him seem more like a river god than the young man Sam actually thought he was.

Sam had begun to resume carving, but paused again when he heard the water splashing. There was just something about the vision of Dean in the water that was magnetic to Sam. How Dean could just ignore the coldness of the water was beyond Sam. To him, it had been refreshing when he was hot from the hike, but now… having his feet in for a bit was enough. “You’re a vision, you know?” Sam whispered when Dean gently shook his head to dislodge the water from his hair. He smiled, completely mystified. “The mountain lions won’t have a hard time catching me if you keep distracting me the way you do,” Sam then said a bit louder: “You really love that cold water, don’t you?”
Dean laughed softly, "A vision, huh?" He approached Sam with a grin and dropped back onto the blanket next to him. "Yeah, I really like the cold water from time to time. It tingles so nicely on the skin. And I like that feeling." He blinked at Sam as he looked against the sun when he glanced at Sam. His face had already gotten color after just a few hours in the sun, and a myriad of freckles had spread across his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, and his shoulders. And a very cheeky freckle appeared on his lower lip. The drops of water on his face only emphasized it all.
“A vision, yes,” Sam repeated, eyes zoning in on said freckle. He licked his lips and then dropped the knife and branch aside to bend down and kiss the water droplet off Dean’s lips. He backed up a little and grinned. “What, I can’t let you wet the whole blanket, can I? Someone has to make sure you get dry. And since we didn’t bring a towel…” he left the rest of the sentence hanging and leaned forward to kiss more water droplets off Dean’s face.
"I wasn't complaining," Dean breathed, looking at Sam in wonder. No one had ever kissed drops of water off his face before, and it felt... nice. He felt cared for. Being cared for and desired at the same time was a new combination for Dean.
He closed his eyes and hummed softly as Sam's lips gently caressed his face.
Sam smiled between kisses, happy that Dean let it happen. When he was sure that there was no droplet left on Dean’s face, he dropped down next to him and sighed, content. “There you go. Your face is all dry. And by the way, there are a zillion freckles on your face now.” Sam made it sound nonchalant. He was trying to conceal the fact that he liked them. They reminded him of stars in the sky.
Dean opened one eye and looked at Sam accusingly, "Did you kiss them all there? Then kiss 'em away again." He closed his eye again and turned his face towards Sam. "So what now?" he asked after a moment.
Sam smiled and shook his head. “That would be impossible for me to do. I didn’t place them there with my kisses. That would have been the sun. And I’m pretty powerless compared to the sun. I do have the power to kiss away water drops, though.” He looked into Dean’s face and then began kissing away the water on his chest, along the collarbones, and downwards on his sternum.
Dean had often lain in the sun in his human form and had sex in the sun with various dragon girls in their human form, but the fact that this gave him freckles was new to him. He had never looked at himself in mirrors, because dragons didn't have any. Why should they, to them, mirrors were useless. And his girlfriends had never mentioned that the sun had given him more freckles. That's why he looked skeptically at Sam when he claimed that he wasn't to blame for those freckles.
Dean was about to make a snarky remark when Sam kissed his chest, and the words literally stuck in his throat.
He took a deep breath and shivered, goose bumps covering his body, and he breathed, "That... that seems like a superpower to me. It makes me feel all hot at the same time."
“Hot?” Sam asked between kisses. “If you get too hot from all the kisses, you will have to cool off again in the stream. And then I will have to kiss all the water away again.” He lifted his head. “This would be an endless game.” With a quick grin, Sam returned to kissing the remaining water off Dean’s sides, and then he went to lie next to him again. “So… how come you want me to kiss away the freckles? Don’t you like them?”
"I...," Dean began and then broke off. What was he supposed to tell Sam? That he didn't even know what he looked like with freckles because he had never really seen himself in the mirror? He had seen his reflection in the water and in the polished pewter plate that Jonas used as a makeshift mirror, but he had never noticed freckles on his face.
"No," he said, "I don't particularly like them. But if they're there, then they're there."
“Oh,” Sam said. “I understand. But… if I tell you I like them, would that make you want me to kiss them away, still? I mean, if it’s about the kisses, you just need to get water on you, and I’ll kiss it off.” To prove it, Sam kissed away a droplet on Dean’s neck that he had missed. “But in all seriousness, Dean, they’re nice. They look interesting. And I think they suit you. Because you’re interesting. And strong. And my favorite protector.”
"I'm your only protector," Dean grumbled. Then he turned his head and looked Sam in the eye. "You like them? My freckles? You think they look nice?" He sounded a little unsettled, and his gaze became thoughtful. Finally, he said quietly, "All right. If you like them, I'll try to like them too."
Sam blinked.
“Yes, you’re my only protector. But I couldn’t imagine anyone better than you. So you are my favorite one. And yes, I like them. They remind me of the stars in the sky.” He moved to kiss the one on Dean’s lower lip and then smiled again.
“You see, I really like them. I do get a few as well sometimes when I bake myself too long in the sun. But really just a few.”
"Stars in the sky?" Dean asked, looking at Sam with raised eyebrows. He began to get an idea of what his face would look like with all those freckles. Then he squinted his eyes and looked at Sam very closely. "Hm, I think you need to lie in the sun a bit more. I can't see any freckles on you yet."
Sam laughed. “As I said, it takes a while. And I’d rather sit in the sun, carving. Or having a picnic. Are you hungry yet?” He looked at Dean fondly and then reached out, trying to smooth over Dean’s squinting frown. “If we stay outside as much these next days, you will see some. I promise.”
Dean gave Sam a beaming smile, "I'm always hungry. And I'd really like to have a picnic now." He sat up and put his pants back on, but he continued to do without his shirt and boots. It was warm enough to sit in the sun like this.
He reached for the bag Sam had packed and began to unpack the food he had brought with him. Then he took both their cups and got fresh water from the river. "You have the knife. Would you please cut the cheese and the ham?"
“Of course,” Sam replied and skillfully sliced the cheese and ham freehand. He did the same with the bread and proceeded to butter one up, which he gave to Dean. “Would you like a dried sausage as well?” he asked as he buttered a slice for himself and added some ham and cheese before taking a bite out of one of the small dried sausages. “They’re… peppery,” he coughed and then smiled because he liked spicy food.
"Oh, yeah. Thanks," Dean replied and also took one of the sausages. He ate with relish. He realized again that he liked bread, and it tasted even better with cheese and ham. He ate a second slice of bread and another of the sausages before rounding everything off with the apple Sam had brought for him.
Finally, he sighed and finished his cup of water, "Phew, that felt good. I was really very hungry."
Sam smiled as he swallowed his last bite. “That’s great. So, are you up for dessert? I picked those blueberries when you were asleep.” He pointed at the bush on the other side of the stream and then reached for the cup he had collected them in. “I already tasted. They’re delicious.”
Dean gratefully took a few of the berries from the cup and popped them into his mouth one by one. The sweetness of the berries had been just right after the hearty lunch. Now that he had eaten his fill, he let his head sink back, closed his eyes, and enjoyed the sun on his face.

Sam packed the remaining items back in the bag and watched Dean catching some rays. He was tempted to settle next to him, but the visit of the mountain lion and the branch that still waited to be a complete carving changed his mind.
Sam cleaned the knife in the grass and then resumed carving on the dragon. He had no idea how he was doing it, because he hadn’t taken that much time to stare at John and the other dragon he’d only seen from afar. But somehow the wood began to resemble a dragon more and more, if Sam was a judge.
He added the wings, trying to make them look leathery and flattened to the sleek body in flight. And after he had carved the head, complete with eyes and teeth, he put a finishing touch on the scales that he’d carved individually, to make them look similar to how John’s scales had felt to him.
"I like it," Dean said quietly. He had watched Sam for quite a while, silently and patiently, and had witnessed how Sam created something as beautiful as this dragon from a piece of wood with a small knife. Of course, it wasn't absolutely perfect, but Dean didn't care. He saw that Sam had a real talent and was sorry that Sam’s father had apparently never recognized it. "Actually, I like it a lot," he added a moment later.

Sam looked up. He hadn’t noticed being watched as he was focused on his task. Dean’s words made him smile. “You like it? I’m glad. I mean, I know it’s far from perfect and probably not all that close to a dragon, but I only saw one on two occasions and… I just wanted to do some carving. I… sorry. I’m thrilled that you like it. A lot.” He beamed at Dean and then blew the last wood chips off and offered it to Dean.
Dean nodded seriously as he picked up the small dragon and carefully ran his fingers over the wooden body, feeling the scales, "Oh, yeah. I think you have a good eye for detail. The scales? Simply wonderful. And the wings look very lively. Of course, you think it's not perfect. But I think it's a beautiful piece of art, and I think you're very talented. You should make something of this talent. Maybe that's where your future lies." Dean looked Sam in the eye and nodded affirmatively, wanting Sam to understand that he meant what he said honestly and sincerely.

Sam’s eyes were big and sparkling. The way Dean looked at his little dragon and praised his work was something he hadn’t heard often. And when he’d heard it, it had not been from his father. His father only liked his carving when he carved arrows. Or lances. Or anything else belonging to a weapon. “I don’t know what to say,” he finally breathed, quietly. “You really think I should… find a woodwork job if I can? I mean, I like it. But I wouldn’t have thought about doing it for a living.”
Dean replied sincerely, "I don't know. To be honest, I don't know enough about jobs like that to give you a well-founded answer. But if you want to work with wood, then you should at least try to find out if that's what you want to do for a living."
Sam was quiet for a moment. “I have never thought about it. Maybe I should. I would like you to keep this little dragon as a thank you for bringing me here. I really appreciate you saving me. ”He smiled again and then looked around. “Maybe I can take another branch home to carve more later. Would there be something that you’d like to see me carve?”
Dean grinned, "Actually, yeah. How about the mountain lion? I think a dragon and a mountain lion are a good start for a small collection. And there are lots of logs for the fireplace at the cabin. You can have some of that." Dean turned the dragon in his hands again, silent admiration on his features as he carefully stroked the wings.
“The mountain lion?” Sam echoed, swallowing. He had surely seen it closer than he had liked to, but he wasn’t sure if he had seen enough. Still, if Dean would like it, he could try. “Well, I would need a bigger log,” he answered. “I’ll pick one out when we’re back at the cabin. But you might have to help me get the features right. I’m not sure I saw him enough, and I had never seen one before.”
"No problem," Dean nodded. He saw no reason for Sam's hesitation, because he was firmly convinced that Sam could carve anything he wanted, simply because he was so talented and knew how to use a carving knife.
Dean carefully placed the dragon next to him and lay back down on the blanket. Then he closed his eyes and sighed contently.

Sam watched Dean for a few moments, how he was all relaxed and seemingly without a care in the world. Sam hadn’t forgotten the mountain lion, but having witnessed its reaction to Dean, he understood that this was not an act. For some reason, Dean didn’t have to fear anything here.
Deciding to copy Dean, Sam set aside everything and then stretched out next to him. “This is cozy. Would it be a bad thing if we fell asleep here?” he whispered.
"Probably not," Dean replied, opening his eyes again. "Nevertheless, I'm in favor of going back to the cabin. It gets dark very quickly up here in the mountains. And I think it's too dangerous if we have to walk back in the dark."
He sat up and stretched before reaching for his shirt and getting dressed.
“Okay,” Sam replied softly and looked around to locate the spot where he had hung his clothes to dry. He got dressed as quickly as he could and packed the bag again. Once everything was stowed, he grabbed the bag and slung it over his shoulder. “Can you take the little dragon? Or see if it fits in the bag still?” Sam was fond of his first dragon, especially since Dean liked it a lot. He wouldn’t leave it behind.
Dean shook his head, "Give me the bag. I should have carried it earlier instead of letting you do this with your injured arm. You take the dragon." Dean tied his boots and then took the bag from Sam and led the way back to the cabin.

Eyes peeled on the path, Sam followed Dean through the mountain forest. His thoughts returned to the morning and how he hadn’t even remotely thought he would be where he was now. Things had happened so quickly that he’d hardly had time to think about them.
And then there was John, the dragon. Who had carried them here so his father wouldn’t find any tracks. He shook his head at his situation. He knew he should not have to hide from his own father, and he had felt a bit cowardly at some point, but he knew he wasn’t in the wrong. His father was.
Shaking his head, Sam pushed away those thoughts and glanced up to look around and catch up to Dean.

When they arrived at the cabin, it was already starting to get dark, and Dean was glad that he didn't have to explain to Sam why he was able to see perfectly at night. He hated lying and longed for the moment when he could tell Sam the truth. But until then, he had to avoid dicey situations as much as possible.
He entered the cabin and put his bag on the table before taking off his boots and leaving them by the door. Then he went into the kitchen and got himself and Sam something to drink.
“Thank you,” Sam said, drinking half of the drink immediately. Then he settled into an armchair and relaxed a bit. “That was a nice day,” he said after watching Dean for a short while. “Unexpected, but nice. Can you tell me a bit more about John? You said you trust him, so I take it you are friends and you have reason to trust him. And I’m not saying that because I don’t trust him. I just want to get to know him a bit more.”

Dean thought for a while and then said, "John is smart and wise. He never acts out of anger but is considerate and thoughtful. He always tries to understand the other side. He is gentle and at the same time the bravest dragon I know. He loves his child more than anything else in the world, and not even the gods themselves could stop him from protecting his child. John is loyal and honest. And when he promises you something, he keeps it. That's John."
Sam listened carefully, like he could get to know John that way even better. “He has a child?” he asked and then nibbled on his bottom lip. “I mean, I don’t even know how things are with dragons. How old is John? And his child? Somehow, to me, dragons were ageless. Maybe because everyone said they don’t exist. And I never pictured them as a family. That’s probably not fair, but I didn’t mean anything bad with it.” Then he fell silent for a moment. “I like what you said now. That he loves his child more than anything else in the world. That… that sounds perfect.” Sam’s voice had gone softer and softer the longer he spoke until, at the end, it was barely audible.
"He has a child, yes. A son. And of course, dragons have families. How else could they have reproduced over the centuries?" Dean replied. "And how old is he? I think he is very old for us humans. But he is rather young in their dragon community. He's the youngest leader of their flight so far."
Dean looked at Sam for a long moment and then nodded, "It must feel strange for a dragon to love his son more than your father loves you."

Sam pressed his lips together and concentrated on breathing for a moment. Then he looked up again. “I’m happy for that child. I think everyone deserves to be loved unconditionally. That’s a concept that my father doesn’t seem to know.” He leaned back and closed his eyes. “A few years ago, when I was still going to Mr. Henry, the village teacher, I used to spend a lot of time with my friend Aurin and his family. He knew what my father did, how he treated me. He was the only one who had seen the scars. The others just thought he gave me a beating every now and then. Aurin once asked me why I was so trusting of him and his family. I told him that I had never seen anyone but my father treat anyone badly. I don’t know if that’s the reality, but it was for me. So far, I have found that when I’m nice to others, they are nice to me. It just never worked at home. And so I’m happy for everyone who feels safe and loved at home. And I don’t care what kind of family that is.”
"I'm very sorry that you never felt loved. I can't imagine what that's like. My father has always loved me and treated me like the most important thing in the world. He calls me 'his gift'. He says my mom couldn't have given him anything more precious than me, and I've always known he'd be there for me no matter what." Dean's voice softened as he concluded, "Not having that must be awful. I'm sorry, Sam."
“It’s not your fault,” Sam replied tonelessly. Hearing Dean tell him how it was for him made his stomach knot with longing. He wished he had something like that growing up, and at the same time, he was glad to know that Dean had experienced it. “Maybe it’s over, now. Maybe I won’t see him again and can spend my time with you.” He lifted his gaze and looked at Dean hopefully.
Dean looked at Sam seriously and nodded, "I'm not going anywhere, Sam. Not without you." That was what their bond was all about. Sam had chosen Dean to be his protector. He had bound Dean to him. And Dean had inadvertently strengthened that bond by giving Sam his blood to save his life. Something that was his job as Sam's protector, and that he only understood later. But it bound them together so much that neither could be without the other without feeling physically ill because of it.

Sam nodded. “I know,” he said. He had no idea how he knew, but he did. He smiled. “Should we rest a bit before making food? It has to be dark, right? I can feel the day in my bones, even though it has mostly been exciting. But if I’m honest, none of what I experienced today was on my to-do list this morning.” He smiled again at Dean before stifling a yawn.
"I'm exhausted, too," Dean replied. He had hardly slept at all, had flown back and forth to plan Sam's escape, and was now simply knackered. "We should go to bed. We have enough time here to cook. It doesn't have to be today. We'll sleep tonight and then cook tomorrow." He went into the bedroom where he undressed and then went to the bathroom in just his underpants, where he did his evening routine, put on a clean pair of underpants, and then came back into the bedroom. He took his clothes to the small laundry room next to the kitchen, and when he came back this time, he climbed straight into bed. He patted the mattress next to him, "Are you coming?" he asked, making it perfectly clear that they would be sharing a bed.
Sam smiled broadly. “Let me get cleaned up,” he replied and hurried to the bathroom to do a quick once-over. He copied Dean in getting into clean underpants and then returned to the bedroom. Before he climbed into bed with Dean, he looked at the man who saved him and asked himself how he’d gotten this lucky.
“This is very nice,” he sighed when he came to lie next to Dean. The mattress was not too soft, not too hard, not prickly, but just simply cozy. Since it was warm, Sam didn’t pull the cover over him, yet, but scooted closer to Dean. “Can I lie like this?” he asked as his legs came to rest against Dean’s, and their heads were just a few centimeters apart.
Dean watched as Sam undressed and then joined him in bed, feeling Sam's closeness, and his skin began to tingle where they touched lightly. When Sam asked if he could lie like that, Dean shook his head and answered truthfully, "No."
He turned a little on his side and pulled Sam into his arms. He needed to feel him, to hold him close so that his senses could rest, knowing that Sam was safe. "But you can stay lying like that," he finally breathed contentedly.
When Dean pulled him into his arms, Sam felt himself shiver. He wasn’t cold, but feeling Dean so close was the best feeling he knew, and he wanted to frame that moment. “Forever?” he asked with a smile on his lips. His eyes were already half-mast, and he just leaned a little closer to inhale Dean’s scent deeply. It had a calming effect on him. “L’ve you,” he breathed a moment later as he drifted into dreamland.
Dean held Sam in his arms in silence, listening to his breathing and his heartbeat. He sensed the exact moment Sam had fallen asleep.
"I'm pretty sure I love you, too," Dean whispered, blowing a kiss on Sam's hair. Then he allowed himself to fall asleep as well.

Chapter Text

When Sam was dreaming this time, it was about flying with a dragon. Not in the claw, but on his back. Like Dean had done, he could feel the wind rushing through his hair, and he loved it. The landscape flew by fast as lightning, and Sam took it all in. He wasn’t even feeling cold this time. And with a smile on his face, the dream faded, leaving Sam to continue sleeping deeply.
He felt Dean’s touch and was surrounded by his scent, and all that was enough to ward off any bad dreams.

Dean woke in the early hours of the morning and stretched, yawning. Sam lay snuggled up close to him, and Dean looked at his relaxed, peaceful features as he slept. He gently stroked a strand of hair from his forehead and finally leaned forward to plant a soft kiss on Sam's lips. Dean simply couldn't resist.

Sam was dozing somewhere between waking and sleeping. He was warm and cozy and safe, and then he felt lips on his own, kissing him. At first, he wondered what was happening, but then his brain started working, and he smiled before returning the gentle kiss. “Morning,” he whispered and stretched carefully before blinking his eyes open. “Did you sleep well? Because… I did.” He made a contented sound and then kissed Dean’s lips again. “I like the way you smell,” he finally admitted and brought his nose even closer. Then he bent down and stole another kiss from the other man.
"Hmhmm," Dean hummed, "I slept very well. The bed is heavenly. I could spend all day in it; it's so comfortable." He looked at Sam closely and then said, "You look different. Happier. More content." He stroked Sam's eyebrow with his thumb and said, "You like my smell? What do you think I smell like?"
“Oh yes, the bed is really great,” Sam agreed. “And staying in bed sounds good. I am happy. You’re right. I… it’s basically the first sleep I had without nightmares. The one in the forest? That was the worst of mine. Usually, I don’t wake up from them because I’m so used to them already. But this night? No bad dreams.”
He stretched again and then scrutinized Dean’s face. “You want to know what you smell like? It’s… like a cold shower of rain after a hot summer’s day.”
Dean smiled. "No nightmares sound good. Really good. I'm glad you feel safe here and aren't scared anymore." Then he frowned and tried to remember the smell Sam had described. "I didn't realize I smelled like that. I'm glad you like it, though."
“I do,” Sam nodded. “Dean, you holding on to me didn’t inconvenience your sleep, right?”
Sam had enjoyed being in Dean’s arms. He was convinced that it was part of the reason he hadn’t had any bad dreams.
Shifting a little, Sam moved even closer to Dean and concentrated on feeling every bit of him. His hand settled on Dean’s hips, and Sam let his thumb draw little circles on Dean’s prominent hipbone.
Sam didn’t miss Dean’s reaction and smiled to himself. With a little shift of his hand, he was on Dean’s skin and let his fingers explore in a way that was designed to get Dean to make more of those soft noises.
“What about this? Is this inconveniencing you?” Sam asked without interrupting his touch. He lifted his gaze from his fingers to Dean’s eyes, looking at him.
"Is that inconvenient for me? I... think I'm... no. No, it's not," he breathed, unable to suppress another shiver. "I've just never been touched like this before. But I like it, I....," Dean broke off, not knowing how to put his feelings into words. Instead, he just looked at Sam with huge eyes and hoped he understood.
“Okay,” Sam replied and let his fingers dance all over Dean’s skin. Since they both only wore underpants, it was quite easy, and Sam memorized the spots he would touch that made Dean shiver slightly. Eventually, his hand again settled on his hipbone, and Sam lingered for a split second. Then he maneuvered his thumb under the waistband and stroked along the sensitive skin there.
Dean kept his eyes fixed on Sam, but his mouth opened slightly, and his breathing quickened a little. And when Sam's fingers slipped under his waistband, he sucked in a sharp breath, his pupils dilated, and a soft blush suffused his cheeks.
He held still for a while, only shivering now and again, before he finally asked, "Am I allowed to touch you too?"
Sam pushed his fingers a little deeper because he loved Dean’s reaction. “Yes,” he then replied. “Of course, you’re allowed to touch me. You… you’ve already seen the scars. There’s nothing to hide.” He smiled briefly and then stole a quick kiss from these perfect lips, covering the cheeky freckle that had settled there the day before.
Dean copied Sam's touch and slipped his fingers under the waistband, but he went a little further, delicately stroking the soft curve of Sam's ass.
His eyes darted back and forth between Sam's, carefully scanning every reaction so as not to do anything wrong.
Sam was the one who had initiated every physical interaction between them so far, and Dean certainly wasn't going to complain about it, but... "Can I ask you something?" he began quietly, and when Sam nodded, he continued, "How is it that you feel so comfortable kissing or touching me? You have never been with a man, and the majority in your village will not accept a same-sex relationship. And yet you are not afraid to throw yourself into one. Why? Aren't you afraid someone will find out?"

Sam had closed his eyes when Dean began touching him. His skin was tingling in the wake of Dean’s touch, and he could feel that sensation spread through the whole of his body.
When Dean asked his questions, Sam contemplated them for a moment. “I don’t know, really. I just feel attracted to you, and that connectedness that you mentioned? I feel it as well. It feels… natural, like this is how it’s meant to be. That’s why it doesn’t bother me that you’re a guy. And I don’t think I will be back in Brynmor to live there, so it doesn’t matter to me if they know or not. The only one I would be afraid of would be my father.”
Dean froze. "So... so you wouldn't want to be here with me and kiss me if you didn't feel this connection? That... that's why you... want me?" he asked in a raspy voice. Did the magic make Sam desire him? Was Sam understanding this connection... wrong? Dean had never heard of a dragon having a relationship with his charge before. That's why he had thought Sam had fallen in love with him naturally. But now he was no longer so sure.
“What?” Sam rasped. “No, that’s not what I wanted to say. I feel attracted to you. It’s something I have never felt this strongly before. The girls that I’d been with? I was attracted to them, but not as strongly as I am to you. I also feel that connection between us, but that isn’t the reason for my attraction. I… I already felt that before I knew about a connection.”
Dean looked at Sam, his eyes wide with emotion. "Are you sure?" he breathed. "Because what I feel for you has nothing to do with this connection. It’s just the reason why I met you. It brought us together, but my feelings have nothing to do with it. And I... I just want you to know that I will never do anything against your will, and if you tell me you want to leave it at that, then I will respect your wishes."
Sam lifted his splinted hand and let his fingertips trace along Dean’s cheek. “I’m sure that I was attracted to you before I learned of any connection between us. I only felt that afterward. Maybe because I wasn’t aware it was there, but I have been aware of my attraction to you from the start.” He held Dean’s gaze and let the other man explore all he needed to. “I know you will never do something I wouldn’t want. And I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want either. Right now, my wish is to continue this. If you want it, too. I wasn’t too brash, was I?”
"No," Dean smiled, "so far you haven't done anything I couldn't handle." He looked at Sam for a moment before he slowly leaned further and further forward, so that his lips just barely touched Sam's and then breathed, "I'm going to kiss you now. And I will do it right. Because that's what I want. If you don't want me to kiss you, then right now is your chance to stop me."
Sam cocked his head a little and then stuck his tongue out to trace Dean’s lips with it.
“Kiss me,” he rasped because he really wanted to feel that kiss. It would be mind-blowing, no doubt, but Sam wanted to experience whether it would be more even. Dean smiled briefly and then immediately complied with the request.
He pressed his lips to Sam's and his tongue stroked into Sam's mouth, caressing his tongue and gently massaging along the roof of his mouth.
Dean explored Sam's mouth like it was the first time. He kissed Sam like he was the air he needed to breathe. Dean was gentle and demanding at the same time. He let Sam feel how much he wanted and enjoyed this kiss. He kissed him like he had never kissed anyone before.

Sam enjoyed Dean’s kiss for a couple of seconds before joining in. It was exhilarating to feel Dean explore him so thoroughly. The demanding way Dean used to kiss Sam sent shivers down Sam’s spine. His fingers dug into Dean’s skin when he started wrestling Dean’s tongue with his own, and without thinking, he wrapped his leg across Dean’s hips, drawing him closer. A soft moan escaped him when he was all pressed up against Dean’s body, rocking his hips ever so slightly. They kissed like there was no tomorrow, and Sam ignored the need for breathing until he got a little dizzy. “More,” he grunted after gasping for air, and sealed his lips right back over Dean’s.
Dean returned the kiss just as passionately and pulled Sam closer. His hand in Sam's waistband came to rest on the small of his back, and the other found its way into Sam's hair. His fingers buried themselves deep in Sam's curls, gently tugging whenever his fingertips massaged over Sam's scalp.
Sam hummed, feeling like he was getting drunk on Dean’s kisses. The fingers running through his hair, pressing on his scalp, made him get goosebumps himself, and he dragged his fingertips gently across Dean’s back. Sam’s whole body was vibrating with excitement in a way he hadn’t experienced before. “Fff… Dean,” he panted. “Never felt like that before with anyone. You’re driving me crazy. And I love it.”
"Yeah," Dean gasped breathlessly, "I feel the same way."
He raised his head and looked at Sam for a moment out of feverish eyes that seemed to have a fire burning in them. Almost as if an inferno of flames were raging behind his irises. "I'm not sure how far we can go," he whispered. "How far we… want to go?"
Sam swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut for a second. “I’m open for anything,” he then whispered. “It’s just my arm, and I’m sure I can take whatever we decide on.” He looked at Dean again, marveling at his eyes that seemed even greener than ever. “I’m in love with your eyes,” he added and then simply resumed kissing Dean hotly. Demandingly. Passionately.

Dean returned the kiss just as passionately and pulled Sam even closer. For a moment, he forgot everything around him and let himself be guided only by his feelings and his desire. He wanted Sam. That much was certain. And Sam seemed to want him, too. But somewhere inside Dean was a little voice that said it wasn't time to make Sam all his yet. Because that's what it would come down to. Dragons mated for life. And Dean knew instinctively that it wouldn't just be sex with Sam. It would be so much more. And he wasn't sure whether he should take this step without talking to his father first. Because Sam was still human.
Carefully, Dean leaned back and breathed countless soft kisses on Sam's face, murmuring, "Let's take it slow and not jump each other like rabbits the first moment we're alone. Let's take our time and find out what we like. You're too important to me to rush this. Is that okay?"
Sam had to catch his breath to be able to process what Dean had said. He licked his lips and nodded. “Of course,” he breathed. “Taking time sounds good. We can still kiss, right? And touch? I think I need that, what about you?” Feeling Dean’s lips on his face, kissing every bit of skin he could find was nice, but it didn’t exactly help him cool down a little. Not going all the way was perfectly fine with him, but he wanted to get to know Dean a bit better, intimately. “I’d love to explore you without having actual sex for now. Would that be okay with you?” Sam didn’t want Dean to think it was just about sex. It wasn’t. But intimacy was a part of it.
Dean nodded, "We can definitely still kiss and we can definitely still touch." He kissed Sam passionately and sensually at the same time, and then gently licked Sam's lower lip. "We'll just take our time and get to know each other better."
His fingers slowly stroked Sam's back, and suddenly he put both hands around Sam's ass and kneaded it through the thin fabric of his underpants, pulling him closer again. "Is that something you like? Because I think it feels pretty hot." That was the truth. He could clearly feel Sam's erection pressed against his abs and shivered at the feeling.
Sam gasped and shivered when he was pressed up tightly against Dean’s body. The pressure on his erection felt so good and set him on fire even more, and what Dean did to his buttocks… Sam didn’t have words for it. “I… nobody’s ever done that to me. The girls weren’t that touchy, and if they were, it was soft, gentle touches. But I like this. It feels great.“ He backed his ass up into Dean’s hand and then just barely managed not to thrust hard up against Dean’s solid body. “You feel a lot different. In a good way. It does feel… hot.”
Dean kissed Sam with slightly parted lips, hungry, eager for more. His hands continued to knead Sam's ass because he clearly liked it. He could feel Sam's underpants getting damp and shivered, knowing what that meant. Dean bit Sam's bottom lip delicately before he sealed his lips over Sam’s with a hungry kiss and a possessive growl.

Sam sucked in the air, surprised, when Dean bit his bottom lip. Oddly enough, it felt good, despite the stinging. Or was it because of it?
He didn’t have time to think about it a lot, because Dean’s hands weren’t idle, and they kept kneading his ass. Sam could feel his erection hardening with gentle throbs, and it took a lot of self-control not to thrust up against Dean to chase his sweet relief. “I’m going crazy,” he whispered. “You feel so good. I hope I can keep my composure.” He smiled shyly at Dean, but only for a second, because then he kissed Dean again and tried to capture his bottom lip in exchange.
"Hmm, that would be a shame. I thought I could find out more things you like. But if you lose your composure...," Dean left the rest of the sentence unfinished and began kissing along Sam's jawline down to his Adam's apple, which he finally began nibbling on delicately.
Sam shuddered when Dean kissed his throat. “Not making it easier, you know? I didn’t say I was losing it already. I think you’d be safe to… find out more.” He concentrated on letting his fingertips scratch gently along Dean’s skin. “What are you trying to find out then?” Sam was curious because he had a feeling that whatever Dean would do, it would be sweet torture.
"Well, if I could answer that for you already, I wouldn't have to find out, would I?" Dean kissed along Sam's collarbone and licked over the curve of his shoulder before taking a quick, sharp bite of the fleshy part.
Then he suddenly straightened up a little and looked down at Sam. He let go of Sam's ass and, very slowly, so that he could say stop at any time, pulled Sam's underpants down. Finally, he tossed the distracting garment aside and looked at the young hunter. "So pretty," Dean murmured, stroking a fingertip from the base of Sam's cock to the tip.
Sam lay perfectly still when Dean slowly removed his underpants. He’d never had anyone do this for him, and he held his breath when they finally came off altogether and his cock sprang free.
His eyes were glued to Dean’s face, watching his expression when he looked at Sam, naked, unhurriedly. Sam shivered briefly and he licked his lips. He could feel that he was leaking some precum and it was all because of Dean.
And then Dean touched him. The most gentle of touches, but executed with such loving composure, and Sam groaned softly. He knew his body was tense with excitement, and he felt Dean’s touch clearly even when he had moved past already. “Fuck s’good,” he finally croaked when he exhaled. The soft touch was intense and a bit like torture, but Sam liked it. Very much.
"I think this is the first time I've consciously looked at a naked man," Dean whispered. "But I mean it when I say I like what I see." He placed his hand flat on Sam's abs and spread his fingers to gently stroke Sam's warm skin. "You feel so soft," he said softly. And then he carefully took Sam's cock in his hand. He watched in fascination as Sam shuddered and a gush of precum ran out of his slit and poured over his fingers.
“You like what you see?” Sam repeated, trying to subdue his panting. “What do you like? I mean… just curious. He smiled briefly, but when Dean took hold of his cock, Sam sucked in his breath and tensed. But no amount of self-control could prevent his cock from leaking a bit more, throbbing gently, with a mind of its own, in Dean’s hand. “Oh, Gods,” Sam gasped. Dean’s touch did everything to him, causing him to want more of it, more intensity, more gentleness… more pushing him along the edge. “What did you mean, I feel soft?” he finally asked when his brain caught up with him. He wanted to know if that was good or bad.
"Your skin," Dean replied, "your skin is so soft. You feel good," he added in explanation without taking his eyes off Sam's cock in his hand. He slowly moved his fingers up and down the shaft and then let them gently trace the prominent vein before lightly cupping and rubbing Sam's glans with the hollow of his hand. "Do you like that?" he rasped.

Sam was concentrating on breathing and nodded in reply. “‘s intense,” he whispered. “Just not sure if it’s… too much? Or not enough?” He shivered once more and subconsciously moved his hips, causing a small thrust into Dean’s hand. “Sorry,” he hastily said. “Didn’t mean to do that. Holy he…!” Dean’s touch on his glans almost tripped the reset button of his self-control and Sam dropped his gaze down to his leaking cock. “God, that looks… so hot,” he whispered.
"Yeah," Dean breathed almost reverently, "it does."
He opened his hand slightly so that his fingers barely touched Sam's cock, just a very delicate brush here and there, and then rubbed the underside of Sam's glans lightly with his thumb, provoking another gush of precum. "That's really fucking hot," he whispered.
Sam groaned again because those light touches created such intense sensations, and the way his cock reacted, it felt so good. And he loved that Dean thought it was looking hot. “Never thought I could leak that much,” he finally whispered and reached out to scoop up some of the precum with his fingers. Without realizing it, Sam brought up his wet finger and stuck his tongue out as he wanted to taste, and then gasped when he tasted himself on his tongue for the first time.
Dean followed Sam's finger with his eyes and held his breath as he realized what Sam was doing. He groaned as Sam tasted his precum and shuddered violently. "You're going to kill me," he breathed, his fingers instinctively tightening around Sam's cock again.
He could feel Sam getting even harder in his hand, and Dean found it so incredibly hot that he let his fingers wander slowly along the shaft. Below the crown, he stroked along the ridge and then gently rubbed the little nub there, which was immediately rewarded by another gush of precum.
Sam just grunted in response, trying to hold on because he didn’t want it to end at all. “You’re overdressed,” he panted after a few moments, trying to distract himself from the throbbing in his cock. He was rock hard and Dean’s touch was increasing his arousal every second. “Want to touch you as well,” he added after another couple of breaths. His fingers hooked into Dean’s underwear and gently pulled on it, underlining his request to get Dean naked.
Dean reluctantly let go of Sam's shaft to remove his underpants. He groaned softly in relief as his erection sprang free. He hadn't realized how restrictive it had been.
He knelt down next to Sam again and looked at him. "Better?"
“Lots,” Sam replied with a smile and then dropped his eyes to look down at Dean. He wrapped his fingers around the freed erection, squeezing gently. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, gently rubbing his fingers along the shaft in a copy of Dean’s earlier moves. “I like the way you feel.” Sam turned onto his side so it would be easy for both of them to touch each other, and then used his thumb to tease Dean’s glans with a gentle but firm touch. “Is there something you like especially?” he asked.

As expected, Dean shuddered as Sam's hand gripped his cock. Goosebumps covered his body immediately, and as Sam teased his glans, Dean groaned softly, then sucked in a sharp breath as he fought to keep his composure. His eyes were glued to Sam's face, and he said, "That feels pretty good to start with. And I don't know exactly what I like, because it's very different with you than with the women before. I... I've always been the active part, you know? I think... I think I like that. I don't like... I like being in control," he finally admitted.
Sam’s hand stopped moving but he didn’t let go of his cock. “So, you would prefer it if I let you be the active part? I mean, it’s been similar for me, but that one girlfriend I had, she wanted to be in charge once. It… she wasn’t very experienced. But it was okay.” Sam squeezed Dean’s cock one more time and then slowly let go of it. “I’m all yours,” he rasped, having decided he would see how it would feel with Dean in charge.
"At the moment, it's okay the way it is. We're getting to know each other, finding out what we like and what we don't like. But if... if we go further... have sex... I don't think I'll...," Dean cleared his throat and blushed. "I don't bottom," he finally said, looking Sam in the eye. "I understand if you don't either...I'm just saying... I… it's okay," he finished.
Sam looked at Dean with big eyes. He had never thought about that because it had never been a topic at all. “I never thought about that,” he said out loud. “I have no idea if… how it would feel. I… think we will have to see how it goes. But I…
Would it be a big problem if we try, and I don’t like it?” Sam was definitely willing to try, but he wondered what would happen if he didn’t like it. And he wondered if he would miss being on top.
Sam shivered when Dean spread his legs and touched the sensitive skin there, but he made no move to close his legs. “I never doubted that you wouldn’t respect or understand it,” he replied, watching Dean caressing him. “Let’s see how things go. I think I want to try, and then we will see what will happen, is that okay?” Sam shivered slightly because Dean’s touch was still very arousing. “You want me?” he then panted. “Like… all of me? And it would still be okay if I… if I can’t bottom?”
Dean looked Sam in the eye and replied seriously, "Yes. That would be okay." He pushed Sam's thighs a little further apart and then bent down low to slowly and deliberately lick a wet strip down Sam's perineum to his hole. Dean circled it with his tongue before gently licking over the pink puckered skin before sitting back up and looking Sam in the eye again. "I'll be honest... I want to fuck you, you have no idea how badly. I've been thinking about it since that night at Jonas' house. But I can also make love to you without fucking you. I can touch you. And I will respect your no. Always," said Dean.
“Oh God,” Sam croaked when Dean’s tongue made contact with his perineum. He shivered violently because that was something he had never felt before. It felt strange and exciting at the same time, and before he could think about it any further, he felt himself wanting more. When his breathing had calmed down again a bit, Sam licked his lips and lifted his head, like he wanted to watch Dean more closely. “You wanted to fuck me since… we made out at Jonas’ house?” he asked. “Have you ever… oh wait, you only had girls so far as well, right?” Sam licked his lips again. “How would you make love to me if I don’t like bottoming?” Sam was curious. Since he’d never thought about two men making love, ever, he was curious what Dean had in mind.
"I don't know exactly," Dean admitted frankly and with a disarming smile, "but I have a lot of imagination and I'll find a way. For example, I could...," he paused and looked at Sam questioningly. "Can I show you what I would do? You can always say stop if something makes you feel uncomfortable."

Sam studied Dean’s face for a few moments and then nibbled on his lips. “Okay,” he agreed. “I doubt I’ll be uncomfortable, but I’ll let you know if it happens.” Then he reached out with his good hand and ran his fingers through Dean’s hair. “I trust you. You know that.”
Dean smiled and then leaned over Sam and began to blow soft, wet kisses on his chest, nibbling gently here and there, licking and sucking tenderly on another spot. Dean kissed his way to a nipple and then took it in his mouth. He licked it and circled it with his tongue, flicking over it, and then suddenly started sucking hard on it. As he did this, he placed his hand flat on Sam's erection and gently rubbed it with his palm against Sam's abs, so that with each upward rub, Sam's glans caught against his abs, gently stimulating it.
Sam held his breath when Dean began teasing his nipple. The view of this stunningly beautiful man kissing all the parts of his body was hot enough to make Sam’s cock twitch. And then Dean pressed it against his abs, rubbing it with just enough pressure.
Sam groaned and tensed his legs, causing his hips to move up against Dean’s hand a bit, which increased the pressure. “Fuck,” Sam panted, not even feeling embarrassed about his words or reaction. “We’ll see who’ll be the death of who.”
Dean grinned briefly and continued his teasing, but now on Sam's other nipple. He repeated what he had done the first time, but now his hand slipped a little further down, and he began to gently massage Sam's balls. His fingers stroked the soft, smooth skin, and then he carefully took the two balls in his hand and kneaded them gently. Dean lifted his head and looked at Sam. "Can I ask you something? You're... smooth down there. Is that... is that what the men do in your village?" Dean had, of course, often seen his dragon friends naked when they were swimming in their human form, and most of them were not clean-shaven. He personally preferred just a narrow, short-trimmed strip at the base of his cock, simply for aesthetic reasons. But he had never seen a man be completely smooth down there before. And he had just realized that he liked it. A lot, actually.
Sam had watched Dean with bated breath until he took hold of his balls. He shivered and grunted briefly, and when Dean asked him about being clean-shaven down there, he blinked and then blushed a little. “I… I haven’t got the slightest idea what men in my village do down there. But… I had to shave it once, as a teenager, because I had a cut on my groin… don’t ask… and I kinda liked it. It’s not that itchy when it’s hot and sweaty, you know?” He smiled shyly.
Dean breathed a few kisses on Sam's soft, smooth skin at the base of his cock and said, "I like it a lot." Then he pushed Sam's thighs further apart and whispered, "Let me see..." he gently stroked his fingertips over Sam's perineum down to his pink hole, which tightened slightly under his touch. "So different from a woman and yet so beautiful." He meant that. He found that he liked looking at Sam and liked what he saw. It turned him on.
Sam gasped softly when Dean touched his hole. He couldn’t help reacting that way because it was just very foreign to him. “Sorry,” he whispered and then focused on Dean’s eyes. “I hope I’m different from a woman,” he rasped and gave Dean a crooked smile. “And I’m glad you like the way it looks. Nia liked it as well, she… had to help me the first time around.” Sam felt his hips move on their own volition when Dean stroked over his hole again. “It’s weird,” Sam admitted. “But… there’s something about the touch that I like.”
Dean stroked his fingers over Sam's glans and gathered some precum, which he then slowly and gently spread around Sam's hole, making his touch a little easier. "I've never done this before either," he said quietly, "but I know how to do it and I'm careful. We're not going all the way, but this part.... maybe you'll like it." Dean moistened his fingers with spit and then slowly pressed a fingertip into Sam's hole. It was easier than he had expected. Sam was relaxed and did not resist. He slid his finger deeper inside Sam and gently stroked the smooth inner walls. "You feel so soft," he breathed and looked at Sam with wide eyes. Sam's cock was leaking a steady stream now, and Dean felt like he was doing something right.

Sam kept his eyes glued to everything Dean did. He hadn’t been lying when he said he trusted him. It was the reason why he could relax when Dean began pressing his finger into him. Still, Sam gasped and held his breath because the touch was completely foreign to him, and for a split second, the sensation of the intrusion made him want to pull away. But then he felt something like pleasure from the slight stretch, and he felt himself react to it. His cock seemed to have a mind of its own and just gushed more precum than before.
Sam moaned. “Dean, s…,” he started, wanting to stop him at first. But the discomfort was merely a fleeting afterthought because the pleasure overrode everything immediately. “‘s nice,” he continued. “Weird but nice.” He smiled briefly.

Dean had paused, waiting to see if Sam wanted him to stop. But when that didn't happen, he smiled. "I've heard there's something about it that makes it insanely good and blows your mind." He slowly probed deeper and deeper with his finger and then bumped into what he was looking for - Sam's prostate. And if he felt his way along it, he was told, he would find a little bundle of nerves that would make the experience incredibly arousing for Sam. Dean was cautious and slowly searched for the bundle of nerves, and then, all of a sudden, he felt it and stroked it carefully, his eyes fixed firmly on Sam's face.

The deeper Dean pressed in, the harder it was for Sam to ignore what his body wanted to do, to tense up. But at the same time, the stretch and Dean’s searching finger increased the pleasure he felt, and finally, his body stopped wanting to resist. Sam’s breath came in measured puffs, and when he slightly tensed his thighs, it was because the pleasure threatened to become too much. And then it almost did.
Dean found a spot somewhere inside Sam that made Sam’s muscles twitch along with his cock, and he groaned loudly. Head moving back to expose his throat, Sam dug his fingers into the sheets as his hips snapped forward in an uncontrolled thrust. He could feel his cock leaking as he shivered and fought to get himself back under control. “God, that was… what did you do? I thought I was going to blow, I… not sure if I can last through that again.” Sam lifted his head to focus large pupils on Dean. “If you do that again, I’ll… you’ll… it will be messy.”
"That good?" Dean asked with wonder in his voice. The question was redundant. He had seen how strong Sam's reaction to this touch had been. He withdrew his finger a little and then slowly began to work a second finger into Sam's tight hole. It was already much easier, as if this touch had opened up something inside Sam.
"Maybe you'd like to cum this way later?" he asked, massaging Sam's inner walls very slowly and gently to stretch him. He also took Sam's cock in his other hand and let it slide through his cupped hand. Sam was so wet that the glide felt good and smooth, and Dean looked at him spellbound because he thought Sam was beautiful and perfect.

“Later?” Sam panted. “You… you have no idea what you’re talking about, or what you’re doing. How it f… feels. You do that again, that will be later.” Sam was still trembling because the increased stretch from the second finger was already enough to heighten the tingling sensation in his balls. “‘m not kidding, Dean. I… I’ve never been one to fuck a girl and finish after half a minute. Meaning, I can l… last, usually. But this touch? Whatever you rubbed over inside me… where you got me now, it’s gonna be instant game over.” Sam’s lips were swollen and red from him biting them, and his glans were a dark shade of red that Sam hadn’t yet seen before. Not that he could remember. “If you find that spot again, I’ll explode,” he repeated, closing his eyes for a split second.
Dean nodded: "I've noticed that. I'm careful and won't do it again until this comes to an end. But for now, I'm going to stretch you and let you squirm a bit." He scissored his fingers and stretched Sam's rim, then pulled his fingers out. Sam's hole stayed open a little, and his pink walls looked tantalizing. Dean whispered, "You look stunning. Breathtaking. I never thought I'd ever look at a naked, aroused man and be so turned on." He spat on his fingers again and then began stroking Sam's rim and slowly stretching it again. Sam's hips moved without him doing anything, and Dean watched in fascination as Sam began to fuck himself on his fingers. "Sam...," Dean croaked hoarsely, so turned on that he felt alternately hot and cold.
“Sss…orry,” Sam panted, forcing himself to hold still. “Can’t help it. It just… it feels like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Not sure if anyone can resist it.” Sam was breathing consciously slowly to help himself regain his composure. “What you do, it feels weird, as in strange, because I don’t know it, and yet it feels irresistibly good and I want more. It’s like I want to drag it out and cum at the same time. You… you like the view, don’t you? You sound like you like it.”
"Yeah," Dean admitted with a dry mouth, "I do like the view. You... You look so fucking hot. I've never seen a cock look so deep purple and get so wet. And damn, Sam, your hole is...," Dean swallowed hard. "I'm watching you fuck yourself on my fingers right now. Do you have any idea what that does to me? I want to fuck you and I want to eat you out and all that at the same time. Fuck!" Dean looked at Sam with a feverish expression. "That's how much I like the view."
Sam smiled because, somehow, being desired by this absolutely stunning man made his heart flutter.
“I have an idea what it does to you, yes… but I can’t be sure, eh? I…” Sam looked at Dean and down his body because Dean’s erection was nothing you’d miss. “I just don’t know if you’d ever fit, you know? In me. Because those two fingers of yours already feel like I’m gonna be split open, and your cock and two fingers are definitely not in the same league.”
Dean looked at Sam with a burning gaze. "Even if there's nothing I'd rather be doing right now, I'm not going to fuck you today. At least not with my cock. And certainly not without having stretched you extensively first. And I mean really extensively because you're extremely tight. Which is so fucking hot...," Dean shuddered. He let his fingers slide a little deeper into Sam and scissored them again. Then he carefully began to work his third finger into Sam's hole. He did it slowly, very gently, and carefully, and when he felt the first ring of muscles give way, he pushed them all the way in and then held still for a moment so Sam could get used to it. It wasn't until Sam's hips began to move again of their own accord that Dean slowly fucked his fingers in and out. "Just look at you. Taking three fingers already," he breathed. "Fuck. So hot."
Sam listened to Dean, but only for a moment. Because the second he added the third finger, all Sam could do was concentrate on breathing and relaxing. And on holding back. Because as the stretch increased, so did the pleasurable sensation it brought. “Fuck,” Sam mumbled as a tremor ran through his body once more. “I dunno ‘f I can take anymore but… it feels s’good. Like a pleasure pain or something, I… Dean!” One of Dean’s fingers had brushed his prostate, and Sam trembled hard for a moment. If that was already the reaction to an accidental touch, what would happen if Dean found that special spot again? Sam felt his cock throb, and more precum gushed out, and he knew he was running out of time, so to speak. “Later is very close,” he whispered, blood rushing in his ears.
Dean nodded, "I think so too. You are so close." His voice sounded rough, reverent. "I want to see you cum. And when you've had a moment to recover, I want to do this again. I want to see you fall apart, over and over again. Until you're so exhausted from cuming that your body is loose and relaxed, and you're so well fucked you can't stand up. Will you let me do that, Sam?"
Sam’s jaw dropped for a moment because the thought of being brought to climax again and again sounded crazy. So far, he’d only gone for two in a row, but this sounded like more. And it sounded interesting. “I’ll be honest. I have no idea how that would work, but again, I trust you. I’ll let you do that because I know you will stop if I can’t take it anymore.” He closed his eyes briefly and then looked right at Dean. “What are you going to do if I’m too exhausted to stand anymore?”
Dean smiled, "Then I'll bathe you and take you to bed, tuck you under the covers, and then lie down with you. Your body will hopefully hum with satisfaction, and when you fall asleep, I'll watch over you." Dean said it with such seriousness that Sam realized he meant every word.
“You… you’re asking me to give you my all, right? But… what’s in that for you? You want to make me cum again and again. What about you? Where’s your pleasure in there?”
Sam was curious. He knew Dean liked the way he looked, but he could see Dean’s erection. Didn’t he need a touch as well? Brought to orgasm, getting taken care of?
"Where I come from, this is something we call 'courting'. When we have found our partner, the one we court them and give them immense pleasure before actually mating. In my culture, courting is an essential part of the mating ritual. We don't do that with every sexual partner. That's reserved exclusively for the life partner." Dean looked at Sam openly. To him, this was far more than a summer fling or a quick fuck. He was connected to Sam, the magic had decided, and Dean sensed that Sam was the one for him. He only hoped he hadn't scared Sam off with this revelation.

Sam blinked his eyes. Courting, he knew. He had done that once. But… not like that. Mating, however, was something he hadn’t heard anyone say in this context, unless they were talking about animals. “Mating ritual?” he asked softly. “Is that like… marriage? I’m sorry for asking that. I have never heard that in this context. Are you telling me you want us to be together forever? The connection we have is that part of it?” Sam licked his lips and looked at Dean expectantly. He had already answered Dean, and whatever he would say wouldn’t change his mind, but he wanted to make sure he understood correctly.
"No. A marriage can be dissolved. But when you do the mating ritual, it means you spend the rest of your lives together. There's no separation because you're connected on a level that goes much deeper than a marriage ever could," Dean replied. He placed his hand on Sam's chest, just above his heart. "I can feel it. My instincts tell me that you were made for me. So forever is exactly what I mean, yes. Does that scare you?”
“No separation?” Sam repeated. “I mean, I’ve heard of people who were married that went their separate ways after a while, but I was always under the impression that marriage meant until death parts them. No, forever doesn’t scare me, Dean. Not when it would be with you.” He smiled at Dean warmly to underline his words and placed his hand right above Dean’s on his chest.
The tension in Dean's face eased, and he returned the smile. "It scares me. But not because I'm afraid of spending my forever with you, but because I'm afraid that there are people who will try to take you away from me." His voice was quiet but very firm as he added, "But I will know how to prevent that. I promise you that."

Sam frowned. “People? As in more than maybe my father?” He wondered if there was something that Dean knew that he didn’t. But it was probably just about his father and the way he had treated him. “I know you will keep me safe,” he then added. Dean had kept him safe from the mountain lion, and even though he had no idea how he had done it, he knew that it would always be like that. Dean saved him in the gorge and then returned to save his life. And Sam had no reason to doubt he would do it again. But he hoped he wouldn’t have to.
Dean shook his head. "People tend to destroy the happiness of others when they are in a less good position themselves. That's what I meant. I won't let that happen." 'And I will find a way that allows me and you to be together,' he added in his mind.
Then he leaned over Sam again and kissed him, "And now don't think about it anymore, غhràidh."
Without realizing it, a word had slipped out in his dragon language, غhràidh. It meant 'beloved', and that was what Dean felt deep down for Sam.

Sam kissed Dean back and then licked his lips to savor Dean’s taste when Dean continued to talk. Of course, Dean didn’t want him to worry, and so Sam wouldn’t. Because right now, he just wanted to be with Dean.
Suddenly, a frown flitted across his face. “Kray?” he asked. “What does that mean?” Sam knew that in some areas people had different accents and even completely different languages. But he had never met anyone who used them.

Dean raised his head in confusion. "Kray?" he asked before it dawned on him what he had said. "غhràidh," he repeated and then pronounced it very clearly again for Sam, "Ghr-aaay, but the gh is pronounced gutturally. In my language, that means 'my beloved'. Sorry, that just slipped out."
“Oh,” Sam huffed. “I’m sorry, I… never heard that before. Grr-aaay? Like that? Wait… guttural. Can you say it again?” When Dean repeated the word for him, Sam paid his full attention to the start of the word. “Ghr-aaay. Is that it? That… I will have to practice that.” He repeated the word a few times. “Beloved,” he then whispered. “Why are you sorry that it slipped out?”
Dean cocked his head and looked at Sam with thoughtful eyes. "Because it's a foreign language that you don't understand. And my father taught me that this kind of behavior is rude. Especially when we're about to have sex." That was only partly true. He was forbidden to speak to the humans in his language because there might still be one or two humans who recognized and understood it. And that was something the dragons wanted to avoid at all costs.

"Would you like to continue talking? Or may I proceed?" he finally asked quietly, and his gaze became intense, and the flames behind his irises seemed to flare up again.
“Proceed, my protector,” Sam replied and leaned forward quickly to steal a kiss. “If I remember correctly, it will be very pleasurable for me now. I’m all yours.”
Sam watched Dean with big eyes, glad that their little excursion into the world of languages had granted him some recovery time, and he didn’t fear he would blow his load the second Dean touched him again. “Your eyes are so amazing,” he added, taking in the way they seemed to be flickering with liquid fire.
Dean growled softly and kissed Sam passionately as his hand, which had been resting on Sam's chest the whole time, suddenly grabbed Sam's cock and began to jerk it slowly.
Dean nibbled delicately on Sam's lips for a moment and then sat up to look at him while he touched him. With his other hand, he stroked Sam's hole again, moistened his fingers with some spit, and then slowly pressed them back into Sam's channel. Carefully, he scissored his fingers into Sam's rim, slowly stretching it, all the time his gaze darting back and forth between Sam's cock and his hole, making sure the young hunter quickly found his way back to the erotic mood that their conversation had interrupted.

Sam held his breath when Dean wrapped his hand around his cock again. He was still so hard and the sudden pressure made it throb again. Sam was so focused on the sensation that he didn’t notice Dean’s touch on his hole until he pushed his fingers back in.
“Oh fff…,” he grunted because the stretch felt even better than it had before. “Never knew it could feel like that.” Sam was panting now, arousal skyrocketing quickly. “Dean, this… it’s the first time you’re doing this, right?” Sam asked after a short moment.
"No," Dean admitted, "I did it once with a girl. She wanted it, and I was curious, so we did it. That's why I know what I have to do." His gaze was now fixed on Sam's face. "Why do you ask? Am I doing something wrong? Don't you like it? Do you want me to stop?"
Sam’s eyes widened minutely.
“What? No, I just thought… you said you have never been with a guy, but it feels so… it feels like you know exactly what you’re doing. I was just curious, I didn’t want you to think something was wrong.”
Sam reached out with his hand to stroke Dean’s cheek.
Dean breathed a sigh of relief and nodded, "That was the truth. I have never had any kind of sexual experience with a man. You're my first. I think that's why I want to make sure I'm not doing anything wrong. So if this makes you uncomfortable, please tell me at any point, okay?"
Dean looked at Sam urgently for a moment, and when he nodded, Dean resumed his gentle foreplay. He slid his fingers deeper, gently massaging Sam's inner walls and keeping well away from his prostate.

Sam closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on what Dean was doing without getting too close too fast. Granted, the sensation of something, Dean’s fingers, stretching his hole was still strange, and it took some concentration not to fight the intrusion, but on the other hand, Sam found that the stretch also held some arousing elements that he’d never known existed. And when Dean had touched that special spot inside him earlier on, Sam had thought he would erupt right away. And in a way, that’s what he wanted to feel again. “I’m okay, you… I’ll tell you to stop if I’m not.”
"Okay," Dean whispered. Then he concentrated fully on making this encounter as pleasurable as possible for Sam and gently massaged deeper. Carefully and very lightly, he tapped Sam's prostate, taking care not to stimulate the bundle of nerves immediately again. At the same time, he rubbed the underside of Sam's cock very delicately with the thumb of his other hand.
Sam’s breathing became heavier when Dean continued his task of driving him out of his mind with pleasure. When he first touched his prostate, Sam’s hands knotted in the sheets, and his legs tensed briefly. It was his way to try and deal with the onrush of sensations without letting it be over quickly. He had just enough self-control left to relax again soon, so he wouldn’t accidentally hurt Dean. “Gods… fuck,” he grunted after holding his breath subconsciously for a while and then breathed rapidly to pump enough oxygen back into his bloodstream. “Fuck, it’s good, Dean. Don’t… stop. Don’t stop.”
Sam's exclamation encouraged Dean and he repeated it. Just as slowly and carefully as before, so as not to push Sam over the edge immediately.
On impulse, he suddenly pulled his fingers back and grabbed Sam's hips, pulled him closer, flipped him around, and first spread his thighs and then pulled Sam's ass cheeks apart to expose his hole. Next, he licked over it with his tongue and began to gently push it in. After he had developed a feeling for it, he tongue-fucked Sam slowly and deeply, teasing his rim again and again.
Through the connection they shared, Dean could feel exactly what Sam was feeling and how close he was. He had promised him a mindblowing orgasm, and he intended to keep that promise. So instead of letting go of Sam and giving him a moment to recover, he grabbed him and began to tongue fuck him deeply. Then he slid a hand under Sam and took his cock in his hand to jerk it in the same rhythm.

Sam’s heart skipped a beat when Dean began tongue fucking him even more intensely, and he knew he didn’t want him to hold on any longer. And then he felt Dean’s hand on his cock, jerking him with perfect strokes, causing Sam to grunt harshly. “Oh, my God,” he groaned, and his body tensed in anticipation of his climax. When Dean flicked his tongue inside him one more time, Sam threw his head back, snapping his hips forward into Dean’s hand, and erupted with a harsh shout. A body-shaking climax rolled over him, and he came and came all over Dean’s hand and the sheets until his vision was flickering. “Dean,” he whispered, feeling his good arm buckle beneath him from the intensity of his climax.

Dean helped Sam through the orgasm as best he could. When the aftershocks began, he slowly eased the intensity of his caresses, and when Sam's arms no longer wanted to carry him, Dean turned Sam on his side, lay behind him, and wrapped his arms around him. He held him close in this way and breathed gentle kisses into his neck and hairline. "I've got you," he whispered and kissed Sam gently on the ear.
Sam almost felt boneless in Dean’s arms. And safe. His head was still spinning from the intensity of his orgasm, but when Dean kissed his ear, he managed an exhausted smile. “I know,” he breathed in return and sank a bit heavier into Dean’s arms. “That… was intense,” he whispered after a few moments, breathing deeply. “Don’t think I ever came like this.”
Dean laughed softly. "I certainly hope so! I've never courted anyone like this before, and I'd be heartbroken if this was just another Tuesday for you." He kissed Sam playfully on the neck and shoulder.
“Just another Tuesday?” Sam echoed, sounding confused. “Oh… no. Not that. Maybe another Sunday. But not Tuesday.” He grinned briefly. “‘m just kidding. I think my brain’s mush.” Sam tried to turn a little in Dean’s arms to snuggle up closer, but didn’t get very far. “I’m mush,” he corrected himself. “Never knew that could be this intense.”
Dean breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm glad that this experience was so intense and beautiful for you. That's exactly what it looked like. And you are allowed to be mush now." Dean turned onto his back, making it easy for Sam to turn around and snuggle up to him. Then he sighed contentedly and said, "And I'm glad I waited with courtship until I met the right guy."
Sam snuggled up against Dean and smiled to himself. “I never knew I could be the right guy. Never worked out for me. I’m glad about that now because I want to be the right guy for you.” He turned his head and pressed a kiss on Dean’s chest. Then he startled for a moment. “Dean, what about you? When you said what you want to do with me, where are YOU in the plan?”
"I'm all right. Don't worry. Courting is about the one who courts and the one who is courted. And I was the giving part. For me, the fulfilling moment was the moment of your greatest pleasure, because that meant I had done everything right. For me, the physical aspect was secondary," Dean answered truthfully. He hadn't even thought about his own arousal and lust. For him, Sam had been the center of attention, just as it had to be when courting.
Sam looked at Dean with big eyes. How could he have gotten so lucky to meet Dean? He was perfect. At least for Sam. “I understand,” he finally said. “But… when you’re done taking me apart and putting me back together, I want to return the favor.”
He let his finger stroke along Dean’s side gently, exploring the way Dean’s body felt. “Dean, earlier on, you said you are not going to fuck me today. I understand that this is about me now, but… at some point today you will need to get your own release as well. How would you want to do that?”
Dean shrugged, "I honestly haven't thought about it yet. Maybe like the first time? That felt good. Whatever it ends up being, it will be perfect. I'm sure of that," he affirmed quietly.
Sam nodded softly. “Okay.” He closed his eyes a little and snuggled a bit closer to Dean’s body, even though that was barely possible. “Hmm, you know, when I was about 18 or 19, my first girlfriend had just broken up with me, and I thought I would miss sex with a girl so much. Right now, I think I won’t miss it really, and we haven’t even had full-on sex, yet.”
"You wouldn't?" Dean asked softly. "You wouldn't miss holding a woman in your arms and feeling her soft curves?" Dean wondered the same thing, would he miss it? No. But he also knew that no one at home would judge him for wanting to be with a man. The only problem he had was the fact that Sam was human. Not that he was a man.
“I quite like feeling you close. I like the way you feel. Besides, you make me feel safe. When I touch you, I can feel your muscles, the muscle tone. Girls just feel different, which isn’t anything bad. I don’t hate that. But I found now that… I prefer feeling you over a girl.” Sam fell silent for a moment. “Is that okay?” he then asked.
"Yeah. Why wouldn't it be okay?" Dean asked. "Do you think that because I asked if you're sure you don't miss it, that I don't think it's okay? Because that would be nonsense. It's okay."
Sam remained silent, thinking. Or trying to. “Hmm, no, that’s not why. I wonder if it’s okay because it feels right to me, but people say it isn’t.” Sam breathed deeply. “You know when I told you I need to leave, because if my father finds out why I fell down the ravine, he would finish the job the dragon didn’t do. By now, he would try to kill me for falling in love with you as well.”
Dean remained silent. It should no longer shock him that Sam's father was a terrible person, but that a father would be able to kill his own son because he had fallen in love with a man was almost beyond his imagination.
Finally, he said quietly, "One day I will introduce you to my father. And he will treat you the way he treats me. He will treat you as a father should treat his son."
“Is it just your father who is so relaxed about that topic, or… is it your village, maybe? I mean, I never came across a place where they were relaxed about same-sex love, but then again, I also had never come across a dragon.” Sam was curious because he had never understood what the fuss was about. Maybe it was about the fact that there would be no children being born from such a union, but there were still enough who had children. So why worry?
"At home, nobody cares if you, as a man, love another man. The important thing is that the love is genuine and that you are happy together. My father has always believed that love is simply love. And he also represents this attitude to our council of elders," Dean replied.
“Elders?” Sam asked with a slight frown. “Your council consists of elders? In my village, there is one… leader. And he picks out the people he wants to help him run the village. They don’t have to hold a certain qualification other than being picked. Somehow, what you have sounds a lot more sensible than what is being done here.”
"At home, the leader is elected. The council of elders decides who is best suited for the job, and later, when the leader has to make important decisions, he consults with the elders. Of course, the final decision always lies with our leader, but the opinion of the elders carries great weight in our society, and we respect them very much. My father would never make a decision without consulting the Council of Elders first. He says that as a leader, you should never be too proud to take advice," said Dean.
Sam turned a little and looked at Dean for a long second. “You know, that actually sounds a lot better than our system. Use the wisdom of the elders. I wish that would be a thing at home.” He licked his lips. “Then again, what if you end up with people like my father as part of the elder council?”
Dean shook his head. "I can't answer that for you. I've never met anyone like your father. But I'm sure it would be taken care of then. Someone who is so angry and aggressive towards others destroys any society in the long run, and that would make life unbearable for all of us."
Sam nodded. “That would be better. If I say, I hope you don’t ever meet my father, I really mean it. He’s not a nice guy once you get to really know him, and if you anger him in any way… Let’s say, Jonas can tell a few things he had to splint.” Sam fell silent for a minute. Finally, he asked in a quiet voice. “Can you tell me a bit more about your village? Or about John, the dragon?”
Dean said nothing. Sam's father would bitterly regret an outburst of anger if he took it out on Dean; that much was certain. And he would not allow Sam to be the target of such an outburst ever again, either.
To Sam's question, Dean replied, "What exactly do you want to know?"
“Hmm, how big is your village, I mean, how many people? Do you have the same style of houses as this one? Or like at Brynmor? Are there woods nearby or a lake? The mountains, I’m guessing. Do you have many friends? And regarding John, can you tell me how you two met?”
"Our village is much smaller than yours. Maybe 60 or 70 of us live there, and a few live a little further away on their own. Our dwellings also look different. Much more stone and rock than yours. And there are some mountain lakes nearby, as well as forests in the valleys. But basically, we live up in the mountains."
Dean was silent for a moment and then replied, "I've known John all my life. I can't remember not knowing him."
Sam tried to picture what Dean told him. The rock and stone dwellings and the nearby lakes. “Are there mountain lions where you live as well?” he then asked. “And are you living side by side with the dragons? That must be quite interesting. I mean… how big are dragons when they are born? And how do they get born?” Sam was curious, and he just hoped he wouldn’t annoy Dean with his thousand and one questions.
"No, there are no mountain lions where I live. The proximity of dragons scares them," Dean replied. "And I'm not sure how much I can reveal to you about the life cycle of a dragon. Maybe I should discuss something like that with John first," Dean said cautiously. "But we live more or less close to the dragons. They protect our way of life." That was the truth, Dean thought.
“I’m sorry,” Sam replied. “I didn’t mean to put you in a conundrum. I know you can’t just talk about that, but I was curious. Why are mountain lions scared of dragons? Because of the dragons’ size?” That was easy to understand. Sam doubted that dragons had any natural enemies.
"You don't have to apologize," Dean said, "I just don't want to make a decision I'm not entitled to. That is all. And a dragon has no predators. If they're hungry enough, they'll eat mountain lions. And I think that's why they don't dare go near our dwellings."
Sam’s eyes opened wide. “They eat a mountain lion? Like… just like that? They are huge! Okay, dragons are even bigger. That… I wasn’t thinking. I just never imagined eating a mountain lion.”
Sam worked on his bottom lip with his teeth. “So… do you have a good friend back home? One you have known all your life, like John? But a human?”
Dean thought long and hard about how to phrase his answer and finally said, "John is more like a father figure to me than a friend. I'm looking for his advice, not necessarily his friendship. And he also sees me more as a son than a friend. But of course, I have friends who are more my age. My oldest friend is Gaelen. We grew up together and always got into trouble together. My father and his parents were often desperate because we had nothing but nonsense on our minds as teenagers." Dean grinned at the memory. "And what about you?" he then asked.
“Nonsense?” Sam asked with a smile. “Somehow, I can’t imagine you being up to nonsense. And then again, I can. Makes no sense, I know.” He shifted a little to be able to look straight at Dean without having to turn his neck too much. “Me? I have or had a few friends, but I never brought them home. I didn’t want to create problems with my father. Callan was one I did some funny things with. They had pigeons. The ones for messaging. We used to take them to remote spots and watch them find their way back. His father wasn’t too happy because they would be tired when he needed them.”
Dean laughed softly, "Well, I was a teenager once too, carefree and always up to no good. At least when I was out and about with Gaelen. We always had the feeling that we had to outdo each other in everything. Even when being silly." He smiled warmly at Sam, "Making carrier pigeons tired still sounds pretty tame to me."
“So… what did you do then that wasn’t so tame?” Sam asked, curious. “And not everything I ever did was tame. But I didn’t want you to think you should have left me to the mountain lion, you know?”
He breathed deeply.

“Once, I was almost the cause of a younger boy’s death. Nevan, he is about three years younger than Callan and me. He was eleven, but he was tiny. Looked like eight at the most. Callan was fifteen, I was fourteen. We went to a place we call Devil’s Spit. It’s a small lake, like an oversized puddle. The water looks clear and just smells foul. There’s something in there that will burn your skin if you stick your hand in too long. And we dared him. He fell in, and we just managed to pull him out before he swallowed any of the water. He couldn’t swim, you know? You’re actually the first person I’ve told this to. And I doubt Callan or Nevan told anyone. You see, Devil’s Spit is a forbidden place.”
"I see," Dean said quietly. "I know lakes like that. They have connections to things deep inside the earth. And if these substances are exposed to the air or come into contact with water, they can become dangerous. John explained that to me once when I was little." He was silent for a moment, then said, "Gaelen and I once spoiled almost the entire supply for the winter. We were playing in the pantry. One thing led to another, and a fire broke out. Nothing happened to us, but pretty much all our supplies were destroyed. It was only with the help of the whole village that we didn't go hungry over the winter. And the next spring, my father made me pay off my debts to everyone who helped us."
Sam raised his eyebrows. “He made you pay your debts? Meaning you had to help with the crops? The harvest? Somehow, I can’t imagine you being reckless like that. And playing with fire? That sounds… negligent.” Sam’s fingers reach out to Dean’s arm, and he lets them trail over the length of it. “I don’t think you’re negligent. You’re very resourceful, and I think at least now you know what you’re doing.” His eyes settled on Dean’s, and he leaned forward and stole a kiss.
"We weren't paying attention and knocked over an oil lamp while we were running around. And we didn't realize it until it was too late," Dean fibbed, changing the truth just a little. "And I had to help with hunting, harvesting, and storing new supplies. I had to clean the pantries and, of course, do any other work that needed doing. My father wanted me to understand that my recklessness not only got us into trouble, but that we were also a burden on the community because everyone shared their supplies with us. Since then, I have known how important the cohesion of our village is, and I have seen why my father is respected by everyone. He doesn't just take, although as a leader, he could order the village to support us at any time. He accepted the help and he made sure that we gave it back."
Sam stopped his fingers and nodded. “Your father sounds very wise. I wish my father were like he is.” He then stretched his neck as much as he could and placed his lips on Dean’s. “I think… we shared stories now, and I had time to recover. I’m ready for more kissing and whatever else you have in mind.” He smiled and then looked down between them. “Can I touch you? Just a little?”
Something sparkled in Dean's eyes that Sam couldn't place. Was it lust? Arousal? Possessiveness? Was it something else entirely? But before Sam could ask, Dean said quietly, "What if I let you? What will you do then?"
“Nothing you wouldn’t want me to,” Sam replied. “I know you have plans. I just want to feel you, see what you like. You can stop me anytime.” He looked into Dean’s eyes, still trying to place the sparkle. But despite not being able to place it, Sam knew it was good. And that he liked it. A lot.
Dean nodded, "Okay. I'll let you do that. I think it's fair that you want to have these experiences too." He turned a little and slid into a comfortable position that allowed him to watch Sam touch him and enjoy it. "All yours," he murmured and looked at Sam.
Sam smiled, reaching out to touch Dean, caress him, and return some of the pleasure he’d been receiving. He didn’t have any experience with touching another man, but he knew what he liked, and that’s what he went for.
Sam enjoyed seeing and feeling Dean’s reaction, and the little sounds he made went straight to Sam’s loins. Hearing Dean’s breath hitch when he thumbed over the glans was probably a new favorite sound for Sam, and after a while, he reluctantly stilled his hand. He had promised, and he would keep that promise. “You feel amazing,” he whispered and kissed the other man.
Dean groaned softly into the kiss, his whole body humming with the kind of heat that made it hard to think straight. Sam’s touch was clumsy but sincere, and that just made it worse—in the best possible way. It was raw, unfiltered want, and Dean could feel it in every brush of skin, every hesitant move. He pulled back just enough to catch Sam’s eyes, pupils blown wide and lips kiss-swollen, and damn if that didn’t make Dean want to forget every promise they’d made about taking it slow. But he breathed through it, gripping the back of Sam’s neck like a lifeline. “You keep doing that, Sammy,” he rasped, “and I’m not gonna last long.”
Sam opened his mouth to protest when Dean called him Sammy, but the way Dean made it sound, it overrode any bad connotation he had. Most of all, the way his father said Sammy when he made fun of him, not in a friendly way.
Sam blinked and licked his lips. Then he gently tightened his grip and looked at Dean. “Can you say that again? My name, like that?” His voice was hoarse, and his eyes hung on Dean’s lips as he waited. “You want me to keep doing it?”

Dean’s breath hitched, and for a second, he forgot how close they were, forgot everything but the look in Sam’s eyes - wide, dark, hungry in a way that hit Dean square in the chest. He swallowed hard, the weight of what Sam asked sinking in. It wasn’t just about the name - it was about reclaiming something, about trust. Dean reached up, brushing his fingers along Sam’s jaw, steady and sure. “Yeah,” he murmured, voice low and rough, “Sammy.” He watched the way Sam shivered at that, eyes fluttering like it hit deeper than it should’ve. “If you want it, I’ll say it all night.” He held Sam's gaze for a moment and then took a deep breath before shaking his head. "I think you'd better stop."
Sam’s grip loosened again, eyes still glued to Dean like he didn’t want to miss a word he said. Then he finally let go of Dean’s erection altogether, gently detaching his fingers. “I hate being called Sammy,” he whispered a moment later. “But when you say it, it feels different. Positive. Makes my stomach tingle with excitement. And I can’t get enough of it.” Sam looked at Dean again with wide eyes and then leaned in to kiss Dean. He kissed him like he was the air he needed to breathe, like he would drown without him. “So,” he panted after a while. “What can I do if touching is out of the question for now?”
Dean’s chest tightened, not just from the kiss, which knocked the breath clean out of him, but from the words. Honest, vulnerable, so very Sam.
He stared at the young hunter for a moment, trying to piece together how they got here, how something this intense could feel so easy between them.
Dean smirked, a slow curl of his lips as he reached up to cup Sam’s cheek, thumb stroking gently across the skin. “You’re doing it,” he said, voice low. “Looking at me like that. Kissing me like I’m gonna disappear.” He leaned in, brushing his lips against Sam’s again, softer this time, more of a promise than a tease. “That’s more than enough for me.”
Sam chased Dean’s lips for a moment, needing a bit more than the light touch. Then he pulled back a little to look into Dean’s eyes.
“You know, I do worry sometimes that you will disappear. Not because I think you’ll just leave me, stop thinking I’m worth kissing or so. But because I’m afraid I’m only dreaming. That this isn’t real and my brain is just making me see this to… escape.”
A moment later, Sam smiled. “But I know you won’t disappear. I know this isn’t a dream. When you bit my lip just now, it stung. And that never happens in a dream, right?” Sam’s finger was now softly tracing Dean’s collarbone as we waited for Dean’s reply. He honestly had no idea how he deserves someone like Dean, how Dean could fall in love with him, but he wouldn’t challenge it, because he enjoyed it too much.

Dean let out a slow breath, steadying himself, because Sam’s touch, gentle as it was, threatened to crack something wide open inside him. The words lingered in the air like smoke, fragile and half-formed, and Dean hated how much he wanted to believe in them. In this. Sam didn’t know what he was asking when he looked at Dean like that, when he talked about dreams and reality, like Dean wasn’t hiding a truth heavy enough to burn down the moment between them.
His hand came up, covering Sam’s, holding it against his chest, right where his heart thudded a little too fast. “No dream could make me feel like this,” Dean said softly, voice rough with something unspoken. “And if it is? I don’t wanna wake up.” He swallowed hard, the words bitter on the back of his tongue, because even now, wrapped in heat and want and something dangerously close to love, Dean could feel the dragon in him stirring. Coiled beneath his skin, ancient and patient. The part of him that was not human. The part that could ruin all of this if Sam ever found out.
But for now, Sam didn’t know. And Dean wasn’t ready to lose him to the truth. Not yet.

Sam’s smile became a bit wider.
“That sounds perfect. If this is a dream after all, I don’t want to wake up either. I want to stay here, with you.” Sam settled down, pressed up against Dean’s side, fingers continuing to trace Dean’s body, from the shoulder along the collarbone, down the sternum, and along the ribs to his sides. “You really going to call me Sammy all the time now?” he finally asked.
Dean let out a quiet chuckle, low in his throat, the sound more rumble than laugh, a sound that always came out when he was too relaxed to hide what he was. He felt Sam's fingers gliding over him, curious and careful, and it took everything not to shudder under the touch. There was something possessive in it, something grounding, and Dean had never let anyone get this close before - for good reason. But with Sam, it didn't feel dangerous. It felt right.
"Only when it makes you melt like that," he said, smirking, turning his head slightly to press a kiss to Sam's hair. "But yeah, probably. Kinda fits, doesn't it?" He let his hand rest on Sam's back, warm and solid, thumb drawing lazy circles against bare skin.
A flicker of instinct stirred low in Dean's chest, the dragon in him responding to touch, to trust, to the strange, undeniable pull toward this man who felt like his and didn't even know it.
Dean's breath hitched, heat blooming just beneath the surface of his skin. 'Careful, he warned himself, don't shift, don't burn.'
"You feel safe," Dean murmured, surprising even himself with how much that truth weighed. "Like... like home. And that's not something I say lightly, Sammy."
“Home,” Sam repeated. He liked that. “You feel more like home than… than my house ever felt. And I know that’s a sad thing to say.”
Sam breathed deeply.
“But it doesn’t matter. Not anymore. Because I’m with you now.”
And he hoped that his father would never find a trace of him anymore. Because if they met again, Sam wasn’t sure how he would react.
“I like that I feel safe to you. I feel safe with you as well. In so many ways.”
Dean’s heart clenched at the word home. It wasn’t a thing he ever thought he’d be for someone - not really. He was fire and instinct and something older than even he could put into words, something that shouldn’t feel like safety. But here was Sam, saying it like it was the truest thing he knew. And Dean… he wanted to believe him. Hell, he needed to!
He let his hand drift to the back of Sam’s neck, grounding him there, steady. “You are safe,” he said quietly, fiercely. “Doesn’t matter what comes - hell, if the whole damn world comes crashing down, I’ll still be right here.” His eyes flicked to the shadows dancing on the walls, the distant beat of his own power humming beneath his skin. The dragon in him roused, restless, protective. He didn’t understand it fully, but the urge to shield Sam from everything, even from himself, was growing harder to ignore.
He pulled Sam just a little closer, breath warm against his temple. “I don’t think you even know what you are to me yet,” he whispered, barely trusting the words. “But I’ll keep you safe. No matter what it costs.”

Sam smiled and closed his eyes, just focusing on feeling Dean. Hearing his heartbeat. Smelling his skin. “Maybe, when you can and when you’re ready, you can tell me what I am to you.” He shivered when he felt Dean’s breath on his skin. “I like how warm you are, you know. Like a promise that l’ll never feel cold again.” Sam’s fingers kept moving over Dean’s skin, now lower, tracing the prominent hip bone and down along his thigh. “You’re warm everywhere. A comfortable warmth.”

Dean's throat worked around a lump he hadn't expected. The words, simple, quiet, hit like a strike to the chest, burning hotter than any fire he could breathe.
'A promise that I'll never feel cold again.'
He wanted to laugh, or maybe weep, because Sam had no idea how close he was to the truth. Dean wasn't just warm - he was fire, forged in scales and centuries, blood that ran molten beneath skin shaped to pass as human. And Sam, unknowingly curled into the crook of his arm, was pressing into the very heart of something ancient and dangerous without flinching.
Dean let out a breath, slow and careful, afraid even that might give too much away. He curled his fingers around Sam's wrist, halting the slow exploration before it scattered what little control he had left. Not yet. Not until he could tell him what he was, what John and he were.
"You're already everything," Dean said, voice low, almost reverent. "Even if I don't have the right words for it yet." He pressed a kiss to Sam's temple, breathing him in like he needed him to survive. And maybe he did.

Sam let himself melt against Dean, enjoying the time together doing nothing. But there was something in Dean’s voice, something he couldn’t pinpoint, but that made him snuggle a bit closer still. “You don’t need your words. You already did so much for me, even when I was a complete stranger. There’s something about you that makes me feel safe. Trust you. And it’s not that connection you mention. I can feel that as well, but it’s different. It’s like there’s something about you that my soul recognizes.”
Dean froze, not visibly, not in any way Sam would notice, but deep inside where the fire lived and the truth he carried clawed to get out. 'My soul recognizes'. The words echoed in his chest like a bell tolling through old bones.
His dragon heart stuttered, then pounded harder, because yes, that was it. That was what had drawn him to Sam from the start, before the bond, before the desire. Something ancient, older than language or reason. Something that terrified him in its clarity.
He tightened his arms around Sam instinctively, protective, possessive, gentle. His instincts screamed to wrap himself around Sam fully, wings, fire, name, everything.
But he couldn't, not yet. He didn't know what it would do to them, to this, if the truth came too soon. If Sam looked at him the way people would do when they found out what he really was. A thing to fear. A weapon. A monster.
"You're not wrong," Dean murmured against Sam's hair, voice rougher now, barely hiding the quake beneath it. "I don't know how or why, but... from the second I saw you, it felt like I'd been waiting for you. Like something locked into place." He swallowed, the words almost too heavy to speak. 'My soul knows yours too'. But that... he held back. For now.
“Yes,” Sam replied. “That sounds perfect. Like something locked into place.” He breathed deeply and listened to Dean’s heartbeat a bit longer. “It’s like our hearts beat in the same rhythm, you know?”
When Dean’s grip on his hand relaxed a bit, Sam resumed his little caresses. “Are you going to let me be the reason for your pleasure today, even when we don’t go all the way? Or would you like to keep that for another day?”

Dean's eyes fluttered shut, the question settling into him like a slow burn, sweet, dangerous, and grounding all at once.
Sam's voice had that quiet confidence, the kind that wrapped around Dean's senses and threatened to unravel every secret he'd spent years locking away. He didn't deserve this kind of gentleness, didn't deserve to be touched like something sacred. Not when his blood carried the weight of fire and fury, not when his true shape could turn villages to ash. Not when his blood bonded them together without Sam knowing any of it.
But Sam's hands, soft, steady, human, were touching him like he was safe.
Dean drew in a slow breath, the air thick with the scent of Sam and heat and something ancient stirring beneath his skin. He turned his head just enough to press a kiss against Sam's wrist, right over the pulse. "You already are," he murmured, voice barely more than smoke and gravel. "Even if you don't mean to be, even if you don't know what you're really asking for."
His eyes opened, glowing faintly in the dark, a flicker of something not quite human behind the green. "But yeah, Sammy. I'll let you. Just... be careful with me. I burn easily."

Sam’s eyes lit up. He knew letting someone else take over something that intimate wasn’t easy for everyone. It hadn’t been easy for him the first time he experienced something like this with someone else. With Dean, however, it had been really easy and Sam didn’t know why. His fingers traveled along Dean’s skin, tracing unseen patterns that only existed in Sam’s mind. In time, he drew his circles closer to Dean’s center, his knuckle brushing gently along Dean’s shaft. “You can stop me anytime, if you change your mind. I want to light your fire, but I don’t want to burn you.” With a soft smile, Sam lowered his head and let his tongue trace along his ribs, nibbling a little when he reached the sternum. “You taste nice. Like… adventure,” he whispered and repeated it, this time a rib higher. When he reached the level of Dean’s nipple, he braced himself for a split second and then, carefully, took the little bud between his lips, tongue teasing it.
Dean bit down hard on a groan, one hand fisting the sheets beneath him as Sam's mouth sent sparks racing through every nerve ending he had. 'Light your fire' - Sam didn't know how literal that offer was, how close he was to something primal curled beneath Dean's skin, just barely held in check. The heat building in his core wasn't just lust - it was him, ancient and coiled, instinct clawing against bone and muscle, whispering 'mine' with every touch.
He forced himself to stay still, to let Sam explore, to trust. That was the part that scared him more than the fire. Letting someone close enough to see him - not just the man, but the dragon beneath. But Sam moved with such reverence, like Dean wasn't dangerous, like he wasn't something born of myth and shadow. His breath hitched again as teeth grazed sensitive skin, and his free hand found Sam's shoulder, not to stop him, but to anchor himself.
"Sammy..." he breathed, his voice a low tremor, frayed at the edges. "You're playing with fire, and you don't even know it." But he didn't pull away. Couldn't. Because in that moment, wrapped in heat and breath and trust, Dean didn't want to be anything but consumed.

Sam sucked the nipple in a little deeper and let his teeth scrape over it carefully. Then he let it go and looked at Dean. He could see that he was working hard on keeping control, holding still to grant him all the time he needed to explore. And he loved seeing Dean like this. Made the heat coil in his loins again. “Maybe I want the fire,” he whispered. “Maybe I want to feel your heat.” He kissed his way across to the other nipple and carefully sucked it in the same way as he had done with the other. And when he flicked his tongue across, his hand wrapped around Dean’s cock and squeezed.
Dean's breath left him in a harsh, broken sound, half gasp, half growl, and for a split second, the room seemed to tighten around him, the air shimmering faintly with the threat of heat barely leashed. Sam's mouth, his hand, his words, were striking sparks in places Dean had spent years keeping cold and buried. He arched involuntarily, his spine taut as a bowstring, teeth clenched so tight his jaw ached.
‘Maybe I want the fire’.
He didn't know. He couldn't. And still, he said it like an invitation, like he wanted the part of Dean that wasn't human, that pulsed just beneath the skin like molten gold. Dean's eyes fluttered open, irises glowing now, no longer subtle, no longer hidden - just for a moment. He hoped Sam wasn't looking.
"God, Sammy..." His voice was ragged, full of longing and warning in equal measure. "You have no idea what you're asking for."
But even as he said it, he thrust gently into Sam's hand, unable to hold back the low, desperate sound that followed.
Sam was touching him like he wasn't afraid, like Dean was his - not a dragon, not a danger, not a secret waiting to burn them both to ash.
Dean clenched the sheets tighter, trying to stay grounded.
Just a man. Just a man for now. For him.
Sam lifted his head, blowing some cool air over the spit-wet nipple. “I’m asking for you to trust me enough to return the pleasure you gave me earlier. Nobody has ever done that to me, with me. But I wanted to experience it with you. You made me hot, let me erupt without any restraints. I knew I could be vulnerable around you, because you protect me. I told you, I will protect you, too, when you’re vulnerable.” Sam looked at those green eyes, which were so much brighter than any eyes he’d ever seen before. They were so beautiful and somehow deep inside, Sam knew that when Dean gave in to him, he would see something nobody had ever seen before.
“I love you, Dean,” Sam rasped, almost a mere rasp and no tone at all.
Then he bent down again, sucked a few times on Dean’s nipple, hard under his tongue, before drawing a line with it downwards, right to Dean’s belly button. He lingered briefly, tightening his grip around the gently pulsing cock. He massaged it briefly, admiring the hot, velvet feel. Then he let go of the shaft and replaced his hand with his tongue, drawing a line up from base to tip, where he swirled it around, lapping at the frenulum.
He could taste Dean clearly, found himself wanting more, but he would let Dean decide the way he wanted to cum. Briefly, he closed his lips around the glans, sucked a few times without too much force, and then pulled off with a plop.
Dean's entire body trembled, tight with restraint, drowning in sensation, and barely holding the line between man and something older, something far less controlled. Sam's words echoed in his ears, almost louder than the pulse roaring behind them. 'I love you, Dean'. It hit deeper than the heat, than the touch, than the wet swirl of Sam's tongue on the most sensitive part of him.
Dean clenched his jaw, swallowing the growl rising in his throat, the dragon in him snarling to the surface, aching to mark, to claim.
He stared down at Sam, at the image of him kneeling there - so open, so willing, so his - and felt something ancient twist inside his chest. Not possession. Not hunger. Something closer to awe. This was what had been waiting all these years? Him?
Dean's hand reached out, threading gently through Sam's hair, reverent despite the tremor in his fingers. His voice, when he finally spoke, was ragged and raw.
"Sammy... I don't think you understand what you're doing to me. What you're waking up." His breath caught as Sam's mouth touched him again. "But I trust you. May the Gods help me, I do."
For the first time in his hidden life, Dean let go, not of control, not entirely, but of fear.
He let himself feel, let Sam see him. And even if Sam couldn't yet name the heat curling beneath Dean's skin, he was already cradling it in his hands.

Sam’s eyes grew wide and lit up at Dean’s words. Hearing him say he trusted him was twisting his insides in the best way. He placed his hands on Dean’s torso, dragging his fingers lower, gently, until they rested on Dean’s hips. “Don’t hold back, my love,” he breathed and then took Dean’s glans between his lips again. He swirled his tongue around the edge, briefly stabbed the tip of it along the slit, and then, carefully, took as much of Dean’s shaft in as he could. For a second, he lingered, concentrating on not letting his teeth hurt Dean. Backing up a bit, Sam sucked a little harder, letting his tongue swirl around and flick past the glans, teasing the frenulum with every pass.

Dean didn't stand a chance; his body bowed under the weight of it, pleasure crashing through him like a tidal wave of heat and ancient instinct. His hand flew to Sam's shoulder, not to stop him, but to anchor himself, to ground the fire roaring just beneath his skin. And then - release.
It wasn't just physical. It was elemental.
His climax tore through him in a way that felt almost sacred, like some ancient dam had cracked open and let the raw magic of his being bleed free. His come spilled in thick, glowing strands - iridescent, golden-tinged, like molten moonlight, catching the dim light in a way that made it shimmer. His skin flared with veins of fire-bright light beneath the surface, flickering down his chest, curling around his ribs, spiraling out from his heart like a cresting flame barely contained by flesh.
The air in the room grew warmer, pulsing with a soft, unnatural energy. Sparks, small, ember-like motes of light, rose from his skin and hung in the air like fireflies, casting faint, shifting shadows on the walls.
Dean choked on a groan that sounded far too much like a growl, deep and ancient, something not meant for human throats.
When the rush faded, he collapsed back against the bed, chest heaving, sweat beading at his brow. He dared a glance at Sam - and what he saw nearly undid him again. Sam wasn't recoiling. He wasn't scared. He looked... enchanted.
Dean swallowed hard, pulse still pounding. Shit. He hadn't meant to let go like that. Hadn't meant to let that side of him bleed through. But gods, Sam had asked so sweetly, touched him so gently, trusted him so completely - how the hell was he supposed to hold back?
Still trembling, he forced a crooked, breathless smile. "Told you I burn easily," he rasped, voice raw, hiding the fear curling cold beneath the lingering heat.
He can't know. Not yet. Not ever.

When Sam felt Dean’s climax hit, he did his best to swallow. He wasn’t used to anything like it, and quickly pulled off, looking up to watch. What he saw made his eyes grow big, and his jaw dropped in awe. He had never seen anything this magical, and it left him spellbound. The way Dean’s body seemed to glow, with little sparks coming from his skin without burning him, was beyond his comprehension. He could feel that Dean’s skin was warmer than before, almost hot, and the only explanation he could come up with was the magic Dean was carrying inside him, which was also responsible for the bond they held. “Wow,” he breathed when he was able to again, panting harshly to catch his breath like he’d just climaxed himself. “You… really are fireborn,” he whispered, still caught in awe. “That looked beautiful, magical even. I… God, I want to see that again. Feel it again.” He shivered involuntarily, feeling something run through his body he couldn’t describe. Like he’d touched a power source.
Remembering his promise to be there, Sam dropped next to Dean and pulled him into his arms, ignoring the fact that Dean still felt fairly hot. Sam shivered once more, not from cold, but he could feel the magic like it was hovering underneath Dean’s skin, pouring over onto him. “I’m here,” he whispered. “I’m… I got you.”

Dean clung to those words like a lifeline, 'I got you,' even as panic twisted beneath the fading embers of pleasure. He hadn't meant to let go like that. Not that much. Not in front of someone who didn't know what he was. Sam shouldn't have seen the glow. Shouldn't have felt the magic bleeding off him like heat from a wildfire.
And yet... here he was. Not recoiling. Not afraid. Holding Dean like he belonged in his arms, like none of this -none of him- was too much.
Dean's heart hammered in his chest, not from aftershocks of pleasure anymore, but from fear of what he might've just ruined. Of how close he'd come to breaking the illusion. To reveal that the man Sam was holding wasn't a man at all, but a creature with wings, with claws, with fire curled deep in his belly.
But Sam didn't flinch.
Dean let himself melt into the warmth of that embrace, pressing his forehead against Sam's collarbone, the glow beneath his skin slowly dimming, fading to embers again. "You... shouldn't've seen that," he murmured, voice hoarse, raw. "No one ever has." He closed his eyes, fighting to keep the shift from rising again, from the instinct that wanted to wrap himself around Sam, protectively, possessively. "It's not something I show," he added, softer now. "But it... it didn't want to stay in. Not with you." He swallowed hard, throat tight. "You burn too bright for me to hide."
Sam just held on to Dean, listening. “So… you don’t always show that magic when you’re with someone? But with me, you couldn’t hide it? Dean, you don’t have to hide from me. I may not have had contact with magic before, but I have heard that some people have. Some people hold magic. I think I owe my life partially to that magic, no?” He lifted his fingers to gently run them along Dean’s jaw. Then he placed a tender kiss on his lips. “Your lips are still hot,” he whispered, kissing him again.
Dean closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into the kiss like it could delay the inevitable - delay the truth. But there was no outrunning it now. The fire had shown itself, and Sam, damn him, hadn't flinched. That should've brought relief. Instead, it twisted in Dean's gut, heavy with the weight of secrets he wasn't allowed to spill.
He opened his eyes and met Sam's, the gold still faint in his irises, glowing like coals not yet cooled. "Yeah," he said quietly, voice gravel-thick. "There's magic in me. Not the kind you read about in bedtime stories, but... yeah. And you're right, it's part of why you're still breathing. But it's not the whole reason." Dean brought his hand to the back of Sam's neck, thumb stroking gently as he searched for the right words. "Look, I need you to trust me on this, okay? There are things I can't explain. Not because I don't want to - but because if I start pulling at that thread, the whole damn thing unravels. And you don't want what's on the other side of that unraveling."
He kissed Sam once, slow and deep, then rested his forehead against his. "So yeah, magic helped heal you. But please... don't ask me to tell you more. Not yet. Maybe not ever." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Just let me have this. Let me have you - without the questions. At least for now. That okay?"

Sam remained silent while Dean spoke. He couldn’t quite understand why Dean seemed fearful about telling him more about the magic. But he would accept Dean’s request not to ask questions.
Of course, Sam knew that in a relationship, one tended to share almost everything with the partner, almost being the most important word. It was fine to keep things to oneself, and if Dean wasn’t ready to talk about the magic, and maybe never would be, then that was fine. “Yeah, that’s okay. I like you for who you are, what I can see. I don’t need to know your innermost secrets or about magic if it’s something you can’t talk about. Or don’t want to.
I trust that if you think I need to know, you will tell me.”
Dean let out a shaky breath, something easing in his chest - but not completely. Sam's words were like balm and blade all at once. The trust in his voice, the quiet acceptance, it hit Dean somewhere deep. Too deep. Because he didn't deserve that kind of faith, not when every heartbeat, every breath he took beside Sam was built on a secret so huge, it could shatter everything.
He looked at Sam - really looked at him - and felt the pull again, that ache that came with being near someone who made him feel almost human. Who didn't flinch at sparks of light and heat bursting from his skin, who saw something terrifying and called it beautiful without even realizing what he was touching.
"I'll tell you when it matters," Dean said quietly, his voice rough with emotion. "Just... promise me you won't go digging for it. Some things, once you know them, you can't come back from."
He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind Sam's ear, fingers lingering a second too long. 'You're already closer to the flame than you should be,' he thought, but said nothing. Instead, he leaned in and kissed Sam slowly and tenderly, trying to pour every unspoken truth into it.
Because the truth - the real truth - could never leave his lips. Not now. Maybe not ever.

Sam nodded. He knew all about not asking certain questions. He’d learned that the hard way with his father. Of course, he didn’t think Dean would turn into him should Sam ask things he didn’t want to have to answer, but Sam had learned to respect boundaries like that just the same. He let Dean kiss him and returned the kiss with his own. “I like this. Just lying here, all relaxed. Kissing you. I like feeling your warmth. And I’m very grateful you let me return the pleasure you gave me, even when you knew it could show me something you’re not ready to share. Tells me you really trust me.”
Dean closed his eyes for a beat, letting Sam's words settle into the deepest parts of him. They were soft, steady, like water running over stone, but every syllable cut sharp. 'You really trust me'. God, he did. More than he'd ever meant to. More than was safe. Sam didn't realize the danger in what he'd just said, didn't know how close he'd come to seeing something terrifying wearing Dean's skin.
He swallowed hard, pressing his forehead to Sam's and breathing him in. Sam smelled like earth after rain, like truth, and Dean had no business being this close to something that pure. "You didn't take anything I wasn't ready to give," he murmured, the words rough but honest. "And yeah, I trust you, more than I probably should." He chuckled, the sound low and... forlorn? "You make it easy to forget what I am."
He pulled Sam a little closer, burying his nose against his shoulder, hiding the sudden sting behind his eyes. Because no matter how good this felt, no matter how right it seemed - Sam couldn't know. Not what Dean was. Not what they were.
Some truths were too dangerous, even for warmth like this.

Sam heard Dean’s words loud and clear. He made it easy for Dean to forget WHAT he was. Not WHO he was. Sam didn’t understand, really, but he had promised not to press. It was probably about the magic. About being fireborn. That had to be it. There were probably not many fireborn people left, and it most likely scared ordinary people like Sam. Of course, Dean didn’t want to talk about it, really. Maybe he feared Sam would be scared, too. “I may not know what you are, but I know who you are. You’re my savior. In so many ways. That’s what matters to me. Not how you were born or grew up. I mean, you don’t care about how I grew up. Maybe I was a kid who deserved some punishment. But you don’t know that. Yet, you only see the good in me. And that is all I see in you. You’re good. For me. Most of all, for me.”

Dean's throat tightened, not with fear this time, but something deeper, something gentler. Gods, how was Sam always like this? Soft and honest in a way that made Dean feel seen and forgiven, even for things Sam couldn't possibly understand. He didn't deserve that kind of faith, not from anyone, let alone him. But he'd be damned if he didn't try to live up to it.
So Dean didn't answer right away. Instead, he leaned in and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to Sam's lips - less desperate now, more reverent. A thank you. A promise. He nudged his nose along Sam's cheek, breathing him in, letting the glow still faintly pulsing beneath his skin dim just a little more.
"Nah," he murmured, lips brushing the corner of Sam's mouth, "you didn't deserve any punishment. You deserved better." He kissed him again, softer still. "And I meant what I said, Sammy. I'm not going anywhere. You said you wanted to give me pleasure-and I took that, gladly. But this right now... it's not about me."
Dean shifted, guiding Sam gently onto his back, settling beside him with careful hands and eyes full of heat and adoration. "I already told you, in my culture," he said lowly, voice wrapped in that smoky warmth, "a night like this means I've chosen you. That I'm offering something real. Not just a bed. Bonding." He smiled, brushing his lips along Sam's jaw. "So let me give you pleasure. Let me worship you like you deserve."
His hands trailed slowly down Sam's body, a warm, golden hum still lingering at his fingertips. "And don't you dare hold back on me, Sammy," he whispered, tongue flicking against Sam's earlobe. "Right now‘s about both of us. Every damn part."

Sam shivered. Dean’s touch was more than a touch. It lingered and made him feel hypersensitive. It made him feel good. He had no idea what Dean still had planned for now, but Sam knew that he would do anything Dean asked him to do. “I don’t think I could hold back on you, even if I tried,” he replied in a raspy whisper. Dean’s tongue against his earlobe made Sam shiver slightly. He’d never known he could be ticklish there, or that… no. Not ticklish. The sensation circulating through his body was arousal. “Never knew I could get turned on by a touch to my ear,” he said softly and looked at Dean with a hint of a blush creeping into his cheeks.
Dean grinned, slow and wicked, but there was something tender in it too - like he was holding a secret just for Sam. He let his lips hover by that flushed ear for another heartbeat, just breathing him in. 'So damn responsive,’ he thought, and it sent a thrill down his spine that had nothing to do with dominance and everything to do with connection. "Yeah?" he murmured, voice low and rough like gravel warmed by the sun. "Guess we're both figuring things out then."
He pressed a kiss just beneath Sam's jaw, then another at the hollow of his throat, letting his fingers trail lazily down Sam's chest, savoring the way his skin jumped under his touch. 'He's letting me in,' Dean thought. 'Trusting me with every breath, every reaction.' And that trust... it was sacred. Dangerous.
Because he wasn't just touching Sam's body. He was letting his dragon instincts creep closer to the surface - possessive, protective, hungry. But he kept them in check, barely. Sam didn't know yet what kind of fire he'd curled himself around.
Dean nuzzled the side of his neck, teeth grazing just enough to make Sam's breath hitch. "We've barely scratched the surface, Sammy," he whispered. "And you're already blushing like that? You're gonna wreck me."
“Thought it was the other way around,” Sam replied. “You are wrecking me.” He didn’t know what it was that made him react like that to Dean, but he knew it would never change. And the way Dean kept calling him Sammy made him putty in his hands even more. “One thing you don’t have to figure out anymore is… how to make me blush. You got that covered.” Sam smiled and felt the heat in his face just like he had felt Dean’s heat earlier on. “Can you tell me what you still have in mind now?” Sam was curious, and as much as he wanted to just see what Dean would do, he couldn’t stop himself from asking that question.

Dean chuckled, a low, breathy sound against Sam's skin, and it vibrated more than it echoed - like thunder caught in his chest. God, Sam was killing him. The way he talked, the way he looked at Dean like he was something to be trusted, touched, loved - it made Dean ache in places too deep for words. And the way he asked that question? Curious, open, a little breathless? Dean wanted to give him everything.
He let his hand slide lower, tracing the curve of Sam's waist with deliberate ease. "What I have in mind?" he murmured, dragging his lips along the edge of Sam's jaw before pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. "I'm thinkin' I want to learn every inch of you. Slowly. Thoroughly. I wanna memorize how your body responds when I touch you here -" he brushed his thumb over Sam's hipbone, "- or here -" a featherlight touch trailed across the center of his chest, "- and especially here." His palm came to rest just above Sam's heart, where it beat strong and fast beneath his skin. 'In sync with mine,' Dean realized again, the truth of it humming through his bones.
"But mostly?" Dean whispered, lowering his voice until it was more dragon than man, heat curling behind every syllable. "I want to make you feel like you've been claimed. Not just touched. Claimed." His eyes glinted for a moment - something bright, something not human - before he leaned in again. "If you'll let me."
Sam blinked and looked at Dean carefully. He hadn’t missed the glint, another bit of Dean’s magic peeking through.
“Claimed?” he repeated. “You want to claim me? Like… like an engagement?” It sounded like something Sam should spend some time thinking about, but it was actually something he didn’t have to think about. “I’d let you, if you want me to be the one you claim. You’re already like the air that I breathe.” Sam’s tongue snaked out to moisten his lips, and as he did so, he saw that glint in Dean’s eyes again. “That looks so cool,” he whispered. “Like liquid gold.”

Dean froze for a heartbeat, not because he was afraid - though maybe, deep down, he was - but because something in Sam's voice cut right through his armor. He wanted to answer, 'You're already like the air that I breathe.' But those words wouldn't just be sweet - they would be binding. Dangerous. Sacred. In the old ways, words like that were enough to seal a bond stronger than blood or oath.
And Sam had no idea.
Dean's eyes softened, but the glow didn't fade. If anything, it shimmered brighter, called out by Sam's acceptance like a spark meeting kindling. He lowered his head, pressing his forehead gently against Sam's, careful - so careful - not to let the fire underneath break through his skin. "Liquid gold," he murmured, almost to himself. "That's... not so far off."
He closed his eyes for a moment, drawing in the scent of Sam, earth, and warmth and something bright he couldn't name but craved like air. "I want to," he said finally, voice low and steady. "Claim you. Not because I have to, but because I choose to. Because you already fit into places I didn't know were empty."
Dean felt his pulse thundering beneath his skin, his magic thrumming close, too close. He had to keep it contained, keep what he had hidden just a little longer. Because if Sam ever saw the full truth - wings, scales, fire in his veins - Dean didn't know if the trust would survive. But this... this, he could give.
"If you let me," he added, voice rough, reverent, "then you're mine. Not in chains. Not in duty. But in a way that makes even the fire in me quiet down."
Sam looked at Dean for a long time. Really looked at him. From the liquid golden flecks swirling in the bright green eyes, to his parted lips, and back up. He had heard Dean’s words, and he knew that the sensible thing to do would be to give it more time. They barely knew each other, time-wise, but he felt so strongly about Dean already. And obviously Dean felt the same. Sam had seen things Dean told him he usually hid away, and he’d shared secrets with Dean he hadn’t shared with anyone else, yet.
He licked his lips. “I’ll let you,” he rasped. “I want to be yours. I want you to be mine. And I like the thought of being the one who can calm your fire.”

Dean’s breath caught - stopped - for a split second, as if Sam’s words had reached down into some ancient part of him and wrapped around it tight. ‘I want to be yours. I want you to be mine’. It wasn’t just romantic, it wasn’t even just physical. It was binding. Words like that, spoken with that kind of weight, had power. More than Sam could possibly understand.
Dean’s hand twitched where it rested over Sam’s heart, his fingers curling slightly like they could anchor him to the moment and keep the dragon inside him from roaring loose. ‘Calm your fire’. If only Sam knew what he was saying. If only he knew that Dean’s fire wasn’t a metaphor. That it lived under his skin, coiled like a serpent, dangerous and divine. And that it responded to him, to this human, this impossibly brave, impossibly beautiful soul, like nothing else ever had.
Dean swallowed hard and leaned in, pressing their foreheads together, his voice ragged. “You already do,” he whispered. “You calm it just by being here.”
He pulled back just enough to look Sam in the eyes, letting his thumb brush his cheek. “I’m yours, too. Whether that’s smart or reckless or fate, I don’t care.” His heart thundered in his chest, strong enough that he was sure Sam could feel it. “But if I’m giving you all of me… you gotta promise me one thing.”
He paused, searching Sam’s face with something raw in his gaze. Then, softer: “Don’t ask me what I am… not until I’m ready to tell you.”

Sam searched Dean’s face with the same intensity. He had said it again. What he is. Not who. But Sam couldn’t possibly understand what Dean meant by that. He was a human, just like Sam. Maybe fireborn, which obviously was very rare and meant you held magic inside. But apart from that, what could it mean? Still, Sam trusted Dean so unconditionally that he would give him that promise again. “I’ll wait until you’re ready to tell me all the things you can’t or don’t want to tell me, yet. I promise you that.” He placed his hand over Dean’s, which was still resting over his heart. First, holding still, then rubbing it softly.
Dean's breath caught in his throat, not from arousal, but from the weight of those words. Of Sam's hand over his own. That steady, human warmth. That unwavering trust. It saw deeper than claws or flame ever could. He looked down at their hands, his broader, calloused, a dragon's hand disguised in flesh and bone, and he wondered how long he could keep this secret, how long he could pretend to be just a man when every heartbeat screamed otherwise.
But now wasn't the time for fear. Not with Sam looking at him like that. Not with the flush still soft on his cheeks, and the way his body leaned into Dean's touch without hesitation.
Dean leaned forward and kissed him - slowly, languidly. His mouth moved against Sam's like a promise unspoken, his fingers brushing lower, tracing the lines of his ribs with featherlight care. His other hand slid from Sam's chest to his hip, gripping gently, grounding him. 'You're mine,' the dragon in him whispered. 'Mine to protect. Mine to learn. Mine to hold like this until the world burns down around us.'
Their bodies pressed together again, naked and unguarded. Dean deepened the kiss only slightly before breaking it, forehead resting against Sam's, voice husky with restrained need. "I'll give you what I can. All of me, piece by piece. Just... be patient with the parts that are harder to explain."
Sam gasped at the loss of Dean’s lips on his and began chasing after them. He heard Dean’s words and halted his chase, sensing that it was important to read between the lines.
Sam nodded, confirming Dean’s request anew. “I’ll be patient. How can I not be? I love you not for your secrets, but for you. You love me despite what I told you, despite you seeing that I’m not always as strong as I would like to be, despite my fear. People here would love to call it being a coward, but… then they would have to call themselves that, because they’re just as afraid of my father as I am. Does that make it better? I don’t know. But instead of telling me to fight back, to stand up to him, you tell me you will protect me. You’re willing to put yourself between my father and me. Just to help me. Of course, I will have the patience to wait until you feel ready to tell me what‘s hard to explain.”

Dean's throat tightened as he listened, every word from Sam sinking deep, anchoring him in a way nothing ever had before. He hadn't expected this - couldn't have expected this. Not patience. Not trust. Not love spoken so freely, so openly, like it didn't matter what was waiting in the shadows. Like Sam already knew the worst and had decided it wasn't enough to make him run.
He blinked hard, jaw working around the knot of emotion building behind his ribs. His instinct, the dragon in him, wanted to rise up, wrap himself around Sam, and keep him hidden away from everything - especially that father of his. Dean had felt the man's presence once, just from a distance, and it had ignited something territorial and ancient in his chest. But this - this was even more dangerous. Because Dean would burn the world down for Sam now, and he knew it.
He reached out, brushing his knuckles across Sam's cheek with a gentleness that betrayed the power coiled in his fingers. "You don't even know what you just gave me," he said quietly, voice thick. "But I swear to you, Sammy - when the truth comes, when you see everything - you'll understand why I needed you to say that. And why I'll never stop protecting you."
He paused, leaning in close again, their foreheads almost touching. "I want you to remember this moment, because everything I've kept hidden, every part of me I've locked away... it's yours. If you'll still want it"
Sam shifted a little, just enough to steal a quick kiss from Dean’s lips.
“I’m not going to forget this moment. Ever,” he replied. And he wouldn’t. “And I’ll always want it.” Sam’s hand came around Dean’s back, rubbing circles around his shoulder blade and then down to Dean’s buttocks. “You feel good, everywhere,” he grunted, squeezing briefly before letting his hand rest there. “Can’t get enough of feeling you. All of you.” After another quick smile, Sam repeated his move and stole another kiss before sinking deep into the cushions, looking at Dean expectantly.

Dean's breath caught, chest rising with a sharp inhale as he watched Sam settle beneath him, open and trusting, desire written in every inch of him, and yet still willing to wait. That kind of restraint, that kind of choice, only made Dean want him more. Not just the body - though Gods, Sam's touch was doing things to him he hadn't known were possible - but the soul behind it. The man who said 'not yet' and meant forever, 'if it's with you'.
A slow, primal heat curled in Dean's gut, and he shifted his weight to straddle Sam's hips, dragging his palms up Sam's bare chest with excruciating patience. His fingertips lingered over every dip and ridge, memorizing the way Sam's muscles twitched under his touch, the way his breath hitched. Dean leaned down and pressed a kiss to Sam's collarbone, then another just beneath his jaw, letting his tongue flick against the skin like a slow tease.
"You sure about that, Sammy?" he murmured, voice a low rumble against his throat. "Because once I start, I'm not stopping until you forget every damn thing that came before me."
He rolled his hips slowly, letting Sam feel the weight and heat of him, not rushed, not desperate, just deliberate. A promise. Dean's hand trailed lower again, this time skimming down the side of Sam's thigh, then up between his legs, not to take, not yet, but to claim. With love. With fire barely held back.
"I want you ruined for anyone else," Dean whispered, lips brushing Sam's ear. "And I want to do it slow."
Sam watched him, eyes wide, lips parted. He’d never felt anything that intense for anyone. Somehow, Dean bypassed all his defenses without even trying, and it could only be because somehow, Dean felt like home the first time he saw him. Consciously.
“What makes you think I would want anyone else, now that I have you?” he asked, rasping. He licked his lips and then bit down a little, because he felt himself thinking that even though they had agreed on taking things slow, waiting for his arm to be fully healed before they’d have full-blown sex, he wouldn’t stop Dean now if he changed his mind.
Somehow, getting everything from this man, fireborn or not, was all that Sam wanted. “Slow… sounds like torture. I know you can tell how I feel. I… I want you, you know. Want to feel you and taste you… want to see you light up again.” He smiled softly. “It looked so damned beautiful.”
Dean's breath caught. Beautiful. No one had ever called that beautiful, not the release, not the magic, not the fire that burned too close to the surface. Most would run from it. But Sam? Sam was here, broken arm in a cast, heart cracked wide open, still wanting all of him. It did something to Dean, melted his restraint and reignited something deeper, something ancient.
But even as heat coiled low in his belly, Dean didn't move to push further. Not yet. Sam deserved more than rushed heat and aching need. Deserved more than being taken when he couldn't fully give everything back, not with that arm still healing. But that didn't mean Dean couldn't worship him in every other way he knew.
"You already have me," Dean murmured against the corner of Sam's mouth, his voice a low, sultry growl. "And I want you too, every inch, every sound, every goddamn heartbeat." He kissed down Sam's throat, lips dragging slowly over flushed skin until he reached the collarbone. "But for now," he whispered, sliding his hand down Sam's chest, "I want to take my time."
His fingers brushed lightly over one of Sam's nipples, slow, experimental, before circling it with his thumb. Then he bent his head and took the peak between his lips, sucking gently at first, then flicking it with his tongue while his other hand found Sam's cock, already hot and hard, pulsing against his thigh. He stroked him slowly, deliberately, syncing every movement with the swirl of his tongue. "You said slow sounded like torture," Dean murmured against his chest, "but I think you'll come to like it." Then he bit, just a little, before soothing it with his tongue, grinning as Sam gasped and arched into him. "Let me ruin you without breaking you, Sammy."
“Okay,” Sam replied, breath hitching. “I know you’ll take care of me. I… go ahead.” He hissed when Dean bit him gently, the pain rushing through his body in a quick, lightning-like flash. “Feels like… white-hot rain,” he then said, not really knowing if that made sense. Dean’s hand on his cock felt exciting and calming at the same time, something that Sam couldn’t explain to himself either. But he knew he would take anything Dean was willing to give.

Dean growled low in his throat, the sound more instinct than intention, vibrating against Sam's skin as his mouth moved lower. White-hot rain, Sam had said, and damn if that didn't light something in Dean, something primal and fiercely possessive. His tongue flicked over Sam's nipple, slow at first, then with more purpose, lips closing around it as he sucked just enough to make Sam gasp. The way Sam arched into him, offered himself, made Dean's hand tighten around the base of his cock, holding him still, holding him his.
"You feel that?" Dean murmured against his chest, teeth grazing over the sensitive peak. "That's me. All of me. Not holding back anymore."
His other hand slid down Sam's thigh before moving inward, brushing along the tender skin just behind his balls, teasing, exploring. He wanted Sam trembling, open, undone by every kiss, every stroke, every word. He wanted to mark this moment in Sam's memory, even if he couldn't yet speak the whole truth.
He moved to the other nipple, giving it the same attention, listening for the little sounds Sam made, cataloging them, learning them. His thumb swept slowly along the slick head of Sam's cock, collecting precum and spreading it in slow, deliberate circles.
"Let me burn for you," Dean whispered, voice hoarse, eyes flashing gold for the briefest second. "Let me show you what it means to be wanted by someone who never wanted to love anyone."
And still, somehow, he did.

Sam’s mind was spinning with everything Dean did and said. Somehow his touches felt different than anything he’d felt before… better, more intense. White-hot rain didn’t even begin to describe it.
Every touch felt like lightning was caressing him, and Sam couldn’t keep still. His body wanted… needed to react to it. Small whimpers escaped his lips, even though he attempted to keep silent. It was Dean who had that power over him, and Sam shivered when he made the connection.
Feeling Dean caress his cock, thumbing the glans, sent even more shocks through Sam’s body, and when he felt Dean’s thumb gently dip into his slit, he groaned, tightening his body as he thrust to meet Dean’s touch. He was burning for Dean, his insides feeling like molten lava, and it took Sam a second to realize that it was not what Dean had said. Still, it felt true, like the magic in Dean was taking over Sam. And Sam’s body said yes with every fiber. “Dean,” he croaked, sounding wrecked already, even though they had barely started. “Show me.”

Dean's breath caught - fuck, the way Sam said his name like that, like it was the only thing tethering him to the world, nearly undid him. His instincts flared, ancient and raw, and all he could think about was claiming, possessing, worshipping. But he kept himself grounded in Sam's trembling body, in the soft whimpers and the way his hips moved without thought, chasing Dean's touch like he needed it to breathe.
"Yeah," Dean growled softly, voice thick with hunger and reverence, "I'll show you. I'm gonna show you everything, Sammy."
He shifted lower, his hand never leaving Sam's cock, but his other hand was moving now, firm, slow, deliberate. His fingers cupped Sam's balls, rolling them gently before trailing down further, tracing the slick seam of skin until he reached the tender pucker of Sam's entrance. It was already softened, pliant from their last time, and the memory of it, how easily Sam had opened for him, sent a bolt of arousal straight through Dean's spine.
He circled the rim slowly, teasing, letting Sam feel the anticipation build. Then one finger pressed in, and Dean groaned at the way Sam's body welcomed him, gripping him with desperate, unspoken need. He stroked Sam's cock in rhythm with the slow thrust of his finger, adding a second one just as Sam gasped and tightened around him.
"You feel that?" Dean whispered, lips brushing Sam's ear. "How easy you open for me? How perfect you are like this - under me, around me?" He curled his fingers just so, searching, finding, and when Sam cried out, Dean knew he'd struck gold. His own cock throbbed with restrained urgency, but this - this - was about Sam. About showing him just how wanted, how loved, he already was.
"You know WHY I'm gonna ruin you for anyone else," Dean asked, his voice a velvet threat. "Because no one else will ever burn for you like I do."

Sam’s world consisted only of Dean’s touch, his voice, and his words. Each of those made his body burn differently, and Sam just couldn’t get enough of it.
When Dean stretched him, Sam could feel himself tremble with anticipation, because he hadn’t forgotten how it felt. What it did to him. And he wanted more. For a moment, he wondered how it would feel when Dean finally used his cock to stretch him, but then Dean’s finger brushed against his prostate, and Sam groaned, a sound that came from deep inside him, making his body shake hard. “Not gonna burn for anyone else but you,” he rasped when he could finally form words again.
Dean's breath hitched at those words - not gonna burn for anyone else but you - and it lit something feral behind his ribs. That kind of surrender wasn't just physical, it was devotion, and Dean felt it like a brand across his soul. He pressed a kiss to Sam's throat, open-mouthed and hungry, while his fingers moved inside him with deliberate precision, slow, deep thrusts curling just enough to graze that swollen, trembling spot again.
He felt Sam buck, felt his cock twitch in his grip, and smiled darkly against his skin. Good. He wanted Sam right at the edge, barely holding on.
Dean's thumb slid over the leaking tip, circling lazily, smearing wetness as he whispered against Sam's ear, "You feel that, Sammy? That ache? That heat building in you like it's gonna rip you apart?" He thrust his fingers again, angling just right to make Sam cry out. "That's me. Keeping you right here. Wanting you desperate."
He loosened his grip around Sam's cock just enough to let him thrust up into his hand - twice, maybe three times - before holding him still again with a firm squeeze at the base. His lips curled against Sam's temple. "You don't get to cum yet. Not until your whole body's begging for it. Not until you can't remember what your name is - just mine."
And with that, he dipped lower again, licking a wet trail down Sam's chest, his tongue following the trembling path of breath and arousal until he was between his legs again, devoted, relentless, and absolutely in control.

Sam trembled. He couldn’t even tell if it was Dean’s touch or his words that made him tremble. Maybe it was both. His body felt like it was on fire, and if he’d been fireborn like Dean, he was sure he would have ignited by now. “Dean,” he gasped, wanting to ask something. Only he’d forgotten what that was. Too focused was his mind on feeling Dean and keeping his body from rushing head-on into an orgasm that would certainly knock him out.
At some point, Sam realized Dean had moved down between his legs, and without thought, he moved his legs further apart, making sure Dean had all the space, all the access that he wanted. Sam’s hands, even the one in a cast, were looking for purchase to hold on to, the sheets, Dean’s shoulders… his hair. Sam felt his good hand curl into the spikes, gently tugging for a moment, before he forced himself to let go and grabbed the sheet again, hard. “Love your name,” he whispered and tried to focus his eyes on Dean, smiling.
Dean's heart clenched at that "Love your name." So soft, so simple, and yet it hit like a spear to the center of his being. Sam didn't know it, but in dragon tongue, true names carried weight, power, bond. And hearing his name from Sam's lips - breathy, reverent, like it meant something holy - made Dean feel like he was being claimed right back.
He didn't answer with words. Instead, he dragged his tongue slowly up the underside of Sam's cock, savoring the way it twitched, the way Sam's breath stuttered. He teased the head with a warm exhale, letting his fingers trace slow, purposeful circles around Sam's entrance, never pressing in, just there, a whisper of promise. Meanwhile, his other hand wrapped around the base of Sam's cock again, tight enough to hold him on the edge, just where Dean wanted him.
Dean's mouth closed over the head with aching slowness, tongue flattening along the slit before swirling, then pulling back again, just enough to keep Sam teetering. His fingers kept stroking, light, maddening, patient. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was mapping Sam's pleasure like sacred territory, learning where to press, where to pull back, how to keep him trembling right there at the brink.
Every time Sam whimpered, Dean growled softly in answer. Encouragement. Approval. Mine.
He looked up, eyes burning green and gold, pupils narrow and full of hunger, and murmured hoarsely, "I want to feel you come apart in my mouth, but not yet, Sammy. Not until you can't hold yourself together anymore. Not until I own that moment."
And then he sucked him in again, deeper this time - slow, merciless, perfect.

Sam was breathing heavily by now. He was unable to reply with anything coherent, so he didn’t even try. When Dean told him he wanted to feel him come apart in his mouth, Sam groaned and trembled, working hard not to do so right away. His fingers found their way back into Dean’s hair, holding on loosely, but when Dean swallowed him deep, teasing and torturing him with pleasure expertly, Sam’s grip tightened. “Dean!” he grunted, a rough sound that told Dean just how close Sam felt to coming undone. His heart raced, his hips stuttered with the effort to hold still, to hold on to sanity.
Dean felt the tremble ripple through Sam's thighs, the helpless clench of his muscles, the way his breath caught like a man hanging off the edge of a cliff - and fuck, it lit Dean up from the inside out. He hummed low around Sam's cock, the vibration deliberate, wicked, then pulled back just enough to leave him gasping in frustration. A thick string of spit connected them as Dean let him slip free, and he grinned as Sam whined, a raw, desperate sound that made every part of Dean ignite.
"Not yet," Dean said, voice rough, ragged with his own rising need. "I said I wanted to feel you come apart. I didn't say I'd make it easy."
His palm curled around Sam's shaft again, slick and steady, stroking with a rhythm designed to ruin him slowly, tight enough to drive him wild, just loose enough to keep him teetering. Every time Sam's breathing hitched, every time his hips jerked in that frantic little way, Dean eased the pressure, slowed down, denied him again. Each denial made Sam more pliant, more flushed, more his.
And with every wave of arousal rolling off Sam's body, Dean felt it - beneath his skin, in his bones. His dragon stirred. The glow began at his sternum, faint and golden, veins of light flickering under his skin like living fire. It pulsed brighter with every needy sound Sam made, every clench of his thighs, every whispered plea that never quite turned into words.
Dean pressed a line of kisses up Sam's stomach, tasting the salt of sweat, the burn of magic barely held back. 'He doesn't even know what he's doing to me,' Dean thought. 'What he's waking up inside me.’
"You're beautiful like this," he breathed, resting his cheek against Sam's hip, still stroking him with maddening precision. "Shaking for me. Holding on. Let go when I say, and not a second before." His hand tightened just slightly. "You trust me that much, right, Sammy?"

Sam was panting and squeezing his eyes shut in an effort to hold on. He honestly hadn’t thought he would be able to hold on, still. Thought he’d be cumming despite his effort and Dean’s order. But he did hold on, because it was Dean. And Dean was the one person Sam would do anything for. “Yes!” he groaned, a rough sound in his throat ending in a hiss. “Trust you - with my life.” Lifting his head, Sam opened his eyes to watch Dean taking care of him and found himself being mesmerized by what he saw.
Dean was glowing again, bright golden, and the sight made his body tingle even more. “Beautiful,” he whispered, unable to take his eyes off Dean, taking in the magical, fiery glow that made him forget about himself. There was a slight pulsing emanating from the glow that gave Sam goosebumps.
It took another few moments until he could detach his gaze again, slowly looking at himself, at the way Dean’s hand was stroking along his rock-hard shaft and thumbing his deep purple glans. It was hypnotizing and for a moment, Sam forgot to breathe.
Dean caught the shift in Sam's breath - that hitch, that tremble - and slowed his rhythm instantly, dragging his palm down with unbearable patience before giving the tip the faintest flick of his thumb. He felt the way Sam's thighs tensed beneath him, the way his whole body practically begged for release, and it only made Dean's hunger deepen. But this wasn't just about pleasure. This was about trust, about claiming, about taking Sam right to the edge and holding him there until he needed Dean like air.
"Easy," Dean murmured, voice low and rich like heat rolling off coals. "Don't cum yet. Not until I say. I want you right here with me... all the way."
He leaned in again, lips brushing against Sam's as he worked his hand in a slower, tighter stroke, just enough to keep that unbearable pleasure alive but not enough to push him over. Every time he felt Sam surge forward, Dean backed off, licking a path up Sam's neck, biting at his collarbone, sucking a bruise low on his chest. He wanted to make Sam lose control, but not yet. Not until Sam was desperate for it.
Dean's glow pulsed brighter now, golden veins of heat swirling under his skin, mirroring the rhythm of his strokes. The room felt warmer, electric. Magic, restrained and humming, danced at his fingertips with every touch. He nuzzled into Sam's ear, breath hot. "You see what you do to me, Sammy?" he whispered. "You make me forget what I am. Make me feel like this body, this fire - was made for you."
And then, with exquisite control, he slowed again, drawing a tortured groan from Sam's throat, as his hand tightened near the base of his shaft, locking the orgasm just out of reach. Dean smiled against his skin, feral and full of love. 'Not yet,' he thought. 'Not until you're falling apart in my hands.’

“Trying,” Sam panted when Dean asked him not to cum, yet. He really was. He found that concentrating on the glow, which seemed to be illuminating Dean’s veins now, helped distract him from his own need. “I… you look like there’s a… a fire lighting you up from the inside,” he whispered a moment later. “I can see your veins. It’s… enchanting.”
Sam groaned when Dean’s hand slowed once more, focusing back on himself. “Not sure how long I can hold on, Dean,” he whispered, trembling uncontrollably.

Dean felt it, the edge Sam was teetering on, the way his whole body trembled like a string pulled too tight. He could hear the stutter of Sam's heartbeat, smell the desperation in his sweat, feel every twitch under his palms and mouth. Perfect. That was the word that kept burning through Dean's thoughts. Sam, unraveling in his hands, coming apart under his mouth, was perfect.
Dean's lips curled into a hungry smile as he moved lower again, exhaling hot breath over Sam's flushed, dripping cock before taking him deep, slow, and steady. He flattened his tongue along the underside, dragging it up as he pulled back, only to swallow him again, deeper this time, his throat relaxing, welcoming. His fingers dug into Sam's hips to anchor him, keep him still, though the tremors coursing through Sam's body told Dean that resistance was long gone.
The glow in Dean's skin pulsed brighter now, veins lit like molten gold beneath the surface, his dragon blood unable to stay dormant under the weight of so much want. His need to claim, to please, to devour, rose like heat from coals. He let one hand slide lower, fingers brushing behind Sam's sac, pressing just enough to send shockwaves through his core.
He could feel it; Sam was right there.
Dean pulled back, just enough to whisper, voice rough, thick with heat and something older than language: "Let go, Sammy. I want to feel you lose yourself. I want to taste it." Dean licked his lips, glowing faintly in the dark, and whispered, "Because that's it now. That's mine."

Sam desperately tried to focus on Dean, on the way he was glowing, even though he wasn’t sure if that throbbing in the glow was really there or just him losing his mind.
His breath was coming in harsh pants, and when Dean finally addressed him, he needed two attempts to focus on him.
When Dean spoke, Sam could feel the words vibrate inside him like Dean spoke them from within his own body. But that was impossible.
A second later, Sam registered what Dean had said, and his eyes widened. Finding Dean’s eyes, golden green with the glow, looking at him with desire, possessiveness, made Sam shiver with need.
‘That’s mine,’ Dean said, and Sam groaned. He could feel his climax creep up on him, starting in his toes, curling up his legs, and culminating in his spine. He saw Dean’s lips, glowing gently, repeating ‘mine’ before closing around his glans once more. At the same time, he brushed the sensitive skin behind his balls again, and Sam bucked his hips.
“Dean!” he screamed, a wrecked sound that was raw with need and ecstasy, and then Sam’s cock pulsed heavily as he tumbled over the edge with a force he had never felt before. He felt himself erupt, once, twice, and then it seemed like there was no air to breathe anymore as his vision whited out and he shouted in his mind until his world lit up like Dean’s body and then went dark.

Dean caught Sam as he collapsed, arms wrapping around him like instinct, like claiming. He held him through the tremors, through the ragged gasps and the helpless clutching of fingers in his skin. Sam's release had come with a force that shook the very air around them, and Dean felt it everywhere, not just in the sticky heat between them, but in the bond that pulsed like a second heartbeat beneath his skin.
He should have pulled back, should have let Sam rest, but he couldn't, not yet.
His dragon soul was thrumming just beneath the surface, blazing with satisfaction and something far more dangerous: recognition.
He'd marked Sam with nothing but touch and breath and will, and the old magic, the kind that lived in his blood and bones, had responded. It whispered ancient things in Dean's head, in a tongue he hadn't heard since he first took human form. Words like anchor, like soulmate, like chosen.
Dean pressed his glowing lips to Sam's temple, breathing him in. 'Mine', the word echoed again, deeper this time, not just in sound but in the very truth of who he was. And even though Sam didn't know it yet, even though the truth was waiting in the shadows of another dawn, Dean held him like he never planned to let go.
"Rest, Sammy," he whispered, voice soft and cracked at the edges. "I've got you. You're safe... with me." He kissed his cheek, slow and adoring, and let his dragon fire dim just enough not to burn. But inside, it raged for him.
For them.

Sam was floating in a warmth that was fiery, golden, and made him feel safe. He might not really understand what this fireborn magic meant besides the fact that it seemed to make Dean glow, but it didn’t matter at that moment.
Slowly, Sam felt himself return to awareness, feeling his body, still thrumming in the aftershocks of his climax. Slowly, he blinked his eyes open, searching for Dean. He smiled, a little exhausted, when their eyes met. Sam could detect a faint golden glow in the green, and Dean’s body was still shimmering as well, which told Sam he hadn’t been out too long. At least that’s what he thought. “You blew my mind,” he whispered in a warm, raspy voice. “Thank you for… showing me. And catching me.”
Dean felt his chest tighten, a deep ache blooming there that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with Sam. The way he said it 'thank you for catching me' like Dean was some kind of shelter, some kind of answer, it wrecked him in a way no weapon ever could. He swallowed hard, jaw flexing, and then reached out, brushing sweat-damp hair away from Sam's forehead with a tenderness that surprised even himself.
"You fell," Dean said quietly, eyes locked on Sam's. "And I would've torn the world apart to make sure you landed safe."
His hand slid down, resting over Sam's chest, right where his heart was beating strong beneath skin still warm from the fire Dean had fed into him. The bond - whatever it was - still pulsed between them, not visible but undeniable, like some ancient thread of heat and trust that had wrapped around Dean's soul the moment Sam had let him in.
"You let me be real with you. All of it. And you're still here. That means more than I can say." Dean said, voice rough with raw emotion.
He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Sam's temple, not out of hunger, but gratitude. Maybe even awe. Because this man, this human, had let a dragon burn into him, and all he did was smile.

Sam’s lips started to tremble slightly when Dean told him he would have torn the world apart to make him land safely. Nobody had ever said anything like that to him, even less done so. To the contrary. His father had no concept of catching his son when he was falling. Literally. He would just tell him to get up, get his act together, and pay more attention next time. If he were generous. If not, Sam got yelled at or beaten, depending on his father’s mood.
Blinking his eyes rapidly, Sam tried to keep tears from collecting in them. He licked his lips. “Of course, I’m still here,” he whispered. “You’re helping me stay safe. I’m not going to run. I want to be here with you.” He smiled again, drawing a shuddering breath, and then he closed his eyes for a moment. “You let me be vulnerable without telling me that it’s not manly. You protect me when I’m vulnerable, you’re my safety harness, in a way.”

Dean's chest tightened at those words 'safety harness' like Sam had unknowingly reached into the hollowest part of him and lit a fire there. Not the fire of rage or hunger or the ancient fury that came with what Dean was, but something quiet and aching and human. He hadn't realized how much he needed to hear that until now. Not as a protector, not as a dragon, but as a man.
As someone who'd always been too much and never enough.

He cupped Sam's cheek, brushing his thumb along the damp edge of one eye, gently like he was touching something sacred. Because he was.
"Damn right I'm your safety harness," Dean said, voice rough, heavy with emotion he didn't try to hide. "You fall, I catch you. Doesn't matter how deep or how far. I will be there."
He leaned in, resting his forehead against Sam's, letting the closeness ground them both. 'He smells like rain and warmth and trust,' Dean thought - things he'd never thought he could have, much less hold in his hands.
"You don't have to be anyone else with me," he whispered. "Not strong, not perfect, not ready. Just yours - and you being here, with me, like this? That's everything, Sammy."

Sam breathed deeply, like he’d been deprived of oxygen. Not having to be anything, just being there, was something he didn’t know he needed to hear.
“You’re everything,” he whispered in return. “You’re everything I never thought existed. You’re perfect for me and… and I’m glad you found me that day. Saved me. In more than just one way.” He looked into Dean’s eyes, deeply, trying to look into Dean’s soul, and it felt like he found a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. A smile fluttered across Sam’s face, and he leaned more heavily into Dean’s comforting arms. “You’re everything I never knew existed for me,” he breathed softly.

Dean closed his eyes, holding Sam tighter, gently, like he was afraid too much pressure would shatter the moment. His thumb moved slowly along Sam's spine, grounding himself in the warmth of the body pressed against his, the heartbeat steady and trusting against his chest. It should've been perfect. And in a way, it was. But beneath that sweetness, that closeness, there was a dull, familiar ache he couldn't quite silence.
'I wish I were human,' he thought, not for the first time. Not for himself, he loved what he was, the power that hummed in his bones, the ancient fire in his blood. But for Sam. So this could be easier. So he wouldn't have to hide behind human skin, terrified that the truth would tear this fragile, beautiful thing between them to pieces.
Dean brushed his lips against Sam's temple. "You make me wish the world were different," he murmured, barely audible. His fingers curled slightly, holding Sam close, possessive in a way he didn't dare show anyone else. "If they knew..." he whispered to himself, then stopped.
Sam didn't know yet. About the laws. About the flames beneath his skin. About the ancient decree that had driven dragons into hiding, that had turned love between dragon and human into something punishable. Dean exhaled shakily, lips pressed to Sam's hair.
"I'll keep you safe," he said softly, fiercely. "I promise I will. No matter what it costs me."
Sam easily believed the sincerity of Dean’s words. He trusted him. He knew Dean put his heart where his mouth was, and it warmed him deeply. “I’ll pay you back with all that I have,” he promised. Staying like this, cuddled up to Dean, feeling his body and breathing in his scent, comforted Sam, and he allowed himself to enjoy it as long as Dean was able to give it. “I really like the way you glow,” he said after a while. Yes, Dean had asked him not to pose those questions, but there was no question here for Sam. It was simply a statement with no hidden agenda. Finally, Sam pressed a kiss on Dean’s neck and hummed happily.
Dean's breath caught at the kiss, such a simple thing, but it hit deep. Sam's lips on his neck felt like a vow, soft and grounding, and that hum? That content little sound rumbling from Sam's chest? It made something wild and ancient inside Dean curl up and go still, soothed like a beast lulled by touch alone. He exhaled slowly, burying his face in Sam's hair, and let the moment settle over him like a balm.
'I really like the way you glow.’
The words echoed through him, deeper than Sam could've known. Dean felt the warmth stirring again beneath his skin, the faint shimmer of golden light pulsing just below the surface, his body reacting to Sam's presence, to being seen and still wanted. He didn't shrink away from it this time. Didn't try to douse the fire or hide the glow.
Instead, he held Sam tighter, hand stroking up his spine in long, lazy lines. "You're the reason it happens," Dean murmured against his temple, letting the truth slip in quiet pieces. "The glow. That's you. You pull it outta me." He smiled faintly, the kind that never reached his mouth but lived in his eyes. "Like you found something I didn't know I still had."
He closed his eyes, holding Sam as if the world outside didn't exist. "You don't have to pay me back, Sammy. Just... be mine. That's all I want."

Sam smiled, happy in Dean’s arms. “I’m yours,” he simply replied, letting Dean’s words bounce all around in his head. Dean saying the glow was all him, that he caused it, maybe it was that like magical energy that he had used to save him from death right after his fall. Jonas had said that Dean did something to make sure he was safe and then collapsed. But he wouldn’t ask. He had promised. “I like it here,” he said after a while. “With you. It’s nice and quiet, we can do what we feel like, enjoy nature, or the bed. Or whatever else. No… no worries here, right? No fears.” And no William Campbell.
Sam wished Dean were right, that there was no way he would find him here. Since they had flown in on a dragon. They’d been flying a while, so Sam was pretty sure that Dean was right. “Is John going to come back here at some point? Is there a village somewhere here where we can get supplies when we run low? Or will we grow our food?” Sam glanced at Dean with a mellow smile. “Here I am, already planning for the future. Told you, I’m yours.”
Dean’s throat tightened at those words, ’I’m yours‘, and it took everything in him not to pull Sam closer and just keep him there, locked safely in his arms where no shadow, no past, no truth could reach him. Because Sam meant it. He meant it. The way he smiled, the way his voice softened when he spoke about the future, like it was something they were allowed to have. Dean didn’t know how to deserve that. A dragon didn’t get a future - not like this. Not with a human.
But gods, did he want it.
He let his hand trail over Sam’s back, slow and steady, grounding himself in the warmth of his skin, the rhythm of his breath. “I like it here too,” he said quietly, eyes drifting toward the open window where the breeze carried the scent of pine and wildflowers. “It’s so peaceful here.“
He glanced down at Sam’s serene face, and a soft smile tugged at the corner of his mouth - something rare, genuine. “As for supplies, there’s a village a couple of valleys over. Quiet folks, friendly enough, keep to themselves. I helped them out once when their livestock went missing - they don’t ask questions.” He brushed a strand of hair from Sam’s forehead. “John won’t show up unless I call him. This place? It’s ours.”
His eyes darkened for just a moment, not with fear, but fierce protection. “And no one, not your father, not anyone, is ever getting close enough to hurt you again. I’ll make sure of that.”
Then he added, quieter, but with a glint of something ancient behind his words: “You saying you’re mine… means more than you know.”
Sam looked at Dean, smiling warmly. “That sounds perfect,” he replied, meaning all of it. “But, how do you call a dragon? I mean, it’s a genuine question. I have no idea. You know, I didn’t even know for sure dragons were real.” He turned towards Dean, making it easier for him to look at him. “If… if it means more than I know, can you tell me what it means? Or is it… does it have to do with what you can’t tell me, yet?” He let his fingertips glide along Dean’s jaw for a second. “To me, you being so protective, it means everything as well. You know, I didn’t experience protectiveness really. Like, at all. My girlfriends, the two that I had, the one relationship ended because her family wanted nothing to do with anything related to my father. The other one suddenly thought someone else was a better deal. I’m still not convinced it had nothing to do with who I am.”

Dean's chest tightened, and for a second, he had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from speaking too soon, too much. Sam didn't even know dragons were real - and here Dean was, that same creature they're talking about, pretending he still had time to figure out how to explain the bond burning just beneath his skin.
He leaned into Sam's touch, jaw tensing slightly beneath the soft glide of his fingers. The human closeness, so simple, so tender, was more grounding than anything Dean had ever known. He wrapped his hand gently around Sam's wrist, holding it there against his skin for a moment, as if anchoring himself to now. Not to fire or fury or what he used to be. Just this.
"Where I come from," he said slowly, voice low and uneven, "you don't call a dragon. Not really. You bind with one. And once that happens..." He met Sam's eyes, letting him see the truth flicker there, even if he couldn't name it yet. "They don't leave. Not unless they're forced to. Not unless something tears them away. Protectiveness? That's instinct. But this -" he brushed his thumb across Sam's chest, right over his heart, "- this is something deeper."
He exhaled shakily. "I can't tell you everything yet, you're right. Not because I don't trust you, but because once I do, there's no going back. And you deserve to choose with your eyes open. But what I can tell you is this..." he leaned in, nose brushing Sam's, voice almost a growl, "Anyone who couldn't see your worth? Anyone who walked away from this?" His hand cupped Sam's cheek now, firm and reverent. "They didn't deserve to breathe the same air as you. I see you. All of you. And I'm not going anywhere."

Sam felt himself shiver when Dean looked at him, really looked at him, eyes holding a truth that Sam couldn’t decipher, yet. Did Dean want to tell him that John and he were bonded? In something similar to him and Dean, just, maybe on a different level? He decided not to think about it too much until he knew all the pieces, everything, because he knew if he didn’t, he was destined to reach the wrong conclusions. “I… I’m glad it was you who saw my worth,” he whispered, choking a bit on the word worth. Because he’d heard a few times that he was worthless. Never, though, that he hold worth. “Even though it was covered in blood the first time you saw it.” He smiled because he was happy right where he was, slinging his arms around Dean and pulling him close. “I’m not going anywhere either.”

Dean felt those words carve into him, deep and permanent, like etchings scorched into old stone. Worth. Sam said it like it was fragile, like it might break if spoken too loudly - and Dean hated that. Hated that anyone had ever made him believe he had to earn his place in the world, or prove that he deserved love.
His arms wrapped around Sam, strong and firm, but not possessive - protective. Reverent. He pressed a kiss into Sam's hair, breathing him in like he was anchoring himself to something real, something right. "Blood doesn't hide worth," he said softly, lips brushing against Sam's temple. "It just shows who survived long enough to carry it."
He pulled back just enough to look Sam in the eye, his thumb brushing over the curve of his jaw. "The first time I saw you... broken, bleeding? I didn't just see someone with worth. I saw someone meant for me." His voice cracked slightly at the edge. "And I knew I'd tear the world in half before I let anything take you from me."
Dean didn't say it out loud-not yet-but inside, his dragon stirred again, heavy and ancient and certain: Sam wasn't just someone he loved.
He was the one his fire had always waited for.

Sam let himself be held like that, shivering in the embrace. Hearing that a complete stranger had those emotions about him, even when they hadn’t really met, yet, blew his mind.
Yes, there had always been people like Jonas and Rowen who meant well and helped patch him up if needed, but nobody had had the courage to stand up for him, especially when he’d been younger.
Sam nibbled on his lips. “I ran away once,” he started softly, speaking against Dean’s skin, feeling his warmth. “I couldn’t take all that anymore, his anger, his relentless training, the constant disapproval, no matter what I did. I was eight and I’d had enough. He found me, half a day later. He… he didn’t hurt me, not physically. He just dragged me home, telling me how weak I was and that I wasn’t worth his anger and… lots of things no child should ever have to hear. When we got home, he locked me up, said I couldn’t be trusted. A whole week I couldn’t leave the room in the cellar next to the storage, and I tell you, it was worse than that incident with the broken beer bottle. So when you tell me that you’ve seen my worth without knowing me, yet, felt I was worth saving? It means the world to me.”
Dean held Sam tighter without even realizing it, his arms tightening like armor wrapped around something fragile and precious. Every word out of Sam's mouth cut deep, not because Dean doubted him, but because he could feel it, the truth of it, reverberating through Sam's body like an old wound that never fully healed. Dean had known pain, sure. His kind carried lifetimes of it. But this... this was different. This was the kind of hurt that didn't leave bruises on skin, only on the soul. The kind of hurt that shaped a man into someone who doubted love even as he craved it.
Dean rested his cheek against Sam's hair and exhaled slowly, letting the fire in his chest settle, even as it begged to rise. Not to punish Sam's father, though he deserved worse, but because every fiber of Dean's being was screaming to protect. To take that broken little boy who'd been told he was worthless and burn the lie away with the truth of how deeply, wholly he was wanted.
"I wish I could go back and find that kid," Dean said, voice low and rough like embers. "Wrap my arms around him. Tell him he's not alone. That he's not broken. That one day someone would look at him and see everything." He pulled back just enough to meet Sam's eyes, fierce and gentle all at once. "You hear me? That someone is me. I see you. All of you. And I swear on whatever I am... I will never let anyone lock you away again."
His throat tightened, a soft golden pulse flickering at the base of his neck - his magic stirred by his vow. Sam wouldn't know what it meant. Not yet. But in Dean's world, that kind of promise was binding. Age-old. Sacred.

Sam looked at Dean for a few minutes and then nodded. “I hear you. And it feels good to hear it. Even when I’m not the little kid anymore, he… he’s still somewhere inside here.” He glanced down at himself. “There was a time when I was angry. Angry at my father, angry at the world, angry at myself. I lashed out at everyone, even at my father. I don’t have to tell you what his reaction was. It was only after I had hurt a boy my age, resulting in everyone shying away from me, that I understood that my father’s way wasn’t the answer. Wasn’t me. Dean, you told me that with what you did to save me, you felt we have a bond. And I told you that I can feel it, but that my wanting to be with you is not because of that bond. I feel seen with you, I feel seen and accepted, valued and… safe. I don’t remember much about my fall that day. But you found me on the edge of the cliff that I must have fallen down. I… that means, the dragon must have brought me up, right? I remember being awake, briefly. Not coherent, but… I know I was moving. I know I felt safe. Like I’m feeling safe with you. I don’t know whether that was when the dragon brought me out of the ravine or when you brought me to Brynmor. But I do know I felt safe, so… I think it was when you carried me. I already felt it back then as well.”
Dean froze. Just for a heartbeat. Long enough for the words to slam into him like a tidal wave - and not the kind you swim through. The kind that drowns.
Sam was so close to the truth it made Dean's skin prickle, heat humming just beneath the surface of his human form, a barely contained flare of something old.
He looked at Sam, really looked, and saw the boy he'd carried in his claws that day broken, bleeding, barely conscious, and still clutching to life like he knew something, someone, was coming. And Dean had. He'd known the second he smelled the blood and terror in the air that it was him. His mate. Even before he understood what it meant.
Dean swallowed hard, brushing his thumb across Sam's cheek, grounding himself in the warmth of him, the trust in those eyes. "You did feel safe," he said softly, truth bleeding into the edges of the lie he was still trying to protect. "Because you were never alone. Not for a second."
He hesitated, his throat tightening. "That dragon... he didn't just find you. He chose you. I'm sure he did. He knew you were worth saving. Not just because of a bond or instinct. But because he saw something in you. Something strong, even in all that fear."
Dean leaned in, pressing a kiss to Sam's temple, lingering there like it could hide the storm brewing behind his ribs. "You say you don't remember much from that day - but I do. And I don't think I've ever been more terrified than when I saw you lying there, broken and still breathing. I didn't even know your name, but I knew I'd never let anything happen to you again."
He pulled back, eyes flickering gold for just a split second, a warning to himself more than to Sam. 'Soon,' he thought. 'Soon, I'll tell him everything. But not yet.'
Not while he still had this moment, wrapped in the warmth of Sam's belief that Dean was only human - and still enough.

Sam looked at Dean, and he registered the golden sparks in Dean’s eyes. It was something he couldn’t explain but found extremely fascinating. And beautiful. “You know that dragon,” he whispered. “I know you told me it wasn’t John. Did… did he tell you where to find me?” Sam swallowed. “You say he… he saw something strong in me despite my fear. Dean, I tried to hunt him. I remember that much. Not because I wanted to kill a dragon, but because…” He took a deep breath. “Because I’d been trained to hunt a dragon. You know the story my father told me. He trained me for that. He pushed me to great endurance and pinpoint accuracy with a bow. Having met John, I know that my arrows probably weren’t strong enough by a long shot, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t intend to try. I mean, I didn’t know that they wouldn’t be enough. How can he have seen something strong in me? He should have seen something… evil.”
Dean's heart twisted, but he kept his expression soft, steady - careful. He couldn't tell Sam the truth. Not yet. Not like this. Not when the shame in Sam's voice still clung to the lies someone else had poured into him. Instead, Dean did what he always did when words weren't enough - he held on. He reached for Sam's hand, lacing their fingers together, grounding him.
"Listen to me," he said, voice low and firm. "You weren't born to be someone else's weapon. And what you did, back then? That wasn't evil. That was you surviving the only way you were taught. You were given one story your whole life, Sam - his story. And even with that, you hesitated. You questioned it. That's not weakness. That's strength."
He reached up and gently cupped Sam's cheek, thumb brushing beneath his eye. "You could've shot to kill. But you didn't. Not then and not on any hunt before. You've never killed. That dragon saw that. I saw that. And that's what mattered."
Dean smiled faintly, but there was something fierce in it, too, something that glowed just beneath the surface. "Strength isn't about the force behind your shot. It's about the choice not to fire it. And you chose compassion every time. That's not something you learn from someone like your father. That's you, Sam."
He leaned in, brushing his lips against Sam's brow. "That dragon didn't see evil. He saw someone worth saving." He swallowed hard, voice dipping to a whisper. "Someone I'd fly through fire for. No questions asked."

Sam shivered at Dean’s words. He already knew what Dean felt for him and that he would protect him at any rate. Dean’s words felt good, like balm on his soul. He knew he could finally talk about everything, knowing there would just be support, no judgment. Dean would go through fire for him, that’s what he’d said, and Sam smiled. A moment later, it registered that he’d said it differently. He’d FLY through fire for him.
Dean couldn’t fly.
But… maybe he meant John. Maybe he’d fly through fire for him with John. Because John was his friend, and he would help Dean out if he asked. Sam had already seen that. “I know you’re going to say differently, but I really don’t know what I have done to deserve you,” he whispered. “You’ve been nothing but awesome. Supportive and protective. You don’t see the bad in me; you see the struggle. You see me, and it means the world. You’re the most important person in my world, already after just these days. That says a lot about you and nothing about anyone else I know.” He kissed Dean tenderly before cuddling himself to him once more.
Dean wrapped his arms around Sam and held him close, pressing a kiss to the top of his head as his throat clenched with too many things he couldn't say yet. 'You don't know what you've done to deserve me?‘ Dean almost laughed, but it came out more like a breath caught on a tremor. 'You saved me, too, he thought. More than you'll ever know.’
He buried his face in Sam's hair and just breathed him in, grounding himself in the weight of the moment. He could feel Sam's heart beating steadily against his chest, feel the warmth of his breath at his neck, and for the first time, Dean didn't feel like he had to hold back every inch of himself. Sam didn't know what Dean was - but somehow, he saw him anyway.
"You didn't have to do anything to deserve me," Dean said softly, voice rough with truth. "I think the universe just got it right for once. You're mine, Sammy. And I'm yours. That's it."
He closed his eyes and tightened his hold, wings aching just beneath the skin of his back, suppressed but stirring. He could feel the dragon in him pressing closer to the surface, soothed by Sam's presence like it hadn't been in years. And it scared him - how deep this bond ran already, how right it felt.
'One day,' he promised silently, 'you'll know the truth. You'll know what I am. And I just hope that when you see me - not the man, but the dragon - you'll still want to hold me like this.'

“That sounds nice,” Sam replied. “The universe got it right. It’s a first for me, but even if it’s the only time for me, I couldn’t have asked for more.” His fingertips once again began to caress the warm skin beneath them, back and forth, up and down, until finally Sam shuddered and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “It’s itching,” he whispered. “Underneath the cast. It’s itching and I can’t scratch it. I really can’t wait for it to come off. But I know… I have to be patient. Jonas mentioned it was an open fracture and… you set it, right?” Sam tensed his arm muscles as much as he could in an attempt to ease that itch. “Did you ever have a broken arm or similar?”
Dean smiled softly, watching the little furrow of frustration appear between Sam's brows. It was so human, so stubbornly sweet, and Dean couldn't help but lean in and kiss that crease gently, like his lips could smooth it away. "Yeah," he murmured. "I set it. Knew it was bad the second I saw the angle. But you were burning up, in shock. You wouldn't have let me near it if you were conscious. So... I did what I could."
He shifted closer, letting his palm hover just above Sam's cast. A golden shimmer, barely visible, flickered beneath his skin - magic, old and subtle, passed down in instinct more than knowledge. He let it sink into Sam's arm, not enough to heal it too fast - no one could know - but just enough to cool the irritation, to soothe the itch like a balm under the surface.
A soft hum left Dean's throat as he felt Sam relax beneath him, and he leaned in to brush his lips across Sam's cheek, then lower, to the corner of his mouth. "Better?" he asked, already knowing the answer but loving the way Sam nodded, slightly dazed, in response.
"Never broke anything myself," he added, voice growing rougher now as his hand slid to Sam's side, fingers curling over his ribs, trailing skin that had become familiar but still made him ache to touch. He chuckled softly, then kissed Sam's neck, slow and indulgent.
His other hand found its way lower, stroking the soft plane of Sam's stomach, fingertips dipping just beneath the waistband of the blanket. "Let me help you forget the cast for a while," he whispered, tongue tracing the edge of Sam's jaw. "Let me make you feel good again, Sammy."
He wanted him - wanted all of him. Not just for now, but because something ancient inside him had already decided - this human was his.

It took Sam a moment to realize the itch calmed down, and he realized that somehow Dean’s magic was the reason for it. The golden shimmer was mesmerizing, and when it finally subsided, Sam blinked to return his focus. Dean was humming; he only noticed that now, and he found himself spellbound by the sound. “You have a beautiful voice,” he whispered with awe. “Oh… and… thank you. It’s a lot better now. But please, don’t use too much of your magic, I don’t want you to pass out on me, here.” His eyes followed the path Dean’s hand took over his body, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. “You just made me feel good already,” he whispered. “And you know I won’t say no to… this.” He smiled and then hissed when Dean brushed past a particularly sensitive spot that made him shudder softly. And the soft rumble of Dean’s voice when he called him Sammy again made Sam growl softly, deep inside his chest. It took him a second to realize he’d made that sound himself.
Dean's lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile, the kind that was all heat and reverence, like he'd just heard the most sacred thing in the world. That little growl from Sam lit something deep in Dean's gut, ancient and possessive and hungry. His dragon instincts purred in approval, and without a second thought, he pressed closer, lips brushing against the corner of Sam's mouth before trailing heat along his jaw, down to his neck.
"Yeah?" Dean murmured, voice like molten velvet, golden eyes glowing faintly again as his fingers resumed their journey across Sam's body. "You won't say no to this?" He traced a line from Sam's hip up to his ribs, palm flat, feeling every tremble, every breath. His thumb brushed deliberately over Sam's nipple, circling it with slow precision before giving it just enough pressure to make Sam gasp.
"I want to give you more," he whispered against Sam's skin, voice laced with need. "Not because you asked, but because I need to. You have no idea what you do to me, Sammy. What it means to touch you like this... taste you like this..." Dean's hand slid lower again, fingers curling gently around Sam's cock, slow and reverent. His thumb brushed over the tip, already slick, and he moaned softly, like just that contact gave him relief. "I'll be careful with the magic," he added, his lips brushing over Sam's nipple now, tongue flicking before he sucked lightly, just to see Sam squirm. "But I'm not done making you feel good. Not by a long shot."
And under his skin, the dragon stirred - watchful, protective, devoted.
Every touch Dean gave now was more than desire. It was a claim whispered in skin and breath.

Sam squirmed under Dean’s touch, needing to move to increase the pressure and not wanting to move, because he wanted Dean to decide what happened. “I’m pretty sure I’m gonna sleep all day after you’re done with me if you keep this up. Never experienced something like this before. It’s freaking awesome, but I’m not sure about my… stamina.” He smiled softly and then shuddered when Dean sucked on his nipple and flicked his thumb across his glans. He could feel his cock throb and ooze more precum from the slit, and he tensed his whole body to keep control over himself. Sam wanted Dean to be in charge, and not his own body. “You know how it looks when you have those tiny golden flecks swirling around in your eyes when you look at me? Gives me butterflies in my stomach,” Sam whispered, voice raw. Then he pushed himself up and stole a quick kiss when his lips connected with Dean’s.

Dean caught the kiss with a soft, growling sound of approval, deep and rough in his throat. He tasted Sam's breath, sweet, shaky, honest, and when Sam pulled back, Dean chased him just a little, pressing one more kiss to the corner of his mouth before letting him settle again. "You say that like I'm gonna let you sleep after," he murmured, teasing, and dipped his head again to nip lightly at Sam's throat. "You've got more stamina than you think, Sammy. Trust me."
His hand didn't stop its slow, deliberate rhythm, stroking Sam's cock in a way that made it impossible to stay still but gave him just enough room to try. Dean was savoring this, every twitch, every held breath, the way Sam fought to stay present instead of giving in too fast. That control? That effort? It made Dean burn.
"You know what gives me butterflies?" he said quietly, his lips brushing over Sam's collarbone. "That little noise you made earlier. That growl, like you couldn't help it. That was the sound of someone giving in. Letting go."
Dean shifted, one hand now teasing lower, between Sam's legs, caressing the sensitive skin beneath and behind his balls, coaxing him open just slightly - not pushing, just asking. He wanted to unravel him slowly, reverently.
"You want me in charge?" he murmured, lips moving against Sam's skin like a vow. "Then just breathe, غhràidh. Let me take care of you."
Sam let his legs drop to the side when Dean asked for it in his own special way. He shivered every now and then, anticipation rising every second. “You like when I growl?” he croaked. “You think it means I’m giving in? Well, I’m sure as hell not giving UP, and giving in to you has been the best thing I ever did.” Sam’s breath hitched when Dean let his lips wander across his skin while his hands gently spread his legs even more. And when he called him غhràidh again, he let out another growl, muscles tensing beneath his skin without moving. “Dean,” he growled, breath coming in measured pants.
Dean stilled for half a heartbeat at the sound of his name, spoken like a plea and a command all at once. That low, raw growl from Sam reverberated through him like a call to something older, something deeper than lust. It sang in his blood, in his bones, in the dragon curled just beneath his skin. His breath hitched, and his hands trembled slightly as they cradled Sam's thighs, not from fear, but reverence. Need. Devotion.
He looked up at Sam, eyes molten gold now, unhidden and unapologetic. "You have no idea what that does to me," he whispered, voice thick with fire and hunger. "The way you say my name like that, غhràidh... you sound like you were made for me."
Dean leaned in, kissing the inside of Sam's thigh, slowly and deliberately, feeling the tension ripple through his muscles. Then he kissed higher, just above the crease, letting his breath ghost over sensitive skin. His fingers moved gently now, not teasing, but preparing, massaging, exploring, asking without words.
"You trust me," he murmured, almost to himself. "You opened up like this for me. I'm not gonna waste that." He let his tongue drag along the tender skin near Sam's entrance, slow and languid, and when Sam gasped, Dean's hands tightened on his hips, not to restrain, but to anchor. "Breathe," he growled softly, voice thick with something ancient and hungry, "and let me worship you."

And Sam released the breath he hadn’t realized he held. “Sorry,” he whispered. “When you do that… I forget to breathe. I… you wanna worship me? I thought you were already doing that.” He lifted his head a bit, just enough to watch Dean do what he did. “You look incredible and… you feel even better. And of course I trust you. You saved me, you’re keeping me safe now. I can’t not trust you, Dean.” He stretched out his hand and let his fingers run through Dean’s hair briefly.
Dean leaned into the touch like it was the only thing keeping him grounded, closing his eyes for a breath as Sam's fingers threaded through his hair, gentle, trusting, his. That touch wasn't just affection. It was permission. It was devotion returned.
A sound rumbled low in Dean's chest, something between a hum and a growl, vibrating softly against Sam's skin. He opened his eyes again - still golden, still burning - and met Sam's gaze, lips brushing featherlight across the skin just above where Sam wanted him most. "You don't even know what worship means yet," he whispered, voice thick with promise and something far older than words. "But I'm gonna teach you. Every inch of you."
His hands caressed the insides of Sam's thighs, slow, grounding strokes meant to soothe and stoke at once, as if Dean were drawing magic from beneath Sam's skin. Then, without breaking eye contact, he leaned in and flattened his tongue along Sam's entrance, slow and claiming. He felt Sam shudder beneath him and held him steady, pressing a kiss there, intimate and tender. "I want you to remember this," he murmured between licks, "every time you feel afraid, every time someone makes you doubt yourself. You are mine, غhràidh. And you are worthy of this." He didn't rush. Dean was savoring him, honoring him, because Sam wasn't just someone he loved.
He was the one Dean had waited his whole life for.

When Sam felt the vibration of Dean’s growl on his body, he smiled. He loved the way he reacted to him, and he loved the reactions Dean drew from him even more.
Then Dean began caressing his body, starting at his thighs. Sam shivered, toes curling. His eyes were glued to Dean and his touch, mesmerized by how he didn’t care about the scars he came across. They got treated like they weren’t a blemish, a flaw, but like they were an award.
For a split second, Sam wondered if it would be the same with the gnarly scar below his ribs, from that broken beer bottle, where he was certain there were still small pieces embedded. But then Dean pressed his tongue to his entrance, and Sam’s breath hitched again. His eyes grew big, and he grunted, because it felt amazing. His body shuddered when Dean moved to place a kiss there as well. “Never gonna forget that,” he breathed, rough. “I… I know that to you, I’m worthy.”
Dean stilled for a moment, the words sinking deep, curling around something raw and ancient inside him. To you, I'm worthy. That wasn't just trust, it was a wound laid bare and offered up with open hands. Dean's chest ached, a deep and guttural ache, not from lust, but from the sheer honor of it. Sam, who'd been trained to see dragons as monsters. Sam, who carried pain etched into his skin like a map of survival. Sam, who had every reason to doubt, but didn't, not when it came to Dean.
Dean lifted his head just enough to look up at him, his voice hoarse with emotion, thick with heat. "Damn right you are," he rasped. "You're more than worthy, Sammy. You're everything." He kissed the inside of Sam's thigh again, slowly and deliberately, as if that one sentence needed a second seal. "I see every scar. Every crack. And they don't deter me. They make you."
One hand moved up to rest over the old scar beneath Sam's ribs, fingers splaying wide across it like he could absorb the hurt straight from his skin. "This?" he murmured. "This just means you survived. It means you fought. And it's beautiful."
Then, without warning, he slid a slick finger alongside his tongue - careful, slow - pressing in just enough to tease, to begin opening Sam up with the same reverence as before. "Now let me show you what it means to be wanted - not in spite of your scars," he growled, voice low and burning, "but because of them."
Sam’s eyes hung on Dean’s lips with every word he spoke. He hadn’t known how much he needed to hear them, to hear that Dean didn’t just ignore the scars because they didn’t matter to him, because they didn’t define Sam. But that he loved him all the more because of them.
Sam whimpered, unsure whether it was because of Dean’s words or because of what he did with his tongue and fingers. A shiver wrecked his body the second he felt a finger and Dean’s tongue dipping into his core, into the very center that nobody had explored before Dean.

The way Dean’s voice reverberated in his body, it amplified the meaning of them, and Sam couldn’t stop a tear escaping him. It wasn’t a sad or hurt tear, but it also wasn’t one of joy. It was… relief, gratefulness, admiration, and something else Sam couldn’t find a word for, but that was anchored deep inside him. “You’re… you’re my life,” Sam rasped in response. “It doesn’t matter how short or long I already know you, but… my heart, my soul knows you. You’re the first person who doesn’t ask a zillion questions about my scars, but you’d be the only one I’d tell.”
Dean's breath caught, mouth hovering against Sam's skin as his fingers stilled inside him, not pulling away, just pausing, grounding. He looked up, eyes locking with Sam's, and there was no hiding anymore. Not the dragon fire flickering gold in his gaze. Not the trembling in his chest. Not the quiet ache that said this is real in a way Dean had never let himself believe possible.
"You don't have to tell me," Dean whispered, voice hoarse, rough with too much feeling. "Not unless you want to. But if you ever do... I'll carry those stories like they're part of my own skin."
He leaned in and kissed the tear on Sam's cheek, lips soft, reverent, as if sealing a pact. Then his mouth trailed down again, resuming his worship with a devotion that had nothing to do with performance or power - it was love, etched in heat and breath. He pressed his tongue deeper now, curling just slightly as his fingers moved in sync, slow and careful, learning Sam's rhythm, his needs, his truth.
"I'm yours too, غhràidh," he murmured against him, voice so low it felt like a vow threaded with fire. "You've always known me. Even before you knew me. And I will never let you forget what you are to me."
Sam nodded when Dean told him he didn’t have to tell him. He knew he would, in an instant. But he wanted this time to be about what Dean wanted to do to him, to take him apart. Handing himself over into Dean’s hands for Sam meant that he’d learn new things about emotions, about devotion and love. About trust and worship. And that was what he wanted. A soft moan came from deep inside him, and Sam closed his eyes, focusing on feeling Dean’s fingers and tongue exploring and caressing him. Dean already knew exactly how to make his heart skip a beat, how to calm it when it was racing out of control. He knew how to make Sam moan and shiver, tremble with need and want, and at the same time make him want to hold on, hold back. Sam gave himself to Dean unconditionally, handing over his body knowing that Dean would take the greatest care of it. “I won’t forget that. Ever,” he whispered and moaned again, hips moving gently in response to Dean’s stimulation.
Dean felt it - all of it - in the way Sam's body opened for him, not just physically, but completely. There was no resistance, no fear, no mask. Just trust, raw and pure, handed to Dean like a gift more sacred than any treasure he'd guarded in his fire-forged life.
And it wrecked him.
Not in the way lust consumes. Not even in the way love burns. It was deeper, older - a bond that wrapped around his soul like an oath spoken in a language older than words. Sam had given himself. Not as surrender, but as communion. And Dean took that seriously. Reverently.
"You don't have to remember, غhràidh," he whispered against the tender skin he was still worshiping, tongue still working in slow, rhythmic circles. "Because I'm never gonna let you forget how it felt to be wanted like this. How it felt to be seen."
His fingers curled just slightly inside Sam, careful, precise, catching the spot he knew would make him gasp. At the same time, he moaned softly, deliberately, letting the vibration of his voice hum against Sam's skin. He wanted to drown Sam in sensation, fill him with it, until there was nothing left but Dean's touch and the way his name sounded on Sam's lips.
And still, even in the center of this aching intimacy, Dean's dragon heart watched, guarded, devoted.
Because this wasn't just foreplay. This wasn't just love.
This was bonding.
And whether Sam realized it yet or not, Dean had already chosen.

Sam’s body pulled stiff for a second before trembling violently for a moment. He didn’t know whether it had been Dean’s touch or the groan he could feel all over that caused it. Maybe it was both, but it filled Sam’s body with even more love for the man who not only saved him and kept him safe, but showed him his worth.
Sam knew that most girls in Brynmor would have given a finger or a toe to be in Dean’s line of interest, but Dean only had eyes for him.
Something inside Sam stayed vibrating even when he was breathing a little calmer again, and his mind told him it was their bond. He felt like it was something tangible and not just a word to describe their connection.
“Dean,” he whispered, voice filled with love and devotion. “You’ll make my mind explode if you keep that up. In the best possible way.”
Dean looked up through hooded eyes, lips slick and glistening, his chest rising and falling with a rhythm that matched Sam's perfectly, like they were tethered by more than just body and breath. And in truth, they were. Dean could feel it now, humming through his blood like a chord that had been struck deep in the marrow of his being. Sam felt it too. He knew it, maybe not in words yet, but in instinct, in the way his soul answered Dean's without hesitation.
That whispered 'Dean' carried everything. Love, surrender, awe. And it struck Dean so hard he had to close his eyes for a second, grounding himself in the feel of Sam's body, in the honesty of that voice.
"I want that," Dean breathed, his voice thick with emotion and arousal. "I want to overwhelm you, to fill your mind until all that's left is me. Us. This." His fingers moved deeper now, more confident, more possessive, finding that perfect spot again and pressing, gently, deliberately. "Because I've waited a lifetime to feel this. To deserve this."
He bent forward and pressed a kiss to the center of Sam's chest, right above his heart, where their rhythms had synced without even trying. His voice dropped to a whisper, but it carried weight, like something ancient and sacred: "You feel the bond, don't you? I can taste it in you. You're mine, غhràidh... and I'm yours." His tongue returned to its reverent path, and his free hand moved to grip Sam's, lacing their fingers tightly.
‘
“Yes,” Sam hissed as he nodded. “I can feel it. I can’t explain it, but there’s something… it feels like there’s part of you beating in my chest. I don’t understand it, but I don’t mind. Because I like it. Love it. It’s the magic, right? The bond… it’s something special.”
Sam squeezed Dean’s hand gently, trying not to hurt him with their fingers interlaced. “Is it like that for all fireborn people that… that have magic? Or is it something special among them as well?” Sam shivered because while he talked, Dean’s tongue had continued to caress him, draw a line along his ribcage and muscles, leaving Sam with goosebumps all over.
Dean let out a soft, rumbling hum, lips curving against Sam's skin as he kissed just beneath his ribs, right where that scar lived, the one Sam hadn't needed to explain. He worshipped it with his mouth, slowly and deliberately, while his heart thundered in his chest. He feels it. Dean almost couldn't believe it. Sam felt the bond, the rhythm of it, even without knowing what it truly was.
He lifted his head just enough to meet Sam's eyes, his own still glowing faintly, the gold in them smoldering like embers waiting for wind. "No," Dean murmured, his voice low, quiet. "It's not like this for all fireborn.“ He cupped Sam's face with his free hand, thumb brushing along his jaw as his gaze softened, almost aching with the truth he couldn't say. "This is rare. Powerful. Something that doesn't follow rules or blood or time. This is ours, Sammy."
His lips found Sam's again in a slow, deep kiss, full of fire and promise and something old trying to speak through touch. Then he pulled back, voice thick with emotion. “It's not a spell or something learned. It's just there. Like your heartbeat. Like mine."
And it was. Dean could feel it thrumming between them, deeper than magic, something sacred and old, like the very language of dragons hidden in the spaces between their bodies.
He leaned down again, tracing the line of Sam's hipbone with his tongue, slow and loving, as his hand continued to work inside him with steady, intimate precision. "You already carry part of me," he whispered, almost too soft to hear.
“And I’m not ever taking it back.”

When Dean’s lips touched the scar below his ribs, Sam’s breath caught. Nobody had touched it after it had healed. Only he himself had done so, and it hadn’t been a pleasant experience. Most of the time, he ignored it. Dean’s touch, however, was different. The sensation at the spot was a bit messed up, but he felt Dean’s lips clearly, and it wasn’t unpleasant. Which was why Sam didn’t stop him. Still, only when Dean’s lips moved lower did Sam release his breath and inhaled with a slight shudder.
“It’s special?” he finally asked, having heard what Dean said. “That’s wonderful. I… I never thought I’d be special. But now I am. We are.” He smiled. “I can feel you inside me,” he whispered. “The bond, I mean. I wonder if it will always be like that now or just when we’re intimate.” Sam’s eyes were on Dean, watching his every move with bated breath. “God, that feels… intense,” he croaked when Dean’s tongue teased his hipbone and touched some very sensitive spots inside him.

Dean's lips curved into a slow, reverent smile against Sam's skin, and his hand gave a gentle squeeze to Sam's fingers-grounding them both in the moment, in the truth of what was building between them. He could feel Sam's body responding with a kind of trembling honesty that only came from full surrender-not out of weakness, but trust so deep it made Dean's throat ache.
"You are special," he whispered, his voice gravel and smoke, thick with emotion. "Not because of this bond - because you're you. The bond just... amplified what was already there." He kissed lower again, lips brushing the hollow just below Sam's hip, and the way Sam shuddered beneath him made Dean's cock twitch with need. But he kept his focus steady, kept his devotion undivided. This wasn't about his pleasure - it was about giving.
"As for feeling me," he murmured, voice barely above a breath, fingers curling just slightly inside Sam again, slowly and deliberately, "it won't go away. Not completely. Even when we're apart, something inside you will hum with it. And mine's the same. That's what the bond is. Not just magic. Recognition. Soul-deep."
He looked up at Sam again, eyes blazing gold, filled with affection so fierce it bordered on sacred. "It'll always be there, غhràidh. Not just when I'm inside you like this." He pressed his fingers gently again, deeper, more sure, his tongue flicking over the curve of Sam's hip with aching reverence. "But when I hold your hand. When I breathe next to you at night. When I hear you laugh. It'll always be there."
Sam listened to Dean, spellbound. He knew instinctively that as unbelievable as it may seem to humans, this was the truth. A truth that was not for every human, but a few chosen ones that were lucky enough to find each other.
“I don’t know what I did to deserve such a bond, but I feel honored that fate chose me. And that I’m yours. I wouldn’t want to be with anyone else but you, غhràidh.” He smiled sincerely. “Am I saying it right?” Sam could feel his soul humming, and when Dean flicked his tongue and finger simultaneously again, he groaned, closing his eyes. “Even like this, eyes closed, I can see everything you do,” he panted. “My soul is watching you. And it feels stunning. I’m glad it will always be there.” Sam shivered again and then moaned a bit louder, squirming, not to get free or increase the touch, but because it was driving him crazy, physically and in his mind. “God, Dean, I see little sparks when you touch that spot in me. I feel that in… in my body and my brain. And it’s driving me mad with desire. For you.”

Something deep inside Dean stirred, ancient and tender all at once, as if the dragon soul within him had curled protectively around Sam's, recognizing the truth before either of them had spoken it aloud. He hadn't expected to find this, but here it was: his mate, staring up at him, surrendering in every sense and calling him غhràidh like it had always been his name.
"You're saying it perfectly," Dean rasped, voice frayed at the edges with awe and restraint. "Like you were born knowing how to say it... like it was meant for you." His thumb brushed gently along the curve of Sam's thigh while his fingers worked deeper, now slow but unrelenting, pressing again into that perfect spot that made Sam see stars. His tongue joined the rhythm, tracing deliberate patterns against the sensitive flesh at Sam's hip, drawing more shivers, more moans that made Dean's own body ache with need.
Hearing Sam say that his soul was watching - that did something to Dean. It was more than arousal. It was purpose. It was bonding in its purest form, and Dean wanted to etch it into Sam's body, into his bones, into every moment they would have from this one forward.
"You feel the sparks?" he growled, reverent and breathless, pressing in again, curling his fingers just right. "That's me lighting you up from the inside. That's the fire waking up in you, Sammy. You were never meant to be ordinary."
He leaned forward again, kissing the place just below Sam's navel, whispering the words like a sacred truth: "You were made for me."

It took Sam a moment to register what Dean had said about the sparks. His jaw dropped, and for a moment, all that existed in Sam’s mind were Dean’s words.
“I feel your fire?” he whispered and then cleared his throat. “In my mind? Are you telling me that the fire in you, as a fireborn, is somehow transferring to me?” Sam couldn’t comprehend it at all. His breath hitched when Dean found a sensitive spot inside him once again, causing his cock to throb and more sparks to flare in his mind. “I’m yours,” he croaked, feeling some kind of heat flood his body for a second. Not a bad one, it was pleasant, a comfort. “I will always be yours.”
“Yeah,” Dean breathed, voice cracking under the weight of it. “You feel my fire, Sammy. Not just in your body. It’s bonded to you now. It knows you. It chose you.” His lips brushed over Sam’s trembling belly, grounding, as his fingers continued to coax that fire awake - slow, deep strokes that made Sam’s whole body sing beneath his touch.
Dean’s dragon heart was thundering now, not just from arousal, but from recognition. Sam wasn’t just accepting his bond - he was becoming part of it. The heat Sam felt was no accident. It was the fire choosing to root itself inside him, a living ember planted in the soul.
A gift, a link, a vow older than words.
“You’re changing,” Dean whispered, awed and gentle, eyes burning molten gold. “Not in a way that’ll hurt. You’re becoming more. Because that’s what happens when someone bonds with a fireborn like this. You’re not just mine in name, غhràidh. You’re mine in fire. In soul.”
He kissed lower, down to the base of Sam’s cock, his hand wrapping gently around it now, thumb teasing along the head. His other hand stayed steady inside Sam, fingers curling just right again.
“You say you’ll always be mine?” he murmured, mouth a breath away from claiming more. “Then let me show you what that means.”

“Changing?” Sam asked. What was he changing into? “Wait… becoming more? Like some connection to that fire of yours? I can always feel it?” Sam’s eyes were locked on Dean, watching him handle his cock, teasing the glans.
“You say it chose me. Isn’t that because you chose me? Because the way you say it, it sounds like that fire has a mind of its own.”
Sam wanted to say more, ask more, but Dean curled his fingers again, and Sam groaned, feeling more precum gushing from the slit. “Fuck,” he panted, blood thundering in his ears, heat racing through his body. “Ahh, that spot… feels like liquid heat flooding me when you do that.” After he caught his breath again, a little, he looked into Dean’s eyes. “Show me, please. غhràidh!”

Dean’s breath hitched the moment Sam said it again - غhràidh - with that voice, that ache, that need. This nickname, sacred and intimate in Sam’s mouth, sent a shiver through every part of him that wasn’t already burning. And then Sam looked at him, really looked, eyes wide with wonder and trust and something so deep it felt like Dean’s dragon soul might crack open under the weight of it.
“You feel it because it chose you,” Dean said, voice rough with restraint and emotion, hand stroking Sam’s cock in a slow, torturous rhythm. “The fire’s ancient. Older than blood. And yeah… it does choose. Just like I did.”
He pressed his palm to Sam’s lower belly, fingers splayed, his magic pulsing beneath the skin - warm, golden, alive. “You’re changing, Sammy. Not into something else - into everything you were always meant to be. My bond is waking it up inside you. That fire? It’s in you now, too.”
Then Dean curled his fingers again, slow, precise, deliberate, and as Sam writhed and moaned, Dean leaned up, their faces close enough to share breath.
“You want me to show you?” he whispered, eyes glowing brighter now, the gold deepening into a molten amber, dragon fire flickering just behind his pupils. “Then watch me, غhràidh. Feel me.” And with that, he slid deeper - tongue, fingers, magic - worshiping every part of Sam, lighting up the bond between them until it blazed like a second heartbeat. Because Dean wasn’t just going to make Sam cum.
He was going to make him remember.

Sam soaked up Dean’s words like they were his life essence. He couldn’t comprehend what was happening, but he knew it was. Because Dean said so.
Everything Dean now did captivated Sam fully. His sensations as well as his senses. He could feel something was happening, changing, and it felt good. It felt like it belonged, and he just hadn’t known he was missing it.
When Dean said the bond was waking inside him, the fire being inside him, he could feel it. And the mere thought made him shudder.
“Dean,” he panted, a growl starting deep inside him. “Feel you.” And he did. When Dean began pushing deeper with everything, Sam could feel his insides heat up, like a switch that got flipped. Every touch left a fiery trail and sent his heart racing even faster until his whole body was thrumming like he was his own heartbeat.
“Oh my God,” he whispered, body moving with Dean. “Never felt anything like that. I… it’s indescribably beautiful.” Sam wanted to look at Dean, but it was becoming harder to focus. “Love you,” he moaned and licked his lips.
Dean heard the words ’Feel you… Love you’ and they shattered whatever restraint he’d been clinging to. His own heart roared in his chest like a storm breaking loose, matching the rhythm he felt inside Sam. The bond was no longer just humming - it was singing, alive and pulsing between them, something ancient and permanent unfolding beneath their skin. Dean felt it in the heat blooming through Sam’s body, in the way his magic responded instinctively, not to control, but to amplify.
“You’re right there,” Dean whispered, voice thick with emotion, reverent and wrecked all at once. “Let it happen, Sammy.” His words were a command, but wrapped in worship. He curled his fingers just right, and at the same time, he sucked gently at the inside of Sam’s thigh, lips scorching a path of fire into his skin.
His hand never faltered. His mouth continued its worship, slow, reverent, until Sam was trembling beneath him, burning up from the inside out.
“You feel that?” Dean whispered, lifting his head just enough for their eyes to meet - his own molten with magic, soul bared. “That’s what it means to be mine. To be seen.”
He gave one last, perfect push with his fingers, just the right rhythm, just the right pressure. “Let go, غhràidh,” he murmured, voice thick with need and love and a promise too deep to name. “Cum for me.”

Sam had no idea when he’d merely become a passenger in this quest for release. His body vibrated with energy, magic, and fire, and it was all Dean’s doing.
When Dean asked him to let it happen, if he felt all of it, Sam nodded, unable to speak. Moan after moan escaped his lips, and his muscles tensed in anticipation of what was to come. The instant their eyes met, Sam could see the fire in Dean’s eyes, flickering, not in rage but in desire and love. There was no way Sam could have resisted Dean’s words when he asked him to let go, to cum for him, in a voice that got straight to Sam’s core. Dean’s fingers pressed along that special spot deep inside Sam, and Sam obeyed.
His body tensed like lava rising before an eruption, and that was just what happened. With a harsh groan, Sam’s body convulsed, his cock throbbed hard and he came just like that volcano which was erupting in his brain.
Dean’s fire was all-consuming in passion and lust, roaring like a storm, and Sam could feel Dean’s love all over. Again and again, Sam pulsated along with his heartbeat, along with Dean’s heartbeat. Finally, there was a warm, orange-red flash in Sam’s brain, and he rested, panting harshly, in Dean’s arms.

Dean held him through it - every shudder, every tremor, every ragged breath. His arms wrapped around Sam the second it was done, drawing him in tight, like he needed to shield him from the aftershock of something holy. And maybe he did. Because what had just happened between them wasn’t just physical. It wasn’t just a climax - it was a claiming, one that echoed through their bond, deep and ancient and binding.
Dean buried his face in the crook of Sam’s neck, breathing him in - smoke, sweat, magic, HOME.
His magic still hummed just beneath his skin, dancing faintly across his fingers and chest like dying embers, and he didn’t bother hiding it now. Sam had seen the truth, maybe not all of it, but enough. And Dean? He didn’t want to hide anymore.
He whispered softly, voice hoarse, raw with emotion: “You’re mine now, Sammy. In almost every way that matters.”
He brushed his hand along Sam’s ribs, thumb tracing lazy, grounding circles, letting him come back to himself slowly. “You feel it?” he murmured, lips just against Sam’s temple. “You and me - we don’t end here. What we just did… it wasn’t a moment. It was the beginning of forever.”
Dean kissed him then, soft and slow and full of everything he didn’t yet have the words for. But Sam would know. He felt it - Dean could see it in the way he breathed, the way their heartbeats stayed in perfect rhythm.
And in that quiet, burning stillness, Dean whispered one more thing - just for Sam, just for the bond:
“I won’t ever let you go.”

Sam was floating. Somewhere between reality and magic, between burning up and feeling Dean. He’d never experienced anything like that before, and he just latched himself onto everything Dean he felt because he knew it would catch him and keep him safe.
“Feel it,” he whispered after an eternity and blinked his eyes to focus on Dean. “I felt it. It was mindblowing. Beautiful. And it zapped all my energy. I can feel… you. Everywhere.” Sam licked his lips and let his eyes fall shut again, because keeping them open and speaking was exhausting. “Promise you, I’ll hold on to you as well. I’ll always keep… your fire.”
Dean’s heart clenched at those words - I’ll always keep your fire - like Sam had unknowingly reached into his chest and wrapped gentle fingers around the very thing he kept hidden from the world. And he meant it. Dean could feel the truth in it humming through the bond like a second pulse. Sam wasn’t just saying what he thought Dean needed to hear. He was claiming him back.
Dean leaned in, brushing his lips over Sam’s forehead, slow and steady, like a vow sealed in skin. His fingers threaded gently through Sam’s hair, grounding him, soothing the aftershocks still flickering through his trembling form. “You don’t even know what that means to me,” Dean whispered, voice thick and raw. “But you will. One day, I’ll tell you everything. Show you everything.”
He looked down at him, watching the way Sam’s chest rose and fell, lips parted, glowing faintly with the magic that still lingered between them. “For now, just rest. You earned it, غhràidh. Let me be the one to hold YOU now.”
Dean pulled the blanket around them, tucking Sam close to his chest, one hand still resting over the place where their bond beat strongest. The fire inside him settled, soft and warm now, not raging but keeping.
And in the quiet that followed, as Sam drifted in that space between sleep and peace, Dean whispered into his hair, “You’ve got my fire, Sammy. And I’ll never take it back.”

Chapter Text

Sam felt Dean’s words more than he heard them. He dozed and fell asleep, knowing he was safe in Dean’s arms. He needed to recover, physically as well as emotionally and mentally, because what had just happened between them had been exhausting on all levels. And an amazing experience above all.
Thoughts and emotions swirled through his mind as he dozed, until finally everything calmed down and he fell fast asleep.

When he woke up again, his mind needed a moment to register everything. Most importantly, what he knew right away was that he was alone in bed.
Sitting up, Sam looked around. He was still naked but cleaned up and covered with a blanket. The sun seemed not to have moved at all since he fell asleep, but the way Sam felt, he’d slept a while. It should be around afternoon. The sun, however, said something else.
Stretching, Sam pushed the blanket aside and headed to the bathroom because his bladder felt like it was ready to burst.
Since he was already in the bathroom, he decided to use the contraption with a bucket to wash himself off. He didn’t mind the cold water and thought he should be able to do that even with the cast on.
When he emerged from the bathroom, feeling rejuvenated and clean, there was still no sign of Dean, so Sam headed to the living room to look for him.
But the living room was empty as well. He could hear noises on the outside, however, and with a smile on his face, opened the door and followed the noise. He found Dean with an axe, splitting wood for the fireplace.
“Hi,” he said softly because he didn’t want to startle Dean. He was sure Dean already knew he was awake and close, but Sam didn’t want to take any chances.

Dean didn't turn right away, but Sam saw it - the pause in his movement, the slight lift in his shoulders, like he'd felt Sam before he even spoke. Then Dean exhaled, a soft puff of breath that rose like mist in the cool mountain air, and slowly turned toward him, the axe still in one hand, the other wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his arm. His shirt was half unbuttoned, clinging to his chest in places, and there was something deeply grounding about seeing him like this - muscle, motion, breath, life.
Dean's eyes met his, and that soft flicker of gold still shimmered beneath the green, but it was quieter now. Tamed, almost. Not because it had lessened, but because whatever had passed between them had settled into something deeper. Permanently.
A slow, crooked smile spread across Dean's face, warm and real. "Hey, Sleeping Beauty," he said, voice low and teasing, but full of something gentler than mischief. "Was starting to think I'd have to come carry you back out here."
He set the axe down carefully, leaning it against the stump, then wiped his hands on a towel he'd draped nearby. "You okay?" he asked, tone shifting just slightly, just enough to show that it wasn't small talk. He meant it. His eyes swept over Sam briefly, not in hunger this time, but in care, checking him, reading his posture, his energy. "How do you feel?"
Dean stepped closer, offering his presence like a steady flame. And though he said nothing else for the moment, his whole body spoke for him: 'I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.'

Sam took Dean in as he watched him finish up with the axe before turning towards him. And the picture he was watching made his insides flutter. Dean was beautiful, strong, and muscular, but not like someone who worked out a lot. Like someone who was used to physical labor that didn’t only require strength, but also agility, speed, and reaction. Dean seemed to move like a mountain lion, with power that seemed effortless. And for a second, Sam wished he were the same. Maybe soon, again, when that cast was a thing of the past.
Looking into Dean’s eyes, Sam loved the swirl of green and gold because it made Dean’s eyes glow warmly.
“I’m feeling rested,” Sam replied. “I think I slept a while, but time didn’t really move on. It’s still morning, going on noon. My arm is itching, not aching, and my ribs feel only mildly bruised. My head… is buzzing, but I don’t think it has to do with the concussion I had. I think it’s because I’m close to you.” Sam stepped even closer and kissed Dean’s lips. “You look stunning like that, غhràidh,” he said, meaning it exactly that way.
Dean stilled under the kiss because of how deeply it landed. Not because of the softness of Sam’s lips, not even the word غhràidh spoken with that unshakable sincerity, but because of the way Sam saw him. Stunning. Like Dean was something beautiful, not just useful. Not dangerous. Not forbidden. Just… loved.
His breath caught in his throat as Sam pulled back, and he stared at him for a long second, jaw flexing like he was fighting to hold something back - and losing. “You’re dangerous when you talk like that,” he said finally, voice low and cracked with warmth. “You say one more word like that and I’ll forget the whole damn stack of firewood.”
He reached out and brushed his thumb along Sam’s jaw, slow, tender, eyes scanning every detail of his face. “You look good,” he said honestly, reverently. “Clearer. Lighter. And yeah… that buzzing?” He let his hand fall to rest over Sam’s sternum, just above his heart. “That’s the bond. It’s in you now. Like a heartbeat layered under your own. Means I’m always with you, even when I’m out here swinging axes.”
He smiled - soft, crooked, his - and stepped back just enough to grab the towel and toss it over his shoulder. “Come sit with me for a bit. I’ll make tea, or something stronger, if you want it. You shouldn’t be standing too long yet.”
But his eyes lingered on Sam as he said it, golden flecks still glinting in the sun. As if every part of him was still watching, still connected, still silently whispering: mine.

Sam smiled when Dean told him he was dangerous. He knew how it was meant, and it made him feel good. Wanted. Seen.
“Coffee, please. I feel fine, but somehow I crave a cup of coffee, now,” he replied. “Why shouldn’t I be standing too long, yet? I thought that’s what I need to do to get stronger again. And I’m hungry. Like I haven’t eaten in days. Is there a way you can do the rest of the wood later, with me watching, and we have some… lunch?”
Sam had just finished talking when his stomach growled in agreement. He shook his head. “I didn’t know I could get this hungry from just skipping one meal. Not like I never had to do that before.” Sam fell silent when he realized Dean’s eyes were still on his, and he let Dean look at him openly. Just like he knew it would be a good thing for both of them. “I love you,” he said after a few minutes. “And what we did earlier on… it blew my mind. I’m sorry I fell asleep on you, though.”

Dean’s expression softened instantly, the teasing curve of his lips giving way to something deeper, something that settled in the warm green-gold of his eyes like sunlight through smoke. He took a slow step closer, reaching out to brush his fingers along the edge of Sam’s cast, then up to his jaw, his thumb tracing the curve of Sam’s cheek like he was memorizing it all over again. “You didn’t fall asleep on me,” he said gently. “You surrendered to me. Big difference.”
He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Sam’s forehead, lingering just long enough for it to carry the weight of everything he wasn’t saying out loud. Then he drew back and added with a faint smirk, “And you didn’t skip one meal, Sammy. You slept for a whole day and night. I checked on you five times and you didn’t even twitch.”
Dean’s hand dropped to Sam’s waist, steadying him without making it feel like he was being babied. “Your body needed the time. What happened between us wasn’t just… fun. It was magic. Bond-level magic. That kind of connection knocks the wind out of you. Hell, even for me, it hit hard.” He tilted his head toward the cabin. “Come on. Coffee, food, and you get to sit there like a smug little prince while I make you breakfast-slash-lunch. Then, if you’re up for it, I’ll finish the wood later - with you watching, like you promised.”
Dean turned, but not before giving Sam one more look, quieter, filled with awe. “I love you, too. And I’d watch you sleep for a hundred days if it meant I got to wake up to that look in your eyes again.”
Sam’s eyes grew big. “I did what? Sleep through a whole day?” He swallowed. “I… I don’t know what to say. So, this bonding takes a lot of energy, I assume. Is that why I feel rested and like I ran a thousand miles the other day at the same time?” He followed Dean inside and didn’t protest when Dean pointed to the couch. He sat down and was instantly glad he did. “How long will it take for me to recover my energy? Because I certainly don’t want to just watch you do all the work. Like… splitting wood. I can work as well.”
Dean chuckled as he filled the kettle with water, the sound warm and rumbling like distant thunder. “Yeah,” he said over his shoulder, glancing back at Sam with a half-smile, “a full day and night. Out cold. You didn’t even twitch when I poked your foot. And yeah, that’s exactly how it feels - like you slept for a week and ran a marathon at the same time. That’s the bond.”
He set the kettle on the stove and lit the flame, then turned and leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, eyes on Sam like he couldn’t look away for long. “It’s a lot of magic flooding your system all at once. My fire’s in you now - stitched into your soul, threaded through your breath. Your body’s learning how to hold it, how to carry that kind of connection without burning out. That takes time.”
Dean’s gaze softened as he walked over and knelt in front of Sam, resting his hands lightly on his knees. “You don’t have to prove anything to me, Sammy. You already did the hard part. You let me in. You trusted me. And you made me yours.” He looked up, voice quieter now. “That means more than any axe you could swing.”
He gave Sam’s knee a gentle squeeze. “But if it helps, I’ll let you sit out there with me and pretend to supervise while I split the wood. You can even point and boss me around. I might even listen.” A grin tugged at his lips. “Might.”
Sam studied Dean’s eyes while he was so close, and they were not kissing. “Did it feel this - intense - for you as well?” he then asked. “Will my body recover anytime soon, and will it be like that every time that we connect with the magic?”
He leaned forward and rested his forehead against Dean’s for a moment. “And of course, I will boss you around. You don’t know how frustrating it can be to be resigned to resting. Dean, I know I don’t have to prove myself to you, but I’m not used to sitting all the time and being waited on. When I can move again, work again, that is what I want to do. With you. By your side. Because I’m not a little princess. At all.” He smiled warmly.
Dean let out a quiet breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, though nothing was mocking in it - just warmth, affection, and a whole hell of a lot of love. He kept his forehead pressed against Sam’s, their breath mingling in the stillness between words.
“It felt just as intense for me,” he murmured, voice low, honest. “Probably more. I just know how to carry it better. You’re not the only one who was wrecked, غhràidh… I just kept my feet under me so you could rest. But yeah - what we did? That was the beginning of something bigger. The bond’s awake now. And every time we touch, every time we’re close, it’ll echo through us like that. Maybe not always that strong, not unless…”
He trailed off, hand brushing gently over the curve of Sam’s hip.
“Not unless we go all the way.”

Dean leaned back just enough to meet Sam’s eyes again, letting the weight of the words settle between them. “When that happens, the bond’ll be fulfilled - sealed completely on my end. I’ll be yours in every way a fireborn can be. And yeah… the first time? When that moment comes, it’s gonna be just as powerful. Maybe more. After that, it’ll still be intense - it’ll always be intense with you - but it’ll settle. Like the storm gives way to sunlight.” He traced his thumb slowly along the line of Sam’s jaw, gaze full of admiration. “And trust me, I know you’re not a princess. You’re a force. Even when you’re still, I can feel that fire in you. So yeah, when you’re ready? We’ll do the work side by side. We’ll build something. But for now - just let me take care of you. Not because you need it, but because I want to.”
He smirked, soft and teasing. “And you boss me around all you want. Just don’t be surprised if I enjoy it a little too much.”
Sam had listened intently to every word Dean had said. So the bond would continue to build, and it would take a toll on both of them.
And if Dean said when they would go all the way, it would amplify; even Sam knew they had to be at a safe place so they could recover in peace until they were ready to face the world again.
“I understand,” he replied. “The magic needs time to weave itself into my non-magic body. I know you will take care of me, and of course, I’ll let you. I just need to get used to it.”
He lifted his good hand to Dean’s cheek and caressed it. He loved feeling the stubble on his cheek and finally laughed, chest rumbling softly. “So… in which way would you enjoy me bossing you a little too much?”
Dean groaned softly, leaning into the touch like it was the one thing tethering him to solid ground. Sam’s fingers were warm, grounding, and that laugh - Gods, that laugh - it sent something fluttering through Dean’s chest, fierce and soft all at once. His eyes glowing darkly as he tilted his head into the caress, letting it linger a second longer before replying with a slow, wicked grin tugging at the corner of his lips.
“See, now that is a dangerous question,” he said, voice dropping into something low and velvet-smooth. “’Cause you ask me that, and I’m gonna start picturing all kinds of things, like you straddling me with that smug little grin, acting like you’re not the most tempting thing I’ve ever seen. Or maybe you’re pinning me down with nothing but your voice - telling me where to put my hands. Hell, maybe you’re just standing there with your arms crossed, all bossy and bare, daring me to behave… knowing damn well I won’t.” Dean’s voice softened, lips brushing against Sam’s as he spoke the next words like a confession wrapped in heat. “And the thing is, Sammy? I’d love every second of it. ‘Cause when it comes from you, it’s not just hot - it’s trust. It’s ours.” He kissed him then, slow and deep, a spark flaring in his chest at the taste of him, the nearness. And when he pulled back just enough to breathe, he added with a grin, “So yeah - boss me around, sweetheart. Just be ready for what happens when I finally take control back.”

Sam’s eyes widened with a gentle twinkle inside them. “You think I’m tempting?” he asked. “The most tempting thing you’ve ever seen?”
His heart skipped a beat because hearing that felt really good. “So, if I tell you now to kiss me, hold me in your arms while you do it, and then get breakfast going, or lunch, before I’m hungry enough to take a bite out of you, you will do that?”
Dean let out a deep, throaty chuckle, the sound curling warmly between them like smoke rising from slow-burning embers. His eyes locked on Sam’s, that gold flickering just a little brighter, not from fire, but from pure, unfiltered adoration. He didn’t even try to hide it.
“Tempting?” he echoed, stepping in until their chests nearly touched, his hand sliding around Sam’s lower back. “You’re more than tempting, Sammy. You’re ruinous. One look from you and I forget how to breathe right.”
Then, without another word, Dean leaned in and kissed him, slow and deep, a kiss that said yes, always yes, one hand at the nape of Sam’s neck, the other curling securely around his waist. He held him close, like he needed to feel every inch of that bond singing beneath Sam’s skin, like he could anchor them both with touch alone.
When he finally pulled back, just far enough to brush their noses together, Dean grinned. “There. Orders followed. And you didn’t even have to say ‘please.’” He pressed one more kiss to Sam’s cheek, lingering. “Now let me feed you before I start thinking maybe letting you bite me wouldn’t be the worst way to go.”
And with one last playful squeeze at Sam’s waist, he turned toward the cabin, calling over his shoulder, “But fair warning, غhràidh - next time I’M giving the orders.”
Sam smiled when Dean told him he could forget how to breathe when looking at him. Dean’s subsequent kiss sent shivers down Sam’s back and left him covered in goosebumps. He knew that everything Dean had said to him was also true the other way around.
Dean was stunning, and looking at him always made his heartbeat speed up. He would make sure to tell him after they ate, else they would go hungry even longer.
“Warning accepted,” he smiled, catching his breath, as Dean slowly walked to the kitchen. Sam made sure he could watch him from where he was sitting and never took his eyes off him.

Dean glanced back over his shoulder just once as he reached the kitchen, catching Sam’s gaze still locked on him. That soft smile tugged at his lips again - warm, real, a little smug, but full of something deeper. Affection. Devotion.
“Keep looking at me like that, Sammy,” he said, reaching for the coffee pot. “And breakfast’s gonna turn into dessert real fast.”
He chuckled, shaking his head as he poured the water, but the truth lingered in his chest like a steady flame - THIS was everything he never thought he’d have. And he’d never stop earning it.

“Don’t worry, I will keep doing that. And I don’t have a problem with desserts, you know. But I can’t wait to have dessert when this stupid cast is finally gone.” And he meant that. At first, the thought of being the bottom had left him with mixed feelings, but by now, after what they had done so far, he knew he wanted it. With Dean.
“Can I have some sugar for the coffee just now? I think that would be fitting for dessert. There has to be some sweetness, you know?”
Sam chuckled at Dean’s reply. Everything was so easy, so natural with him, and he really couldn’t imagine being without him anymore.
Getting up, Sam walked up to Dean, behind him, and wrapped his arms around him. Just holding on.
“Thank you for showing me such a nice side to life. It feels like this is the first time I can remember just being myself. Not having to hide, not having to bite my tongue. If you think you’re the only one who’s still getting to know me, think again.”
He placed a kiss in Dean’s neck and inhaled deeply. “I’m pretty sure any dessert involving you will be hot, slow, and on fire, غhràidh.”
Dean stilled for a second, the kind of still that meant he was feeling it - not just the kiss, not just the words, but everything. Then he let out a low breath, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he leaned back slightly into Sam’s hold.
“Damn, Sammy,” he muttered, voice rough and warm. “You keep talkin’ like that, and I’m gonna burn the damn coffee.”
He turned his head just enough to brush his lips against Sam’s temple and added, softer now, “But yeah… I like this version of you. No masks. No filters. Just you. I’ll take every version, don’t get me wrong - but this? This one’s my favorite.”
Sam smiled against Dean’s neck, still holding on to him. “It’s my favorite as well. Especially since it’s with you. I know I will have phases where I’m insecure. And you always reassure me and build me up.”
He kissed Dean’s neck once more and then let go. “Should I get the table ready to help, since I am holding you up so far? I’m sure if I promise to sit back down after that, it will be acceptable.” He stepped around to stick his nose over the still-open tin containing the ground coffee and sniffed. “Oh, I love the smell of freshly ground coffee. And of freshly sawn wood. Oh… and pine needles in the fire.”
Dean chuckled, watching Sam with that stupid little fond smile he couldn’t hide even if he wanted to. “Man, you’re such a freakin’ forest romantic. Coffee, pine needles, sawdust - what’s next? Gonna tell me you get turned on by the smell of leather and dragon sweat?” He stepped in close, stealing a quick kiss off the top of Sam’s head before reaching around him to grab two mugs.
“And yeah, you can set the table, only if you swear on your good arm that you’ll sit your fine ass back down after. Healer’s orders. And by healer, I mean me, the highly qualified, ruggedly handsome fireborn who knows exactly how much damage you can do pretending you’re not healing.”
He poured the coffee, slid a mug over, then added with a smirk, “Besides, you setting the table just gives me a better view of you bending and reaching. Which I’m not exactly complaining about.” He bumped Sam’s hip playfully and grinned. “See? Dessert starts earlier than you think.”
“Dragon sweat?” Sam asked, eyes flashing for a second. “Dragons sweat? I didn’t even know that. I mean, not that I ever thought about it, since… they sweat? And it smells different from human sweat?” He shook his head. “As for the leather, yes, I like that, too. Is that a problem? If it is, you need to make sure you show me things I should prefer smelling, so I know how to please you.” Sam picked up the coffee and carried it over to the table before returning and picking up the cutlery. He moved slowly, deliberately, knowing exactly that Dean was watching him.
Then he returned to Dean, leaned against the counter, and stuck his ass out a little. Not too obvious, but in a way that meant he wanted Dean to look. “So… anything else I need to carry over? Or can I take this lovely behind over to the table to sit down and wait for that gorgeous fireborn? He’s smoking hot, you know.”

Dean nearly choked on his sip of coffee, coughing once into his fist as his eyes shot to Sam's very intentional little pose. "Jesus, Sammy," he muttered with a grin, eyes flicking up and down in open appreciation. "You do realize you're killin' me, right? Like, actually short-circuiting my brain before I've even had my caffeine. That's dangerous."
He set his mug down and leaned casually against the counter beside Sam, shoulder brushing his. "And for the record, dragons don't technically sweat - at least, not like people. It's more like... heat release. You know, like animals that radiate warmth through their skin when they're worked up. Or so I've heard," he added quickly, flashing a look that said 'do not investigate further, human', before softening it with a smirk.
"As for the smell?" He leaned in slightly, taking a dramatic, exaggerated sniff near Sam's neck. "I like the scent of you. And leather. And fire. And coffee. Which makes you pretty much a walking fantasy right now. So no complaints from me."
He gently nudged Sam with his hip. "Grab the spoons and go sit that 'lovely behind' down before I forget food altogether and start planning dessert two days too early."
Then, under his breath, with a wink, "And yeah, I am smoking hot. Thanks for noticing."
Sam had raised an eyebrow when Dean had told him what he did was dangerous. He had figured it might be, but if Dean could tease, so could he. “So… that’s what you heard,” he then replied, meaning the lesson about dragon sweat. “I shall ask John about it when I see him again. I wonder what would work a dragon up. I mean, they don’t do things like splitting wood or… or going for a run or other physical workouts. As for being your walking fantasy, I can live with that.” He grinned and grabbed the spoons before strolling over to the table, sitting down. “Two days early? Can I get rid of that cast in two days?” Sam asked, sounding hopeful.
Dean let out a laugh, warm, full-bodied, absolutely DEAN, as he watched Sam saunter away with that smug little grin like he knew exactly the effect he had. And hell yeah, he did. Dean leaned against the counter, crossing his arms, letting his eyes linger on the sight of Sam getting comfortable at the table like he belonged there. Because he did.
“Oh, sure,” Dean called, smirking. “I’ll just snap my fingers, sprinkle some magic coffee grounds on it, and boom! - no more cast. Piece of cake. Just try not to dance on the damn table before lunch, alright?”
He grabbed the plates, shaking his head in amusement. “You ask John about dragon sweat, and I swear to God, he’ll give you a lecture that starts in ancient history and ends with a warning about falling for the wrong kind of fire. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Dean set the plates down and slid into the chair beside Sam, bumping their knees gently under the table. “And for the record, dragons do get worked up. Just not from chopping wood or jogging laps around a mountain. More like… intense feelings. Emotional stuff. Fireborn stuff. Deep bonds. Passion.” He shrugged, feigning casual, but his eyes sparkled. “So yeah… you, grinning like that, teasing me before coffee? That’ll do it.” He handed Sam a fork, then added with a lopsided smile, “You really are trouble. Good thing I’ve always liked the dangerous kind.”

Sam shivered when Dean’s knee bumped against his and tried to hide his emotions behind a smirk. “Though you got magic in you. So that magic coffee ground… it could be put to good use, no?” Then he fell silent for a moment, because something about the things Dean had said confused him. He said dragons are getting worked up by feelings, emotions, and fireborn things. And then he said that teasing him before coffee would do it. Dean wasn’t a dragon. He was fireborn. Maybe Sam had just mixed something up there.
“I like being trouble, if it’s the good kind,” Sam finally grinned again and took a sip of his coffee. “Oh, I see… there is definitely enough sugar in for dessert. You know what sugar does to me, don’t you?” He smiled seductively and sipped some more. “I consider myself warned about asking John regarding dragons and sweating. I might still take the risk.”
Dean raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk that was half amusement, half you really don’t know what you’re doing to me, do you? He shifted slightly in his chair beside Sam, their knees brushing again - definitely not by accident this time.
“Sugar makes you bold,” he said, voice low and teasing. “Makes your mouth loose and your hips even looser. And I gotta say, if that’s what sugar does to you, I’m buying it in bulk.”
He reached over casually, letting his fingers trail down the outside of Sam’s thigh under the table, subtle but purposeful. “And you being trouble? That’s my favorite kind. The kind that keeps me guessing. The kind that makes me wonder if I should be making breakfast or pinning you to the damn table.”
Dean took a slow sip of his coffee, then turned his head just enough to catch Sam’s eye. “But yeah, maybe don’t bring up dragon sweat with John. You’ll probably get a death glare, or that said lecture, or a riddle that’ll take you a month to decode. Safer to stick with teasing me. At least I’ll make you work for it.” He winked, all charm and heat. “And I like the way you work.”
Sam licked his lips when Dean let their knees touch again. He absolutely loved this little tit for tat with Dean. It was so comfortable and relaxed, and definitely fit to work them both up. He let his leg lean into the touch and almost forgot to breathe when Dean let his fingers caress his thigh.
“Maybe,” he started, licking his lips again. “Maybe I should wait a little with teasing you, because… the coffee alone won’t help with our stomachs. And if we go straight from coffee to dessert and I sleep for another day, I might be tempted to find that mountain lion to eat.”
He grinned briefly before digging his teeth in his bottom lip. He really wanted to kiss Dean like there was no tomorrow now. “Because you’re not the only one who likes the thought of being pinned. Not necessarily to the table, but… by that smoking hot fireborn I know. Hope you’re not mad.” He smiled disarmingly, took a big sip of coffee, and then leaned closer and kissed Dean on the lips.
Dean let out a soft grunt of amusement against Sam’s lips, the kiss warm and lazy and dangerously distracting. He chased it for a second longer when Sam pulled back, then blinked like he’d been yanked out of a warm dream. “Shit,” he muttered, eyebrows lifting as he glanced toward the hearth. “I was supposed to be making you breakfast. You smooth-talked me straight into forgetting.”
He stood up with a stretch, arms reaching high above his head, shirt pulling just enough to tease. He caught Sam’s gaze and smirked. “You keep kissing me like that and we’ll be skipping breakfast, lunch, and probably the rest of the week.”

Dean moved toward the little kitchen setup, grabbing the eggs, some cured bacon, and the small pouch of flour he’d stashed there yesterday, when Sam was sleeping, for mornings like this. He started mixing it with water and a little honey, working it into a batter by hand. “Don’t laugh,” he called over his shoulder. “This is the only breakfast I know how to make that doesn’t involve burning the place down. Flatbread cakes, fried eggs, and bacon. I’ve survived on it since I was tall enough to see over the pan.” That wasn’t a lie. He liked it and made it often, just because.
He worked quickly, with the ease of someone who knew these few things well, setting the pan over the flame and letting the bacon sizzle while flattening the little cakes and laying them along the edge to warm and crisp.
“And no, I’m not mad,” he added, tossing a glance back at Sam, voice softer now. “You thinking about being pinned? That’s just… encouragement. Fuel for the fire.” He grinned, flipping the bacon. “Just don’t expect me to think straight when you start biting your damn lip like that. It’s not fair. Not even a little.”
Sam began to protest when Dean blamed him for smooth-talking him into forgetting breakfast, but then he glimpsed the bit of skin when Dean stretched and worked hard on stifling a moan. To be safe, he didn’t say anything because he was really hungry, and teasing Dean had to wait until that hunger was sated.
“You’re making flatbread cakes?” he finally croaked. He hadn’t eaten them in… years. But he remembered them because his mother used to make them. He didn’t remember that much about her anymore, a fact that he didn’t like at all, but he remembered the flatbread cakes. His father had made them once after she had gone and then furiously flung them across the kitchen because they didn’t turn out the way hers did. “That sounds… uh, I haven’t had them in a long time. But I love them.” The air began smelling like bacon and eggs, and the flatbreads and Sam’s mouth began to water. He swallowed. “Glad you’re not mad,” Sam then smiled carefully.“Because I just can’t help myself with that fireborn. You should see him, he’s beyond gorgeous.”
Dean let out a snort, flipping one of the flatbread cakes with dramatic flair before glancing sideways at Sam, a mock-scandalized look on his face. “Oh, should I see him? Damn, Sammy, you flirting with other fireborns right in front of me now? Bold move for someone who just got outta bed after a magical soul-shaking meltdown.” He grinned and reached for the pan of bacon, nudging it gently so the pieces crisped just the way Sam liked. “And yeah, I am making flatbread cakes. You think I’d let you wake up from a life-altering experience and feed you something from a tin? Please. You’ve earned carbs. Real ones.” He glanced over again, this time softer, warmer. “Also… I know you were about to say something when I stretched. I saw that look. Don’t think I didn’t catch it.”
Dean turned the heat down and leaned a little closer, his voice dropping to a low whisper near Sam’s ear. “I’m not mad, by the way. If anything, I’m flattered. You want the view and the breakfast. You’ve got excellent taste.” Then, with a chuckle and a light bump of his shoulder against Sam’s, he added, “Keep looking at me like that, though, and I might burn the bacon. And that would be your fault, Pierre Abélard.”
Sam smiled, still a little tense from the memory. “I want the view, but I need the breakfast. Trust me, you won’t like me if I go hungry for too long. I can get grumpy. I won’t get grumpy when you burn the bacon, though. Unless it’s completely black or ash.” He licked his lips like he already wanted to taste the bacon in the air. “And what I wanted to say when you distracted me with that glimpse of delicious skin… I didn’t smooth-talk you into anything. I was merely speaking the truth. Should I tell you more about that fireborn? He’s just a little shorter than me, with green eyes, sometimes flickering golden. I tell you, that’s what happens when he sees me, you know. Think he has a thing for me. He’s got beautiful freckles that he doesn’t seem to like, so I like them for both of us. He’s the best kisser under the sun, and I tell you, when he touches me? Skin to skin… I’m combusting internally. Like his touch sets me on fire.”

Dean froze mid-stir, the pan hovering halfway above the stove as Sam’s words hit him like a sucker punch wrapped in sugar. His ears went a little hot - damn it, HE went a little hot - and for a second, he couldn’t decide if he wanted to smirk or melt. Maybe both.
He slowly set the pan down and turned toward Sam with a look that was part disbelief, part pride, and entirely wrecked. “Okay, first of all,” he said, voice a little rougher than intended, “there’s no thinking about it. I definitely have a thing for you. Like, full-blown, can’t-function-right-when-you-look-at-me thing.”
Dean leaned in closer, sat down again, elbow on the table, chin in his hand, staring at Sam with that lazy kind of intensity that said he was absolutely, shamelessly affected. “Second - ‘combusting internally’? That’s my line, man. You don’t get to beat me at poetic fire metaphors. It’s rude.”
He nudged Sam’s foot under the table with his own, a little grin curling at his lips. “And those freckles? I don’t hate them. I just didn’t know they were worth worship until you looked at ’em like they were a map to something holy.” Then he pointed toward the kitchen. “Now, sit tight and keep talkin’ like that while I make your damn bacon - but if I burn it, it’s ‘cause someone got me all flustered with sweet words and sexy fireborn praise.” He stood, but not before leaning in and whispering in Sam’s ear, “Also, I like it when you get a little grumpy. You make it hot.”
Sam raised his eyebrows and laughed. “I make it hot?” he asked. “And I apologize for stealing your lines. Maybe that is a crime worth punishing, after breakfast and splitting wood, maybe?”
He drank some more of the sugar-sweet coffee and looked over the rim of the cup. “I like getting you flustered. I think it’s my new favorite game. Now go ahead and burn my bacon - a little bit. I’m waiting patiently. I’m hungry, but waiting. Good things are worth waiting for. Like you.”
Dean snorted, grabbing the plate of bacon after he’d finished it and giving Sam a pointed look. “Stealing my lines and flirting before food? You’re really stacking up the charges, sweetheart. Pretty soon, I’m gonna need a chalkboard just to keep track of your punishments.” He slid the plate of crispy-edged bacon and eggs in front of Sam with a flourish, followed by a generous stack of golden flatbread cakes. “There. Slightly charred bacon, just the way you didn’t ask for but are gonna pretend to love anyway..” Dean sat back down, grinning as he grabbed his own plate and took a bite. He pointed his fork at Sam with mock seriousness. “But if flustering me is your new favorite game, you’d better be ready for payback. Because I play dirty, and I play long.” Then he winked and added with a smirk, “Now eat your damn food before I make dessert come early again - and not the fun kind. The fruit kind.”
“The fruit kind?” Sam asked, eyebrow raised. He took a bite of the bacon and hummed. It was perfect.
Once he had finished half of his bacon and eggs, he put down his fork and picked up a flatbread. Then he hesitated, looking at it from all sides before taking a careful bite.
His breath caught. They tasted just the way he remembered them, and he took his time savoring them.
When he’d finished his plate, he looked up at Dean, smiling. “Tell me again why you said you can’t cook? This was wonderful. Thank you so much. Those flatbreads… they were perfect. But… I think I need more coffee. And sugar. Oh… and fruit?” He looked hopeful.
Dean let out a bark of a laugh, shaking his head as he stood to refill Sam’s mug. “Okay, first of all? Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I said I can’t cook, and I meant it. This?” he gestured vaguely at the table like it had magically assembled itself, “This is the exception. Breakfast is the one thing I can’t screw up. Everything else? Disaster. You want soup? You’re getting scorched water. You want stew? That pot’s gonna fight back.” He poured the coffee and slid the mug in front of Sam with a grin. “Dragons - I mean, DUDES like me - don’t spend a lot of time in kitchens growing up, okay? I’ve burned water before. Water, Sam. I once lit a pan on fire just trying to reheat soup. I didn’t even know that was possible.”
He turned back to the counter to grab a small bowl of berries he’d picked earlier and set it beside Sam with mock ceremony. “So you’re liking my flatbreads? That’s a damn miracle. Might frame your compliment and hang it over the fireplace. Then he sat back down and bumped his knee against Sam’s under the table. “And yeah, I got you fruit. Not just because you asked for it, but because I like the way you look when you’re surprised. Like you don’t know you deserve good things.” Dean smirked, softer this time. “Spoiler: you do.”
Sam looked at Dean, eyes wide. Not because of the fruit. Not because of the knee bump. “Did… did you just call yourself a dragon?” he asked. “Is that what the fireborn do? Because you… you know dragons, and you share the fire part?” Sam licked his lips and then smiled. “It sounds way cool. But… I doubt you burned water, غhràidh. The soup thing I get. But water? You’ll steam it off, but burning it? Maybe the pot it was in. That happened to me once.”
He took a deep breath. “You know why I like your flatbreads? Because they taste exactly like those my mother used to make. I may not remember much about her, but I do remember the flatbreads.” He looked into Dean’s eyes for a moment. “So, are you going to leave the berries all to me? I’m willing to share, you know?”
Dean froze mid-sip, nearly choking on his coffee again - the second time that morning. He cleared his throat with a dramatic cough and gave Sam a side-eye that was all faux innocence and oh crap. “Did I? Call myself a dragon?” he said slowly, buying time while his brain sprinted. “Nah, I meant that metaphorically. You know, fiery personality, bad temper, eat too much bacon - real dragon vibes.” He winked, masking the sudden flare of panic with a cocky grin. “But I do know dragons. John, obviously. And yeah, fireborn are kinda… connected. Some more than others. It’s complicated. Magical bloodlines, ancient stuff, a lot of books I definitely didn’t read.” He reached over and plucked a berry from the bowl, popping it into his mouth before Sam could call his bluff.
“And hey, you questioning my ability to burn water is bold talk for someone who wasn’t there.”
But as Sam mentioned his mother’s flatbreads, Dean’s smirk softened. He turned toward him more fully, resting his elbow on the table and letting his gaze linger. “I’m glad I got it right, then. I didn’t know, but… you looked so peaceful sleeping, I just wanted to make something that’d feel like home.” Then he reached out and plucked another berry, held it up between two fingers, and offered it with a lopsided grin. “You willing to share? Good. Open up, Sammy - I feed you one, you feed me one. That’s the rule now.”

It was as Sam had thought, then. Fireborns were close to dragons and shared fire in some way. Maybe in comparison to others, to normal humans, that made them dragons. “I kinda like the ring of it… you could be my dragon. I mean, fireborn. At least here. Nobody will hear, right?” He smiled disarmingly and put his hand on the bowl filled with berries before letting Dean feed him one. Then he picked one up himself and returned the favor. The berries were really tasty, and after the third one, he had an idea. He picked up a berry, taking it between his teeth, and then leaned forward. “I… charing,” he uttered, offering the berry to Dean in that manner.

Dean blinked once, then twice, because damn, Sam could be lethal when he wanted to be. That disarming smile, that playful gleam in his eye - and the berry between his teeth? Dean had survived hunts, curses, demonic contracts, and emotionally repressed family dinners with extended family, but this? This was the real test of his self-control.
He leaned in slowly, eyes locked on Sam’s, that wicked little grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You charming me or challenging me, Sammy?” he murmured, voice rough with amusement, and just a touch of heat. Then, with absolutely zero hesitation, he closed the last inch of space between them and took the berry with his mouth, brushing deliberately against Sam’s lips as he did, letting it linger for half a breath too long before pulling back just slightly. “Mm,” he said, chewing with a smirk, “yeah… tastes like sugar, fire, and trouble. Must be you.” He picked up a berry of his own and held it up thoughtfully. “So now that I’m officially your dragon - fireborn, I mean - does that make you my fearless knight? Or am I rescuing you from the tower?” Then he leaned in again, closer this time, and added with a grin, “Spoiler alert: either way, I’m still keeping you.”
“Ha,” Sam grunted. “I want to say I’m your fearless knight. But in light of the fact that you brought me here to keep me safe from my father… I must be the one in the tower.” His voice had become more silent with each word he’d said.
“I do want to be the knight at your side, though, and not some damsel in distress.” Taking a deep breath, Sam looked into Dean’s eyes, trying to push aside the shadow of his father’s rule. “Although I kinda like the idea of you carrying me to bed,” he continued, trying to make light of it.
Dean snorted, biting back the grin that tugged at his mouth. “Yeah? Careful, princess - you say stuff like that, and I will throw you over my shoulder like a sack of flour and make dramatic dragon noises the whole way.”
He reached out, brushed his thumb lightly along Sam’s jaw. “But don’t worry. You can be my knight. Just… maybe the kind that occasionally needs rescuing. And gets carried to bed. For very noble reasons.”
Sam chuckled. “Noble reasons?” he asked. “Now I’m curious. What exactly are noble reasons?” He looked at Dean expectantly, twiddling a berry between his fingers before popping it into his mouth. Then he picked up another one and offered it to Dean in the same manner as before, between his teeth.
Dean raised an eyebrow, eyes flicking to the berry, then back to Sam’s face with a smirk that was all heat and mischief. He leaned in, slow, voice low. “Noble reasons? Like making sure you rest, keeping your energy up… punishing you gently for teasing me with fruit.”
Then he bit down on the berry, lips brushing Sam’s again - deliberate, slow, just a little dirty. “All very honorable. Very selfless of me.”
Sam licked his lips and nodded. “That is true. They’re very noble reasons.” He popped a few more berries into his mouth and then made sure his cup was empty. “So, my fireborn love, tell me, do those noble reasons work after eating berries? Or are there other things necessary before they apply? Like… watching you split wood, cleaning up this place, or doing other fun things around the house?” He knew that despite their banter and teasing, now there might be things that needed to be done before they could have real fun again. He didn’t want to interfere with that. “If there are, I volunteer to help. If there aren’t, maybe you can show me how you would carry me. I wasn’t awake for it the last time.”
“Not sure if I can look pretty, but you can sign me up for the rest of it,” Sam agreed. He leaned forward and kissed Dean quickly before pulling the bowl of berries towards him, eating a few. Then he looked up and watched Dean. “Can’t wait for the demo, my fireborn dragon friend,” he said sweetly as he got to work on the berries.
Dean shook his head, grinning as he stood and started clearing the plates. “You keep calling me that, and I’m gonna start charging for pretend flights and roars.” He rinsed a pan, tossed a towel over his shoulder, and eyed Sam out of the corner of his eye. “Demo, huh?”
Ten minutes later, the kitchen cleaned to an acceptable Dean standard (meaning nothing was actively smoking), he marched over to Sam, wrapped an arm around his waist, and hoisted him up with zero warning, one arm under Sam’s legs, the other over his back. “Time for the tower rescue,” Dean said smugly, already heading for the bedroom. “Try to look faint and helpless, just for the aesthetic.”
Sam yelled briefly, glad he didn’t drop the last berry, and then laughed when Dean requested to look helpless and faint. “If you wish,” he replied and let himself go limp, knowing Dean would be able to take his unstable weight.
He had no idea if Dean would really drop him on the bed or be a little more gentle, but he knew he’d be unharmed. At least from the transfer to bed. As for what came thereafter, he had no idea, yet.
Dean kicked the door open with his foot - because, of course, he did - and strode in like he’d just rescued a prince from a dragon, which, technically, wasn’t too far off. “Delivery for one dramatic berry thief,” he announced, and without breaking stride, dropped Sam onto the bed with just enough bounce to make a point but not enough to jostle the cast. He hovered for a second, grinning down at him. “You really do pull off the whole ‘rescued noble’ thing. All we’re missing is a tiara and a fainting couch.” Then he leaned in, voice dropping just a little. “Not even a whole week, Sammy. And I already know I’m in deep.”
Sam just looked at Dean with big eyes.
“I’m sorry?” he offered and then grinned softly. “As I said, for the first time, I feel like I can be myself. And I’m getting to know myself now. I think I can be quite silly and a little dramatic. But if that draws you in to keep me forever, then I’m as happy as can be.”
Dean raised an eyebrow, trying to play it cool, but the corner of his mouth twitched, betraying the stupid grin threatening to break through. “Silly? Dramatic? Sammy, I live for that crap.”
He shifted Sam in his arms just a little, like adjusting his favorite thing to hold. “You keep looking at me like that and talking about ‘forever’. I might just forget I’m supposed to be the dangerous one here.” He smirked, soft and crooked. “Too late, though. You’re already mine.”
Sam broke into a big smile. “I’m beginning to understand that. Even though it seems incomprehensible. I want to be yours. I never thought I would want to belong to any man, but when I saw you, and I wasn’t befuddled by pain, I knew we belonged together. You said something about me choosing you to protect me. And I think that’s what I must have done. So, to make this a bit more dramatic, I will pretend to faint now so you can give me the kiss of life.” He flashed Dean another grin and then closed his eyes and let his head loll to the side, lips slightly parted.
Dean huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You’re such a damn romantic,” he muttered, but there was no heat behind it - just fondness, warm and aching.
Still, he leaned in, brushing his lips over Sam’s with mock seriousness, the ghost of a grin tugging at his mouth. “Good thing I’m well-versed in ancient healing rites… like mouth-to-mouth and entirely inappropriate affection.” Then he added, barely above a whisper, “You’re already on the bed, Sammy. No dramatic fainting required anymore.”
Sam just breathed and shivered slightly when Dean’s lips brushed his. “It has to seem real,” he whispered in reply. But maybe Dean needed a little more coercing, so after a second, Sam let his tongue snake out and let the tip run along Dean’s lips. “Come on, my big, beautiful dragon. You have to kiss the prince to get the prince.” As much as Dean had tried calling him a princess, Sam himself didn’t want to do that. Because he wasn’t a girl. Not in the slightest. So Dean would have to deal with the prince he saved.

Dean let out a soft, breathy laugh, his eyes glinting with that warm, golden mischief. “Oh, so you’re a prince, huh? Guess that makes me the lucky bastard who gets to kiss royalty.” He adjusted his hold slightly, cradling Sam closer - not that he needed to, but because he wanted to, because holding Sam felt like something his arms were built for. “Fine,” he murmured, lips brushing Sam’s again, slower this time, letting the moment stretch. “But I’m warning you - once I kiss this prince, I’m not stoppin’ at the crown. And with that, Dean kissed him - deep, sure, and sweet, like he was claiming his reward and giving one all at once. When he finally pulled back, he grinned. “Prize well earned. Might have to kiss you again just to double-check the magic worked.”
Sam laughed despite himself, giving up his prince-in-distress act the second Dean began kissing him for real, leaving him breathless. But Sam hadn’t expected anything else. “You used magic to kiss me?” he asked, not entirely serious. “I guess then you have to check if it worked. Because I might just turn into an ugly duckling if you used the wrong kind of magic.” He licked his lips and let his good hand slide halfway under Dean’s shirt, tugging on it.
“Maybe the kissing will be even more magical if you take off this sweat-soaked plaid.” He buried his nose in it and then inhaled. “Hmmm, but it smells like you and freshly cut wood. Come to think of it, maybe leave it on?” He grinned and let his head fall back into the cushion, baring his throat in the process. “So… what is your favorite part of your prize?” he finally asked, a little breathless.
Dean let out a soft, wicked chuckle, hovering above Sam with that familiar spark in his eyes - the kind that said ‘you have no idea what you just invited’.
He dipped his head down, brushing his lips along Sam’s exposed throat, teasing, almost reverent. “You? An ugly duckling? Please. If this is the wrong kind of magic, then I don’t wanna be right.”
He shifted just enough to press his body closer, warm and solid, letting Sam’s hand tug his shirt halfway up. “And as for the shirt…,” he looked down at the flannel like it had personally betrayed him, “you’ve got a real problem on your hands, because I AM the shirt. You take it off, and you might summon the full dragon. And let’s be honest, I don’t think this bed’s fireproof.” Dean grinned, kissed the underside of Sam’s jaw, then nipped it lightly. “My favorite part of my prize?” He pulled back just enough to meet Sam’s eyes and added, voice soft but certain, “Right now? That look on your face when you forget to pretend to be afraid.”
Sam’s jaw had been slack when he listened to Dean in wonder. “Fireproof?” he repeated, fingers running across Dean’s skin feather light. “I thought I wasn’t to talk about combustion. But I would love to see it… watch you when you combust with love. You know what I mean?” He shifted a little, liking the way it felt when Dean was half on top of him, pinning him like he had to. Which, of course, he didn’t.
“So… the bed would go up in flames when we have sex because we’re both too hot then? Is that what you mean? Because then I would probably suggest taking the mattress outside for that.”
He laughed softly for a moment before getting serious once more. “So I forgot to pretend to be afraid. But… maybe the prince isn’t afraid. Maybe the prince just… needs to be consumed.”
Dean let out a low breath, part laugh, part ‘damn’, and dropped his head to rest against Sam’s shoulder for a second. “You gotta stop saying stuff like that if you want this bed to survive the morning,” he muttered, voice thick with heat and something softer beneath.
He lifted his head again, eyes twinkling with that signature Dean mix of mischief and heart. “Fireproof, yeah. But not idiot-proof. So if we take the mattress outside, I’m not liable for any spontaneous combustion. Especially if you keep talking about being consumed like it’s a damn love poem.” He brushed his nose along Sam’s cheek, his grin fading into something quieter. “But yeah, maybe the prince isn’t afraid. Maybe the prince just finally found the one fire worth burning for.”

“What if I like saying stuff that gets the fireborn hot?” Sam asked with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “And I don’t think I’m really poetic, but I guess that’s what you coax out of me. Remember, I’m getting to know my true self with you, because you really let me be… me.” He turned his head to steal a quick kiss when Dean brushed his nose along Sam’s cheek.
“And you’re right, the prince isn’t afraid. The prince knows he’s burning for that fireborn, because the fireborn is worth everything!” He settled his eyes on Dean’s just looking at him with quiet admiration. “I wish I had met you years ago,” he finally whispered with choked down emotion.
Dean’s breath caught - not in a big, dramatic way, just that small hitch in his chest like someone had tugged too hard on a thread he didn’t know was still frayed. He held Sam a little closer, like the words needed somewhere to land, and that place was him.
“Yeah,” he said quietly, eyes never leaving Sam’s. “Me too.” He didn’t get sappy. Couldn’t. But damn if those three words didn’t carry a whole storm behind them - everything he’d missed, everything he’d lost, everything he didn’t even know he’d been waiting for until Sam walked into his world and lit it up from the inside.
“You’re not poetic, huh?” Dean added with a small smile, brushing his nose against Sam’s again. “Could’ve fooled me. You say stuff like that and my fireborn brain short-circuits.” He bumped his forehead gently to Sam’s and said, softer now, “I love seeing you be you. Don’t stop. Not for me, not for anyone.” Then, with a breath that carried both a promise and a challenge: “We may have missed years, but we’ve got right now. And I’m not wastin’ a second of it.”

“Yeah,” Sam replied, bringing his hand up to Dean’s head, running his fingers through his hair. “Dean, I… last night, I mean, two nights ago, when we had the best time ever, you did something that I never thought I would like.”
When Dean looked at him questioningly, Sam licked his lips.“When you touched that scar,” he nodded towards his ribs, “it felt good. I… I liked it. It was like something inside it, or inside me, was healing. And I don’t think I thanked you for that already. I always avoided having the girls touch it or even see it. I didn’t want to answer any questions about it.
But you just treated that scar like it was normal. Like it belongs there and makes me… me.”
Dean went still for a second, not from surprise, but from the weight of what Sam had just given him - trust, laid bare and quiet. He looked at Sam, really looked at him, not with pity, not with softness, but with respect.
“‘Cause it DOES belong there,” Dean said, his voice low but steady. “That scar’s not weakness, Sammy. It’s proof you survived something no one should’ve had to. It’s part of your story - and anyone who doesn’t wanna read the whole damn book doesn’t deserve a single page of it.”
He shifted Sam a little in his arms, just enough to get more comfortable, but didn’t break eye contact. “You didn’t need to thank me. Just letting me touch that part of you - that was more than enough. But I’m glad it felt like healing. ’Cause that’s what I wanna do. I don’t care how long it takes, how many scars - I’m here for all of it.”
Then, after a beat, he added with a little smirk, “Also, you ARE you. Scar and all. And damn, I like who that is.”
Sam returned the little smirk and then nodded briefly. “I have to admit, there was a split second when I wanted to stop you. I was scared it would feel weird. But it was you; it didn’t feel weird. And I’m glad I didn’t stop you.” He pulled Dean a bit closer and kissed him on the nose.
“You told me that John will only come here when you call him and that there’s a village a couple of valleys over where we can stock up on food. Do we have something for transport here? Because it sounds like quite a hike.” Sam’s fingers began massaging Dean’s scalp where they were resting. “And I have one more question about John. When you asked him to help us out… help getting me here to be safe, didn’t he ask why? Why I need to be here to be safe?”

Dean let out a slow breath through his nose, eyes falling half-lidded as Sam’s fingers worked through his hair - calming him, anchoring him. He leaned into the touch without thinking, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Because it was. With Sam, everything was.
“He didn’t ask,” Dean said after a beat, voice soft but steady. “John doesn’t ask questions like that - not when it comes from me. He trusts me. Enough to know that if I say someone needs protection, they do.”
Dean glanced at Sam then, searching his face with quiet intensity. “I told him you needed a place away from your father. That you needed time to heal, to breathe. That was enough for him.”
He hesitated, then added, “Fireborn… we’ve got a connection to dragons. Not just by magic, but by blood, by something older. John and I - we’ve worked together before. When fireborn call, dragons listen. When we speak with truth, they feel it. And he felt it.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of Dean’s mouth. “He won’t come unless I call. And if we ever need anything - food, medicine, backup - he’ll help. Not because of you, not even because of him. Because of me. And because I said you matter.” He looked down for a second, then back up with something quieter in his gaze. “And I meant it. You do.”

Sam felt himself relax when Dean told him John hadn’t asked any questions. Somehow, even though he knew it wasn’t so, he felt guilty for disappearing like that on his father. That man may never have acted like a father toward him, but the word held meaning with the humans, and Sam hated the fact that he felt compelled to follow the way things usually were.
“You matter to me just as much,” he finally replied. Then he looked deep into Dean’s eyes, seeing the golden flecks, Dean’s fire in them. He leaned up to kiss him tenderly at first, then a bit more demanding.
“How are we going to continue the story of the prince and the fireborn? Are they going to do more things that could cause spontaneous combustion?” he then asked in a rough voice, eyes big and curious.

Dean let the kiss linger, breathing it in like it was something he needed to survive. When Sam pulled back and hit him with that look - hopeful, raw, still carrying the weight of old guilt but reaching for something better - Dean felt it right in his chest.
He brushed his thumb along Sam’s cheekbone, eyes steady, voice low. “Yeah,” he said. “They are.”
Then he gave a lopsided grin, warm and just a little smug. “Only difference is, this time the fireborn’s not scared of burning the prince. And the prince? He’s not sittin’ in a tower anymore. He’s standing right next to the fire… on purpose.” Dean leaned in, kissed him again - slow, like punctuation - and then added with a husky little smirk, “And yeah, combustion’s definitely still on the table. But this time? They both get to light the match.”
Sam’s eyes flashed with expectation. “Both? That sounds promising,” he purred and began to work on the buttons of Dean’s flannel. Just with the one hand, but he didn’t care. After a short while, one button popped open, and Sam gave Dean a celebratory kiss. “I think the prince needs to feel the fireborn’s skin. Just to make sure that no clothes will suffer during the combustion, of course.”
He started working on the next button and then gave an impatient growl. “Little help, please, my fireborn savior?” he growled, stretching his neck to nibble along Dean’s jaw.
Dean’s breath hitched the second Sam’s lips found his jaw, heat coiling low and fast. He tilted his head just slightly, letting Sam have the space he wanted, while his hands reached up to cover Sam’s - warm, strong - and made quick work of the remaining buttons. “Clothes might survive,” he muttered, lips brushing against Sam’s temple, “but I make no promises about self-control.”
The shirt fell open, and Dean guided Sam’s hand to his bare chest, just over his heart. “Feel that?” he said softly, voice a little rough now. “That’s not magic. That’s you.” He leaned in then, kissing Sam slowly - no rush, no firestorm yet. Just the kind of kiss that claimed and kept, like Dean was trying to memorize the way Sam tasted when he was smiling.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against Sam’s, their breath mingling in the space between them. “You don’t have to do a damn thing to prove you’re strong, Sammy. You already are.” Then, with a teasing smirk, “But you start purring like that again, and I WILL lose my shirt entirely.”
Sam watched with big eyes as Dean unbuttoned his shirt, and he shivered when his hand was placed just above Dean’s heart. He could feel it beating strongly, or did he just sense it? It didn’t matter. Sam knew his heart was beating just the same, and he shivered.
And then Dean warned him about the purring, causing his breath to hitch. Was he daring him to do it again? Or tempting him? Asking him? It didn’t matter. Sam wanted to know. “Is the shirt the only thing you will lose when I do this?” he asked, barely more than a whisper, and purred again while his teeth found Dean’s jaw again to nibble gently.
Dean’s breath caught sharp in his throat, his whole body going still for half a second like Sam had hit some ancient switch inside him - and maybe he had. The purring, the teeth, the question. It wasn’t just flirtation - it was knowing exactly where to touch without asking for a map. Dean felt the hum rise up in his chest again, unbidden and low, like thunder on the horizon.
He let out a breathy chuckle, rough and fond. “You keep that up, and I’ll lose a hell of a lot more than the shirt,” he muttered, voice warm but edged with need. “Might lose my damn mind, too.”
He tugged the last button open and shrugged the shirt off without breaking eye contact, letting it fall somewhere behind him. Then his hands moved to Sam’s waist, steady and deliberate as he started to work his way under the fabric. No rush. No pressure. Just that slow burn of ‘I want this. I want you’.
He leaned in, hand sliding to the back of Sam’s neck as he kissed him - not hard, not rushed, but REAL. Like everything, they’d held back was finally allowed to unfold. His lips moved slowly but surely, and when he pulled back, just an inch, he rested his forehead against Sam’s and whispered, “This? Us? It’s not just some spell or bond thing. I’d want this even without the fire.” Then he kissed him again, deeper this time, because words were good - but THIS was better.

“I know,” Sam replied, voice heavy with emotion. “I know you thought in the beginning that maybe I was developing feelings for you because of the bond. But I knew it was me. It was you. The bond, connection? The magic? It just enhanced it. Dean, I never wanted anyone in my life as much as I want you, and that’s not just attraction and hormones speaking. I feel you, somewhere deep inside me, and I want to feel you even more intensely.” He kissed Dean, slowly but with a burning urge that was ready to ignite the fire again and again. “I know you said we won’t go all the way until I’m fully healed, but I want to feel you in some way, and I want you to feel me as well. I want us to burn with the same fire.” Sam wasn’t sure he could express what he wanted to say, but he was certain Dean understood him either way.
Dean didn’t answer right away. He just held Sam’s gaze, something flickering in his eyes - something fierce and tender all at once, like he was holding back a tide of feeling that didn’t know how to come out without swallowing everything. And maybe he was. Because hearing Sam say all that, mean all that… it hit Dean right in the chest, like a fist made of heat and truth.
He leaned in and kissed Sam again - slower this time, more deliberate. Less urgency, more meaning. His hand came up to cradle Sam’s jaw, thumb brushing the edge of his cheekbone like he could memorize the shape of him just from touch. When he finally pulled back, his voice was low, steady.
“I feel you, too,” Dean said. “Not because of the bond. Not because of magic. Because it’s you. And yeah, we’ll wait to go all the way. But that doesn’t mean I won’t show you just how much I WANT you. How much I already HAVE you.”
His hands moved then, not rushed, not hungry - just intentional. Fingertips brushing along Sam’s ribs, his waist, his hip, slow and reverent like Dean was mapping him by memory, not curiosity. He kissed a trail along Sam’s throat, then rested his forehead there for a moment, breathing him in.
“We’ll burn together,” he murmured. “And I’ll make sure you feel every second of it.”
“Burning together sounds like a promise,” Sam rumbled back, enjoying the touch between their heads. It felt almost like they were one. His skin, where Dean had touched it, was on fire.
“I can already feel the heat,” he whispered, brushing his lips over Dean’s. “Can you feel it as well? Like liquid fire rolling over my skin.” He kissed Dean gently, slowly, and thoroughly like they had all the time in the world. “You taste delicious,” Sam said after a while, and pushed his fingers under the waistband of Dean’s pants. “Can we get all the way naked? This fabric… it’s in my way, you know?”

Dean let out a low, quiet laugh, his lips brushing against Sam’s again like he couldn’t quite stay away. “Yeah, I feel it,” he murmured, voice husky and warm. “Like you’re burning from the inside out, and I’m just close enough to catch it.”
His hand slid along Sam’s side, steady and slow, grounding them both in the moment. “And yeah, I can help with the whole ‘fabric problem’. Can’t have anything getting between you and that fire.”
Dean looked into his eyes, something unspoken flickering there, tender, steady, real. “But we’re doing this slow. Not because I don’t want to rip everything off you like I’m losing my damn mind - which, for the record, I am - but because I want to feel all of it. Every damn second.”
Dean’s eyes darkened just a shade, that flicker of gold lighting beneath the green, and without another word, he reached down and tugged Sam’s shirt over his head with careful ease, slow, like unwrapping something precious, not fragile. His hands were steady, reverent, as he traced the edge of the cast, then leaned in to press a soft kiss just above it.
Then, moving with that quiet confidence only Dean had, he stripped off his pants in one smooth motion, tossing them aside without a care. His fingers found the waistband of Sam’s pants next, and he paused just long enough to meet his gaze, a question in his eyes - but not one that needed asking. The bond was humming between them, and Sam was already arching toward him.
Dean smiled softly. “Yeah,” he murmured, voice rough. “Let’s get everything out of the way.” And just like that, piece by piece, he undressed them both - no rush, no fumbling, just slow, intimate motion, like it was second nature. Like this was exactly where they were supposed to be. Skin to skin. Nothing between them now but heat, breath, and the promise they’d already made without saying a word.
Sam nodded when Dean said they were doing it slowly. As much as he wanted to feel all of Dean and all at once, he knew that the sweet torture of slow would be all the more rewarding in the end. As Dean undressed them both, with every piece of fabric gone, Sam felt his anticipation rise. He couldn’t wait to feel Dean’s bare body alongside his, but while Dean took his time undressing, Sam’s eyes were glued to every piece of skin he revealed.
Dean was beautiful. Beyond beautiful. At least in Sam’s eyes. His shoulders were broad and steady, tapering down to a waist that was lean, showing off toned muscles. Dean’s skin carried a soft sheen, catching the light from outside to make it look like polished amber.
Each movement, no matter how slight, spoke of restrained grace, and Sam’s eyes were glued to the twitch of his abdomen as he shifted to remove his pants. “Stunning,” Sam muttered, digging his teeth in his lips like he wanted to draw blood to distract himself from his own body’s reaction. When Dean reached for his pants next, Sam lifted his hips to help, and when he finally felt him right up against him without any offending fabric between them, Sam hummed happily, ending in a brief purr.
Dean froze for half a second at that sound - that sound - and then let out a low, breathless laugh against Sam’s cheek. “Did you just purr at me, Sammy?” he murmured, voice rough with affection and heat. “’Cause if that’s what I get for takin’ my time, I might slow down even more.” He pressed in closer, letting their bare skin touch from chest to thigh, skin against skin, heat against heat. His breath hitched as he felt Sam’s body arch instinctively toward his, chasing the contact like it was air. Dean dipped his head to kiss along Sam’s jaw, taking his time with each one, lips soft but hungry.
“You feel so damn good,” he whispered against Sam’s skin, trailing his mouth down his neck. “We’re doin’ this right. No rush. Just you and me, feelin’ everything.” He shifted just enough to settle between Sam’s legs, every move slow, sure, and measured. He wanted Sam trembling for him - not from speed, but from the overwhelming care. From being seen. “You’re everything, غhràidh,” he breathed. “And I’m gonna make sure you feel it.”
Sam chuckled at Dean’s question about the purr. “I swear to you I never made a sound like that before. You made me do it, and now I can’t seem to stop doing it. I can’t help it. It’s like my throat has a mind of its own. But, since you like it, I’m not going to try and control it.” He smiled and then held his breath when Dean pressed even closer against him. “You say I feel good?” he then whispered against Dean’s skin, shivering slightly. “Guess we’re both feeling good, then. And I’m all for doing it right.”
He licked his lips. “I want us to feel like one, to be one, in many, many ways.” Sam’s good hand was rubbing gentle circles along Dean’s back and side, and came to rest on his ass. Squeezing gently, Sam couldn’t suppress a soft moan. He just couldn’t get enough of touching Dean.
Dean sucked in a breath, low and sharp, because damn, Sam had no idea what he was doing to him - or maybe he did, and that made it worse. Or better. Definitely better. The way Sam touched him, held him, spoke to him like Dean was something sacred and sinful all at once - it set every nerve in his body on fire in the best possible way.
“Yeah,” Dean rasped, pressing closer, his voice hot against Sam’s neck. “You are driving me crazy, you know that? That purr, that hand, that mouth - all of it. Feels like I’m about to combust.”
He kissed the corner of Sam’s jaw, then his ear, then whispered, “And I’m all for being one, too. But fair warning, Sammy - once we are, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to let you go.”
Then, with a grin against Sam’s skin, “And if that hand squeezes my ass like that again, you’re not getting any sleep tonight. Not one damn minute.”
“Is that a threat?” Sam replied with a purr, raising an eyebrow. “Or a promise?” He smiled shyly and then chased after Dean’s lips with his own. “I think I won’t get to rest at all until we are one. Maybe then my heart will not try to pound out of my chest every time I lay eyes on you. When you were busy splitting wood? Damn, Dean… the sight alone made me forget I was hungry.” He kissed Dean, a little more heat this time, and squeezed Dean’s ass once more before rubbing over the soft skin covering toned muscle in circles. “I need you, Dean. My whole body feels like a volcano just waiting to go off. Maybe you can already see the smoke coming from my ears and nostrils?”
Dean’s grin turned feral as he hovered over Sam, his breath hot against flushed skin. “Smoke coming out of your ears?” he murmured, voice low and dangerous, all heat and control. “Baby, you’re practically glowing.”
He ground his hips down, slow and heavy, his cock sliding against Sam’s with deliberate pressure, enough to tease, enough to claim. His hand slid up Sam’s thigh, firm, anchoring, possessive. “And you think you’re the one about to blow? I’ve been holding back since the second you said ‘my dragon’.”
Dean leaned in, lips brushing over Sam’s ear, voice dropping into a growl. “You said you needed me? Then you’re mine now. No holding back. No soft edges.”
He pinned Sam’s wrists gently to the bed, locking eyes with him, molten gold flashing in the green. “I’m gonna keep you burning, غhràidh. And I’m not stopping until the only thing you remember is me.”
“Keep me burning?” Sam asked mischievously. “Just… how long? How hot?” His eyes darted back and forth between Dean’s as he tried to figure out if the golden glow was the same in both. He pressed his body up against Dean’s, gasping when it made their cocks touch with more pressure. “So… the fireborn likes it when he’s called ‘my dragon’? Won’t the dragons laugh? Or be mad?”
Dean sucked in a breath through his teeth, eyes narrowing just a little - not in warning, but because damn, Sam knew exactly how to poke at the edges of his restraint. And clearly, he liked doing it.
"You really wanna play with fire right now?" Dean asked, voice low and rough, golden sparks flickering brighter in both eyes now - confirmed. "'Cause the answer to 'how long' is 'until you can't remember your own damn name', and 'how hot' is 'yes’." He tightened his grip, shifting Sam just enough to grind their hips together, deliberately and slowly. "And no, the dragons won't laugh," he added with a smirk. "Not when I'm the only one you're callin' 'my dragon'. Far as I'm concerned, it's a title you earned. And one I'm gonna make sure you never forget how to say."

Sam’s breath hitched at Dean’s intensity. He licked his lips. “So… you’re like an honorary dragon, could I become one? I mean, you said your fire is inside me now. Or would it be better if I remain the prince?”
Without warning, Sam spread his legs a little wider, letting Dean slide all the way between them. He grunted because it just sent an intense tingling through all his body, and without conscious thought, he brought his heels behind Dean’s back, wrapping his legs around him and hooked his feet to make sure Dean couldn’t just pull away. “Looks like the prince caught the dragon,” he purred and stole a kiss quite cheekily. Then he looked straight into Dean’s eyes. “I like you being right where you are,” he whispered.
Dean’s breath hitched, sharp and low, like Sam had just yanked the reins on something barely leashed. His hands landed on either side of Sam’s hips, bracing himself, not because Sam’s grip was too tight - but because Dean wasn’t sure he could pull away even if he tried.
“You think you caught me?” he said with a slow, wicked grin, though his voice had gone hoarse with heat. “Sweetheart, I walked straight into the trap and set it on fire just to get closer to you.” He leaned in, their noses brushing, his lips just shy of Sam’s. “And I like you as the prince, actually. One dragon’s more than enough in a relationship - trust me on that.” Dean kissed him then, slow but deep, like a promise made in heat and breath and bond. Then he murmured against Sam’s lips, “Good news is… I like where I am too. So you’re stuck with me.”
“That’s a relief,” Sam chuckled and kissed Dean again. He tightened the grip of his legs around Dean’s waist, but not because he had to keep him there. He just wanted to feel Dean’s muscles move under his legs and atop his body, and began a gentle rocking motion.
“You have no idea how badly I want this cast gone,” he whispered. “You can feel how hot this makes me, no? Never thought being this close to another male would be so arousing, but… you’re not just a male. You’re my fireborn, my dragon. My soulmate. It doesn’t matter that you’re male. You could be a girl, and I would react just the same. Because it’s you I react to. Not your body.” Sam stole another kiss. “Okay, maybe a little it’s your body as well,” he then grinned.
Dean let out a low laugh, the kind that rumbled from deep in his chest and vibrated right against Sam’s thighs. “Yeah,” he said, smirking as he adjusted his grip and gave Sam just enough of a playful bounce to make him gasp. “Pretty sure somebody’s body is reacting just fine.”
He leaned in, pressing a kiss to Sam’s jaw, slow and lingering, then murmured against his skin, “And for the record? I don’t care what you THOUGHT you wanted before. All I care about is that now you KNOW. Know what you want, who you want - me. That’s the only thing that matters.”
Then, with a grin, he added, “And the cast’ll be off soon. But fair warning, once it is? I’m not holding back. You’ve had me walking around like a loaded weapon for days now, Sammy. You’re gonna pay for that - in the best way.”

Sam pulled his face in a mock scowl. “Not like I broke my arm on purpose. But since it brought us together, ah, well… maybe it needed to happen.”
He let his good hand caress the skin on Dean’s back all the way down to where his ankles were hooked around his waist, resting on his buttocks. “Love the way your skin feels,” he whispered softly. “Under my fingers, against my body. I can feel your muscles and the way your heart beats with mine.” He rocked his hips again. “And I can feel I’m already slicking up the skin between us,” he added, blushing a little. “You just feel too good, غhràidh.”
Dean let out a low, strangled groan and dropped his head against the pillow beside Sam’s with a muttered, “Gods, Sammy, you trying to kill me?” His hand slid down Sam’s side, gripping his hip as their bodies pressed even closer, no space left between skin or breath. “You say stuff like that, talkin’ about how I feel under your hands, and you expect me to function?” he said, voice rough, just this side of wrecked. “We’re already naked, already so close - do you know what that does to a guy with zero self-control and a thing for sweet-talking knights?”
He rocked his hips gently, just enough to feel the heat and slickness between them, and his breath hitched. “Yeah… I feel it, too,” he murmured, softer now. “The bond, the fire… you. Every inch of you against me.” Dean kissed Sam’s jaw, then his cheek, then brushed his lips just barely over Sam’s mouth. “You keep this up, غhràidh, and I swear, I’m gonna worship every damn part of you until you forget what it was like not to be touched like this.”
“Hmmm… you keep that up, calling me Sammy in that rumbling voice, and kissing my jaw, and I’ll give you a show of spontaneous combustion,” Sam rasped.
His heart was beating faster as he moved his hand from Dean’s back, squeezing it between them to take hold of both their erections. He groaned. “Oh, that feels good,” he croaked, tightening his grip before moving his hips gently, legs still locked tightly around Dean’s waist. “Almost feels like we’re both on fire, my dragon.”
Dean groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating right against Sam’s lips as his hips bucked into that maddening grip. “Sammy,” he rasped, voice rough and barely hanging onto control, “you keep talking like that, and I’m gonna forget all about taking it slow.”
Their bodies were already pressed together on the bed, sweat-slick and flushed, the sheets twisted beneath them. Dean kissed him again - messy, hungry, all tongue and heat - and when he pulled back, his eyes were glowing gold, no longer bothering to hide it in the low light.
“You feel that?” he murmured against Sam’s jaw, thrusting slowly into his hand. “That’s both of us on fire, baby. And if you keep that hand where it is, I’m gonna make good on every threat I ever made about burning this bed down.” He grinned, teeth scraping gently at Sam’s neck. “You’re mine, Sammy. My fire, my match, my favorite goddamn problem.”
Sam shuddered, but not with fear or cold. It was pleasure and anticipation that caused this reaction. “Maybe I want to keep the hand where it is,” he replied, tilting his neck so Dean had better access.
“Maybe I want us to catch fire and consume our love, let every worry go up in smoke. If there is a way to do that and save the bed, I’m all for it.” He purred briefly and then lifted his head, catching Dean’s lips and drawing him into a scorching kiss. “You’re melting my brain, you know. And my insides.”
Dean groaned into the kiss, deep and rough, like Sam had just yanked the last thread of his control clean out of him. His grip tightened slightly - possessive, protective, like he never wanted to let go. “Yeah?” he muttered against Sam’s lips, voice low and wrecked. “Good. ‘Cause you’ve been setting me on fire since the second you looked at me like I was something worth holding onto.”
He leaned in, nipping at Sam’s bottom lip before pulling back just enough to smirk. “Bed might not survive this round, but I’ll patch it up later. Priorities, Sammy. And right now… mine’s you.”
“Hmmm, I like the sound of that,” Sam smiled and finally released the hook of his ankles, legs dropping down next to them. “I’m all yours,” he added, waiting for a heartbeat before slowly moving his hand between them, jerking them both. “Love the way this feels, the skin… so velvety even beneath the… mess I’m making. We’re making.” He closed his eyes for a moment, groaning as he concentrated on the feeling. “Show me how you will make me your priority, my dragon,” he then rasped.
Dean let out a low, broken sound that was half growl, half breathless moan, his head dropping forward to rest against Sam's shoulder for a second. Goddamn, this man knew exactly how to light him up from the inside out. That voice, that hand, that look in his eyes when he said 'my dragon' - Dean didn't stand a chance.
"You're playin' with fire," he muttered against Sam's skin, voice rough, heated, reverent. "But you already knew that." He pulled back just enough to meet Sam's eyes, gaze blazing with want and something deeper - claim, promise, bond. "You wanna see how I make you my priority?" he rasped, grabbing Sam's wrist to still his hand, just for now. "Then lie back, hold on, and don't even THINK about looking away - because I'm about to ruin you in the best goddamn way."
Sam smiled broadly. “That sounds like a promise,” he replied. He did what Dean asked and lay back, melting into the mattress.
“I’m all yours.” Sam’s eyes were glowing expectantly and filled with love for the man covering him. He knew what to expect; he’d experienced it already, but he knew he would never get enough of the love Dean was willing to give him. Sam literally soaked it up with everything he had.
Dean was already draped over Sam, one hand splayed across his chest like he was claiming territory without ever needing to say it out loud. But when Sam said I’m all yours and looked at him like that - eyes glowing with love and a touch of mischief - Dean forgot how to breathe for a second.
“Careful,” he muttered, voice low and warm as his thumb traced lazy circles over Sam’s ribs. “You keep saying stuff like that, and I’m gonna have to prove just how much I believe you.” He leaned in, brushing his lips along Sam’s jaw, then whispered against his skin, “But for the record? I’m all yours, too, Sammy. From the moment I found you in the woods. Just took me a second to catch up.”
Then, with a grin: “Now lie back, hold on, and let your dragon ruin your morning in the best damn way.”
Sam nodded and watched as Dean’s glowing gaze roamed his body, leaving an invisible trail of fire on his skin. He caught his breath and licked his lips. Hearing Dean call him Sammy again made his cock throb, and Sam was sure Dean had felt that. “Kiss me, my dragon,” he breathed. “Touch me. Before I go up in flames from sheer expectation.” His hips trembled briefly with the effort to hold still to let Dean do what he wanted to do.

Dean didn’t need to be told twice. He surged forward, lips crashing against Sam’s in a kiss that was hot, open-mouthed, and full of everything he’d been holding back. His hands roamed immediately, one sliding over Sam’s bare ribs, the other gripping his thigh, strong and sure, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them.
“Careful what you ask for, Sammy,” he murmured against his lips, voice rough and low. “I AM fireborn, remember?” He kissed him again, deeper this time, then broke away just enough to trail his mouth along Sam’s jaw and down his neck, biting lightly - just enough to make Sam shiver. His palm cupped over Sam’s cock, pressing slowly and firmly, teasing the throb he already knew was there. “You’re already burning,” Dean whispered, licking into the hollow of his throat. “And I haven’t even started.”
“It’s because you put a spell on me, غhràidh. I can’t help feeling what I feel, reacting the way I do,” Sam groaned. “Fuck,” he added eloquently when Dean bit his neck and cupped his cock. “You know exactly how to drive me mad with desire,” he panted and thrust his hips against Dean’s hand, making sure he felt how hard he was already. Leaving no doubt about it. “Burning for you, that’s what I do.”
Dean growled low in his throat, the sound rolling straight from his chest like a promise wrapped in heat. His hand tightened just enough around Sam’s cock to make him gasp, thumb sliding up the shaft in a slow, slick stroke that left no room for doubt - he knew exactly what he was doing.
“Good,” Dean rasped against his skin, biting again just below Sam’s jaw, this time harder, marking him. “’Cause I want you burning. I NEED you burning.” His free hand roamed up Sam’s chest, fingers brushing over a nipple before teasing it between his fingertips, slow and deliberate. “You’re not under a spell, Sammy,” he murmured with a wicked grin. “You’re just MINE.”

Sam’s back arched when Dean brushed past his nipple, and he hissed. A moment later, he rolled his hips into Dean’s hand again, moaning loudly. It felt so good. Dean’s touch was figuratively setting him on fire with lust. With desire. With passion. “Love being yours,” he croaked. “Dean, I… can it be I’m even more sensitive, responsive to your touch than yesterday? I’m spiraling like someone’s fanning the fire.”
Dean grinned against Sam’s skin, teeth grazing the edge of his jaw as his hand moved in slow, possessive strokes along Sam’s cock, savoring every twitch, every gasp. “That’s ‘cause you are more sensitive, baby,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “The bond’s sinking deeper into you. Your body’s starting to remember me. Respond before you even think.”
He rolled his hips against Sam’s thigh, letting him feel how hard he was, how much he wanted this. “I AM fanning the fire,” he added with a smirk, brushing his thumb over Sam’s nipple again, firmer this time. “And I’m not stopping till you’re burning for me.”
“Burning,” Sam repeated, breathless. “Blowing is more likely. You have no idea how hard it is to not let go already.” To distract himself a little, Sam’s hand searched for Dean’s erection, brushing past it briefly before running his fingers along the hot, hard, velvety shaft. “See?” he croaked and shivered again in Dean’s touch. “Want me to burn for you now already, my dragon?”
Dean hissed through his teeth, jaw tightening as Sam’s fingers brushed along him, slow and way too tempting. For a second, he let Sam have his moment, let him tease, let him lead. Hell, he WANTED Sam to feel that power, to know what he did to Dean with just a touch and a whisper.
But then Dean growled low in his throat, that deep, possessive sound that came from somewhere older than muscle and bone. His hand shot out, gripping Sam’s wrist - not to stop him, but to still him, remind him WHO he was playing with.
“You want to burn now?” Dean murmured, voice rough, dangerous, sweet. “You think you’re ready for that kind of fire?” He leaned in, lips brushing Sam’s ear, slow and hot. “Careful, Sammy. Dragons don’t just warm… we consume.”
Then Dean rolled them, pressed Sam into the mattress beneath him, his hand pinning Sam’s wrist beside his head. His eyes burned gold for just a second as he added with a smirk, “Your move, knight.”
Sam stared into Dean’s eyes, lips slightly parted, eyes wide and lust-blown. He tentatively tugged on his hand, but as he’d suspected, Dean held tight.
Licking his lips, a smile spread across his face. “I’ll move,” he mumbled. “I won’t surrender.” And with that, he entangled their legs again in a way that increased the exquisite pressure to his cock while making sure Dean couldn’t just move away easily. And then he started to rock gently against Dean’s body, moaning with each shallow thrust because he couldn’t keep them in.
Dean’s eyes darkened instantly, gold flickering in the green like embers caught in a gust. His grip tightened around Sam’s wrist - not to hurt, but to remind. Who’s in control here. A low growl rumbled in his chest, vibrating between them, primal and unmistakably possessive. Sam might not have known what Dean was, but his body sure as hell felt it.
“You really wanna play that game?” Dean rasped, voice thick with heat and warning. “You think you can tease me, rock that pretty body against mine, and not pay for it?” He leaned in, lips brushing Sam’s ear, breath hot and steady. “You don’t get to make the rules, sweetheart. Not with me.”
Dean pinned Sam beneath him with a strength that felt too steady, too natural - like gravity had just shifted to obey him. He locked their legs together again, this time on his terms, grinding down with precision and pressure that made it very clear who was in charge.
“Messin’ with a fireborn?” Dean growled, lips trailing along Sam’s throat. “You better be ready to burn.”

Sam was completely pinned, a situation that recalled memories of old times. Not good ones. Of his father pinning him to punish him.
But with Dean, he felt no fear, no panic. Because he knew that the moment he’d ask Dean to stop, he would. Sam smiled faintly. “I’m ready to burn. For you,” he replied, baring his throat even more. “Only ever for you.” He shivered because Dean’s lips on his skin felt like liquid fire, and he was so ready to burn. “You gonna make me burn so fast. Want you to burn with me, fireborn.”
Dean stilled for half a breath - just long enough to let those words sink in and settle somewhere deep inside him, in a place he rarely let anyone reach. Only ever for you. God, that did something to him. And the way Sam bared his throat like that? Like he was offering himself completely, not just in body but in trust? Dean damn near lost it.
But he didn’t rush.
He pressed his lips softly to the hollow of Sam’s throat, letting the kiss linger, letting his breath tease over the skin he’d just touched. His hands moved slowly, deliberately, trailing over ribs and hips, dragging heat along every nerve. “Oh, you’re gonna burn, all right,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “But not too fast. I’m gonna light you up slow, until there’s nothing left but me in your head.”
Dean kissed a line up Sam’s neck, teeth grazing just enough to make his point. “And don’t worry, sweetheart,” he added, his voice dropping to a husky promise, “I’m already burning with you.”

Again and again, Sam shivered, each touch of Dean’s lips and teeth sending off another ripple. He smiled when Dean told him he was burning with him, because burning together sounded brilliant.
“Good,” he gasped and then grunted because, of course, Dean chose that moment to nibble on his Adam’s apple. “Dean,” he moaned. “Don’t let me burn too long. Not until I’m charred, okay?” He smiled at Dean and moved his neck a little again, opening more skin for Dean to explore.
Dean’s breath hitched as Sam bared more skin to him - willingly, trustingly - and it sent a pulse of heat through his chest that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with how damn much he adored this man. But he didn’t rush. No, not this time. Last night had been wildfire - beautiful, overwhelming - and Dean wasn’t about to push Sam into another blaze too fast.
He kissed the curve of Sam’s neck, soft and lingering, then dragged his lips across the exposed skin with maddening slowness, letting his breath warm each spot before moving to the next. “Nah,” he murmured against his throat, voice low and steady, “I’m not gonna let you burn out. Just close enough to feel the heat lick at the edges… until you need the fire.”
His hand slid down Sam’s chest, fingers gliding like a whisper, avoiding anything too sensitive but staying close enough to tease. He felt every shiver, tracked every breath, learning Sam’s rhythms like they were music meant only for him.
“You let me guide it, غhràidh,” he whispered, placing a soft kiss just below Sam’s ear. “I’ll take you right to the edge and keep you there ‘til you’re begging for the flame.”
Sam couldn’t reply. He was too busy making sure he was breathing. Every touch of Dean was exactly what he’d said… a guide to the fire, the flame, and Sam knew that he would burn really hot.
“I think I’m already close to the edge,” he rasped, his arm twitching in the grip Dean held him in. Somehow, he liked being pinned, straining against Dean’s strength, knowing that he was safe after all. “You wanna hear me beg, my dragon? For the flame? Your flame?”
Dean froze for half a second, just long enough for the words to sink in and sting, not in a bad way, but like a struck match to dry tinder. His breath hitched, and when he looked down at Sam, his eyes had darkened, gold flickering at the edges like something barely restrained.
“Sammy,” he growled, voice rough and low, “you say shit like that, and I’m five seconds from forgetting patience was ever a virtue.”
He leaned in, lips brushing Sam’s ear, the heat of his breath ghosting over skin. “But yeah,” he whispered, tone dipped in smoke and sin, “I wanna hear you beg. Not ‘cause I need it… but ‘cause I know the second you do, I’m gonna light you up from the inside out.”
Sam’s eyes were glowing as he let his gaze now glide over Dean’s body, what he could see of him. He took him in, every bit of him, the smooth skin, specks of freckles, the golden swirl of his eyes, and the plush lips.
There was no way this man was real, and his. Sam held his breath when he realized what he’d just thought, that Dean was his.
“Wanna feel your hands all over me, Dean… everywhere. I want to recognize your touch all over my body and then… then I want you to kiss me senseless. Until I don’t have anymore air to breathe and can only breathe in anything that’s you. Please?”
Dean hovered over him, one hand braced beside Sam’s head, the other sliding slowly down his side, mapping every inch like it was sacred. Sam’s words still echoed in his ears, and damn if they didn’t light him up from the inside out.
“You want my hands all over you?” Dean murmured, lips just brushing Sam’s cheek as he spoke. “That’s not a request you make lightly, sweetheart.”
He shifted his weight just enough to press their bodies flush together, skin on skin, heat on heat. His fingers ghosted along Sam’s ribs, across the curve of his hip, then back up to cradle his jaw. “But you got it,” he said, softer now, more raw. “Every touch, every kiss - gonna make sure you never forget it.”
Then he leaned in and kissed Sam - slow, deep, and full of promise - until they were both breathless, and there was nothing in the world but the heat between them.
At Dean’s touch, all along his body, Sam had started to shiver, body covered in goosebumps. The moment Dean began kissing him, the shivering stopped, and he moaned, wrapping his arms around his broad shoulders as much as possible.
He let himself be kissed for a while before joining in and kissing Dean like there was no tomorrow. Like his life depended on it.
“There’s no way,” he gasped, “that I will ever forget this. Your kisses are unforgettable, you know that?”
He traced Dean’s lips with his tongue and then smacked his own.
“I think I need more of you. More… touches. Everywhere.”
Dean let out a low, satisfied growl, the kind that vibrated right out of his chest and into Sam’s skin. “Yeah?” he murmured, lips brushing against Sam’s jaw as he spoke. “Careful what you ask for, غhràidh. I’m not great at stopping once I get started.”
He leaned in, nipping softly at Sam’s neck, trailing heat down to his collarbone as his hands roamed, slow, deliberate, claiming. “Unforgettable, huh?” he whispered, a grin in his voice. “Good. I plan on leaving a mark or two. Just so you don’t even try forgetting.”
Then he kissed Sam again, deeper this time, less a question, more a promise. “You want more? I’ve got all day.”
Sam’s breath hitched, heart pounding like it was trying to leap straight into Dean’s hands. The heat of his mouth, the weight of his touch, every inch of him felt branded, like Dean had already made good on that promise. “You think I could forget?” Sam muttered, voice rough, almost dazed. He arched into Dean’s touch, fingers threading into his hair, anchoring himself there. Then he licked his lips. “What kind of mark do you want to leave, my dragon? A scar? A bite? A hickey? Or… a mark to my soul?” Sam felt his voice vibrating when he spoke, because somehow all of what he’d mentioned excited him.
Dean’s breath caught - sharp, deep, like he’d just taken a hit straight to the chest. His eyes, already dark with heat, flicked up to meet Sam’s, and the look there? It wasn’t just lust. It was reverence. Worship.
“All of them,” Dean said, voice low and ragged, every word laced with truth he couldn’t dress up or hide. “If I had it my way, you’d walk around glowing with it - every scratch, every bite, every look like a damn brand that says MINE.”
He leaned in, lips brushing Sam’s jaw as he spoke, his breath hot against skin. “But the one I want most? That soul-deep one. The kind you never lose. Even if you forgot my name, forgot this moment - I’d still be part of you. That’s the mark I’m after.”
Then he smiled, a wicked, tender thing, and murmured, “The hickey’s just a bonus.”
Sam let out a breathless laugh, the sound soft and wrecked all at once, like Dean had just knocked something loose inside him. He tilted his head, giving Dean even more skin, more space, more invitation, because if Dean wanted to carve himself into the places no one else could reach, Sam was already wide open.
His hands slid up Dean’s back, fingers curling at his nape, grounding and pulling all at once. He looked up at him, eyes dark, full of want and desire. “But you don’t get to say things like that and then hold back,” he breathed. “So go on. Leave your mark.” Sam’s eyes were sparkling excitedly.
For a second, everything in Dean went still - like his whole damn world narrowed to Sam's voice, Sam's eyes, Sam's bare invitation wrapped in challenge and heat. He felt the pull of it, deep in his chest where the fire lived, where the dragon inside him stirred and whispered, 'MINE'.
His lips curled into a slow, hungry grin. "You sure about that, Sammy?" he rasped, voice low and rough. "Because once I leave my mark... it doesn't come off."
Then he dipped his head, pressing a searing kiss to the curve of Sam's throat, not just possessive, but reverent. His teeth scraped the skin gently, enough to make a promise, not a threat, and he growled, soft and deep, against Sam's pulse. "You opened the door, baby. Don't be surprised when I burn the whole damn house down."
“Dean,” Sam growled, swallowing hard. His fingers were still threaded in Dean’s hair. “I told you I want it. I’m not going to change my mind. The door’s open, my fireborn. If you don’t walk through it, I will.” He grinned and then, moving quickly, like he knew exactly what he was doing, Sam brought his lips to Dean’s shoulder, sucking hard. He wanted to show him he meant it, and giving Dean a mark of his own seemed the perfect way.
Sam kept up the suction for several seconds, and when he finally let go, he looked into Dean’s eyes for a moment before admiring his work. “You’re mine,” he whispered.

Dean's breath hitched, the words hitting him harder than any spell, any blade, any wildfire he'd ever flown through. 'You're mine.' Spoken like a truth older than both of them. And hell, maybe it was. His whole body went still for a second, like something ancient inside him had just been claimed - not resisted, not feared, but welcomed.
He glanced down at the mark on his shoulder, skin flushed and perfect, and grinned - slow, feral, HIS. "Damn right I am," he said, voice thick and low. "And now you've done it, Sammy. You DARED the dragon."
Then he grabbed Sam's thighs, pulled him tight against him, eyes blazing with heat and something deeper. "Door's wide open now," he growled, "and I'm not just walkin' through it - I'M BURNING IT DOWN."
Dean didn't wait - couldn't. The second the words left his mouth, his lips were on Sam's again, fierce and hungry, pouring everything he felt into the kiss.
The bond. The fire. The promise.
His hands gripped Sam like he was anchoring himself, like he needed to feel him, skin to skin, soul to soul, or he might lose control of all the heat building inside him.
He broke the kiss just long enough to press his forehead against Sam's, breathing hard, voice rough. "You want me?" he murmured, "You have me. No holding back. Not anymore."
One hand slid up Sam's back, fingers threading through his hair again, while the other moved to Sam's hip, grounding, claiming. "But understand this, غhràidh," he whispered against his lips, voice like smoke and storm, "when we do this - really do this - it seals EVERYTHING. You'll have all of me. Every breath, every heartbeat, every goddamn fire-borne part I've got. And I won't be able to let go."
His lips brushed Sam's again, softer this time. "So say it one more time. Just so I know you WANT to be mine."
Sam felt it as well, the bond, like it was just waiting for them to consume their love so it could finally consume them. “I want all of you, غhràidh. I want to be yours!” His eyes flickered down to the mark he just left, and he let his thumb rub over it. “This looks perfect, like it belongs there.” Sam looked up into Dean’s eyes. “I belong to you. Always. And forever.” He returned Dean’s gentle kiss and then simply looked at Dean, letting him see that what he’d just said, he hadn’t said lightly. He meant every word.

Dean swallowed hard, jaw tightening like he was trying to keep a thousand things inside - and failing beautifully. He stared at Sam, at the raw honesty in his eyes, the way his thumb lingered on that mark like it meant something. And GODS, it did. It meant EVERYTHING.
"Sammy..." Dean's voice came low, rough, threaded with something deeper than just need. "You say that - always and forever - and you don't even know what that means to someone like me."
He cupped Sam's face, brushing his thumb across his cheek, gaze flicking briefly to the mark before locking eyes again. "Yeah, it's yours. That mark, that bond? It's real. And once we take that final step, there's no going back. It's not just sex - it's sealing something ancient. It's claiming. It's me giving you every damn piece of who I am."
He leaned in, resting his forehead against Sam's, voice quieter now. "I wanted to wait. I PLANNED to wait. Talk to John, figure out if... if this could work the way I NEED it to. But I can't. I can't wait anymore, Sammy. The bond's already burning through both of us, and holding back's not protecting you anymore - it's hurting us."
Dean took a shaky breath and kissed him again, this time slow, deep, final - not an ending, but the kind of kiss that marked the beginning of something they couldn't walk away from.
"I'm gonna make you mine," he whispered against Sam's lips. "Now. Completely. And when I do, you'll feel it - down to your soul."
Dean held Sam like he was something sacred - like the world could burn around them and he still wouldn't let go. He kissed him again, slower this time, taking his time, grounding them both in the moment. Every breath, every brush of skin, every heartbeat - they were connected now, in a way that went beyond magic, beyond the bond. It was themselves, finally laid bare.
"Tell me if you need anything," Dean whispered, voice barely more than a breath as his hand trailed down Sam's body, slow and reverent. "We go at your pace, yeah? I want to feel all of you - but only when you're ready."
He pressed soft kisses across Sam's chest as his hand moved lower, gentle and patient, caressing, learning, asking with every stroke. His fingers moved with practiced care, circling Sam's hole that would soon welcome him, taking his time, soothing Sam's body with warm touches and soft words.
"I've got you," Dean murmured, voice steady and full of promise. "You're safe. You're mine. And I'll take care of you... every step of the way."
“I just need you,” Sam replied, and shivered when Dean kissed his way across his chest and then caressed his hole. Just knowing that he’d soon feel all of Dean was making Sam’s heart race and his cock throb with excitement. “Need you to get me ready, so I can take you, because I feel like I’m burning up inside if I don’t feel you, soon. Is that the bond?” he asked, voice raspy like sandpaper. “Know you’ll take good care of me, in any way, my dragon.” He let his arms fall to the side, eyes darting in between Dean’s lips and the hickey he put on his shoulders, and he smiled. “Your touch already sets me on fire. Can’t wait for you anymore.”
Dean groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against Sam’s skin as he mouthed along his collarbone. “Yeah, baby… that’s the bond,” he rasped, voice rough and wrecked. “It’s fire. Magic. Me, in you… calling you to take me in.”
His fingers moved with slow, practiced care, spreading warmth and slickness where Sam needed it most. “I got you, Sammy,” he murmured, eyes locked on him now, glowing gold and dark with devotion. “Gonna make it so damn good, you’ll forget what it felt like not to have me inside you.”
He pressed another kiss to Sam’s shoulder, then lower. “Just a little more, and you’ll take all of me. And when you do?” He smirked, voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re not gonna just burn, غhràidh. You’re gonna blaze.”

Sam felt himself relax even more under Dean’s touch, and the second he felt the pressure of his fingers at his entrance, he moaned and rolled his hips slightly.
“Just because you’re so hot, Dean. Every part of you. You’re going to have to catch me after the blaze, because I already know I won’t be able to think straight, if at all.”
Sam’s fingers traced patterns along Dean’s sides down to his hips and back up to the shoulders as his own body shook with anticipation.
Dean groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against Sam’s skin like a promise. “You won’t need to think straight,” he muttered, voice rough and thick with heat. “That’s the whole damn point.”
He leaned in, pressing a kiss to Sam’s jaw, then his neck, letting his lips linger just long enough to feel Sam’s pulse stutter beneath them. His fingers moved with slow, deliberate care, coaxing, opening, claiming - but never rushing.
“I’ll catch you,” he whispered, lips brushing the shell of Sam’s ear. “After the blaze, during, hell - even if the whole world burns down around us. You fall, I catch. Always.”
Sam looked into Dean’s eyes, fingers on his skin stilling, gaze serious for a moment.
“I know,” he said. “I trust you.”
Another heartbeat later, Sam’s fingers resumed caressing Dean’s skin. “Your touch… it’s like you already know each part of me better than I do.” He held his breath for a second. “Fuck, it’s making my body tingle all over. I want to feel you, my dragon.”
Dean's breath hitched at the words my dragon and something in his chest coiled tight with need, with reverence. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Sam's temple, his voice a low growl full of warmth and heat. "You will, غhràidh. Every damn part of me."
His fingers moved deeper, slowly and carefully, stretching Sam open inch by inch, matching the motion with the rhythm of his hand wrapped firmly around Sam's cock. He stroked him in slow, delicious pulls - just enough pressure to make Sam squirm, to drown out the discomfort with waves of pleasure. It was a rhythm meant to distract and tease, to say I've got you in every stroke, every curl of his fingers.
"You're doing so good," Dean murmured, lips brushing Sam's cheek. "Let me take you apart the right way... slow, deep, unforgettable."
He twisted his wrist slightly on the upstroke, eyes locked on Sam's face, watching every flicker of sensation. "I do know your body, Sammy. Like it was made to fit mine. And soon?" his voice dipped into a soft, dark promise, "you'll feel exactly what you've been made for."

Sam gasped, a ragged, helpless sound that barely made it past his lips. Every nerve felt flayed open, raw and tuned to Dean, his voice, his hands, and the press of his body like gravity pulling Sam under. He couldn’t stay still if he tried, his hips twitching in Dean’s grip, thighs trembling from the slow stretch of his fingers working him open, steady and sure.
“Dean, fuck,” he choked, breath hitching as his back arched into the pleasure, into him. His fingers scrabbled for something to hold onto. He found Dean’s shoulder, digging his fingers into his flesh, because the pleasure was turning sharp and heavy and unbearable in the best way. “You… you’re gonna ruin me. ‘n I’m gonna love it.”
There was no fear in Sam’s words, only need and something like worship.
Dean let out a low, guttural growl - not quite human, not quite contained - as Sam clenched around his fingers, so open, so trusting, so his. The sound vibrated from deep in his chest, and for a moment, he had to close his eyes to rein himself back in. He wasn't ready yet. Not for the truth. Not for Sam to know what was really happening. That this wasn't just sex - it was the beginning of forever, marked in fire and magic and flesh.
"You think this is ruined?" Dean rasped, voice rough and shaking as the gold in his eyes blazed brighter, swirling like molten metal. "You haven't even felt me yet."
He curled his fingers just right inside Sam, hitting that spot again, and in the same rhythm, he stroked Sam's cock with the kind of care that came from study - finesse carved from want, from reverence, from need. His own body was trembling with restraint, his cock aching with the force of holding back. Because he was bigger, thicker, and when he finally took Sam - when - it wouldn't just be to fuck him. It would be to mark him. To bond.
But not yet. Not until Sam begged for it.
Dean leaned down, brushing his lips against Sam's ear, voice like smoke and thunder. "You're doing so good for me, غhràidh. Taking me like you were made for it. Because you were." His thumb swept over the slick head of Sam's cock, perfectly timed with the pulse of his fingers inside. "You're mine. You just don't know how deep that truth runs yet."

Sam sobbed out a breath, his whole body shuddering with sensation, tight and trembling, stretched wide and floating somewhere between pain and pleasure so intense it blurred the lines. Dean worked his fingers inside him with slow, practiced strokes of his hands. It was all too much and not enough, never enough, and Sam felt like he was coming undone in real time.
His hips bucked, helpless and greedy, chasing every touch, every flick of Dean’s fingers. “Dean, please,” he gasped. “Fuck, I… I can’t… you’re driving me crazy.”
His voice cracked on a moan as Dean hit that spot again, perfectly, mercilessly, and Sam clawed at his back, fingernails digging in. “I need you. Need to feel you, all of you. Please, claim me like you said you would.”

Dean stilled for a heartbeat, forehead pressed to Sam’s, his breath ragged and his control barely holding. Inside, his dragon coiled tight, wild with the need to take, to mark, to seal what had already been felt between them a hundred times over. But Dean wasn’t going to let it be about hunger - not this time. Not when Sam was looking up at him with trust in his eyes, not when his voice shook with need and surrender in equal measure.
“Yeah,” Dean rasped, voice rough and thick, “I’ve got you, Sammy. All of me. Just hold on.”
He pushed in slowly, carefully, giving Sam time - every inch a promise, every pause a silent question he wouldn’t move past without permission. His body was taut with restraint, muscles trembling with the effort it took to not let instinct take over. But then - when Sam’s body opened for him, when Dean felt him adjust and cling and pull him in like he belonged there - everything shifted.
Dean rolled his hips, deep and deliberate, a growl caught low in his throat as the heat wrapped around him, pulled him under. It was perfect. Not just the rhythm or the feel - it was the bond, blazing now, alive and whole, locking them together in a way he couldn’t begin to describe. He moved with purpose, every thrust deep and steady, claiming without taking, owning without overpowering.
And through it all, Dean whispered, like a vow between breaths, “You’re mine, Sammy. And I’m yours. This - we - were made for this.”
Sam gasped, the sound caught somewhere between a cry and a prayer, as Dean finally filled him. His body shook around the pressure of Dean’s cock, the heat it emanated. It just felt right, like something ancient had finally slid into place inside him. He clung to Dean with everything he had, arms tight around his shoulders. His legs wrapped around his waist, anchoring them together because letting go didn’t feel like an option. Not now. Not ever.
Sam’s breath hitched with every deep roll of Dean’s hips, low moans escaping him to the maddening rhythm. “Fuck… Dean,” he croaked, barely able to form the words. “You feel… like home.”
Sam turned his head, pressed his lips to the crook of Dean’s neck, teeth catching on skin as he whispered, wrecked and raw.
“The stretch… feels so good, so fucking right.” He shuddered as Dean hit that spot again, body arching up into the next thrust. “Don’t stop,” he breathed, voice broken open with need.
Dean gritted his teeth, breath hissing through them as he fought every instinct screaming at him to let go, to take. His dragon stirred deep beneath his skin, clawing against the restraint, wild and ancient and claiming. But Dean held the line - not for himself, but for Sam. Because Sam was wrapped around him, trembling and gasping and trusting him with everything. And that meant more than any fire in his blood.
“Not gonna stop,” Dean growled, voice rough, barely human, kissed with something old. His hands gripped Sam’s hips with reverence and restraint, guiding the angle just right as he pushed deeper, slow and steady, every thrust a vow pressed into Sam’s body. “I’ve got you. Always.”
He dipped his head, pressing his forehead against Sam’s as their breath tangled between them, sweat-slicked skin sliding together. “You feel… fuck, Sammy - you feel perfect. Like you were made to hold me like this.”
Every thrust now came with aching precision, not rushed, but anchored, like Dean was carving something sacred into the very marrow of their bond.
“You’re mine,” he whispered hoarsely, lips brushing Sam’s, eyes burning gold and bright. “And I’m yours. Forever, غhràidh.”

Sam felt like he was burning from the inside out, every deep, deliberate thrust branding him, reshaping him into something that could only ever exist with Dean. His chest heaved, heart pounding in sync with the rhythm Dean thrust into him. Each movement felt etched into time, like the universe had been waiting for this, for them, to finally come together in a way that could never be undone.
Sam’s hands roamed Dean’s back, nails raking lightly down sweat-slick skin as he clung closer, legs tightening around Dean’s waist like letting go would be a cardinal sin. “Dean…,” Sam breathed, voice rough and barely holding, “You feel like everything.”
Their foreheads were pressed together for a moment, their breaths mingling. When he relaxed back a bit, he watched Dean’s eyes, gold-flecked, and Sam couldn’t move his gaze away, because they held so much love, so much claim, that he felt tears sting at the edges of his vision. “I’m yours,” Sam gasped, hips lifting to meet every thrust, to take Dean deeper, to keep him there.
Dean stilled - just for a moment - and stared down at Sam, chest heaving, heart pounding so loud it felt like it shook the room. His hands trembled where they gripped Sam’s thighs, not from uncertainty, but from the weight of it. The bond was there, burning bright and undeniable - and now, Sam had named it.
“Say it again,” Dean rasped, voice rough, golden eyes burning as they locked on Sam’s. “You want it? All of it?” His thrusts slowed, but stayed deep, grounding them both in the heat between their bodies. “You want me to claim you?”
He leaned down, pressing his forehead to Sam’s again, sweat-damp skin touching like a vow. His mouth hovered just above the spot where Sam’s neck met shoulder - the place instinct screamed to mark. “If I do it… it leaves something behind,” he whispered, voice shaking with emotion, restraint, need. “It’s not just heat and magic. It’s forever. You’ll carry me in your blood.”
Then, one hand rose to cradle the side of Sam’s face, reverent, shaking slightly. “You tell me now, Sammy. One word, and I’ll mark you. I’ll make it so no one - nothing - ever questions who you belong to.” He thrust once more, deep, slow, achingly full. “But only if you want it. Say yes… and I’ll make it yours. Ours.”

Sam watched Dean, searching his face, lips slightly apart. Then, after a few moments, he nodded.
“Yes,” he whispered. “I want it. I’m yours.” He already felt their connection so deeply because of their bond, he never wanted to belong to anyone else.
“I want you to claim me,” he added. He didn’t know if these words were important, but they seemed important to Dean. And Sam felt like they were right, true, and needed to seal their bond forever. “Mark me!”

Dean’s heart thundered in his chest, louder than it ever had - even louder than the roar that lived in his blood. Sam’s words - Yes. I’m yours. Mark me - hit him like fire to dry timber. He leaned over Sam, eyes glowing molten gold, every muscle trembling as he fought the beast inside him that was clawing to be set free. Not out of violence, but need. Out of love that had become too big to contain.
He thrust in slowly, carefully, feeling Sam stretch around him - tight, hot, perfect. Dean groaned, low and guttural, the sound not entirely human. His hand cupped the back of Sam’s neck, grounding him, holding him through it. “You’re mine,” he whispered. “You don’t go back after this, Sammy. This is forever.”
He gave Sam time - despite the dragon in him howling to take, to claim, to bind. And when Sam’s eyes fluttered open and his body welcomed him fully, Dean began to move - deep, slow, devastating. Every thrust echoed with more than desire - it was bond, soul, fire. And in the exact moment they shattered together, Dean leaned down, breath caught, and bit - not to harm, but to mark.
His teeth sank into the space where Sam’s neck met shoulder, the mark glowing gold for a heartbeat - and then the world shifted.

A pulse rippled through the air, through the bond, through the magic. It struck the ley lines like lightning and carried with it an unmistakable truth: a dragon had claimed a human mate.

Far away, across mountains and wind and centuries of law, John felt it. Knew it. Dean had followed his heart - had broken the ancient law.

But Dean wasn’t thinking of the consequences. Not now.
He cradled Sam against his chest, still buried inside him, both of them shaking in the aftermath of something far greater than just bodies colliding. He kissed Sam’s temple, breathing him in like life itself.
“You’re mine,” he whispered again, voice ragged, reverent. “And I’ll burn the world before I ever let them take that from us.”

Sam felt the mark before he understood what had happened, felt it pulse, like lava eating into his skin. It had started somewhere deep in his marrow, then shot outward through the bond and into the world beyond. He didn’t have words for it, but he knew that something ancient had shifted.
But he didn’t flinch.
He lay against Dean’s chest, every inch of him trembling, wrecked in the best way. His heart was hammering in his chest as he tried to wrap his mind around what had happened. His fingers curled weakly against Dean’s skin, mind a spinning mess of colors and sounds.
“Dean,” he panted weakly, fingers trying to find anything to hold on to, to ground him. “I’m yours. You’re mine. I can feel it in my heart.”

Sam felt like he was floating, suspended in the quiet aftermath of something too vast to name. Dean’s arms around him were an anchor, but not the kind that held him down. Dean rooted him, wrapped around his body and soul like armor forged in fire and blood and choice. The bond hummed in his chest like a second heartbeat, echoing Dean’s words before he even spoke them.
He buried his face in the curve of Dean’s neck, lips brushing the skin there, tasting salt and home. And though his body ached with the imprint of what they’d done, it was nothing compared to the ache in his chest, this impossible, fierce swell of belonging.
“I know,” Sam whispered, voice muffled but sure. “I can feel you, like… in my body.”
Something pulsed under his skin, like firelight flickering behind the bones of his spine. It felt good, though, like it was a part of him now. “I feel like I belong. With you.”
Dean tightened his arms around him, just enough to pull Sam closer without smothering him. His chin rested on top of Sam's head, and he let out a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding - slow, steady, grounding. "Yeah," he murmured, voice low and rough with something that wasn't just exhaustion. "You do."
He closed his eyes, let the silence stretch a moment, filled only by the slow rhythm of their breathing and the hum of the bond still thrumming in his blood. It was different now - settled, deeper. Less like lightning and more like embers burning low and steady. Permanently.
"I knew it before you did," he added, lips brushing Sam's hair. "Didn't make it easier to wait. But damn... you're worth every second I had to hold back."
He shifted just enough to glance down at him, catching the faint glow in Sam's eyes. "You're mine now, you know. Not in a creepy 'lock you in a tower' way - unless you're into that," he smirked. "But in the real way. The 'ride or die, fight beside me, eat all the berries off your plate when you're not looking' kind of way."
Then softer, almost shy: "You belong with me, Sammy. And I'm not letting you go. Ever."
Sam smiled. Dean’s words warmed him from the inside. At his last words, he opened his eyes and looked at him.
“Are you threatening to steal my berries?” he asked. “I mean, I’ll share with you anyway. You don’t have to steal them. What’s mine is yours.”
His smile grew wider.
“And I’m glad you’re not locking me in a tower. I wouldn’t want to risk my neck climbing out.”
Sam stretched his neck to kiss Dean along his jaw.
“Hmm, by the way, I kinda like the way your jaw is pricking my skin.”
Dean huffed a soft laugh, tilting his head just enough to nuzzle against Sam’s mouth. “Damn right what’s yours is mine,” he muttered, voice all warmth and grit. “Except the last berry. That one’s sacred and mine by ancient breakfast law. You wouldn’t understand - very complicated, fireborn tradition.”
He let his hand rest on Sam’s thigh, thumb tracing idle circles, steady and grounding. “And hey, no towers. No locking you away. If I ever carried you off, it’d be to keep you close, not hidden. You don’t belong behind walls, Sammy, you’re too wild. Too bright.”
Dean leaned down, pressing a kiss to the corner of Sam’s mouth, then let his jaw graze deliberately against Sam’s cheek with a smirk. “You like the scruff, huh? Careful. You compliment it too much, and I’ll stop shaving altogether. You’ll end up dating a mountain man with a fire problem.”
Sam chuckled. “What, are you going to singe your beard when you get too hot? Then… stubble, yes, beard no. I don’t want to have to walk around with a bucket of water all the time.” He shifted a little.
“So, are you going to explain that very complicated fireborn tradition to me at some point? Or will I have to stay guessing for the rest of my life?” He looked up with bright eyes.
“So… I’m too wild? But not for you, right?”
Dean huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he rubbed a hand over his jaw like he was double-checking his beard status. “Hey, this stubble is carefully maintained chaos, thank you very much. And for the record? If anyone’s singeing anything around here, it’s you with those damn looks you keep giving me.”
He shifted just enough to nudge his leg against Sam’s under the blanket, voice softening without losing that familiar Dean bite. “As for fireborn tradition? Yeah, I’ll explain it. Eventually. It’s just… old. Messy. Lotta ancient magic and rules that barely make sense now. But I’ll tell you. You deserve to know. Especially, since you’ve already managed to crash through half of it without even trying.”
Dean turned his head to look at Sam, bare chest still rising and falling, skin warm where their bodies touched. “And no, you’re not too wild. You’re just right. For me.” He reached over and brushed his fingers along Sam’s ribs, where his breath hitched just slightly. “You might burn a little hot sometimes, sure - but hell, Sammy… I run on fire.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “I singe what?” he asked and laughed. He felt light-hearted and comfortable, for once, like he had no care in the world. “If it’s about making you hot, oh mighty fireborn, I seem to have a talent for it. Am I burning hot? Around you, I seem to. And I like it. I mean, I was never one to slouch around, but things usually were controlled by… by him.” He breathed deeply, willing unwanted memories away. “It feels good to let my inner fire, if I can call it that, burn freely.”
Dean chuckled low in his chest, the sound rumbling right against Sam’s skin as they lay tangled together in the aftermath. He nudged Sam’s knee with his own beneath the blanket, still close enough that their legs brushed with every breath. “Yeah, well… you definitely singe my brain. My sanity. My ability to form complete sentences when you look at me like that.”
He tilted his head just enough to look at Sam, eyes soft but still carrying that signature spark, even now. “And for the record? You are burnin’ hot. Always were. Just took you a little while to feel it for yourself.”
Dean reached up and cupped the back of Sam’s neck, fingers threading through his hair with a touch that was both grounding and intimate. “But I like seein’ you like this. After everything… finally lettin’ go, breathin’ without someone else’s grip on your throat. You feel different now, you know? Lighter. Brighter. Like your fire’s not buried anymore.”
He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Sam’s temple - firm, warm, real. “So let it burn, Sammy. Let it roar. I’ll be right here to feed it, stoke it, keep it safe. And if anyone ever tries to smother it again?” Dean’s voice dropped, the fire in it unmistakable. “They’re gonna have to get through me. And that’s not happenin’.”
Sam’s expression turned serious as he looked at Dean now with sincerity. “I know that. I know you’ll protect me from whoever tries to get to me again. You know, I sometimes feel like I was the biggest coward as a kid. Yeah, I tried standing up to my father at times, but it never ended well, and I would think twice the next time. And bit by bit, it meant I abided by whatever he wanted me to do. The training itself, I never minded. Gave me a good opportunity to… burn my fire. But the methods, the reason behind it, the way he made me little in order to get the best out of me? I don’t think it would ever work the way he thought. And I just… I just think I could have told him to leave me alone, push back. And leave that house the moment I turned 18.”
Dean’s fingers traced slowly, grounding patterns along Sam’s spine as he listened, quiet and steady, like the fire inside him knew exactly when to burn hot and when to simply warm. His protective instinct - the one he fought to keep buried most days - rose now like a tide. Not to lash out, not to rage, but to shield. To anchor.
He let the silence hang for a beat before speaking, his voice low and rough with emotion. “Sammy… you weren’t a coward. You were a kid. A kid trying to survive in a world built to break him.” He brushed his knuckles over Sam’s cheek, thumb resting just beneath his eye like he could wipe away more than just physical pain. “Pushing back doesn’t always mean shouting or walking out the door. Sometimes it means staying alive. Holding on to the parts of yourself he couldn’t touch.”
Dean leaned in, resting his forehead lightly against Sam’s. “You made it out. You found your way to me. That wasn’t weakness - that was fire, even if you couldn’t see it then. And I swear to you, no one’s ever gonna make you feel small again. Not while I’m breathing.”
There was more he wanted to say - about dragons, about instinct, about how his need to protect wasn’t just love, but something older, written into the very bones of what he was - but he bit it back. Soon. For now, he curled his arm around Sam and pulled him closer.
“You’re not what he tried to make you,” Dean murmured. “You’re better. And you’re mine.”
“Thank you,” Sam replied, smiling up at the man he had fallen in love with. He still marveled at those insanely green eyes that held these golden flecks that seemed to light up when they got intimate or when something heated Dean’s fire. He still didn’t quite understand what fireborn really meant, but whatever it was, he liked it.
“I’m trying to be the best version I can be, and I’m liking what I am right now. Because of you.”
He leaned towards Dean and kissed him, and this time it was his leg that bumped against Dean’s. He purred contentedly.
“Dean, I was wondering, can it be that my arm just doesn’t hurt anymore now already? Or is that just down to the cast?”
Dean smiled down at him, brushing his fingers gently along Sam's temple like he couldn't not touch him. "Could be a bit of both," he murmured, voice low and warm. "The cast keeps it in place, sure - but magic's got its own way of speeding things along. Especially, when you're wrapped up in it... and in me."
He let his hand trail down to Sam's shoulder, over the edge of the cast, not pressing, just present. Protective, even in a casual gesture. Because he felt it - every ache Sam had, every flicker of discomfort. His instincts - dragon-deep and ancient - were always tuned to Sam now, whether he liked it or not.
Dean's thumb brushed over Sam's chest, slow and soothing. "You're healing fast, yeah. But I'm still gonna be on your ass about resting. Don't try to do too much too soon. Dragons - uh, 'fireborn' - we don't take kindly to our people getting hurt. You're mine now. That means I guard you. Even from yourself, if I have to."
Then he leaned in and kissed the top of Sam's head. "You keep being the best version of you, and I'll keep making sure you've got a safe place to do it."
Sam smiled softly. “What exactly do you mean by, you’re gonna be on my ass about resting? And I doubt you will have to guard me from myself. But you’re welcome to make a safe place for me.”
He sighed when Dean’s fingers trailed over his shoulders. “Feels so nice when you touch me. Just your hands on my muscles… it’s relaxing.” He closed his eyes, snuggling himself against Dean as closely as he could. “So, what exactly happened with our bond? Did it just… strengthen?”
Dean hummed softly, trailing his fingers in slow, lazy circles over Sam’s back, like he was drawing something only he could see. “Yeah,” he said, voice low and warm, “it did. Strengthened, deepened - like it settled in, made itself permanent. Like… the magic stopped being something around us and just became part of us.”
He let his nose brush through Sam’s hair, breathing him in. “It’s not just emotional anymore. It’s physical. Energetic. Like we’re tied together under the skin.” He smiled faintly. “And yeah, that means I’m gonna be on your ass about resting. Because your stubborn ass will absolutely try to do too much too soon, and don’t even think I didn’t notice the way you eyed the axe like it insulted your pride.”

Dean kissed the top of Sam’s head and whispered, “But you wanting a safe place? You got one. Right here. Wherever I am - that’s home. And you don’t gotta earn it, fight for it, or prove anything. You just have to let me keep you safe… and let me touch you like this whenever I want.”
He grinned. “Which, spoiler alert, is always.”
Sam breathed deeply and hummed when Dean let his fingers use him as a canvas. It felt really good and relaxing to be touched just like that, with nothing else but the touch itself being the purpose.
Then he laughed. “You call me stubborn? Because I was eyeing the axe? What if I tell you, yeah, I may have been eyeing that axe, but it couldn’t hold a candle to the one who was wielding it.” Then he turned and placed another kiss on Dean’s jaw. “Thank you for being my safe place, my dragon. And you may touch me whenever you feel like it.”
Dean chuckled, low and warm, the sound rumbling against Sam’s chest where they were pressed close. He let his fingers keep tracing lazy shapes along Sam’s back - lines, swirls, little meaningless loops that somehow felt like everything. “Damn right I called you stubborn,” he murmured. “You were lookin’ at that axe like it personally offended your honor. I’ve seen less intense stares in a duel.”
He leaned into the kiss to his jaw, letting his lips brush over Sam’s temple in return. “And don’t try to charm me with compliments, even if they’re true,” he added, grinning. “You just like the way I swing heavy things while brooding.”
Dean’s hand slowed for a second, fingers splaying over the center of Sam’s back, grounding him. “You’re my safe place too, y’know,” he said, quieter now, more serious. “Doesn’t matter how much fire I’ve got in me - none of it means a damn thing if I don’t have someone to burn for.”
Then the grin was back, soft and crooked. “And since I’ve been given official touching rights, don’t be surprised if you wake up tomorrow and I’ve drawn a whole damn map on your back. You’re the only canvas I want.”
“You’ve seen duels?” Sam asked, voice curious. “I’ve seen brawls and sneaky attacks. And I’ve seen people trying to avoid my father. But I don’t think I’ve ever seen a duel. A real one.” He turned his head towards Dean to give him more space to run his lips over. “As for the axe, at least I wasn’t jealous of it. Although it did look hot what you were doing. I mean… we proved that, didn’t we?” He grinned dreamily. “And knowing that you’re burning only for me? That’s really hot… no pun intended. You know what my favorite things about you are? From a physical and purely superficial point of view?”
Dean chuckled softly, the sound rumbling against Sam’s skin as he pressed a lazy kiss to his shoulder. “Mmm, I’m almost afraid to ask. But hell, I’m flattered already.” His fingers traced idle patterns along Sam’s ribs, reverent and slow, like he was still memorizing him even now.
“And yeah,” he added, voice dipping a little, “I’ve seen real duels. The kind where it’s not about hate, but honor. Where strength and restraint go hand in hand. There’s a whole code to it, one that most people don’t even know exists. Real warriors? They fight with respect. Power, yeah - but purpose, too.”
He shifted just enough to look Sam in the eyes, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. “Not like the back-alley brawls you’re used to dodging. These - these were like watching storms collide. Controlled chaos. Beautiful, in a brutal sort of way.”
Then, teasing again, he brushed his nose against Sam’s. “But I’m burning only for you, huh? Damn right I am. Fireborn rule number one: once we burn for someone, it’s for life. So come on, hit me with it. What superficial sin do you adore the most?”
“In general, your eyes and your lips. The moment I came outside to see you with the axe? It was the way your muscles moved under the shirt when you swung down, and the little peeks of skin visible because you forgot the buttons.”
Sam didn’t have to think at all about his answer. “When I look at you, it’s like a magnetic state. I can’t take my eyes off you. I could list everything about you, because you’re just so beautiful. But it’s the whole of you that I love looking at. When we’re lying like this, but also when you’re active, like splitting the wood, or by the water.”
Dean huffed a soft laugh, equal parts flustered and floored, and ducked his head for a second like Sam’s words had landed somewhere deep beneath his ribs. “Damn, Sammy,” he muttered, brushing his fingers lightly along Sam’s side, just under the blanket, letting the contact stay warm and grounding. “You make a guy feel like a freakin’ painting.”
He leaned in and kissed Sam’s temple, lips lingering there for a moment longer than necessary. “I’m not used to bein’ looked at like that. Like I’m… not just useful. Or tolerable. But wanted. Seen.” His voice was quieter now, but steady. “And not just when I’ve got an axe in my hand and a shirt falling off my shoulders - which, okay, noted.”
Dean grinned and glanced down at Sam, their legs tangled, his hand resting just above Sam’s heart. “But you? You could be sittin’ there in torn-up pants, messy hair, covered in pine needles, and I’d still look at you like you hung the damn moon.”
Sam’s eyes widened slightly. Was Dean suggesting that he felt that he was beautiful to look at, too? He’d never thought about that, but he personally thought his nose was a little too big for his face.
Besides that, he didn’t really look at himself, not like that. When he did, all he saw were the scars that reminded him of what had happened and that dominated the picture he saw. So he avoided that.
“You… you think I’m beautiful, is that what you’re saying?” he asked quietly. “I never really paid attention to how I look. I thought, after Nia, that all they would see, all they would focus on, were these.” He looked at Dean with big eyes, smiling shyly as he pointed out a few scars.
Dean's expression shifted the moment Sam pointed to the scars. The warmth in his eyes didn't dim - it deepened, turned fierce, protective in that way that always flickered just beneath the surface of him. He reached out and gently took Sam's hand, curling their fingers together before guiding it away from his body.
"Yeah, that's exactly what I'm saying," he replied, voice low but unwavering. "You're beautiful, Sammy. Not 'in spite of' anything. Because of everything. Every mark, every scar - those aren't flaws. They're proof that you're still here. That you fought. That you survived."
Dean shifted closer, pressing a kiss to the skin just below one of the scars Sam had pointed to. "If someone looked at you and only saw those? Then they didn't deserve to really see you at all."
He rested his forehead gently against Sam's. "But I see you. All of you. And I wouldn't change a damn thing."
Sam shivered when Dean kissed the skin below the scar.
“I know that. And I’m beginning to see myself in a different light. And that’s all because of you. Thank you for that. Thank you for looking past my mess and seeing me.”
Feeling Dean’s forehead resting against his was oddly reassuring and comfortable, and Sam closed his eyes like it helped him really connect with Dean.
He could feel that Dean meant every word and that none of the scars or his stories bothered him. That he saw him as a survivor and not as a victim. And it loosened a knot in Sam’s chest that had been too tight in a long time.
Dean tightened his arm around Sam just slightly, pulling him closer like instinct demanded it - like the thought of any version of Sam not being seen, not being cherished, stirred something fierce and protective deep in his chest. “You’re not a mess,” he murmured, voice low and steady, right against Sam’s skin. “You’re a goddamn masterpiece carved out of fire and grit. The only mess here is anyone who ever made you feel like you had to hide parts of yourself just to survive.”
He brushed his fingers over Sam’s ribs, just beneath the old scar, slow and careful like it was something sacred. “Anyone who didn’t see you before? That’s on them. Their failure, not yours. I swear to you, Sam - no one’s gonna get to dim that light again. Not while I’m around.”
He nudged their foreheads together again, firmer this time, grounding. “You’re mine now,” he said, voice quieter but more certain. “And I protect what’s mine.”
Without breaking their connection, Sam’s eyes were locked on Dean’s fingers when they approached the scar and settled beneath it. His lips parted in anticipation, and his words were just a little more than a whisper. “Touch it?” he asked, a soft plea. He knew Dean had already done so, and they had contact, including the scar, when they had sex. But Sam wanted to get used to having his scar… his scars touched until he didn’t think about it anymore.
“You already protected me before we officially met.” His voice was a little louder, and he leaned into the touch of their heads. “I obviously didn’t scare you off.”
Dean’s hand stilled just for a second beneath the scar, and then his fingers spread wider - gentle, steady, present. Not flinching, not skipping over, not treating it like something to be avoided or tiptoed around. His thumb brushed just beneath it, slow and reverent, like he was reading a story written in flesh.
“No,” he said quietly, eyes lifting to meet Sam’s. “You didn’t scare me off.” He leaned in, their foreheads resting together, breath mingling in that space between honesty and ache. “That scar? It doesn’t push me away. It pulls me in. It tells me you’ve lived. That you’ve fought. That you made it through something you didn’t have to survive - but you did.”
His fingers traced just slightly along the edge of the scar now, the touch light as breath. “And you want me to touch it ‘til you forget it’s there?” He gave a small smile, sweet and a little crooked. “I’ll touch it a thousand times if that’s what it takes. Until your body learns what I already know - there’s not a single part of you that isn’t worth loving.”
“I hope a thousand times won’t be necessary to make me forget about it,” Sam replied and smiled. “I will probably always know you’re touching even when I’m not looking, because the sensation is different than around it. But it doesn’t hurt. Not usually.” Sam licked his lips and then moved quickly to capture Dean’s.
“Dean, I know you didn’t grow up with a mother, but your father has done a great job raising you. Even if we weren’t together, you’d still be my favorite human. You are polite to everyone, you listen, and you give advice. You make me feel better about myself and help me heal. So… I’m actually kinda proud that we’re together. I don’t think there could be a better partner for anyone.”
Dean’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second - so small it’d be easy to miss, but in his chest, it felt like a damn earthquake. Favorite human. That word dug in deeper than it should’ve, and not because Sam meant anything wrong by it. It was the truth behind it that bit hard, the truth Sam didn’t know and couldn’t know. Not yet.
He leaned in and kissed Sam’s forehead, gently, lingering, like he could press down all the guilt trying to rise. “You’re too good to me,” he murmured, forcing his voice to stay light, steady. “But I’ll take it. Just don’t start handing out speeches like that in public - I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”
Dean laughed softly, burying the flicker of anxiety behind a kiss to Sam’s shoulder. But his mind was already racing. He had to go. He couldn’t keep putting it off. The bond wasn’t just awakened now - it was thrumming through him, through both of them. And if John - his father - felt it before Dean got to him first…
“Hey,” he said, sitting up slowly and tugging on his shirt, feigning casual. “There are a couple of things I promised I’d help my… John with. And I promised to come meet him to talk about our situation here.” He turned back to flash a grin. “Won’t be long. Don’t move too much while I’m gone, yeah? I just got you back into that bed.”
But as Dean stepped outside into the cool air, the weight hit him like a blow to the chest. The bond is forbidden. And still… it was done. Sealed in fire, in soul, in Sam’s every heartbeat.
Now he just had to find a way to make his father understand - without losing the one thing in this world that finally made him feel alive.

Chapter Text

Sam looked at Dean when he started getting dressed, mentioning having to talk to John. Had he done something wrong? It almost felt like Dean was running away.
But that was nonsense. He wouldn’t have done all this, said all this to then run away. Maybe he’d promised something and almost forgot about it.
“Okay, I’ll… just clean up or so. I’m not going to go out looking for that mountain lion,” he mumbled and slowly got out of bed. First, he headed to the bathroom to wash and take care of anything he needed.
Ten minutes later, he was dressed, the bed was made, and Sam searched the kitchen for something else to eat because his stomach let him know that he’d skipped a whole day prior.

 

~

Dean’s boots pounded the earth as he sprinted through the forest, the cabin long behind him, the trees blurring past like they knew better than to get in his way. His breath was steady but sharp, not from exhaustion - he could run forever if he had to - but from the weight in his chest. Sam’s words, still echoing like warmth and iron through his ribs. You’re my favorite human. I’m proud we’re together.
Dean’s jaw clenched. God, if only he knew.

He reached the base of the ridge and veered left, slipping through a narrow cleft in the rock face nearly invisible to the eye. It opened into a shallow cave, sheltered and hidden—a place John told him he’d used before when the shift itched beneath his skin.
Dean stepped into the shadows. The change rippled through him like an exhale of ancient heat.

His body twisted, stretched, bones reshaping with a crackling whisper as scales bloomed across his skin. Within moments, where Dean had stood, now rose a massive dragon - sleek and dark as obsidian, with faint golden-green shimmer along his wings and neck like veins of fire. He shook once, wings flexing wide, then launched skyward, claws scraping against the stone as he shot into the open sky.
The flight was fast and clean. He flew higher than needed, letting the wind cool the fire inside him, trying to gather his thoughts before he landed at the high mountain roost his kind had claimed generations ago.

John was already waiting.
The older dragon stood in his human form, tall and strong with silver streaks in his beard and that familiar look in his eyes - the one that saw everything. He said nothing at first, just met Dean’s gaze as he landed and shifted back, steam rising from his skin where the magic clung.
Dean exhaled and dropped to a crouch, bracing his forearms on his knees. “You already know,” he said.
John nodded slowly. “I do.”
Dean looked up at him, jaw tight. “Then you know I didn’t plan it. It just… it happened. He’s…,” His voice cracked, just for a second. “He’s everything.”

John’s expression softened. He stepped forward and placed a steadying hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I know, son. I felt the bond the moment it took root.”
Dean’s eyes searched his father’s. “Then you also know what it means. The Council - our kind - they’re not gonna be okay with this.”
John sighed, his gaze turning to the sky. “No. They won’t. But that doesn’t mean I won’t be.” He looked back at Dean, firmer now. “You’re my son. And I know the strength of a dragon’s bond. You chose with your soul. And I’ll stand beside you - no matter what comes.”
Dean swallowed hard, the weight of his father’s words sinking in like steadying roots. He nodded once, jaw tight. “I couldn’t stop it, even if I tried. It’s him. He feels like home. Like he’s always been meant to be mine.” He paused, voice lower now. “I just… I don’t know how to protect him from what’s coming if they find out.”

Dean sighed, raking a hand through his hair as he leaned back against the cold stone wall behind him, boots digging into the moss-covered ground. The cool air didn’t do much to calm the heat simmering in his chest - the bond, the guilt, the truth he hadn’t dared speak.
“I told him I’m fireborn,” Dean said finally, voice low, rough around the edges. “That I’ve got magic. That the bond between us is rare… powerful. That when it’s fulfilled, it’ll change us both. And it has, Dad. It already has. I feel it in my bones. Every time I look at him, it’s like something ancient in me recognizes him.”
He paused, jaw tightening. “I didn’t tell him I’m a dragon. I couldn’t. Not yet. He knows dragons exist, sure, but being with one? That’s a whole different beast. And if he finds out before he’s ready, if he thinks I lied to him…” Dean trailed off, shaking his head.
He met John’s gaze then, square and unflinching. “He’s handling it better than I ever expected. The bond, the magic, all of it. He trusts me. Even after everything his father drilled into him, even after being trained to hunt dragons… he trusts me. And that’s why I can’t just drop the truth on him like it’s no big deal. Because for him? It is.”
Dean looked down at his hands, flexed them once. “But yeah,” he muttered, quieter now. “I know it’s coming. The truth. The fire. The shift. All of it. And when it hits… I just hope he still looks at me like he did this morning. Like I’m his.”

John nodded. “I can understand your fear, son. There is a chance that it will shock him. Because he knows dragons exist, but he doesn’t know we can shift, right?”
He looked into the distance, thinking.
“I’m going to tell you something now, son. I haven’t told you about it yet, because of what happened. I’m not even sure it will help you in any way, but I’ll tell you nevertheless.
I can understand where you’re standing right now, at the wrong side of dragon law, because I was once in your shoes. I did something that was forbidden by dragon law, but things happened, and before I, before we knew it, it was too late.
I’m talking about your mother. We were not supposed to enter into a relationship. But when it happened, it was much like it is now with you and Sam. We could feel we were meant for each other. It felt right. We were happy. But something happened, outside of my control, and as a consequence of what we did, she’s no longer alive now.” He looked up into Dean’s eyes. After a short break, he continued. “So you see, I fully understand how you feel. I had hoped I would never have to tell you because of similar circumstances, but the dragon council can be very strict and unforgiving, and it may not mean much that I’m the leader. I will never abandon you, though. I mean what I said before. I’ll stand by your side.”

Dean stared at him.
Everything else - the mountains, the wind, the late-morning light slanting through the clouds - vanished into white noise. His mother… was human?
He shook his head slowly, as if that might clear it, as if it might make the words rearrange into something that made sense. But they didn’t. They just sat there, lodged like a blade under his ribs.
“You…,” His voice cracked, and he had to start again. “You’re telling me that she was human? And that you… broke dragon law for her? Just like I did with Sam?”
He stepped back once, hand pressed to the back of his neck like he was trying to keep his thoughts from tearing loose. “Did they…,” His voice dropped lower, tighter. “Did they kill her? Did the council order her dead because of you… because of what you had?”
He could barely breathe. His blood was running cold even though fire should’ve been rising in his chest. “You kept this from me my whole life, and now you tell me this? That I’m standing in the same place you were, making the same choice, loving someone I’m not supposed to - and you’re saying she’s gone because of that?”
Dean’s jaw clenched hard, his throat burning. “Is that what I’m risking by staying with Sam? Not just exile. Not just punishment. But losing him? Watching the council tear him away because of some ancient law written by dragons who don’t know what love is?”
He looked up, eyes glassy with fury and fear, but steady. “I need the truth, Dad. All of it. Right now. Did they take her from you?”
Because suddenly, Dean wasn’t just afraid of being forbidden from loving Sam.
He was terrified of watching history repeat itself.

John understood Dean’s barely contained fury. There was a great deal of fear in it. Fear for Sam.
He looked into Dean’s eyes, trying to convey calm, and shook his head.
“Yes, Dean, your mother was human. I’m sorry I never told you before. It’s still hard for me to talk about it, even with you. And no! She didn’t die because of the council. She didn’t die from dragon hand. The council restricted her from living on dragon land after you were born. I was left to raise you here, among dragons, while she returned to live with the humans. That is why I couldn’t protect her from him.”
Putting his hand on Dean’s shoulder, John gripped it tightly because talking about this now stirred up emotions that he’d long buried. “I loved her. I still love her. Just the way you love Sam.”

Dean’s jaw clenched, the muscle ticking as he looked away for a moment, trying to process the storm inside him. His hands were fists at his sides - not out of anger at John, but at the unbearable weight of knowing. Of finally knowing. Of realizing that everything he’d feared about the council, about what they might do to Sam, wasn’t some wild paranoia. It had happened before. To her.
He let out a slow, shaky breath through his nose and looked back at John. “Then you get it,” he said, voice low and rough. “You know what it means when you’ve got someone like that - someone who’s yours, not just in name, but in every breath, every heartbeat. I didn’t just fall for Sam, Dad. I bonded with him. And it wasn’t a mistake. I’d do it again a thousand times over.”
His throat felt tight, like fire was crawling up behind it, trying to break loose. “If the council finds out, they’ll exile him. Or worse. And I’m not letting them take him away from me. I won’t leave him the way she was left.”
Dean met his father’s eyes, all the fury and fear boiling together behind his gaze. “So what do we do now? Because if they come for Sam, I’m not gonna bow. And I’m damn sure not gonna break the bond.”

John nodded. He got it. And he knew how Dean felt right now.
But maybe his and Sam’s story could take another turn. A better turn. “They can’t force you to break the bond. They can do what they did to your mother and me, forbid her to live on dragon land, among dragons.” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. “You may ask why I didn’t go with her, why I didn’t live with her among humans. The reason is you, son. You know how humans react to dragons. Usually. You know, they used to hunt us. You were a little dragon, and little dragons can’t shift to be a human right away. It’s a skill that only comes into play after a few years. I couldn’t be with Mary, and she couldn’t be with me. But I had you. I promised her to raise you well, make sure you know all about human customs, and not see them as evil. But it was because of that that she got killed. I don’t know what happened, really, but one day when I wanted to visit her, she was gone. And the man she was living with told me she had been killed. He told me it was my fault. Dean, that man was so full of anger. I stayed away because I couldn’t handle it, and I never told you, because I didn’t want you to think that it’s because of you that she was killed. If anything, it was because of me, but my gut tells me it was him.”
Dean stood frozen, jaw tight, his hands curled into fists at his sides - not from anger at his father, but from the sudden pressure of everything that had been unsaid for so long crashing down around him. It was like a piece of the sky had cracked open, and he was staring at truths too old and too painful to look at directly.
His voice, when it finally came, was low and rough. “You should’ve told me, Dad. All of it. Not just the bond rules. Not just the politics. Her. I deserved to know what really happened to her.”
He took a shaky breath and paced a few steps away, running a hand through his hair. “You raised me to understand humans, to walk their roads, speak their language, hide my fire like it was something to be ashamed of. But you never told me I was living in the middle of the story you didn’t finish.”
Dean turned back to him, his eyes burning - not with dragon fire, but with emotion far more human. “And now I’m standing in your shoes. Only this time, I’m not giving him up. I’m not leaving Sam behind, I’m not lying to him, and I’m sure as hell not breaking the bond.”
He took a step closer, his voice softening just slightly. “You did what you had to do back then. I get that now. But I need you to understand - what I have with him… it’s not something I can walk away from. It’s not just a bond. It’s him. And I won’t lose him because of a law written by dragons who’ve never loved a human like we have.”
Dean looked at John, eyes glassy but steady. “I get it now. I really do,” he said quietly. “And I love you for it - for being my father, for choosing me, even when it cost you everything. I forgive you.”

John swallowed hard and then stepped towards Dean, closing the distance and wrapping him in a hard, emotional hug. He held him close, eyes watching on beyond him, welling up with tears unshed. Tears for Dean, his forgiving him, and tears for Mary. “It was our decision, hers and mine. We thought it would be best for all of us. But we were wrong, and I’m so infinitely sorry. I talk to her every night, asking for her forgiveness and begging her to protect you and… and I know she will watch over you. And Sam. You love him, you love him so much you would die for him, and that is a trait that applied to your mother as well. I still love her so much, Dean. And I promise on her name, I will do everything I can to make sure that you and Sam can be on dragon land. And be safe.”
When he finally released Dean again, one tear rolled from his eyes. He didn’t try to hide it. “She was the most beautiful person I’ve ever met, Dean. Inside, and out. When I dream, she’s still alive and smiling. Sometimes, I don’t want to wake up from those dreams.”

Dean didn’t hesitate - not for a second. The moment John pulled him into that hug, he clung to him with the kind of grip that only years of quiet loyalty and unspoken love could build. He buried his face into his father’s shoulder, not to hide anything, but because this - this closeness, this solid, unwavering presence - was home. His throat tightened, and he didn’t fight it. He let himself feel it all.
“I missed her too,” Dean whispered, voice cracking just enough to show it mattered. “Every damn day.”
When they finally pulled apart, Dean scrubbed at his face with the heel of his hand, eyes bright but dry. He looked at his father - really looked - and in that moment, all the things they’d never needed to say still lived in the silence between them. Trust. Love. Forgiveness. It had always been there.
“You’re not the only one who talks to her,” Dean said softly. “Sometimes I still hear her humming. Could be memory. Could be magic. Doesn’t matter. It helps.”
He took a breath, steadier now, but the weight of what came next still pressed at his chest. “Dad… the bond with Sam - it’s real. It’s deep. And yeah, it’s forbidden. But I’d do it again in a heartbeat.” He held John’s gaze, no apology in his eyes. Just certainty. “I love him. With everything I’ve got. And I’m not afraid of what that means. I’m only afraid of what it could cost him.”
Dean stepped closer, lowering his voice, like sharing something sacred. “I need your help. Not as the dragon who watches over the boundary. Not as some ancient enforcer of old rules. I need you as my dad.”
He smiled, just a little, just for him. “Because if there’s anyone who can help me protect Sam… it’s the dragon who raised me to love like Mom did.”

John returned that smile warmly.
“You have my help whenever you need it, son. In any way you need it.”
He breathed deeply and let his hands run through the smoky gray of his beard.
“What did you tell Sam you were going to do when you came here now? Is he asleep, maybe? And do you need me to come with you right now?”
John searched Dean’s eyes once more.
“I don’t want to dictate to you how you handle things. So let me know what you need from me now.”

~

In the meantime, Sam had eaten of the dried meat along with some bread he sliced from a loaf he had found.
There was no sight of Dean anywhere, and Sam began to wonder where he had gone.
Remembering his promise not to wander off, Sam decided that anything that had the cabin in eyesight was not wandering off, and went outside.
The axe was still leaning where Dean had left it, and Sam smiled. Soon, he would not just let Dean do everything.
Near the cabin, he spotted a willow tree with strong, low branches and walked over. He found they were perfect to sit on without having to climb and settled down, focusing on some birds that were flying around in it while waiting for Dean.

~

Dean let out a slow breath, some of the tension easing from his shoulders at the steadiness in John’s voice. That word - son - hit differently every time, but today, it landed soft. Anchoring. Like a promise. And right now, Dean needed that more than he’d admit.
“I told him you needed me,” Dean said, scratching the back of his neck. “Didn’t want to lie, but I also didn’t want him asking why I was running off to have a heart-to-heart with the local dragon patriarch about… y’know, forging a soul bond with a human.”
He gave John a sideways glance, half sheepish, half grateful. “He thinks you’re just the guy who brought us here. Doesn’t know you’re my guy. And I’m not ready for him to know that yet. Not until I’ve got all the pieces straight.”
Dean shifted his weight, crossing his arms as his eyes met his father’s again. “I’m not asking you to fix it. I don’t want it fixed. I just… I needed to see you. To hear you say it’s still okay. That I didn’t cross a line that burns everything down.”
He exhaled, then added with a wry grin, “Also, I needed to be sure you weren’t about to fly over the cabin and roast me for being a sentimental idiot.” A pause. “But mostly, I just needed my dad for a second.”
John smiled. “I hope you’re just using that image of me flying over as… just that. An image. There’s nothing you could ever do to warrant such a response from me or any dragon.”
Then he turned serious. “The council will request me to attend a meeting. They will demand that you can’t live on dragon land. The cabin is at the furthermost edge. I will request that you can stay here, since there is no interaction with any dragons or participation in any daily dragon activities. You’re not bothering anyone out there. I can’t promise they will agree, but if they vote against it, I will remind them of what happened with your mother.” John nodded to himself, like he was confirming his resolve. “What are you going to tell Sam? He will want to know how things went with your talking to me. And I’m not sure you should stray too far from the truth.”
Dean shifted his weight, arms crossed tight over his chest, eyes fixed on the floor for a moment before lifting to meet John’s. “I know,” he said quietly. “I know I can’t lie to him. Not really. And I don’t want to. But I also can’t just drop the words dragon council and forbidden bond on him before he’s ready to hear it.”
He ran a hand through his hair, jaw tense. “I’ll tell him I had to talk to you about… boundaries. About making sure he’s safe, and that the people you answer to don’t see him as a threat or a complication. That’s still the truth. Just… trimmed.”
Dean’s gaze flicked out toward the mountain ridge beyond the forest, where the cabin sat hidden in the quiet edges of dragon territory. “He trusts me, Dad. With everything. I feel it in the bond, and it kills me to keep this from him. But if the council makes a move… I need to be ready. We need to be ready.”
He looked back at John, something fierce and protective sparking behind his eyes. “They’re not gonna take him from me. Not without a fight. You know that, right?”
“I know, Dean,” John replied quietly. “And I will do everything in my power to prevent that. I promise, son!” He looked over his shoulder, back to the heart of the dragon lands. “Talk to him, Dean. Tell him as much as you need to, but as little as possible. I will talk to the council. I will visit you if there is news.”
He hugged Dean once more before stepping aside and shifting back to his dragon form. “Take good care of yourself, Dean. And of Sam. He’s a good kid.”

Dean stood still for a moment, watching as John’s massive form took shape - scales glinting like forged iron, wings stretching wide against the fading sky. The sight of his father like that, fully dragon, never stopped tugging at something deep in Dean’s chest. It was awe. It was pride. And today… it was fear. But not of John. Of what came next.
He nodded once. “I will,” he said, voice low but firm. “Always.”
Then he stepped back, gave a quick, two-fingered salute, and turned toward the edge of the cave. A breath. A shift. And heat flared under his skin as bones cracked and stretched, reshaping, flame licking beneath the surface. In seconds, he was airborne - scales dark as obsidian, wings catching the wind with practiced grace.

The flight was short but sharp, every beat of his wings slicing through the quiet like a promise: I’m coming back to you.

As the cabin came into view, tucked beneath the trees like a secret kept safe, Dean circled once before landing silently in the clearing behind it. He shifted back fast, heart still pounding, the bond with Sam pulling at him like a second gravity. A moment later, he was running back to the cabin.
He took one breath to steady himself, then pushed the door open and stepped inside - home.

~

Sam had been watching the birds, hopping from branch to branch as they had a conversation of tweets and chirps. He wondered what they were quarreling about and was so engrossed in the display that he didn’t notice the time passing.
Suddenly, the birds went silent, and a moment later, they flew off. Looking around, Sam wondered what had disturbed them. Hopefully, it wasn’t another mountain lion, because Dean wasn’t back yet.
A moment later, however, Sam saw the reason for the birds’ departure, because Dean came running along the meadow back to their cabin.
Before Sam could call, he had opened the door and stepped inside, so Sam slid off his branch and headed back to the front door as well.
“You’re back,” he called when he stepped inside, smiling. He hoped whatever had chased him from their bed had been resolved, and everything was good.
Dean was already inside when Sam stepped through the door, standing by the long wooden table with one hand braced on it, the other still at his side, as if he’d only just stopped moving. His chest rose and fell a little faster than normal, not from exertion alone, but from the kind of restless energy Sam had come to recognize - something had happened.
At the sound of Sam’s voice, Dean straightened and turned, a grin slipping onto his face like a well-worn cloak - familiar, easy, but not quite fastened. “Yeah,” he said, walking toward him. “Back in one piece. Didn’t mean to vanish so quickly - I needed to speak with John. Asking for some warding for this cabin, and questions about territory lines. Nothing exciting.”
He reached Sam in a few strides, slipping an arm around his waist and pulling him close with a sigh that was more relief than greeting. He kissed him - soft, brief, but grounding - and then rested his forehead against Sam’s for a breath.
“You alright? I saw you from the ridge - up in that tree, looking like some woodland spirit charming the birds outta their feathers. If they start bringing you berries or folding our tunics, I’ll know my usefulness is at an end.”
Dean pulled back just enough to see Sam’s eyes, and though the smile remained, there was a flicker of something behind it. He didn’t speak of it yet - but the way his hand settled at the small of Sam’s back, steady and firm, said plenty: I need this. I need you.

Sam stood still, letting Dean pull him close to kiss him before resting his forehead against his. It seemed like something had spooked him, and Sam couldn’t shake the feeling that it had to do with him. He returned Dean’s kiss and smile and leaned into the hug. And when Dean pulled back a little to look at him, Sam did the same. “Are you okay?” he asked, genuinely concerned. “You’re not acting like yourself. Did… did I do anything wrong? I know you said to stay in the house, but I thought the tree was close enough.”
Sam licked his lips and then wrapped his arms around Dean as well. “I’m not going to disappear, غhràidh.” He rubbed his hands over Dean’s back, instinctively trying to provide comfort.

Dean closed his eyes for a second, breathing in the feel of Sam - his arms, his scent, the steady beat of his heart against Dean’s chest. It was grounding, real, and it made the knot in his gut tug tighter. He hated that Sam could see right through him. Loved it, too. But right now, it made lying feel impossible.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Dean said softly, shaking his head as he held Sam a little tighter, like his body was afraid to let go even if his words said everything was fine. “The tree’s fine. You’re fine. I’m…” He exhaled, a little laugh slipping out, tired and small. “I’m just in my own head.”
He leaned back enough to meet Sam’s eyes, his hands sliding down to rest at his waist. “Had a talk with John. Politics stuff, council grumbling about boundaries and who belongs where. Not your fault. Just… it’s complicated.”
Dean pressed another kiss to Sam’s forehead, lingering. “You’re not going anywhere. I know that. But you say it out loud, and it still calms something in me I didn’t know was screaming.”
He pulled back just enough to smirk, trying to bring some of the lightness back. “Besides, if you had disappeared, I’d have to raze half the forest to find you. Real dramatic. Shirtless. Fireborn fury. Not a good look for diplomacy.”
Sam looked at Dean, darting between his eyes and his lips.
“You know you’re rambling. That doesn’t sound like you at all. It’s usually my part when I try to explain something inexplicable or try to talk my head out of a noose.” He pulled him close again.
“You don’t have to talk to me if there’s something you still have to sort in your head before it’s out in the open, but if you need to talk, just ask. I’ll always be here to listen.”
He took a deep breath and then chuckled at the image Dean’s words had created in his mind. “And now I think I have to find a good hiding spot just to see you turning the forest upside down. Shirtless.”
Dean let out a rough laugh, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little at the sound of Sam’s voice - his voice, the steady warmth of it, the grounding calm that always somehow pulled Dean back from the edge. He slid his arms around Sam’s waist and held him close, burying his face briefly in the crook of his neck.
“You’re not wrong,” he muttered against Sam’s skin, voice muffled and dry with self-awareness. “I am rambling. I think my brain short-circuited somewhere between ‘how do I protect him from a centuries-old ruling body of magical fire-lizards’ and ‘he thinks I look good shirtless.’”
He leaned back enough to meet Sam’s eyes, his smile crooked, a little tired, but real. “You saying you’d actually hide just to watch me stomp through the woods all dramatic? That’s diabolical. And a little hot.”
Then, softer, thumb brushing absently along Sam’s side: “Thanks for letting me be a mess sometimes. I’m used to being the one holding the walls up. Kinda nice having someone who’ll sit on the floor with me when they crack.”
Sam chuckled warmly, remaining on the steady ground for the moment.
“Magical fire-lizards?” he asked, sounding confused. “Not sure I’m following, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’ll gladly sit on the ground with you, discussing whether or not it is diabolical wanting to see you shirtless in a forest.”
He kissed Dean’s forehead, never letting go of him. “So… where do we sit now and wait until the storm in your head calms down enough to decipher what you’re talking about?”

Dean huffed a laugh against Sam’s shoulder, the kind that was more breath than sound, but it still shook something loose inside him. He leaned in a little closer, grateful for the steadiness Sam offered without even trying. “You’re too damn good at this, you know that?” He muttered, pressing a kiss to Sam’s collarbone before pulling back just enough to look at him.
“Magical fire-lizards,” he said, smirking faintly, “is what happens when my brain short-circuits from thinking too much and not enough coffee. But it’s also maybe a metaphor for… complicated crap I can’t explain yet without sounding like I’ve lost my mind. So yeah, a bench, a rock, hell, even the floor - wherever we sit, as long as it’s with you, my storm tends to quiet down.”
Dean glanced toward the cabin’s front door, then back at Sam. “C’mon. Let’s go out to the porch. You can admire the forest, I’ll pretend I’m not enjoying your attention, and we’ll let my brain stop trying to set itself on fire.”
Sam inclined his head a little and then shook it slowly. “How about YOU sit on the porch and I make the coffee so those fire-lizards in your head will calm down and stop playing with matches in your brain. I’ll come sit with you as soon as the coffee is ready, and then we can either talk and sip the coffee, or just sip the coffee, or have a brilliant discussion about why it is the best coffee ever.”
He smiled. “And now it’s me who’s rambling. See, it’s already working. Now, go sit outside, or right here, and let me make the three B’s.”Sam could see the question in Dean’s eyes even before it came across his lips. “Bitter brown brew,” he explained. “Don’t ask. But it is why I smuggle sugar into mine.”

Dean stared at him for a beat, lips twitching before he let out a bark of laughter that loosened something in his chest he hadn’t realized was tight. “Three B’s? What the hell, Sammy - sounds like you’re makin’ a potion, not coffee.”
He leaned in, stole a quick kiss from Sam’s lips, then pointed a mock-stern finger at him. “Fine, but only because I said fire-lizards first, and hearing it come out of your mouth is ten times funnier. And also because I wanna see if your sugar-infested potion actually counts as coffee.”
He backed toward the porch, still grinning. “But if you burn the water, I’m tellin’ the dragon council. Gonna let ‘em know their ‘fearless knight’ can’t make a bitter brown brew without summoning a kitchen demon.”
Then he opened the door with a dramatic sigh. “Go on, wizard of the kettle. Brew me your finest concoction and join me soon - or I’m comin’ back in and dragging you out by your adorable casted arm.”

Sam looked at Dean, lips parted in astonishment. Then he laughed and shook his head. “You’ll see, with sugar the three B’s will magically change to beautiful brown brew.”
Once Dean had gone to the porch, Sam busied himself making the coffee. He’d already noticed that Dean never had anything in his coffee, and that’s how he kept it as well. Making sure there was enough ground coffee to make the hot drink tasty and on the stronger side. When it was done, he poured two cups and added some sugar in one of them. When he was happy, he carried the mugs outside, handing Dean the one without sugar.
“There you go, my fire-lizard friend. The water is unscathed, and you can refrain from alarming that council. Enjoy your BBB.” With a smile, he settled next to Dean and sipped on his coffee. “No need to pull me along on my cast, which, as I may point out, is anything but adorable.”

Dean took the mug with a grin, eyes glinting with amusement as he sipped carefully. “Mmm. Alright, I’ll admit it - this brew’s good enough to wake the dead. Still don’t know how you managed not to scorch the pot. Must be some kind of sorcery.” He gave Sam a sidelong glance. “Or maybe your cast gives you mysterious powers. Like conjuring decent coffee.”
He took another sip, then added with mock offense, “And fire-lizard? Really? You’re using my own insult against me now? I coined that term when I was twelve and trying to insult John without getting roasted alive. Can’t believe it stuck.”
Glancing down at Sam’s arm, Dean smirked. “And don’t knock the cast. It suits you. You’ve got that ‘wounded squire in a ballad’ look. Tragic, brave, a little reckless. Makes people want to write poems about you or, y’know, carry you over puddles.”
He bumped their shoulders together, eyes softer now. “And just so you know, cast or not, you still look like the kind of trouble I’d ride into battle for. And I hate battles before breakfast.”

“Squire? First, I’m a fearless knight, then a wizard. Now I got demoted to squire. Is my coffee that bad?”
Sam looked at Dean with a straight face, at least for a few moments. Then his lips twitched and he laughed. “I’m glad you’re still going to fight for me. Against mountain lions, the dragon council, and bitter coffee.”
He looked Dean up and down, happy to see him smile. Still, he couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was something that bothered Dean. And Sam hoped he would open up about it. “What are we going to do with the rest of the day?”
Dean grinned, full of mischief, but there was a flicker of something behind it - just a little too measured. He reached over and ruffled Sam’s hair with mock affection. “Squire is a promotion, thank you very much. Means you get to carry my sword and still look good doin’ it. Plus, you make better coffee than I ever could - so you’re safe from full demotion. For now.”
He leaned back against the cabin wall, arms crossed, eyes scanning the surroundings like he was buying himself a few seconds. Sam knows something’s off. Of course, he does. The bond ran both ways now, and Dean wasn’t exactly subtle on a good day.
“Well,” he finally said, scratching the back of his neck, “we could do something wild and reckless like sit on the porch and do absolutely nothing. Or I can finish splitting that wood while you pretend not to stare at my ass.”
He paused, then smiled a little more softly. “Or… we could take a walk down by the lake. It’s quiet. Could use some quiet.” His eyes flicked to Sam’s. “You okay with that? Just… you and me. For a bit.”

“Promotion, demotion… you’re making my head spin,” Sam replied, shaking it quickly to demonstrate what he meant. Then he looked at Dean, watching him as he came up with ideas what to do. And Sam could feel that something was not the way it was supposed to be.
“I think we’re already sitting wild and reckless on the porch. You could finish splitting the wood after you finished your fabulous coffee, but I’m not going to tell you what l’ll be staring at. As for a walk by the lake, where it’s quiet, that sounds nice. But first, I would like to know what happened that you basically jumped out of bed and ran across the meadow like a maniac. And now you’re babbling and trying to hide it badly. Are you okay, Dean?” Sam just looked at him for a few seconds. “Is there anything I can do to make you act like the normal Dean? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining, but… you’re different. And I somehow feel responsible. So… I want to help, my love.”
Dean froze mid-sip, coffee halfway to his mouth, and winced like he’d been caught sneaking the last piece of pie. He lowered the mug slowly, eyes flicking to Sam’s with that lopsided grin he usually used to dodge emotional landmines. “Damn, Sammy,” he muttered. “You don’t miss a damn thing, do you?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes briefly darting out to the horizon like maybe the trees would offer him a better answer than his own racing thoughts. “Look, I’m okay. I promise. Just… had to talk to someone about something. Got in my head a little. You ever just wake up and remember life still exists outside the bed and the berries and the, uh, amazing sex magic?”
He tried to chuckle, but it came out too thin to pass. Dean sighed and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely. “You’re not responsible for anything but makin’ me fall harder for you every five minutes. But yeah… maybe you can help.”
He looked back at Sam, softer now, no deflection. “Just stay close. Let’s walk. Talk. You don’t have to fix anything - I just… I need a little of that Sam magic. The kind that makes me believe everything’s gonna be alright, even when the world’s getting complicated.”
He offered a hand, palm up, with a gentle smile. “Sound like a deal, my fearless knight?”

Sam looked at Dean for a long time, even after Dean was done talking. He was worrying his lips with his teeth without noticing it, and finally relocated his gaze to his coffee. He took a big sip, and after that, a deep breath. “So, now I’m a knight again,” he started, realizing that might not be the best way to start. “Okay,” he then said, taking Dean’s offered hand. “It’s a deal. Let’s walk to that lake you were mentioning. Not sure how much magic I hold, but I’ll gladly give you all of what I have. Maybe I can help after all.” He finished his mug and smiled. “And when we’re back, you get to split the wood, and I get to decide what you can wear for it. Deal?”
Dean let out a low chuckle, gripping Sam’s hand with a warmth that spread all the way up his arm. “Deal,” he said, giving Sam’s hand a gentle squeeze before standing and tugging him up with him. “Though fair warning - if you make me wear anything too ridiculous, I will split that wood with extra dramatic flair. Might even throw in a slow-motion hair flip - if the wind cooperates.”
He winked, brushing his thumb along the back of Sam’s hand before letting go. “And hey, you’re more than a knight, Sammy. You’re the man who handed me his heart without asking for anything in return. That’s not just bravery - that’s trust. And that’s magic.”
Dean grabbed his cloak and slung it over one shoulder. “Now come on, Sir Smartass. Let’s see if that lake is as quiet up close as it looked from above. I saw it when we were flying over with John. Looked peaceful. And deep.” He smirked, nudging Sam with his shoulder. “Just try not to fall in love with me again when the sunlight hits my fireborn glow just right.”
“No more falling in love, check,” Sam replied. “And who said anything about making you look ridiculous? I want a show I can admire, not one that is ridiculous. After all, the reward for splitting wood is a serious matter.” He watched Dean take his cloak and wondered what he was planning with it. Would it get cold, or could it be used like a blanket? “Should I grab a cloak or something as well?” he then asked.
Dean gave Sam a look that was all mischief and mock drama. “No more falling in love, check,” he echoed with a grin. “But hey, if you’re expectin’ a show worth admiring, I better have proper seating, right?”
He held up the cloak like it was some priceless artifact. “This? Not for warmth. It’s for luxury. I’m layin’ it out so your royal pain-in-the-ass self doesn’t have to sit on pine needles or get your perfect behind damp by the lake.”
He glanced back at Sam with a smirk. “But if you want to bring a cloak too, be my guest. Just don’t expect me to share mine if you start gettin’ handsy. That’s premium fireside seating.”
Dean started walking again, tugging Sam along, then added over his shoulder, “Also, feel free to rate the view while I walk. I take compliments in verbal form or appreciative stares.”
Sam looked at Dean like he’d grown a second head and then shook his head to clear it. “I’m not sure I understand everything correctly, but I’ll have you informed that I have a boyfriend who promised to always keep me safe,” he started. “So if I get harmed because you don’t make sure my pretty ass stays needle-free, he will fly in on his trusty dragon, roast you a little, and then make sure I’ll have the time of my life.”
He grinned. “But since you’re pulling me along, you’d better hope that the appreciative whistle will not draw my boyfriend in anyway.” He glanced at Dean’s back… and his ass… and whistled just like he’d said before catching up a bit to walk next to Dean. Then he stole a quick kiss and walked on like nothing had happened.
Dean blinked, smirk already forming as he side-eyed Sam with mock offense. “Your boyfriend sounds like a real territorial bastard,” he said, voice low and teasing. “Definitely sounds like the type who’d set a whole forest on fire just ‘cause someone looked at you funny.”
He bumped Sam’s shoulder lightly as they walked, lips twitching. “And if a certain someone keeps whistling at my ass like that, I guarantee he’s gonna show up with teeth, smoke, and absolutely no pants.”
Dean let the kiss happen - quick, sweet, dangerous - and then gave Sam a look that said Oh, you started something now. He didn’t stop walking, didn’t break stride, but his grin widened, slow and devilish. “By the way, tell your boyfriend that next time you kiss someone like that, he better be ready to see that someone finish what you started.”
He gave Sam one last look, all heat and humor, before adding with a wink, “And tell him to watch the whistling. It definitely summons things.”
“Noted,” Sam replied. “I’ll write him a list. But tell me, what kind of things does the whistling summon? Mountain lions hopefully don’t get attracted by it.”
He looked around, alert. He’d been surprised when they’d almost met the big cat at the creek, but now that he knew there were wild cats around, Sam’s trained hunter eye was scanning the area. “Ah… it’s just a squirrel,” he then laughed. “No mountain cats around. And no dragons. Just a man with a cast and a fireborn that is talking of getting handsy at the lake.”
Dean nudged Sam’s good arm gently with his elbow, the teasing light in his eyes unmistakable. “For the record, mountain lions don’t usually show up when I whistle. That call’s more for birds… and, occasionally, stubborn fireborn apprentices who wander too far off during herb gathering.”
He glanced at the treeline, just long enough to keep the mood light without ignoring Sam’s vigilance. “But yeah, just squirrels. Nothing big, scaly, or sharp-toothed out today - unless you count me.” He shot Sam a sly look. “But I promise, the only thing I’m planning to devour at the lake is that smug little smile you keep flashing at me.”
Sam let his eyes roam around until they finally settled on Dean again. “So… in which category do you fall? Big? Scaly? Sharp-toothed? And if my whistle is more for birds, which ones am I attracting? Those big ones with the sharp talons and beaks or the ones that sing very prettily?”
He looked ahead at the barely visible and long-time overgrown path they were following. “How much further do you think we’ll have to go. And will you start your devouring right away, or will there be a moment to enjoy the water, maybe?”
Dean huffed a laugh, tugging his cloak tighter as they stepped over a fallen branch, boots crunching softly on the overgrown path. The forest was thick here, wild and green, and the lake was still just a whisper ahead - but Sam’s mouth kept the air light. Dean could still hear the edge of curiosity underneath the teasing - the way Sam asked like he wasn’t sure if he was joking or fishing for truth.
“Me?” Dean said, brushing a low branch aside so Sam could pass. “I’m the kind that pretends not to be scaly, sharp-toothed, or dangerous until someone pokes the wrong rib. So, you know… charming. Mostly.”
He shot Sam a slow, deliberate look. “And your whistle? Definitely not for the songbirds. You’re calling in the raptors, sweetheart. The ones that circle high and dive fast. The kind that don’t just sing - they claim.”
The trees began to thin, and the distant sound of water met their ears, soft and steady. Dean’s smile curved a little wider. “We’re close. Maybe half a mile. And no, I won’t devour you right away.” He leaned in, voice dropping low like a promise. “There’s always time to enjoy the water before the fire.”
“That sounds great,” Sam replied with a grin. “Because I happen to like water. Luckily, it’s nice and warm without being humid, so swimming would be perfect. Unless there are crocs in the lake, that is.”
He laughed.
“Half a mile, you say?” he asked, straining his ears and scanning the thinning trees. “How about you race me there?”
Sam stole another kiss and then, without waiting for an answer, he let go of Dean’s hand and started running. He skipped over little branches and ducked underneath others, knowing very well that Dean would catch up. But he wanted to show him he was feeling a lot better and not as brittle as he probably first seemed.
Dean blinked, caught off guard for exactly half a second as Sam took off like a shot, all wild laughter and feet kicking up dust. Then a grin tugged at his mouth - slow, dangerous, and fond as hell.
“Oh, it’s on,” he muttered, already starting after him.
He gave Sam a bit of a head start - just enough to let him feel cocky - then picked up speed, weaving through the trees like he was born for it. Which, let’s be honest, he pretty much was. His boots barely touched the earth, muscles moving with easy power as branches parted for him like they knew better than to get in his way.
“Careful, غhràidh,” he called out, laughter in his voice as he closed the gap. “Race a fireborn in the woods and you might just get smoked!”
And just as the lake came into view, shimmering through the trees, Dean surged forward. In one smooth motion, he caught up to Sam, wrapped an arm around his waist, and lifted him clean off the ground like he weighed nothing at all.
Sam yelped, laughing mid-air, and Dean didn’t slow down - he barreled the last few feet with Sam in his arms, triumphant and grinning like the cocky bastard he was. “Told you I’d win,” he panted as they reached the shore, setting Sam down with theatrical care. “Next time, don’t forget - I always catch what I chase.”
Sam laughed and caught his breath.
“Technically, I won. You carried me, I was in front of you.”
His grin grew a bit wider, and his eyes roamed over Dean’s face.
“Maybe I was counting on you catching up,” he then said softly and stretched out on the ground.
“The spot is nice, but there are pine needles pricking me. Maybe you can get that cloak of yours and make sure your knight doesn’t get his beautiful skin scratched.”
Eyes closed, Sam grinned. He couldn’t keep a straight face.
Dean huffed out a laugh, dropping to a knee beside him, hands bracing on either side of Sam as he leaned down close. “First of all,” he said, voice low and smug, “you didn’t win. You lured me. There’s a difference, and don’t think I didn’t see that smug little head start you gave yourself.”
He glanced down at the forest floor, then back at Sam with a mock-serious squint. “And second, beautiful skin? Damn, your fever must be back. I’ve got scars older than your boots.” But even as he teased, he was already shrugging off his cloak, spreading it out with a dramatic flick beside Sam.
Dean settled onto it, then pulled Sam gently into his lap, arms wrapping around him with practiced ease. “There. No more pine needle casualties for my not-so-damsel knight,” he said, voice softer now, threaded with affection. “And if you ask nicely, I’ll even brush the leaves out of your hair like a proper courtly suitor.”
“Hmm… I deserved the head start because of the cast. That’s obvious,” Sam began to list. “Then, of course, you have scars older than my boots. I’m not even wearing my boots. Plus… I was talking about my beautiful, pristine skin… the parts without scars.
My boyfriend, you know, would hate to see fresh scars on me. And if you don’t pay attention to that, he’ll hunt you down and… make you kiss every wound you caused me before dropping you in the lake.”
He laughed, enjoying it greatly to come up with so much nonsense. He hadn’t forgotten Dean’s sudden departure earlier and his rambling thereafter, but he could understand. And he also understood that everyone at some point needed a few minutes or hours to themselves.
“So…,” he continued, opening one eye to let it roam over Dean’s body in an obvious manner.
“When are you going to stand by the lake and let me admire you in your full glory?”
Sam coughed when Dean mentioned paying tribute. With a poem no less. He knew he hadn’t yet let on that rhymes were something he liked - in secret because he had once gotten a hiding for it because it was a girls’ thing - but maybe it was time to open that can of worms. “Heroic thighs, eh?” he hummed, thinking. Then he pursed his lips, pushing up on his elbows to watch Dean’s reaction.
“A fireborn known for his eyes,
had wonderful, glorious thighs,
Flexes legs at the lake
So much better than cake
And his charming knight happily sighs.” Sam grinned, quite happy with the way he pulled that out of his non-existent hat. “Do I get the full glory now?” he asked. “I’ll promise, I’ll do the same.”
Dean stared at him for a beat, like Sam had just sprouted wings and recited an ancient prophecy while shirtless. Then he barked out a laugh so loud it startled a bird from the nearby reeds. He clutched his chest like he’d been mortally wounded, falling back on the cloak with theatrical flair.
“Oh, you definitely get the full glory now,” he groaned, grinning wide. “Glory, applause, possibly a dangerous smooch, and absolutely no cake because you just outshone dessert and dinner with that masterpiece.”
Without another word, Dean reached for the hem of his shirt and yanked it off over his head in one smooth motion, boots and breeches following shortly after with zero shame - until he was standing there in all his so-called heroic splendor, water glinting behind him like a damn painting.
He threw his arms out. “Full. Glory. As promised.” Then, with a smirk and a raised brow: “You gonna keep your word too, or is this a one-sided tribute situation?”
Dean stepped toward the water’s edge, lowering his voice just enough to send a shiver down Sam’s spine. “Secret poet, huh? What else you got hidden under that modest knight routine? Embroidery? Harp solos? Secret identity as a wandering bard?”
He waded in slowly, golden skin meeting the cool lake with a hiss and a grin. “Careful, Sammy. Keep rhyming like that, and I’ll write you a ballad so filthy the monks’ll need a week of fasting just to look you in the eye.”
Sam laughed at Dean’s threat of a filthy ballad and then got up, slowly undressing himself.
“Definitely no harp solos and no singing, just a little hidden thing for rhyming. Had to keep my mind busy at times, you know? I think if I had sung my poems, we would never have met.”
Once Sam was just as naked as Dean - but for the cast - he waded in behind Dean down to his waist.
“I love how the water is so clear,” he said. “I can see the pebbles on the ground.
So… are we going to scare any hidden monks with what we’ll be doing? Or should I stick to floating on my back, at least for a while?”
Right then, Sam hated the fact that he was still wearing the cast. Swimming was not really possible unless he would soak it and then… then it would be useless. “But if we’re scaring monks, we could start with a kiss.”
Dean turned toward him in the water, the ripples catching the sunlight and flickering across Sam’s bare skin like firelight on parchment. His gaze dragged slowly over Sam - lingering not with hunger, but with something far softer. Awe. Even with the cast, even with the limitations, Sam still managed to shine like he belonged in the middle of a lake with nothing but sky overhead and Dean in front of him.
Dean grinned. “Scaring monks, huh?” he drawled, stepping closer until the water lapped at both their waists. “I think if any holy men catch us, they’ll be too busy praying to remember why they came out here in the first place.”
He reached up, fingers brushing wet strands of hair off Sam’s forehead, then cradled his jaw gently. “And for the record? I’d take your quiet poems over harp solos any day. Singing would’ve just gotten you thrown in a tavern brawl, not into my arms.”
Then he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Sam’s lips - unhurried, reverent, like it belonged to the moment, to the water, to the wind. “There,” Dean murmured against his mouth. “One monk-scaring kiss, made to order. And if we float a little after? Well… I suppose I can behave. For now.”
Sam smiled and then chased after Dean’s kiss. After the successful mission, he looked at Dean, curious.
“So… no singing? I mean, I don’t blame you, but you haven’t even heard me sing. What if I’m not that bad?” He stretched out his hand and let his thumb rub over the hickey he’d placed on Dean’s shoulder. “Looks good. Like… mine.”
His eyes glided all over Dean’s body, at least all over what he could see. “You want to float now? In the water? With me? I’d absolutely love that, but I think it would get my cast soaked. Anything we can do about that?”
Dean huffed a laugh, letting Sam’s thumb linger against the tender spot on his neck without flinching. “Looks good, huh?” he said, cocking an eyebrow with a smirk. “Next thing I know, you’ll be carving your name into my armor.”
He let his gaze drop down to Sam’s cast and frowned thoughtfully. “Yeah, floating sounds damn good… but unless you want your healer screaming at me like I’ve cursed your bloodline, we’re gonna have to get creative.”
He glanced around, realizing they had nothing with them but their clothes and his cloak: no wraps, no oilcloth—just fabric and reckless ideas. “Alright,” he muttered, tugging the cloak from where it lay bunched on the grass. “Not exactly battlefield-tested, but…”
He gave it a shake, then folded it with surprising precision. “We wrap your arm in this, nice and tight. I’ll hold onto you the whole time, make sure it doesn’t dip. Worst case, I dry it with body heat and dragon-level glaring at the sun until it cooperates.”
He looked up at Sam with a grin, eyes warm. “You trust me, right? I’ve carried you through worse than a lazy swim. Besides, I really want to see what your hair looks like when it’s wet and ridiculous.”
“Wet and ridiculous?” Sam asked. “Why do you think my hair would be ridiculous when wet?” He pouted for a second and glanced at the cloak. “As for trusting you? You know that I do. You saved me. How can I not trust you? So what exactly is your plan? Tie my arm to my torso?” As creative as Sam had been with the impromptu poem, he just couldn’t think past tying his arm up right then.
Dean chuckled, reaching for the cloak as he stepped closer, eyes glinting with mischief. “Nah, not tie it up. That’d make you look like a lopsided scarecrow. My plan’s smarter - and less tragic-looking.”
He folded the cloak lengthwise and held it out. “We’ll loop it around your neck and under your arm like a sling. Keeps the weight off your shoulder and still lets you move around without jarring it. See? Practical and stylish.”
Then he smirked, nodding at Sam’s damp curls. “And your hair? I’m just sayin’, when it’s wet, it gets all clingy and curls around your ears like it’s staging a rebellion. It’s adorable. Distractingly so.”
Dean gave a soft shrug. “What can I say? I’m good at field repairs, poetry… and noticing you.”

Sam frowned for a second and then tried to look at his hair, crossing his eyes in the attempt.
“Adorable,” he repeated. “Usually, my hair is a pain to comb when it’s wet and dried again, but you can’t mean that with adorable. So… am I ready to float with that sling?”
Without realizing it, Sam lifted his hand and ran it through his hair, and since it had already been in the water, he just dampened his hair even more. A moment later, he noticed and hung his head for a second, laughing.
“I’m distracted today. It’s your fault. You made me rhyme. All my energy went into making a perfect poem.”
Dean snorted, grinning as he watched Sam finger-comb his already-damp hair into even more glorious chaos. “Hey, don’t blame me if your inner bard decided to crawl out mid-morning and start composing odes to my smoldering fireborn charm. Happens to the best of ‘em.”
He stepped closer, gently tucking a stray strand of wet hair behind Sam’s ear with the kind of care he absolutely would never admit to in public. “And yeah, you’re ready to float - with the sling. I triple-checked the knot. Safety standards, certified by yours truly.”
Dean smirked, tilting his head like he was inspecting a piece of fine craftsmanship. “You look half noble, half disaster. It’s kinda my favorite combo. Just try not to fall off the raft. I only do dramatic rescues once per moon cycle.”
Then he leaned in, voice a little softer but still teasing. “Also, that hair? Totally adorable. I stand by it. You could conquer kingdoms with that mess.”
Even if Sam had wanted to, he wouldn’t have been able to keep in the laugh at Dean’s words.
“You’re saying that… my hair could become a conqueror of kingdoms? Plural? That’s… that’s awesome.”
He threw his head back with laughter and wrapped his good arm around Dean to hug him.
“All my hair needs to conquer is your affection, oh fireborn with heroic thighs. And I’m pretty sure that it already did that.”
He pressed a kiss to Dean’s neck.
“I wish I could really swim now, but maybe we can come here again when I’m able to?”
Dean grinned happily, one hand settling instinctively on the back of Sam’s head as he pressed in closer, soaking up the warmth of him like it was the only fire that mattered. “Your hair already owns my damn soul,” he muttered into Sam’s temple, lips brushing skin with a grin he couldn’t fight. “Conquered it the second you woke up all groggy and bedheaded, lookin’ like a royal mess and somehow still the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.”
He pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes glinting with mischief and something softer underneath. “And yeah, we’ll come back. Soon as that cast’s off, I’m draggin’ your pretty knightly ass into the water - whether you swim or flail dramatically while I hold you up and pretend you’re not half-drowning.”
Dean leaned in and kissed the corner of Sam’s mouth, lingering there just a second longer than teasing required. “And for the record? My heroic thighs are flattered. Deeply. Probably writing sonnets about it in their spare time.”
“Hey, I know how to swim, Mister Sonnet-writing-thighs,”
Sam laughed. “And I would prove it right away, but you threatened me with telling my healer that I got the cast all soaked. Not even my curly hair can prevent that. And just for the record, they’re just this curly when they’re this length. Maybe if my curls are too distracting, I need to cut them?”
Sam laughed in a way that was meant to tell Dean he wasn’t serious. While what he said was the truth, he loved his hair just the way it was and would never cut it too short to curl.
“So go ahead, drag my knightly ass through the water, please. I’d love to show you I don’t flail in water.”

Dean gave him a look - equal parts mock offense and utterly smitten - before raising an eyebrow and letting his eyes travel lazily over Sam’s curls, damp from the water, wild and sunlit and completely illegal in Dean’s personal opinion. “Cut your hair?” he scoffed, stepping toward the lake’s deeper end. “Yeah, and I’ll stop admiring your ass while I’m at it. Let’s both keep our best assets intact, yeah?”
He smirked over his shoulder, rolling his eyes fondly. “And for the record, Sir Knight, I never said you flail. I said you flail dramatically>. Big difference. Looks better with a sword and a full moon behind you, but I’ll allow it.”
Then, with the kind of grin that meant trouble and promises, he waded even deeper into the water and held out a hand. “Now get in here before I throw you in and blame it on a training exercise. You said drag, and I will drag you - gloriously, heroically, and probably while reciting a limerick about your very splashy entrance.”
“I never flail, not even dramatically,” Sam backed up his former words.
He followed Dean into the deeper water and took his hand. “So you got a limerick for me? About me splashing? Be careful, I may just do that to make sure you get that poem right. And of course, to get you all splashed up.” He smirked and then used Dean’s grip to pull himself closer to the fireborn. “How about you give me a splashy entrance now, my dragon? I can’t wait to be dragged or flung through the air until it splashes majestically.”
Dean huffed a laugh through his nose, water lapping around his waist as he tightened his grip just a bit, making sure Sam was steady beside him. “Flung through the air, huh?” he drawled, quirking an eyebrow. “Pretty bold request for a guy held together by a strip of cloak and sheer stubbornness.”
He leaned in, brushing his nose against Sam’s temple, voice dropping to a teasing rumble. “If I so much as splash you wrong, your arm’s gonna hate both of us. And I like being the one you moan for, not because you landed in a bad angle.”
Still, he tugged Sam gently into the water, pulling him closer until they were chest to chest, the lake cool and smooth around them. “As for a limerick, don’t tempt me. I’m decent at battle strategy and breakfast. Poetry?” He smirked. “Well, you’re lucky I’m charming.”
Then he suddenly leaned back, creating a wide swirl of water around them, and with a playful twist of his hand, splashed just enough to hit Sam’s chest - not the face, because Dean had his priorities.
“There,” he said with mock pride. “Majestic splash. Minimal injury risk. You’re welcome, oh delicate knight of sass and flailing denial.”
Sam laughed at Dean’s interpretation of being splashed and pretended to flail a little.
“That’s the best dramatic flail I can produce,” he then apologized. “Did you like my performance?”
He wrapped his arms, both of them as best as he could, around Dean’s neck and kissed him. “So… carry me around, oh fireborn who thinks a mere human can’t swim?”
Dean huffed out a laugh, catching Sam against him with a mock grunt like he was lifting a sack of grain instead of the most important damn person in his life. “You flailed like a noble maiden in distress,” he said, voice rich with amusement, “though I gotta say, you’ll need a bit more wrist flourish if you want full court approval.”
He turned, carrying Sam through the cool lake water toward the shallows, their bare skin slick and warm where it touched, water lapping gently at their waists. “And for the record, it ain’t that I think you can’t swim,” he added with a crooked grin, “it’s just that if I get to carry you, I’m not about to waste the opportunity.”
Dean glanced down at him, green eyes warm with something softer. “Besides… feels right. You in my arms. Water or not.”
“Hmmm,” Sam hummed, looking into those green eyes. “Water or not, you’re correct. It feels right. Perfect even.”
He moved a little so their foreheads touched gently. “So… if we’re not flailing and splashing and swimming or diving, what are we going to do now, my fireborn prince? I may have a few ideas that would be suitable to scare monks and book me a place where it’s really warm in the afterlife.”
Dean huffed a laugh, lips quirking as he leaned in, their foreheads pressed close. “Well, lucky for you, I like it hot - in this life and whatever comes after.”
He slid a hand along Sam’s waist, grip firm but reverent. “And as for scaring monks? Baby, with the things I’m thinking, you’ll have ‘em clutchin’ their rosaries and beggin’ the gods to smite us both.”
He grinned, softer now. “So yeah… I’m in. Damnation’s worth it - if it’s with you.”
Sam smiled softly.
“It’s good that we agree on that,” he replied. “But I hope damnation is a ways off for either of us. I would like to be able to spend time with you without the cast.”
Dean’s hand at his waist sent some shivers down Sam’s body, covering him in goosebumps.
“All this talk about monks and stuff makes me wonder if these people don’t go mad in their minds. You know, with the whole asceticism. It would drive me crazy.”
Dean snorted, his thumb brushing lazy circles at Sam’s waist. “Yeah, well, if monks heard the noises you made last night, half of ‘em would burn their robes and sprint straight into sin.”
He leaned in, nipping playfully at Sam’s earlobe before murmuring, “Good thing you’re stuck with a very unholy man who plans on keeping you very non-ascetic for a long, long time.”
Then he grinned, softer now. “And don’t worry, غhràidh. Damnation’s not in our cards. Not when you’re the best damn thing that ever happened to me.”
Sam laughed briefly when Dean nibbled on his ear. “Oh, I’m all for that staying non-ascetic for… forever.” He lifted his good hand to thread his fingers through Dean’s hair a few times. “You know, for me it’s the other way around. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I would probably already go through damnation if you hadn’t found me by the gorge. And I’ll be forever grateful that you found me.”

Dean went quiet for a moment, the laughter fading from his eyes but not the warmth. He leaned into Sam’s touch, closing his eyes like it steadied something deep inside him. Then he opened them again, looking at Sam with a gaze that was steady, fierce, and full of something ancient and unshakable.
“I didn’t just find you, Sammy,” he said softly. “I was meant to. You were the reason I was there that day - whether the gods planned it or fate lost its mind, I don’t care. You’re mine now. And I’ll protect what’s mine until my last breath.”
Sam’s eyes locked on Dean’s with an inscrutable expression, like he was trying to search for the truth in Dean’s eyes. “I don’t know how it happened. I never believed in fate. But I think I do now. What else could it be? You’re not from around here. And yet, you happened to be there when I needed you. And then again, when you healed me the second time. Maybe, whoever it is that the monks are praying to, for once, though I deserved good luck.”
Dean held Sam’s gaze, something aching in his chest as the words settled between them like smoke curling from a sacred fire. He wanted to say yes, yes, it was fate, and yes, I was always meant to find you, but the truth burned behind his ribs, unspoken and caged. He reached up, brushing his fingers gently through Sam’s hair, tucking a strand behind his ear like it grounded him.

“You did deserve it,” Dean said quietly, voice rough with something older than the words themselves. “Not because of luck, but because of who you are. You’ve been fighting your whole life, even when no one saw it. Even when you didn’t know you were bleeding.”
He let his thumb trace along Sam’s cheekbone, memorizing the softness there, the warmth of skin that still bore bruises but was healing - healing because of him. “I didn’t show up by accident,” he continued, carefully choosing what little truth he was allowed to give. “I followed something. A feeling. Like I was being pulled to you. I didn’t ask why - I just knew I had to get there before it was too late.”
Dean leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Sam’s forehead. “Maybe fate’s real. Maybe it’s just old magic trying to fix something it broke long ago. But whatever it is, I’m glad I found you. I’d do it again. A thousand times.”
Sam licked his lips, shivering again. Then he shook his head. “I don’t know if fate is real. I know you are real and you were there, so… I believe it was fate when you say it.” He lifted his head. “When you say old magic is trying to fix something it broke… you mean that figuratively, no? Or do you mean it literally? I’m just… I’m just asking because it reminds me of something my father said years back. That… something broke everything, and it’s beyond fixing. I never knew what he meant, but he said it on several occasions when I was a kid.”
Dean went still, the water lapping gently around their waists, his hand still clasped in Sam’s beneath the mirrored surface. That old ache in his chest stirred again - the one that always came with ancient truths too heavy to name. The lake was quiet, save for the soft ripple of movement and the distant hum of wind through the trees. Dean held Sam’s gaze as he spoke, low and steady.
“I mean it literally,” he said, the words brushing across the surface of the water like a vow. “There was a time when magic was balanced. When humans and dragons, fireborn and wildborn, all lived under the same sky without tearing it apart. Something shattered that. Greed. Fear. Power taken instead of shared.” He paused, thumb brushing along Sam’s wrist underwater. “Whatever it was - it broke the world. Broke the way magic flows. Broke bonds that weren’t meant to be broken.”
Dean took a small step closer, the cool water parting between them, voice dropping to a near whisper. “But every now and then, something ancient stirs. Something older than kingdoms, older than bloodlines. And it tries… it tries to set things right.”
His golden-flecked eyes locked on Sam’s, earnest and glowing faintly in the lake’s dappled light. “I don’t know what your father meant. But I know you. And whatever got broken back then… I think we’re part of putting it back together.”
His fingers tightened gently around Sam’s. “You don’t have to believe in fate, Sammy. Just believe in this.”

Sam had listened carefully to every word Dean said. He nodded.
“It’s not that I don’t believe in fate. I just don’t know what I did that fate decided to…” He fell silent and shook his head. “I do believe in this, Dean. I believe in you. And in us.”
He smiled and leaned in so their lips almost touched. “I believe that me being saved by you was fate’s best move for me, and I’ll be forever grateful.”
Dean’s eyes softened, the usual sharpness in them giving way to something quiet and steady. He leaned in that final inch and brushed his lips against Sam’s, slow and sure - like a vow whispered instead of spoken.
“You don’t have to earn fate, Sammy,” he murmured. “Sometimes it just gets it right.”
He rested his forehead against Sam’s and added, low and certain, “And I’m not lettin’ go. Not in this life. Not in any.”
“I know, Dean. I know.” Sam’s lips shivered slightly. “But I wasn’t going to say what I did to earn this kind of fate. I was… more thinking of what I did to deserve to be with someone like my father. But - I have decided to stop thinking that way, you know? I have no reason to, because I am with you now. I’m not going to let the past define me.” He kissed Dean, slowly and thoroughly. “You’re my life. Anything else… it doesn’t exist anymore.”

Dean held the kiss like it was something sacred, something that could burn away the past just by being real. When Sam shivered, Dean didn’t hesitate - he gathered him up gently, arms firm and sure, the cold water forgotten the moment it touched Sam’s skin.
“You’re freezing,” he murmured, his voice low and steady as he carried him out of the lake, water dripping from both their bodies. “Let’s get you warm.”
He didn’t say anything else right away, just pressed a kiss to Sam’s damp temple as he walked, his grip protective, reverent. You’re safe now, the silence said. With me, you always will be.

Sam relaxed in Dean’s arms, letting himself be carried. He knew Dean didn’t do that to ridicule him or because he thought Sam couldn’t handle things. He did it because he cared for Sam, because he loved him.
It was only when they left the water that Sam realized he was cold. All his thoughts about fate had overruled the way he physically felt, and now he shivered for real.
“Ohh, I h… hate being co… old,” he said, teeth chattering.
Dean held Sam tighter, letting the warmth rise beneath his skin - steady, controlled, like fire lived quietly in his veins. It radiated through his arms into Sam’s body, slow and grounding, until the shivers eased. He didn’t speak right away, just kept moving, one step at a time. Then, quietly, low and sure: “You’re with me now. Cold doesn’t touch you here.”
Sam shivered one more time and then melted into Dean’s arms.
“Hmm, you’re my personal fountain of warmth,” he sighed happily and kissed a line along Dean’s collarbone. He stopped at the spot where the hickey he had made was still visible. “It’s fading. Ah, well, you can always ask your knight to renew the mark when you want it. I’m sure he will never say no.” He looked up at Dean and grinned disarmingly. “Are we going to relax on the cloak now, or did I get it really soaked?”
Dean looked down at him, heart tugging hard behind his ribs at the way Sam just fit there - warm now, grinning like he didn’t even know how much he wrecked Dean with a look. He brushed his fingers through Sam’s damp hair, thumb lingering at his temple.
“You could soak the whole damn forest, I’d still lay you down on that cloak,” he said quietly, steady. “You want to rest, we rest. You want to mark me again… well.” He smirked faintly, eyes soft. “Your knight’s got full permission.”
Sam’s smile grew impossibly wider. He still couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have found someone like Dean to keep him safe. To be with him. For all times.
“I would like to just lie in the sun, naked as the day we were born, and soaking up the rays. Kissing a little, talking, dozing, whatever we feel like. There’s no mountain cat coming here, is there? So we got nothing to worry about, right?” He let his thumb rub across the fading mark again. “And I may be tempted to mark you again. It… it felt good, you know?”

Dean watched him, the warmth of the sun matched only by the warmth curling in his chest. Sam’s smile, his ease, the way he spoke so openly - it undid him in the quietest, most permanent way. He reached up and brushed a stray lock of hair off Sam’s forehead, his fingers lingering like they belonged there.
“No mountain cats,” he said softly. “Only me. And I bite back harder.”
He leaned in, their foreheads touching for a moment, breath mingling. “You wanna lie in the sun with me, naked and lazy, kissing whenever we damn well feel like it? Yeah, Sammy. That sounds like paradise. I’ve never had that before. Never wanted it with anyone else.”
Dean glanced down at the place where Sam’s thumb brushed the fading mark - his mark - and something flickered in his gaze. Hunger, yes, but also love. Deep and rooted. “Mark me all you want,” he murmured. “I’m yours, remember? Always have been. Always will be.”
“I never got to lie in the sun peacefully at all,” Sam replied softly. “I guess it’s a day of firsts. First time I make a limerick about thighs, first time I get carried out of a lake bridal style. And I think lazing in the sun sounds absolutely perfect.”
He looked around for the perfect spot to drop the cloak.
“What do you think about that spot over there?” he asked, pointing to his left. “It looks like the grass is very soft and lush, and it’s sunny with a little shade from those trees. Looks perfect to work on my piece of art on your shoulder.”
Dean followed Sam’s gaze, then glanced down at the man in his arms with a small smile tugging at his lips. “Soft grass, a bit of sun, and you hovering over me with your mouth on my shoulder? Sounds like paradise,” he murmured, his voice rich with quiet affection.
He shifted Sam gently, making sure he didn’t jostle the cast or put too much pressure on his ribs. “You’ve got a real talent for turning the most ridiculous moments into something kinda perfect, you know that? One minute we’re talking about limericks and thighs, the next you’re making it sound like getting marked up like a lovesick teenager is romantic.”
He carried him over to the spot Sam had pointed out and knelt carefully, like something precious. Once he was settled, Dean sat beside him, close but not crowding, letting the warmth of the sun and the weight of the moment settle between them.
“Alright, artist,” he said softly, tilting his head and baring his shoulder with a crooked grin. “Make me your masterpiece.”

“Lovesick teenager?” Sam repeated with a raised eyebrow. “Just how old do you think I am?”
He laughed and, with a quick movement, straddled Dean, completely blinding out the fact that they were both naked. He bent down and first placed a kiss on the fading mark before he sealed his lips around it and began renewing it.
He was tasting Dean’s skin, and the more he sucked on it, the more he got a metallic taste in his mouth.
Finally, he let go with a plop, lifting the vacuum he’d created, and stared at the deep red mark he’d now left. He looked pretty happy with himself when he looked at Dean. “All done, love,” he stated the obvious.
Dean blinked up at him, wide-eyed for all of two seconds before he let out a low whistle, lips curling into a grin that was pure trouble. “Well, damn, look at you,” he drawled, voice rough with affection and amusement. “Didn’t realize I signed up for a branding today. Gonna need to walk around with a scarf now just to keep the villagers from asking if I got mauled by a lovesick bear.”
He tilted his head, inspecting the mark like it was a battle wound he was oddly proud of. “You know, most people just say they’re committed. You? You go full bloodthirsty bard and leave teeth behind.” He reached up, brushed a thumb along Sam’s jaw, then dragged him down for a slow, lazy kiss that lingered.
When he pulled back, eyes half-lidded, he added with a smirk, “You keep marking me like that and people are gonna start thinking you’re the dragon in this relationship.” He gave Sam’s hips a playful squeeze. “Not that I’m complaining. Just don’t be shocked if I return the favor. With interest.”
Sam licked his lips.
“I never before thought about leaving a mark behind, but with you, my mind was calling for it, and my blood is singing along. And I think it looks good on you. The mark of Sam.”
He hissed when Dean squeezed his hips. Not from pain, not at all. From something he couldn’t name, that was part longing and part belonging.
“Tell me about your interest, my dragon. And why people would think I’m the dragon here.”
Dean chuckled, low and warm, his hands resting gently on Sam’s hips, thumbs stroking soft, absent circles where his fingers had just left faint imprints. He looked up at Sam like he was the only thing that existed in the whole damn world, and maybe he was. “You want the truth?” he asked, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Your mark looks better on me than any sword, any scar, any crest. ‘Cause it means I’m yours.”
He leaned up slightly and pressed a kiss to Sam’s shoulder, lips lingering there like a whispered promise before letting his head fall back against the pillow of grass and cloak again, gaze never leaving Sam’s. “And my interest?” He grinned now, voice playful but full of affection. “I like the way you smile when you think I’m not lookin’. I like how your brain never shuts up, even when you’re exhausted. I like that you say things like ‘my dragon’ with zero shame, like you already know you’ve got my heart in a death grip.”
Dean shifted slightly beneath Sam, hands still resting lazily at his hips, fingers warm and reverent. “As for people thinking you’re the dragon? Hell, maybe they’re not wrong. You’re fierce. You’re stubborn. You hoard my attention like it’s gold. And don’t even get me started on the heat you give off when you’re riled up.”
He winked, letting his hands trail slowly up Sam’s sides. “But don’t worry - I don’t mind being your treasure.”

“Of course you’re mine,” Sam replied, a possessive tone in his voice. “And the way Rowen used to look at you, maybe it’s better that I put my mark on you. Even though he’s not here.”
His gaze lingered on Dean’s eyes for a few moments, his own blazing with emotion. Then he slowly let them return to admiring his work.
“So… you’re telling me I’m a stubborn hoarder? Maybe you’re not wrong there, especially when it comes to anything you. You are my treasure.”
Dean huffed out a laugh, shaking his head with a fondness he didn’t bother to hide. “Rowen?” he said, eyes twinkling. “Kid barely had the first fuzz of a mustache and already thought he’d climb mountains for me. You know what he did one time while you were asleep, and I waited for you to wake up? Damn near broke his neck carrying a sword twice his size just to impress me.” He leaned in and bumped his nose gently against Sam’s. “Didn’t have the heart to tell him it was upside down.”
He sighed, smiling as he let his fingers trace idle shapes against Sam’s hip. “Poor kid didn’t know what to do with himself whenever I said his name. Blushed brighter than the forge. But it was sweet. Harmless. Reminded me what it feels like to be looked at like you hung the stars.”
Then his voice softened, that teasing tone giving way to something quieter, more intimate. “But you? You don’t just look at me like that. You see me. All of me. And I don’t mind being your treasure, hoarder. So long as I get to keep you like this. Close. Real.”
Dean grinned again, a little crooked. “Though if you ever start guarding me like a dragon with a gold pile, I’m demanding a better bed and less straw in my boots.”
“Oh, now he’s demanding,” Sam laughed, still giggling from what Dean had said about Rowen. It was true, he was merely a kid with a crush. But he was a good man just the same, and Sam was grateful for all he had done for him.
“You will get the best bed with the softest mattress, because when we fuck, I don’t want to think about a sore back or bruised kneecaps.”
Sam kissed Dean again and proceeded to lie flat on top of Dean.
“You’re making a good mattress yourself there, fireborn.”
He grinned. “Oh, talking about fireborn. You mentioned something earlier. Wildborn? Who is a wildborn? I almost feel like I grew up in the one village that knows nothing. Or doesn’t talk about anything, teach anything.”
Dean let out a soft “oof” as Sam sprawled across him, but he didn’t mind one bit. His arms wrapped around him instinctively, pulling him in tighter like Sam belonged there - which, yeah, he did. “You keep talkin’ like that, I’m gonna start charging rent for all this flattery. Or just take payment in kisses. Your call.”
He ran a hand lazily up and down Sam’s back, fingers tracing the shape of his spine. The question about wildborn made him pause, though - just long enough to catch himself before saying too much. He kept his tone easy, casual, like he was just chatting over coffee, not dancing around secrets older than kingdoms.
“Wildborn,” he said, “are kinda like the forest’s own magic. Think fireborn, but more… instinct. They’re rare. Raw power, no training, no bloodline stuff - just born with the elements in their bones. Hard to find, harder to explain. Most folks only hear stories.”
Dean pressed a kiss to Sam’s temple. “You didn’t grow up in a stupid village, Sammy. You just grew up in a controlled household. That’s different.” He paused, then added, smirking, “And anyway, you’re catching up fast. Especially in hands-on research.”
Sam shivered, this time with pleasure, because Dean’s fingers on his skin felt miraculous.
“Paying rent with kisses sounds acceptable,” he mumbled.
“Have you ever seen a wildborn? I just can’t imagine how it is to hold magic, let alone to have it without… knowing or learning how to control it.”
He moved slightly, trying to get Dean to rub his hands over certain spots on his back, where it felt especially good. And when he managed to do that and Dean gently scratched the right spot, he purred happily.
Dean chuckled low, the sound rumbling from his chest like distant thunder. “Damn, you keep purring like that, and I’m gonna start charging more than kisses for rent,” he said, half-teasing, half-awed by how content Sam sounded under his touch.
His fingers moved instinctively, dragging slow circles across Sam’s back, pausing to gently scratch that perfect spot again. “Wildborn?” he echoed, tone a little more thoughtful now. “Yeah… I’ve seen one. Once. Long time ago. Magic just pouring off them, no filter, no control. Like walking through lightning. Beautiful… and dangerous as hell.”
He leaned in, brushing a kiss to Sam’s shoulder. “But you? You’re not wild. You’re waking. That fire in you - it’s not some untamed storm. It’s learning who it belongs to.”
Dean smiled against Sam’s skin. “And lucky me - it’s mine.”
“I only purr when I’m happy. And I’m happy because of you.”
He ran his fingers through Dean’s still-damp hair, a soft smile on his face.
“So, wildborns are basically fireborn but without anyone around to guide them? Did I get that right?
And when you say I’m waking, you mean I’m getting to know about all these things. But… what do you mean, the fire in me is learning who it belongs to? I would think you mean me, not being a boring guy just sitting around, that I have fire or energy in me. Although somehow I wonder if you’re talking about fire like the fireborn have. I don’t think I do, I mean, I should know then, right?”

Dean’s breath hitched for just a second - damn it, Sam was too smart for his own good. Always thinking, always putting puzzle pieces together, he wasn’t supposed to see yet. Dean kept his expression easy, casual, but his mind was already spinning a hundred ways to dodge the truth without lying. Not to Sam.
He reached up, let his fingers graze lightly along Sam’s wrist where it rested in his hair. “Okay, so… close,” he said, voice warm and a little teasing to keep the mood light. “Wildborn aren’t fireborn. Not at all. They’re more like… nature’s own magic. They’re tied to the land, the wind, rivers, and roots. Like… the forest breathed them out, you know? Fireborn, though? We’re… a different kind of magic. Heavier. Brighter. Hotter.”
He paused, then leaned in, voice softer now. “When I say the fire in you’s learning who it belongs to, I don’t mean flames. Not the burn-your-hut-down kind. I mean your soul, Sammy. That spark in you - the drive, the fight, the heart? That’s your fire. And yeah, maybe you didn’t know it was there. Doesn’t mean it wasn’t.”
Dean gave him a crooked grin. “And I don’t know about you, but from where I’m standin’? That fire in you? Yeah. It’s already lookin’ at me like it knows me.”
“My fire is looking at you?” Sam asked, eyes big. Then he laughed. “And of course it looks at you like it knows you. I mean, it’s my fire, right? If I know you, it does. And if I love you… guess what. My fire does, too.”
He looked at Dean another moment, mischief twinkling in his eyes. Then he began placing kisses along Dean’s forehead, one on the tip of his nose, and then jumped to the jaw.
When he finally kissed Dean’s lips, he shifted a little so his left leg was trapped between Dean’s and the right one was next to Dean’s left.
“Hmm, that feels good. And you taste like fresh air and something I can’t put my finger on, yet. Might be mountains.”
Dean chuckled, low and breathless, as Sam kissed his way across his face like he was mapping sacred ground. By the time their lips met, Dean’s arms tightened instinctively around him, holding him close, like he couldn’t not. The shift of Sam’s leg against his sent a ripple of heat down his spine, but it wasn’t just desire - it was something older, deeper. Like Sam had just slotted into place, like Dean’s arms had always been meant to hold him like this.
“Mountains, huh?” Dean murmured against his lips, voice rough with affection. “Guess that makes sense. I’ve been carrying around the weight of one ever since I met you.”
He leaned his forehead against Sam’s again, eyes half-lidded, gold flickering quietly in the green. “And yeah… your fire does know me. Knew me before your head caught up. It’s not about magic, not really. It’s soul stuff, Sammy. Your soul’s been calling mine since the second I laid eyes on you.”
Then he smirked, softer this time. “Also, could be the flatbreads. I did eat like four.”
“Flatbreads,” Sam asked, kissing him again. “Maybe. Could be. Still not sure.” Over and over, he kissed Dean until finally, he dropped down and just snuggled up.
The sun was shining steadily, there was barely a cloud in the sky, and Sam was feeling very content. The only thing bothering him was his cast. “You’re making a very nice mattress,” he mumbled and sighed.
A moment later, he lifted his head. “Dean, if I’m too heavy, you have to tell me, okay?”
Dean huffed a laugh, low and amused, eyes crinkling as he looked down at Sam nestled against his chest. “Sammy,” he said, voice full of warmth and just a touch of smugness, “if you ever manage to be too heavy for me, I’ll eat my boots. With the spurs still on.”
It was funny, though - hefting Sam like a sack of flour took less effort than flipping a flapjack, and yet here Sam was, sweet and concerned, like Dean was a mortal man made of worn-out muscle and cracked bone. He ran a hand gently up and down Sam’s back, savoring the closeness, the trust. But the weight of the cast resting against him pulled at his thoughts - had been, if he was honest, since the moment he’d caught Sam in the ravine.
His gaze drifted down to that arm, to the place where bone hadn’t knit right, to the ache he knew was still lingering beneath Sam’s brave smile. Dean’s hand stilled.
“Hey,” he murmured, “I’ve been thinkin’. There’s… something I can do. About your arm.”
He felt Sam tense just slightly, curiosity rising, and Dean pressed a kiss to his hair before continuing, voice softer now. “I wasn’t gonna say anything until you were strong enough to handle it, but I can heal it. Not the way apothecaries do. Real healing. From the inside out.”
Dean tilted Sam’s face gently, needing him to understand. “But if I do it, you have to swear something to me. You cannot tell anyone. Not a soul. Not John. Not a priest. Not even a rabbit in the woods, alright?”
He let that settle before adding, quieter still, “It’ll feel warm for a while after. Might even feel like your arm’s full of fire. But it’ll pass. And then it’ll be whole again. If you want that… I’ll do it.”
Sam blinked his eyes, looking at Dean from how Dean had moved it moments earlier. He’d hoped Dean hadn’t noticed the pain he’d been trying to hide. The itching he hadn’t been able to ignore, but he thought he’d done a good job with the pain.
And now he told him that he could heal it, with magic, by the sounds of it. His thoughts returned to Jonas’ house, where Dean had healed his sepsis with his magic, and he’d passed out.
Sam shuddered. He hadn’t been awake to see it happen, but hearing about it alone already had felt like a punch to his gut. And why wasn’t he allowed to tell anyone, not that he had anyone he wanted to tell it to? Sam licked his lips and blinked again.
“You can heal it?” he rasped, voice trembling a bit. “With magic? Will it make you pass out again?”
He dug his teeth into his lips for a second. “I’ll be honest, having it whole again sounds like a dream, and I would promise anything, even if I don’t understand why it has to be a secret between you and me. I don’t have to understand that. But… it would pain me to see you exhausting yourself to the point of passing out just to take away the pain I thought I was hiding well enough.” He caressed Dean’s cheek with his finger, eyes big.

Dean exhaled slowly, leaning into the touch on his cheek for just a second before catching Sam’s hand and kissing his palm. He didn’t speak right away - mostly because he couldn’t. Not without giving away too much. Not without telling Sam what he was, and why even offering to do this for a human was dangerous. But gods, the look in Sam’s eyes - that mix of hope and fear and fierce devotion - it made something ancient and stubborn in Dean melt.
“I don’t think I’ll pass out again,” he said finally, voice quiet but steady. “That last time… it was worse. A whole-body infection, fever spiking, your soul basically waving a white flag. That kind of healing? It takes everything. This?” He nodded toward the cast. “This is different. Focused. It won’t knock me out.”
He hoped. But he didn’t let that thought touch his face.
“As for the secret?” Dean shrugged a little, tried to play it off with a crooked smile. “Let’s just say not everyone’s a fan of magic, especially when it doesn’t come with a bishop’s blessing or a royal decree. People fear what they don’t understand. And they punish it. I’d rather not end up in chains or burned at a stake for fixing your arm, y’know?”
He traced a finger along Sam’s wrist, grounding him. “So yeah. It stays between us. Not because I don’t trust you - I do. More than anyone. But because I trust the world a hell of a lot less.”
Dean met his gaze, all warmth and quiet fire. “I see your pain, even when you try to hide it. And if I can take it away, I will. No questions. No price. Just… let me.”
Sam looked at Dean for a few moments. He could see that he was serious and didn’t just say he would be fine, so Sam would let him help.
“Okay,” he finally agreed. “You promise it won’t hurt you, and I’ll let you. I promise I won’t tell anyone. I don’t want to see you in chains or burnt either.” Sam took a deep breath and smiled softly. “How long will it take, and what do I need to do?”

Dean’s heart twisted. Yeah, he knew how this world worked. People feared what they didn’t understand, and what they feared, they destroyed. That’s why dragons had gone into hiding… why John had.
But Sam - his Sam - looked at him with trust instead of terror. And that meant more than Dean could say.
“You don’t need to do anything,” he said gently, brushing his fingers over Sam’s temple. “Just stay close. Let me hold the arm, and don’t fight it when it starts to heat up. It’s not like real fire - it won’t burn you. Might feel a little bit like it, but it won’t.”
Dean sat up slightly, shifting Sam’s weight so he could cradle the injured arm in his lap, one hand bracing the cast while the other hovered just above it. “It won’t hurt me,” he added, eyes meeting Sam’s. “Not unless you count how pissed John would be if he ever found out.”
A faint golden light started to flicker beneath Dean’s palm, subtle and pulsing like a heartbeat. “It’ll take a minute or two. The magic has to push through the old damage and tell the bone to knit the right way. You’ll feel the shift. It’s weird, but good-weird.”
He gave Sam a crooked, boyish grin. “And when it’s done? You’ll owe me a berry. And maybe a few more of those flatbread kisses.”

The warmth started slow - like the first touch of sunlight on winter skin - then grew steadily, sinking deep into Sam’s bones. Dean kept his hand steady, eyes focused, golden light pulsing brighter now as it spread through the cast. Beneath it, the bone shifted with a faint click, knitting together, realigning. Sam flinched, but it wasn’t pain - it was pressure, heat, movement. And then, just like that, the glow faded, and the ache was gone.

Sam’s eyes had gone big when he first felt the warmth spreading in his arm. It was a warmth unlike any he’d felt before. The pulsing golden light caught his full attention, and when the bones realigned, Sam held his breath.
A few moments later, Sam looked up and at Dean, jaw dropped.
“Was… is it done?” he whispered and then flexed his fingers. “It doesn’t hurt anymore. Just still tingles. And my skin is itching badly. It’s really healed?”
He broke into a big smile and wriggled his fingers because it felt so good to do that without it causing any pain. “Thank you so very much,” he beamed. “I don’t know what to say, but I’m beyond grateful!”

Dean watched him with a quiet intensity, his hand still hovering just above Sam’s newly healed arm like he wasn’t quite ready to let go. The golden glow had already faded, but its warmth lingered - on Dean’s skin, in the bond between them, in the awe lighting up Sam’s face. That part hit Dean hardest. Not the magic. Not the risk. Sam’s smile. Like Dean had just handed him the stars.
“Yeah,” Dean said, his voice softer than usual, but laced with that signature rough edge. “It’s done. Bone’s whole, tissue mended, tendons tight. You’re back in one piece - better than before, actually.” He smirked, trying to play it cool, even though part of him wanted to pull Sam into his arms and never let him go. “And the itching? That’s just your body catching up. Means the magic’s settling in. Try not to scratch it like a damn barn cat.”
He sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck, suddenly a little awkward in the wake of Sam’s pure, unfiltered gratitude. “You don’t owe me anything, Sammy. You’re mine to protect. Always have been. You just… rest, alright? Flex those fingers all you want. But maybe hold off on punching me until tomorrow.”
He paused, eyes narrowing playfully. “And remember what I said - no one knows about this. Not unless you want a dozen royal freaks knocking down the door with empty coin purses and a dying goat.”
Sam nodded.
“My lips are sealed.”
He flexed his fingers a few times. “Can we get rid of the cast now? I promise not to scratch it like a barn cat, but I have to at least rub it a little if that’s okay.”
His eyes were fixed on his fingers, the smile still sitting on his face.
“And Dean? Why would John be mad? He’s a dragon. Don’t dragons hold magic as well? Oh, and why would I want to punch you? I would never. I promise.”
Before Dean could reply, Sam leaned forward and stole a kiss. “This is for thank you. You did ask for more flatbread kisses, no?”

Dean blinked, caught halfway between the slip and the kiss, and let out a huff that sounded like a laugh, trying real hard to be casual. Damn, he thought, you kiss me like that and expect me to lie smoothly? You’re cruel, Sammy.
He cleared his throat, adjusting Sam gently in his lap as he focused very hard on not glowing like a forge. “Right. Yeah. Flatbread kisses. I’m starting to see why people write songs about those.”
Then, with a crooked grin and a glance at Sam’s wrapped arm, he added, “Alright, we’ll cut the cast. But gently, alright? No heroic scratching sessions until I say so.”
Still, he could feel the question hanging in the air. Why would John be mad? That slip was still echoing in his ears. Dean busied himself loosening the wrap, stalling just a breath longer.
“He’s not mad about the magic,” Dean said finally, tone light but careful. “It’s more like… look, John’s old school. He thinks healing should be slow, earned. ‘Builds character,’ or whatever dragons say when they’re being dramatic.” He paused, then added with a smirk, “Also, I may have healed a goat once just to prove a point, and it… backfired. So now I’m on magical probation. Kinda.”
He shot Sam a look, playful but sincere. “But for you? I’ll break the rules.”
He leaned in close, brushing their noses together. “And if flatbread kisses are your thank-you? I’m suddenly feeling very generous with my illegal healing magic.”
“You did what?” Sam asked. “What could go wrong healing a goat? Did you transfer horns to the behind?”
His eyes were glued to Dean unwrapping his arm, and when all of the cast finally came off, Sam sighed and immediately began rubbing his skin. Carefully, definitely not barn cat style, but somehow the more he rubbed, the worse it became. At least for a moment.
When he was about to jump up and dip his arm into the lake, the itching subsided, and Sam sighed happily.
“Oh my goodness, this feels so wonderful! I could kiss you all day and all night long or until my lips get blisters, whichever comes first.
And if John gets mad at you, I will put itching powder on his scales. Or wherever it may cause him an itch.”
And since he knew Dean liked kisses, flatbread or not, Sam leaned in and kissed him tenderly but with unmistakable enthusiasm.

Dean chuckled against Sam’s lips, smiling even as he kissed him back, slow and warm and just a little smug. When they pulled apart, he rested his forehead against Sam’s, eyes dancing with mischief. “First of all, I told you the goat incident was a one-time thing. It was early magic, bad moon phase, and that goat had attitude. I did not give her butt-horns on purpose.”
He sat back slightly, eyeing Sam’s arm with obvious satisfaction. The skin looked smooth, the bone beneath settled like it had never broken. No trace of the swelling, bruising, or stiffness that had plagued Sam for days. “Second… I’m keeping that kiss offer on record. Might cash it in hourly.”
Then he lowered his voice just a touch, teasing but still a little serious. “And third? Please - please let me be there when you try to sneak itching powder onto John. I want to see the look on his face when he tries to lecture us while trying not to scratch his… whatever.”
Dean ran a finger lightly down Sam’s newly healed forearm and grinned. “But seriously - how’s it feel? No strange tingles, no sudden desire to breathe fire? Just good, right?” He bumped their shoulders together. “Told you I had you. And I always will, Sammy. Even if you’re threatening dragon dads and kissing me ‘til you blister.”

“No strange tingles. As for breathing fire… maybe. It’s warm. Hot even. But not bad. You said that’s normal. It can stay like that for a bit, for all I care, as long as the itching doesn’t return. That was evil.”
He sniffled back against Dean and used the not anymore wrapped up arm to caress Dean’s shoulder.
“This is so much better now. I still don’t know what to say. But you know that already because I’m rambling, I know.”
His fingers stopped moving.
“You really gave that poor goat butt-horns? I guess right?” He laughed, shaking his head as he tried to picture it. “I hope you could fix it, and she wasn’t stuck with it.”

Dean barked out a laugh, the sound rumbling deep in his chest where Sam’s head rested. “Oh yeah, I gave that goat butt-horns. And she deserved it, too - little demon kept chewing through every rope I tied her with. Thought she could make a fool outta me? Guess who looked like the idiot when she charged at me with a second set of horns on her ass.”
He smirked, shaking his head at the memory. “Don’t worry, I fixed it. Eventually. John almost keeled over laughing when he saw it, though. Said I was a menace with fireborn magic and should stick to chopping wood. Honestly, he’s not wrong.”
Dean tilted his head down, pressing his lips against Sam’s hair, his voice softening. “You’re better now, though. That’s what matters. And I don’t need you to say anything. Just knowing you feel good again? That’s enough for me, غhràidh.”
He pulled back slightly to catch Sam’s eye, his grin returning. “Still, I’m never living down that goat. If I hear one more bleat that sounds like it’s laughing at me, I’m cooking it for dinner.”
Sam looked at Dean pensively.
“I don’t think you should stick to chopping wood. I mean, I don’t mind watching you do that, but you saved me with your magic. And now you made sure that I don’t have to bite through my cast to relieve the itch. And that I can finally fully use the arm to do everything I want to.
Like… helping you with chopping the wood. Or giving you a proper hug, like this.”
He wrapped his arms around Dean as much as it was possible and squeezed him tightly.
“I’m happy healing my arm didn’t make you pass out. And I’m sure that goat is cured and will not end up as dinner. I think I would rather eat the lamb we got waiting.”
Dean laughed, a warm, chest-deep sound that rumbled through both of them as he held Sam close, wrapping his arms around him in return. He pressed his nose into Sam’s hair for a second, just breathing him in, letting the moment settle like embers in a hearth. “You’re the only person I know who could go from heartfelt gratitude to suspicious goat-related dinner plots in three breaths,” he muttered fondly.
He pulled back just enough to look Sam in the eyes, a crooked smile on his lips. “And for the record, I didn’t pass out because I’m very manly and mysterious and powerful, not because I’m getting used to healing stubborn, adorable humans with too many opinions about lumberwork.”
Dean gave him one more squeeze, gentle but full of something deep and old and steady. “As for you chopping wood? We’ll start small. I’ll let you boss me around with your new-and-improved arm, and you can show off all you want. Just don’t out-chop me, or I’ll have to come up with a new skill to impress you.”
He leaned in and kissed Sam’s forehead, grinning. “And yes, we’ll have lamb. The goat lives. But only because you’re soft. Not me.”

Sam pulled his forehead into an exaggerated frown.
“Humans? Plural? How many adorable humans did you save, then? And how many stubborn ones? You can’t mean me, because I’m only adorable. And maybe a little headstrong. Sometimes. Just a little. But stubborn?”
Then he broke into laughter and stole a quick kiss.
“About the wood, let’s do it that way. I really need to show you I’m not a damsel in distress and that I can definitely take on some manly tasks.”
Dean grinned, full and warm, the kind of smile that reached all the way to his eyes and made his chest feel way too tight. He reached out and tugged Sam closer, pressing a kiss to his temple before leaning his forehead against Sam’s with a contented sigh.
“How many adorable humans?” he mused playfully. “Hmm. Just the one, actually. Real rare breed - stubborn streak a mile wide, smart mouth, heart too damn big for his own good. Keeps trying to chop wood with one arm and call it a heroic act.”
He pulled back just enough to give Sam a look - fond, amused, and filled with something soft. “And yeah, you’re definitely headstrong. Like, wrestle-a-bear-to-make-a-point level headstrong. But it’s part of your charm. That, and how you think manly tasks make you look tough, when you already had me wrapped around your finger two flatbreads ago.”
Dean pressed another kiss to Sam’s lips, gentler this time. “So sure. We’ll do the wood together. You show me how manly you are, and I’ll be right there beside you - pretending I’m not completely smitten the whole time.”
“Deal,” Sam smiled.
“But for now, I would like to enjoy the sun a little more with my boyfriend. I mean, we have nobody around, and I’m finally cast free. That means no disturbance at all.”
Sam looked at Dean, tracing some muscles with his fingers, placing soft kisses all over his body at random.
“I’m glad I’m the only adorable human you’re spending time with. Because I think I would have to kidnap you otherwise. And I’m not really good at that, because I don’t like hurting others.”
Dean chuckled, a soft, rumbling sound in his chest as he tipped his head back and let the sun warm his face. “Good thing you got to me first, then,” he murmured, grinning as Sam’s kisses trailed across his skin. “I’m a terrible hostage. Way too mouthy. Also, I probably would’ve burned their hideouts down out of spite.”
He looked down at Sam, eyes full of lazy affection and a warmth that reached all the way to his bones. “You don’t need to kidnap me, Sammy. I’m already yours. No threats, no rope, no ransom required.”
Sam smiled.
“Yeah, I know. And I feel incredibly lucky about that.” Stretching a bit, Sam enjoyed the rays of the sun on his skin while exploring Dean’s eyes with his.
“Have I ever told you I find your eyes really fascinating?” he asked. “They’re the most beautiful green I have ever seen, and yet, when you look at me, they seem to become golden every time. Is that something all fireborns have, or is that unique to you?”
Dean’s lips curved into a soft, crooked smile, one hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from Sam’s forehead. “Nah,” he said gently, “that’s just you.”
He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Sam’s temple, lingering there for a beat. “They glow when I look at you because you light something up in me, Sammy. It’s not a fireborn thing - it’s a you thing.”
Dean let out a quiet breath, more serious now as he met Sam’s gaze. “Truth is,” he said softly, “the glow? That is my magic. It lives in me all the time, but you’re the reason it shows - especially in my eyes. It’s like… it’s drawn to you. Reacts to you.”
He reached up, resting his hand over Sam’s heart. “You’re the only one who’s ever made it visible like that. So yeah, it’s real magic. But the glow? That’s yours.”

“Oh,” Sam breathed, eyes wide. “I didn’t know that. I thought… it would always be like that when you’re with someone. That’s… the glow is mine? Just mine?”
He broke into a big smile.
“That’s awesome. I… do you notice it when it happens? I mean, does your vision change or something? Do you feel it when it comes forward?”
A zillion questions were running through Sam’s head, and he didn’t know which one to ask first.
Dean laughed softly, brushing his thumb over Sam’s cheek, his heart melting at the wonder in his eyes. “Yeah, it’s yours,” he said gently. “All yours. No one else makes it happen. Just you.”
He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the tip of Sam’s nose. “And yeah… I feel it. Not in my eyes, exactly. It’s more like… the world gets quieter. Like everything else, steps back so I can see you.”
He smiled, warm and sure. “It’s not magic I control. It’s just what you do to me.”
“Isn’t it scary when there’s magic involved and you can’t control it?”
Sam wondered about that because he had no idea how magic felt after all. It was something that to him always felt like he had no control over, but with Dean, he hadn’t really understood yet how it worked. Only one thing was clear: some of his magic he could control. Like the part to heal him.
Dean smiled, soft and sure, his fingers carding gently through Sam’s hair. “I’m not scared of it,” he said quietly. “I’ve got full control over my magic - every flicker, every breath of it. Always have.”
He paused, letting his hand settle over Sam’s heart. “Except the glow,” he added, voice lowering with affection. “That only happens with you. It’s not about losing control - it’s just… you’re the one thing I don’t want to hold back from. That light? That’s what it looks like when everything in me chooses you.”
He leaned in, kissed the tip of Sam’s nose, and smiled. “So no, it’s not scary. It’s kind of perfect.”
Sam blushed a little and then nodded. “It sounds perfect. Like you,” he replied. “Do others see it when you look at me, or am I the only one who sees it?” It was nice to know it was about him and he wasn’t just hallucinating. He looked around. Sunlight glittered across the lake’s surface, catching in flecks of gold and fire, very much like what he saw in Dean’s eyes. It was almost like a mirror.
“In the village where you’re from, do you have a lake or a small river where you can swim? I learned that in a river half a day’s walk away. My father deemed it important that I could swim, but he isn’t the kind who teaches with patience. I think I swallowed half the river one day, and it annoyed me so much that I swore to myself I’d become the best swimmer ever. I improved so fast that my father forgot to be grumpy at me for a whole day.” Sam looked at the lake. “And I have no idea why I just told you that.”
Dean was quiet for a moment, his gaze following the shimmer on the water, the same flickers that danced in Sam’s eyes when he was lost in thought. He felt Sam’s words settle in his chest like something gentle and sacred - proof that trust didn’t always come as declarations, but sometimes in stray memories, softly spoken.
He looked back at Sam and smiled, brushing a hand over his cheek. “Maybe you told me because you knew I’d care. And because you wanted someone to remember it the way you do - not like a punishment, but like a victory you earned.”
He let his fingers trail down to Sam’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “Where I’m from, there’s a spring-fed pond tucked deep in the trees. Cold as death but clear as glass. I used to go there when I wanted quiet. When the world got too loud or too heavy.” He squeezed Sam’s hand gently. “Maybe one day I’ll show it to you.”
Dean’s voice softened. “And to answer your first question… yeah. Other people might see something when I look at you. But only you know what it means. Because only you are the reason it’s there.”
Dean was quiet for a moment, his gaze following the shimmer on the water, the same flickers that danced in Sam’s eyes when he was lost in thought. He felt Sam’s words settle in his chest like something gentle and sacred - proof that trust didn’t always come as declarations, but sometimes in stray memories, softly spoken.
He looked back at Sam and smiled, brushing a hand over his cheek. “Maybe you told me because you knew I’d care. And because you wanted someone to remember it the way you do - not like a punishment, but like a victory you earned.”
He let his fingers trail down to Sam’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “Where I’m from, there’s a spring-fed pond tucked deep in the trees. Cold as death but clear as glass. I used to go there when I wanted quiet. When the world got too loud or too heavy.” He squeezed Sam’s hand gently. “Maybe one day I’ll show it to you.”
Dean’s voice softened. “And to answer your first question… yeah. Other people might see something when I look at you. But only you know what it means. Because only you are the reason it’s there.”

Sam felt his insides warm when Dean validated his story. He remembered when they had returned that the people in the street had been eyeing them warily, secretly checking him out for bruises or injuries.
But that day, but for not wanting to drink water for a long time, Sam had felt proud of himself. “Would you believe when I say it’s almost my favorite childhood memory?” he asked softly. “And I would love to see that pond. It sounds beautiful. Are there any ducks there, too? And did the world become too loud and heavy for you often?”
Dean’s smile faded into something softer, more reflective, his fingers trailing gently along Sam’s forearm as he let the question settle between them. “Yeah,” he said quietly, eyes on the horizon like he was watching a memory drift just out of reach. “More often than I liked. Especially when I was younger, everything felt… big. Too loud, too sharp. People talkin’ over each other, eyes that watched too closely, expectations that didn’t leave room for breathing. That pond was the only place I felt like I could exhale without someone tryin’ to stuff the air right back down my throat.”
He looked back at Sam, the corner of his mouth twitching into a faint, crooked smile. “And yeah, there were ducks. Grumpy little things. They used to chase me if I got too close - made me feel like they were the real rulers of the place.”
Dean reached up and brushed Sam’s hair back from his face, voice warm now. “I believe you, Sammy. About the memory. It should be one of your favorites. You stood up, even when you were small, even when the odds weren’t fair. That kind of strength sticks with you.”
He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Sam’s temple. “And I’ll take you there someday. You’ll see it’s still quiet. Still ours.”
“I’ll get to see the pond?” Sam asked excitedly. “And the ducks? Why were they attacking you? I mean, you didn’t tease them, did you?”
Sam had learned as a kid that animals, disregarding their size or anything, were not shy when it came to retaliation if they were teased. There had been a crow with his name on its mind for a good while when he was a kid.
“And yes, Jonas’ father, Aaron, had asked me what happened at the river. When I told him, he called me a resilient little soldier. He used to be a soldier, you know. That’s when he learned about healing. After he’d become a father, he settled down and only focused on healing. Can we go in the lake again later, before we head back? I would like to swim some, now that I can.”

Dean smiled softly, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from Sam’s forehead, his touch light, affectionate. “Yeah, you’ll see the pond. And the ducks—though I’m warning you, they’re vicious little bastards. I might’ve… looked at them wrong. Could’ve sworn one hissed at me in Latin.”
His smile faded into something gentler as he cupped Sam’s cheek. “And yeah, we’ll go swimming. You’ve earned it. After everything you’ve been through, you deserve a moment that’s just peace. Just water and sun and us.”

Sam pulled his eyes askew when Dean mentioned the ducks hissing at him. In Latin.
“Now you’re pulling my leg,” he mock growled. “I know ducks hiss at you when they’re upset. But… in Latin? Are you sure it wasn’t Greek?”
He laughed, a happy, liberated sound that seemed to originate from deep inside him.
Leaning into Dean’s touch, Sam hummed happily and, for the moment, snuggled up. He loved feeling Dean’s skin against his own, even when there was no sex involved. It felt intimate and warm in a relaxing way. And if it led to something more, Sam wasn’t going to object.
His hand rubbed along Dean’s arm up to his shoulder and back down in a gentle caress.
“Did you ever do something embarrassing when you were a kid, so embarrassing that you wanted the world to swallow you to hide?”
Dean snorted softly, one brow lifting. “Kid, I once tried to impress a girl by sword-fighting a scarecrow. Shirtless. In the rain. Ended up flat on my back with a broken nose and a mouth full of mud. The scarecrow won.”
He shrugged, though a crooked smile tugged at his lips. “World didn’t swallow me, sadly. But my pride died a heroic death that day.”
Then, more gently, he brushed a knuckle along Sam’s cheek. “We all do dumb things, Sammy. But hey - now I get to impress you just by not burning breakfast. So I’d say I’ve come a long way.”
Sam brought out a laugh when Dean told him the story about the scarecrow.
“That sounds very… galant. I’m sure the girl didn’t expect that outcome. But… you broke your nose?” Sam leaned forward and kissed the nose. “I hope it’s all better now. But let me know if it needs more kisses.”
To prove his point, he kissed Dean’s nose again. “I had my most embarrassing moment not in front of a girl. I had a buddy, Ardal. He was daring me to climb to the top of a stack of logs. They were quite long, beech wood. Had been lying there for a bit in the winter weather. And I had the glorious idea of not only climbing up these slippery logs, but to walking along the top one, balancing. Long story short, I managed three steps, slipped and slid all the way down to the bottom, having a few logs dislodge and roll down into me. Ardal laughed, and I tried not to let on that my whole body hurt as much as my pride. He soon caught on and helped me limp home. Let’s just say nobody was able to tell which of my bruises were from the fall and which were from my father.”

Dean’s smile faltered, just for a second. Not because of the log story - though the image of a young Sam slipping down a pile of frozen timber was something he might tease him about later - but because of that last line. The way Sam said it so casually, like it was just another part of the day. Like bruises from his own father belonged in the same sentence as a dumb childhood fall.
Dean’s jaw tensed, and he reached up to cup Sam’s face, his thumb brushing gently over his cheek as he searched his eyes. “That’s not the kind of story you should have to make light of,” he said quietly. “Not the kind you have to downplay just so it’s easier for people to hear.”
His voice stayed steady, but there was a weight to it now - something older, protective, burning beneath the surface like banked fire. “You didn’t deserve that. Not a single bruise. Not a single word, not a single moment of that fear.”
He leaned in and pressed his forehead gently to Sam’s. “And you won’t get another one like it. Not while I’m breathing. I don’t care if it’s your father, a king, or a goddamn army - I’ll stand between you and anything that tries to touch you again.”
Then, softer, his voice catching just a little: “You’re safe now. You get to laugh about logs and stupid bets without having to carry that part, too. Not anymore.”
Sam leaned into Dean’s touch, first the hand, then against his forehead. He didn’t know what to say, because he hadn’t meant to say that out loud. But the fact that he had told him that somehow Dean had managed to break his armor, like he knew Dean would protect him if he presented himself the way he was.
Finally, Sam nodded. “I know. And I didn’t say it to make you feel sorry for me or get angry at my father. I… I guess I’m just feeling so safe with you that it slipped out. Because these things are nothing that I ever talked about. Nobody ever talked about it. Because everyone was just afraid that if he got to hear it, they were next.”
Dean closed his eyes for a moment, letting the silence sit between them - not heavy, but steady. Anchoring. His hand slid from the back of Sam’s neck to cup his cheek, gentle and sure.
“You don’t ever have to explain that to me,” he said quietly, his voice full of calm fire. “Not here. Not with me.”
His thumb brushed across Sam’s cheekbone, slow and soft. “You’re safe now. Whatever he did… whatever you had to survive - none of that follows you here. Not while I’m breathing.”
He opened his eyes, gaze locked with Sam’s. “You speak when you want to. Or not at all. I’ll still hear you.”
Sam dug his teeth into his lip and nodded.
“I promise I’ll work on letting it go. But I can’t promise it won’t slip out once in a while.”
Sam took a deep breath and then wrapped his arms around Dean, pulling himself as close as he could. “You know, when I’m close to you like this, it feels like you’re my personal special armor. Like nobody can do anything to me. And I get to smell your hair as well. It smells like summer and love.” He smiled against Dean’s neck and held Dean a little tighter.

Dean chuckled, wrapping his arms around Sam a little tighter in return. “Summer and love, huh?” he murmured, voice low and amused. “Damn. I was goin’ for dangerous and mysterious, but I guess I’ll take ‘romantic meadow warrior’.”
He kissed the side of Sam’s head and added, “And if I’m your armor, guess that makes you my favorite reckless knight - always charging in without a shield. Good thing I fit like one.”
“You’re the best shield ever,” Sam replied, sniffing around Dean’s hair. “Oh, and you’re right, there is a hint of danger and mystery. Or was that mischief?” He laughed lightheartedly and nuzzled his head in the crook of Dean’s neck, placing soft kisses on his collarbone.

Dean chuckled, tilting his head just enough to give Sam better access. “Definitely mischief,” he murmured, grinning. “Danger’s for dragons. I’m just the charming trouble you can’t shake off.”
“I don’t want to shake you off,”
Sam replied. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. I would never shake you off. Even if you were trouble.”
He dropped his head on Dean’s shoulder and watched the sky for a moment.
A pair of crows was trying to hassle a red kite out of his meal, a rat or a ferret that he was carrying along. Finally, the kite flew off, and the crows settled on top of the trees.
“Do you have a favorite animal?” Sam asked out of the blue. “I got a few. I like a fire salamander because of the coloring. It amazes me. Then, I like those kites. They look impressive, and I like their call. And one that I haven’t seen but heard about, a black panther. They must look so majestic.”
Dean chuckled, turning just enough to press a kiss to Sam’s temple. “You naming majestic predators and fire-laced lizards like you’re not already curled up with one. I mean… I am your dragon, right?“
He let his gaze follow the red kite disappearing into the sky, eyes half-lidded in thought. “Favorite animal? Huh. Never really thought about it. Guess I’ve always liked wolves. Loyal, sharp, don’t bark unless it matters. But if I had to pick?” He grinned. “Probably also a fire salamander. Looks harmless. Isn’t. Kinda like someone I know.”
He gave Sam a pointed nudge with his shoulder. “Panthers, though? Bold choice. Mysterious. Regal. Definitely your type.”

Sam remained silent for a moment. He was thinking. “You know, before the gorge, before I knew dragons were real. And before I met John, I would probably have counted dragons as animals. Because I didn’t know better. Now I do. And I don’t think dragons are animals. They’re… not human, of course, but the way they think is similar. So if dragons are animals, so are humans. And fire salamanders? It was my favorite pastime activity to watch them. Wolves are cool, too. But I think the black panther captures me more.”
Sam looked at Dean boldly now.
“Yes, you are my favorite human dragon. My fireborn. And I’m mighty proud as well. Just not sure what you want with the ‘falls down a gorge’ - born. Oh, and did you just insinuate that I look harmless, but I’m not? So am I more like the panther?”
Dean grinned, teeth flashing, eyes warm as he traced a slow circle on Sam’s back. “Panther? I actually meant the fire-salamander, but yeah, I see it. Quiet, sleek, full of mystery… definitely the kind that pretends to nap while planning to pounce.”
He leaned in, pressing a kiss just below Sam’s ear. “And don’t sell yourself short, gorge-born. You fell like a disaster, but landed like fate. Lucky me.”
Dean pulled back just enough to raise an eyebrow, smirk in full force now. “Besides, I’ve always liked things with claws. Especially when they keep ‘em hidden until it counts.”
“I know you meant the salamander. But you said panthers are my type. So… I don’t know, but imagining being a majestic panther sounds oddly appealing. Although a dragon would probably have one for breakfast. I can still bring out my claws, though.”
He laughed. “Or my teeth. Which would you prefer?” He took Dean’s arm and began nibbling on the skin playfully. “Hmm, I think I still like your taste.”

Dean chuckled, low and rough, eyes glinting as he watched Sam nibble at his arm like some flirty little woodland menace. “Claws, teeth - hell, you could come at me with a butter knife and I’d still let you win if you keep looking at me like that.”
He tilted his head, pretending to ponder. “But if I had to choose? I’ll take the teeth. Especially if they stay right there.”
He smirked, nudging Sam’s nose with his. “Told you - sugar, fire, and trouble. Still my favorite flavor.”
“Hmm, you like it when I nibble on you?” Sam purred, nibbling his way along Dean’s arm to the shoulder. Caressing Dean’s body with his teeth was definitely something he enjoyed, and he rolled around to follow the path he was on along the collarbone and up the throat until he was nibbling along Dean’s jawline.
“Is that what you like?” he whispered in Dean’s ear, his hot breath tickling his skin.
“Because I like doing that. With you.”

Dean let out a low, satisfied growl from deep in his chest, the sound rumbling between them like distant thunder. His hand slid slowly down Sam’s back, fingers curling possessively at his waist as he tilted his head to give him more room, more skin, more invitation. Gods, the way Sam used his teeth - curious, playful, just shy of sinful - that was something Dean hadn’t known he’d crave until it happened.
“You’re gonna turn me into a damn puddle,” he murmured, voice rough with want and thick with affection. “And yeah… I like it. I like all of it. The way you touch me like I’m yours. Like you know I’ll never hurt you.” His breath caught when Sam’s lips grazed that spot just beneath his ear. He was supposed to be the strong one, the protector, the secret fire-forged thing that carried the world on his back - and yet here he was, aching under the press of gentle teeth and soft lips.
“You do that,” he whispered, eyes fluttering shut for a moment, “and I forget how to think. So yeah… that’s exactly what I like.”
He pulled Sam closer, letting their bodies press flush, heat rising between them again, not urgent - but deep. Rooted. “Keep going, and I might start thinking you’re trying to tame me.” He opened his eyes, smirk soft and glinting. “Which is funny, ‘cause I’m pretty sure I already belong to you.”
Sam just lay there on top of Dean, panting softly. His eyes were glued to the golden flecks swirling in green, mesmerized.
“Taming you,” he mumbled. “I wouldn’t wanna tame you, my dragon. I love you just the way you are.”
Sam knew he was no weakling himself, but Dean was still stronger, and there was something about that that he loved.
It would scare him with anyone else, but with Dean, it gave him a sense of belonging, of safety. And of being wanted.
“I like your strength and the wild in you that I can’t explain in any other way. And if nibbling on you makes you forget how to think, I’m willing to experiment to see what happens if you forget how to think.”
He grinned briefly and resumed nibbling Dean’s jaw, around the chin to the other side. And then he bit him just below the ear in the fleshy part. Not hard. Not hard enough to draw blood or sting badly, just enough to let Dean know that he was there and that he might be a purring puddle of human in his hands, but that somewhere beneath that, there was that black panther lurking.

Dean’s breath caught hard in his throat, and for a split second, the world narrowed to nothing but teeth and heat and the soft, deliberate bite just below his ear. His fingers clenched against the small of Sam’s back, not enough to bruise - but enough to claim. A low growl rumbled up from deep in his chest, unbidden, unfiltered - something primal slipping through, raw and hungry.
“Gods, Sammy…” he rasped, voice rough like gravel soaked in honey. “You keep doing that, and I’m gonna forget how to breathe, let alone think.”
He tilted his head just enough to give Sam more access, lips parted, eyes half-lidded and burning. The golden flecks in his irises churned like stirred embers now, responding to Sam like he was flint to Dean’s fire - just a spark away from becoming something that could devour.
“You don’t need to tame me,” he murmured, voice thick with heat. “You already own me. Every time you look at me like that - touch me like this - I swear I’d burn down the whole damn kingdom for you.”
His hand slid lower, splaying over the curve of Sam’s ass, possessive, reverent. “You think I’m the wild one, but you…” Dean bit gently at Sam’s throat, just once, slow and teasing. “You’ve got claws, baby. And I love when you use ‘em.”
Then he grinned, dark and sinful, breath hot against Sam’s ear. “Now the only real question is… how far are you willing to go to make me forget everything?”

Sam lifted his head, his eyes gleaming with curiosity.
“How far would you like me to go, my dragon?” he rasped. “I think it’s safe to say that you like the nibbling, the biting. And I can tell you, I love it, too. It’s like… loving you to bites instead of bits.”
He stared at Dean a moment longer and then slid downward, first kissing along Dean’s neck, then nibbling along the rib cage, just hard enough to sting a little. When he reached Dean’s hipbones, he licked a stripe along them and then took the sensitive skin between his teeth, pulling on it like he wanted to take a bite for real.
And then he nipped Dean, sharply, briefly, without breaking the skin. Immediately, he used his tongue to soothe the abused skin thereafter.
“Are you still breathing?” he asked softly.

Dean let out a sound that was half groan, half growl - low, raw, dragged from somewhere deep in his chest where the dragon lived just beneath the surface. His hands had fisted in the furs without him realizing it, his body thrumming with heat that had nothing to do with fireborn magic and everything to do with the man currently tasting him like a feast.
“Barely,” he rasped, voice wrecked and dark with want. “You keep doing that, and I’m gonna forget how.”
His hand slid down, fingers threading into Sam’s hair as he looked down at him with eyes that shimmered gold at the edges. “You wanna know how far I want you to go, غhràidh?” His voice dropped, thick with hunger. “All the way. Until you forget your name. Until the only thing you can say is mine.”
Then he smirked, a breathless sort of wickedness lighting his face. “Bite me again, and I swear, I’ll flip you over so fast you’ll think you grew wings.”

Sam’s eyes sparkled more brightly at Dean’s words. There was something irresistible in seeing him like that, and Sam wanted more. So much more. The hint of a smile, mischievous and predatory in a way, was playing around his lips. Then he briefly raised an eyebrow and lowered his head again.
If Dean thought he would repeat his move, he was mistaken. Sam placed a thousand tiny kisses on his hip, slowly moving on and along the rib cage, taking a seeming eternity to reach the other hip.
Only there, he returned to gentle nibbles until this time, he nipped Dean without preamble, without warning. Just teeth grabbing skin, nipping it to the edge of breaking skin. As before, when he let go, he followed up by using his tongue to disparage the sting.
Dean sucked in a sharp breath, hips tensing under the onslaught of Sam’s mouth. He hadn’t expected that, and the shock of teeth - just shy of painful - sent a jolt straight through him like lightning in his blood. His hand shot out, curling into the blanket beneath them, the other burying itself in Sam’s hair, not to stop him - hell no - but to anchor himself.
“Careful,” Dean growled, voice low and ragged, tinged with something wild. “You keep teasing me like that and I’m gonna forget we’re still out in the godsdamned sun.”
He looked down at Sam, eyes molten, gold flickering faintly at the edges. “You got any idea what you’re doing to me right now?” His thumb stroked along the nape of Sam’s neck, a possessive touch full of promise. “’Cause if you’re tryin’ to light a fire, congratulations - you just poured oil on it.”
Sam smiled. “You keep promising to lose control, but you hold on to it nevertheless. And you call me stubborn.” He kissed the reddened skin where he had nipped him once more. “Maybe I want you to forget we’re out in the sun. I’m not hurt anymore. You healed me. And I’m not going to break.”
Another kiss. “Maybe pouring oil in the fire is exactly what I’m aiming for, غhràidh.” Sam leaned into Dean’s touch, the thumb being what connected them most, in a way. And then Sam moved quickly, turning his head as he pulled away slightly, only to take that thumb between his lips, gently sucking on it.
Dean hissed through his teeth, every muscle going tight like a drawn bow. The heat was instant, primal, dangerous - a low growl curling up from his chest as he watched Sam’s lips around his thumb like it was the most natural, most sinful thing in the world. Gods. He could feel the fire under his skin start to coil tighter, rising.
“You think I’m holding back?” he rasped, voice rough with restraint and want. “Sammy, if I really lost control, I’d ruin you.”
His thumb slid slowly from Sam’s lips, glistening, and Dean leaned in, close enough to feel every breath between them. His hand moved to cradle the back of Sam’s neck, thumb now grazing his jaw, heat pulsing off him like a forge.
“But here’s the thing - you keep talking like I ever said I would.” His eyes burned gold for a flicker, just a flicker, as his lips brushed Sam’s ear. “I don’t lose control. I choose. And I’m choosing to make you beg for it.”
Then, low and hot, almost a promise: “So go ahead. Pour your oil. I dare you.”

Sam held Dean’s gaze for a few seconds. Begging was something he had sworn to himself to never do again. In his experience, it was never answered anyway.
Whenever he would beg his father to stop, the punishment only increased. A flickering in Sam’s eyes was the only thing that hinted at his internal quarrel.
This was Dean, not his father. And maybe he had already subconsciously done the begging when they had become intimate. But he had never associated it with the word.
Squaring his jaw, Sam nodded briefly, whether it was to accept the dare or to tell himself he’d made up his mind, he didn’t know. But the next moment, Sam repeated his move, pulled Dean’s thumb into the wet heat of his mouth once more. He let his teeth scrape over the skin as he pulled off and slid down, immediately sealing his lips around Dean’s erection.
Slowly, he took him in a bit deeper and then gently sucked on the glans, swirling his tongue around in a clear attempt to make Dean jump out of his skin.

Dean didn’t flinch. He didn’t startle. He didn’t so much as twitch - because he’d felt it coming. The shift in Sam’s gaze, the decision made behind those eyes, the heat rolling off him like smoke before a fire. Dean had been bracing for the storm, but bracing didn’t mean he was ready for how hard it would hit.
His breath hissed between his teeth, low and sharp, as Sam took him in. His hand found the back of Sam’s head, fingers threading into his hair - not to control, but to anchor himself. “Fuck, Sammy,” he breathed, voice low and wrecked already. “That’s how you wanna play it?”
His hips stayed still, but just barely. The scrape of teeth, the deliberate slowness, the way Sam’s mouth moved like he was claiming Dean - it all lit him up like dry tinder in dragonfire.
“You’re not gonna break me,” he growled, voice thick, golden eyes smoldering. “But damn if you’re not trying.”

Sam continued his onslaught for a few moments until he finally, painfully slowly, pulled off with a plop. He licked his lips.
“Not trying to break you,” he whispered. “I’m trying to please you. Tease you. Tease you out of your mind.”
He stuck out his tongue and licked along Dean’s shaft from root to tip.
“Love the way your cock feels in my mouth,” he whispered, blowing cool air over the heated flesh. “Want to feel more of you.”
Sam’s thumbs came to rest on Dean’s hipbones, digging into the tender skin as he gripped tightly.
This time, he only took Dean’s glans between his lips, building up suction, flicking it with his tongue, eyes never straying from Dean’s golden green ones.

Dean’s head fell back with a ragged groan, one hand fisting in the edge of his cloak beneath them while the other gripped at the grass beside him, like anchoring himself to the earth might keep him from flying apart. It didn’t. Not when Sam was looking up at him like that bit - eyes dark, mouth sinful, devoted, the sunlight glinting off his damp skin, making the whole moment feel like something stolen from a dream.
“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean growled, breath hitching as his hips gave an involuntary twitch against the soft fabric. “You are breaking me - one slow, perfect stroke at a time.”
He looked down, eyes blazing gold now, barely hiding the dragon heat simmering just beneath the surface. “Keep that up, and I’m not gonna be able to hold back. You want more of me?” He reached down, fingers threading through Sam’s hair, not to push, just to anchor. “Then take it. Show me how much you can handle.”
His voice dropped into a low, dangerous purr. “And don’t you dare look away.”

Sam blinked slowly, unwilling to pull off to reply. His tongue continued to lap around the glans, dipping into the slit every now and then. He breathed through his nose so he didn’t have to break contact.
After another minute or two, he suddenly blinked again and then relaxed his jaw as much as he could, and without warning, he took all of Dean down his throat that he could handle.
The first moment he thought he might never breathe again, then he realized he could easily use his nose, and he swallowed around the rock-hard erection. Once. Again.
And finally, he began to hum.

Dean’s head dropped back with a guttural growl, one hand flying to Sam’s hair, fingers tangling deep. That hum - it tore through him like lightning in dry grass, igniting every nerve in his body. His breath hitched, hips jerking up from the cloak beneath them before he could stop himself.
“Fuck, Sammy,” he groaned, voice wrecked and hungry. “You wanna play rough, huh?”
And just like that, Dean took control.
He tightened his grip in Sam’s hair - not to hurt, just enough to guide - and pulled him back slowly, just until his lips hovered at the tip. Dean looked down, eyes dark and blazing, chest rising like a storm rolling in. “My turn,” he growled.
Then, with one smooth, commanding motion, he rolled them over on the cloak, pressing Sam into the grass, kissing him hard - deep - tongue claiming every inch of his mouth.
“You don’t get to worship me like that,” he rasped against Sam’s lips, “and not pay the price.”

And from the fire in his eyes, that price was going to be glorious.
Sam was just lying there, lips spit wet and apart in a satisfied smile, breathing heavily. His pupils were wide and glistening, taking in the way Dean looked at him, like he wanted to set him on fire just with his gaze.
“What’s the price, m’dragon,” he whispered roughly, shivering, because it felt like he was on display like rare goods, and he loved feeling Dean’s eyes on his skin. Because he needed that.
He needed to see again and again, even though he already knew, that Dean loved him just the way he was.
Dean hovered over him, chest still heaving, gaze dark and locked onto every inch of Sam like he was memorizing him by heat, not sight. He leaned in, slow, predatory, lips just brushing Sam’s ear as he murmured, voice rough like gravel and smoke, “The price, غhràidh?”
He dragged his tongue lightly along the shell of Sam’s ear before biting down - just enough to make him gasp.
“You. Every night. Every damn morning. Spread out like this. Breathing like this.” His hand slid down Sam’s side, fingers grazing over sweat-slick skin, claiming without pressure. “That’s the price. Your trust. Your body. Your need. I want it all.”
Then he pulled back just enough to meet Sam’s eyes - pupils blown, skin flushed, beautiful - and added, low and sure:
“You give me that, and I’ll burn the world down just to keep you whole.”

Sam didn’t reply for a while because he got himself lost in Dean’s intensity. He could see that he meant every word, and even if Sam didn’t understand all of it, he knew that Dean would do exactly what he just said.
“You know you have all of me,” he finally replied. “Who can I trust if not you? Who takes me and my body just the way I am, or it is? And do I need you? You have no idea how much I need you!”
Then, in slow motion, he brought up his hand to Dean’s neck, just between his shoulder blades, and softly, but with a little force, dragged his fingers down along Dean’s spine. Just enough to let him know he was there, he was real, and he wasn’t going to go anywhere.
Dean shuddered, the touch burning through him like lightning down a dry tree. That slow drag of fingers along his spine - right over the place where scales wanted to rise, where instincts clawed just beneath his skin - nearly broke his last thread of restraint. He dipped his head, growling low in his throat, not threatening, but possessive, aching, his.
“You say I have all of you,” he rasped, voice rough and dark with heat, “but you don’t know what that does to me. What it means.”
He pressed his hips down, letting Sam feel just how hard he was, just how undone that simple gesture had left him. “I don’t want you perfect. I want you real. Just like this. Breathless. Needy. Mine.”
His hand slipped under Sam’s thigh, lifting it higher, baring more of him, but he didn’t push - he just held, his thumb stroking circles into soft skin. “Tell me again,” he whispered, teeth grazing Sam’s jaw. “Tell me who you belong to.”

Sam tilted his head as he watched Dean carefully. That intensity in him, the need to hear these things, pulled on Sam’s heartstrings like nothing ever before. Because he got it. He could listen to Dean telling him he’s his all day long.
Turning his head a little again, Sam’s lips now brushed along Dean’s jaw in the same manner, but instead of using his teeth, Sam breathed hotly on Dean’s skin.
“I belong to you, غhràidh,” he rasped, following the words with a kiss.
Dean growled low in his throat, the sound spilling out like it was torn from deep in his chest - raw, possessive, hungry. Sam’s breath against his skin was hotter than any fire Dean had ever breathed, and the words - I belong to you - they hit like a brand.
His hands were on Sam’s hips before he realized he’d moved, gripping tight, not hard, but firm, anchoring them both in the moment. His mouth crashed down to Sam’s - desperate, consuming, lips and teeth and tongue like he was drinking him in. When he pulled back, barely, his breath was ragged, voice ruined with heat.
“You say that again,” he growled, eyes burning gold under the golden blaze of the sun above them, the grass soft and warm beneath their tangled limbs, “and I swear, I’ll take you right here, in the open, with sunlight on your skin and my name in your throat.”
Then softer, lips grazing Sam’s throat as he whispered, “Mine.”
Sam licked his lips, and a shiver ran through his body. Of course, Dean wanted to make sure that Sam was absolutely positive he wanted what was about to happen. Did he really expect Sam to change his mind? Maybe Sam needed to show him he wanted it to happen. In the open. With sunlight on his skin and his name on his lips.
“I’m yours,” he replied softly but firmly, in a tone that was meant to tell Dean he was absolutely certain. “Always yours!”

Dean let out a low, guttural sound - half growl, half prayer - as the words Always yours hit him dead in the chest. Something ancient and hungry roared in his blood, but he held it steady, reined it in, because this was Sam. Not a conquest. Not a claiming. His.
He leaned in slowly, reverently, eyes never leaving Sam’s. “Say it again,” he whispered, voice molten and trembling with restraint, his hand sliding to cradle the side of Sam’s neck. “Say it while I make you feel it. While I show you what it means to belong to me in every breath and every bone.”
Then he kissed him - devoured him - mouth fierce but tender, worshipful. He poured every ounce of his fire into that kiss, into the way his body curled around Sam’s, protecting and wanting all at once.
“I’ll take you right here,” he murmured against his lips, “in the light, in the open, so the gods know exactly who you belong to. And I’ll make it so you never forget.”
Dean’s hands moved like he was tracing scripture across Sam’s skin - slow, sure, full of reverence. He kissed along his jaw, down the column of his throat, over the rise of his chest, each press of his lips a vow sealed in warmth and want. His palms roamed with purpose, fingers gliding over ribs, hips, thighs - everywhere - as if he was memorizing Sam’s body by touch alone.
And all the while, his mouth worshipped - soft kisses, open-mouthed heat, gentle bites that faded into soothing licks - until Sam was gasping, trembling beneath him. Dean didn’t rush, didn’t demand. He gave, with fire in his blood and love in his touch, every caress saying louder than words: You’re mine. And I’m yours.
Sam began to tremble in earnest because every touch of Dean’s fingers or lips left a trail of fire on his skin. And Dean’s kiss made his brain catch on fire. His lips were barely able to form words, but he knew he had to say what Dean asked. For both their sakes, Sam mustered all his strength and wrapped his fingers around the hand moving along his body, stilling it for a moment. And when their eyes locked again, Sam repeated.
“I’m always yours, my dragon.”

Dean’s chest swelled at that, a low growl rumbling in his throat, half pride, half need. He leaned down, letting his forehead rest against Sam’s, and whispered against his lips, hot and trembling, “Always mine… and I’m never letting you go.”
His hands moved with a careful, possessive fire, tracing Sam’s curves, memorizing every line, every shiver. Yet there was softness too, a protective heat wrapped around the hunger - he could burn the world for Sam, but here, now, it was only him, only this.
“I’ll make sure you’re safe, always,” Dean murmured, lips brushing Sam’s jaw, then the curve of his neck, “and that every bit of this… every fire, every touch… is only ours. You feel that? That’s me, keeping you. Always.”
And even as the tension between them scorched the air, there was love layered into every burn, a devotion that could sear and soothe all at once.
Sam shivered because the desire he felt for Dean was getting out of hand. He was at a point where he just wanted to feel Dean in the most intimate way because if he didn’t, he felt he would burst into pieces.
“I’ll hold you to that,” Sam breathed. “Always mine… like I would share you with anyone else.” He moved his head a little and kissed Dean demandingly.
“Dean, I… I need you,” he panted between kisses. “Feels like… I just can’t… be without you. Like I’m… addicted… to you.” His hands roamed across Dean’s back, keeping him close to underline his words.
Dean groaned low, a deep rumble that went straight to Sam’s core, and let his hands drift slowly, deliberately, over Sam’s body, tracing the curves and planes with a careful, possessive touch. He leaned down, pressing his chest to Sam’s, breathing him in, letting his fingers tease along Sam’s thighs, mapping him, warming him, opening him up inch by inch.
“God, you’re all mine too,” Dean whispered against Sam’s lips, voice hoarse and rough, hands sliding with precision, coaxing him, making Sam shiver and ache for more. “So perfect… so ready for me.”
He paused just at the edge, looking Sam in the eyes, letting the tension coil tight between them, then moved slowly, deliberately, pressing in only a fraction at first, letting Sam adjust, letting him feel safe and wanted, savoring every gasp and shudder.
“You feel so damn good,” Dean breathed, sliding in a little further, careful, teasing, until every inch of him was buried. “Like I could lose myself in you forever… and I don’t ever want to stop.”

Sam gasped when Dean breached his entrance and slowly worked his way in. There was that slight sting that made him hold his breath, but something in the stretch felt so good that Sam couldn’t wait for more.
He was breathing in short huffs, lips resting against Dean’s. A soft moan escaped him every now and then, and when Dean held still, after a moment, Sam shifted his hips because he wanted more. He needed more.
“So good, غhràidh,” he whispered. “Burning up for you.”
He moved again, subconsciously, like his body was trying to take what it needed on its own accord.
“More?” he asked.
Dean groaned, letting Sam’s words wrap around him like fire. He sank deeper, slow and deliberate, feeling every inch of Sam welcome him and want him. His hands roamed Sam’s body, squeezing, grounding, holding him close like he was the only thing in the world that mattered.
“Yeah… more,” Dean rasped, pressing their bodies together, feeling Sam clench around him, needy and hot. He moved with a rhythm that was both careful and relentless, deep strokes that made Sam cry out softly, hips tilting into him without thinking.
Dean’s lips found Sam’s again, kissing hard and claiming, tasting, whispering promises only he could make. “You feel too damn good, Sam… I could stay inside you forever and it’d never be enough.” He bit lightly along Sam’s shoulder, the heat between them building, fire-born, scorching and tender all at once.
Every motion, every groan, every shiver of Sam’s body against his own made Dean’s pulse hammer hotter, their closeness a dangerous, beautiful, consuming thing.
When Dean began to move inside him, Sam felt himself moving along, meeting his gentle thrusts, adopting the rhythm that made him moan because it caused the most delicious sensation inside him.
When Dean bit along his shoulder, Sam gasped and hissed, shivering at the same time because somehow that little sting heightened the pleasure he felt from Dean’s thrusts.
Instinctively, he wrapped his legs around Dean’s hips, drawing him in deeper. They fit so perfectly that Sam could feel every pulse from his own body translating onto Dean’s, squeezing around him every time Dean pushed in deep.
When Dean’s cock bumped against that special spot on Sam’s prostate, he groaned loudly, body pulling stiff for a second as his balls tightened and his cock throbbed softly.
“Fuck… I… that… was amazing,” he croaked. The blood was rushing through his body, throbbing in his ears, and he just wanted to feel even more connected to his fireborn.

Dean’s hands gripped Sam’s hips like he could anchor him to the world, but really, he just wanted to feel him, skin to skin, bone to bone, heart to heart. With each thrust, a soft golden glow radiated from him, warmth pooling and swirling between them, invisible to Sam but searing in Dean’s chest like the sun itself.
“Sam… you feel… so fucking perfect,” Dean groaned, voice rough with need and awe, pressing his forehead to Sam’s, teeth grazing that sweet spot below his ear that made him shiver and hiss. He moved with a rhythm both tender and relentless, loving and claiming, each thrust deeper than the last, golden light pulsing with the fire he kept carefully hidden.
Sam’s gasps, moans, the way his legs clung to Dean - they made Dean’s wings of desire unfurl inside him, even if Sam didn’t know a dragon’s heat burned beneath his skin. Every inch, every shiver, every soft cry pressed Dean closer to the edge of control, and he held it, savoring Sam like he was his world and his reason all at once.
“I’ve got you… all of you… you’re mine, غhràidh,” Dean whispered, gold flickering brighter, his own pulse syncing with Sam’s as their bodies collided in a perfect storm of fire, flesh, and love.

Sam could feel Dean’s body heating up, not in an unpleasant way. It felt like there was literally fire beneath his skin, and for a second, Sam hoped he’d remember to ask Dean about that. He really didn’t know much about fireborns at all.
As the passion between them continued to rise, Sam let his head drop back, eyes locked on Dean’s, and despite all that was around them, he lost himself in those eyes.
“I can see the fire,” he whispered, taking Dean’s thrusts, answering them with a moan and a gasp, his world just existing of those golden green, flickering eyes and the constantly rising pleasure.
He could feel his cock pulsating with every thrust, feel his precum starting to leak down his shaft, and make a puddle between them.
“It’s like… it’s in my mind,” he added, and he meant it. With every thrust, Dean made Sam’s mind light up in sparks, getting brighter the closer Sam got to his edge.
“Need more,” he breathed, knowing that if there was more, his body would go out of control and he’d eventually crash and burn in an orgasm he’d never experienced before. He didn’t know how he knew that, but he did.
“Fuck… غhràidh… I need more of you… please.”
Dean groaned, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he buried himself deeper, moving with a heat and rhythm that left Sam trembling and gasping. Every stroke was a claim, every thrust a promise - fierce, unrelenting, and impossibly tender all at once.
“God, Sam… you feel too good,” Dean growled, fingers digging into Sam’s hips as if he needed to hold him together. “Can’t get enough of you, not now, not ever.”
He pressed closer, chest to chest, letting the fire that coursed through him lick at every nerve in Sam’s body, and he felt Sam shiver under him, leaning into the heat like it was life itself.
“Gonna make you feel everything, Sam… all of it,” Dean murmured, voice rough, lips brushing over Sam’s shoulder. “This… this is mine. All of it. You. Right here. Right now.”
The fire in Dean’s eyes mirrored the one inside him, fierce and hungry, and with every powerful, loving thrust, he drove Sam closer to a brink that promised to melt them both entirely.
“Can’t get… ‘nough of you, either,” Sam whispered. At least he thought he did. But even thinking was something that was rapidly becoming too much, as his body focused solely on feeling Dean.
Every touch, every thrust, every spark in his mind and brush of Dean’s lips.
Sam’s fingers were digging deep into Dean’s skin, like he was trying to pull Dean into his body, like even being as close as they were wasn’t enough.
Dean was hitting his prostate with precision in every thrust, and with each, the tension in Sam’s body grew, finding its way unerringly towards his climax.
Sam wanted to tell Dean how good he felt, how he still needed more, how he wanted Dean to thrust harder and deeper, but forming the words with his lips was beyond his capabilities already. “Gah,” he groaned when Dean slightly changed direction, crying out with every thrust that followed. “Pl…se, I… Dean! Can’t… take it… more?” Sam tried to look at Dean, let his eyes tell him what his brain struggled to form into words.
“Make me cum?”
Dean’s eyes darkened, pupils blown, heat and hunger rolling off him like fire. He leaned closer, pressing his chest against Sam’s, growling low and deep as he grabbed Sam’s hips, driving into him harder, faster, each thrust deliberate, punishing, and impossibly precise.
“God… Sam,” he hissed, voice ragged, teeth grazing Sam’s shoulder, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “You feel… so fucking perfect. So mine.”
Every stroke sent shivers of pleasure racing through Sam, pulling him closer to the edge, every muscle and nerve alight. Dean’s hands gripped him like he was holding onto the sun itself, and Sam could only arch and writhe beneath him, gasping, screaming, trembling with the force of it.
Dean pressed his forehead to Sam’s, their breaths mingling, and his voice dropped to a commanding growl.
“Cum now, Sam… for me.”

The moment the words left Dean’s lips, Sam’s brain gave off a darting flame, or so it seemed to Sam. White hot desire rushed through his body, and he growled from the depths of his soul as his body tensed even more. If he’d been in control, he would have worried about accidentally head-butting Dean when his climax ripped through him like a rubber band that had been held at maximum stretch and finally released. His mind went red hot and then white, his body trembled underneath Dean’s, and with a strangled shout that hardly resembled anything human, Sam came like Dean demanded it, spurt after spurt between their bodies.
Sound ceased to exist, and only feeling prevailed as Sam felt the most powerful orgasm run through him that he’d ever experienced.
Dean’s body reacted before his mind could even catch up. The fire inside him - hot, alive, consuming - rolled through every nerve and muscle. He arched over Sam, chest rising and falling like some otherworldly beast, skin glistening in the sun, wings of heat radiating without being seen. His hips stuttered, pressed impossibly close, and then the release hit him like a molten tide, raw and intense, shaking him from claw to tailbone.
A guttural, unearthly sound tore from his throat, more roar than moan, and he shuddered, trembling over Sam, his essence flaring bright and hot and untamed. His hands gripped Sam’s sides, pulling him impossibly close, and Dean felt the world narrow to skin on skin, breath on breath, heat on heat. When it finally ebbed, he lay heavy on Sam, pulse still thrumming, hair damp with sweat, and eyes glinting with that dangerous, inhuman brilliance that left no doubt he was something more, something beautiful, and terrifyingly alive.
He let out a ragged laugh, low and hoarse, and murmured, almost reverently, “Damn… you make it worth it, every single time.”

Sam was floating in his own bliss as he took in the way Dean looked when he came, taking in the sun reflecting on the sweat-slicked skin like a blaze released by a wildfire. His eyes were hooded but not missing a thing, the way Dean’s eyes flashed, and his lips fell apart when his breath hitched.
And when Dean laughed, it sounded wrecked and beautiful at the same time, and Sam’s heart skipped a beat because he knew it was because of him.
His arms wrapped around Dean’s back, rubbing over the shoulder blades for a second before pulling him down close. Tight.
“You make me feel alive in a way I could never imagine,” he whispered and chased Dean’s lips to kiss them tenderly again and again.
“My mind’s still spinning,” he whispered, holding on even more tightly as if that could help with it.
Dean let out a low, rumbling laugh, soft this time, more like a purr than a roar. He pressed his forehead to Sam’s, breathing him in, letting the heat and the quiet settle between them.
“You make me feel alive too, غhràidh,” he murmured, voice husky, wrapped in something softer than fire. “Like nothing else matters… like the world can wait, and all I need is right here, right now, with you.”
He nuzzled Sam’s neck gently, dragging a hand down his side, holding him close like he never wanted to let go, letting the warmth and trust between them speak louder than words.
“Hmmmm,” Sam hummed contentedly. He agreed with every word and was way too worn out to move.
“You’re th’best,” he then mumbled. “But I think you drained all my ’nergy. Can’t move anymore. ‘N barely think.” He smiled briefly and then took a deep breath. A moment later, he blinked his eyes and began to nuzzle Dean’s neck, tongue sneaking out to place tiny kitten licks at his skin. “Salty,” he whispered. “But I like it.”
Dean let out a soft, amused groan, tilting his head as Sam’s tiny licks sent shivers down his spine. He carefully eased himself off of Sam, rolling to the side so he wouldn’t crush him, but keeping close enough to feel the warmth still radiating off him.
“You’re a little menace,” Dean whispered, brushing a thumb over Sam’s jawline, his voice low and tender. “But… I swear, I could stay right here all day, just like this. You make it too damn easy to love you.”
He rested his head near Sam’s, letting their shoulders touch, and let a quiet, satisfied silence settle over them, sweet and soft, like the world had finally paused just for them.

“Little?” Sam asked, pretending to be offended. “I’m taller than you, and I’m pretty sure I’m many things, but not little.”
Then he laughed, snuggling against Dean like the heat around them didn’t exist.
“I think when we can move again, we need to swim another round. I’m all sticky because of you.” He dragged his index finger along Dean’s sternum all the way down to his belly button. “See?” he asked, letting his fingers glide through the mess he made, shaping a tiny heart.
Dean groaned softly, shoulder pressing against Sam’s, a grin tugging at his lips.
“You’re ridiculous,” he murmured, voice low and warm, though his hands didn’t stop tracing the line of Sam’s side and arm, holding him close. “But I like it… I like you like this. Sticky, bold, and impossible not to love.”
He nuzzled Sam’s temple, letting his fingers curl around Sam’s, keeping him tucked tight, like he could hold onto this moment forever.

“You like me sticky?” Sam chuckled. “If that’s the case, getting sticky more often. I mean… it was fun, no?”
Then he turned serious again, looking deep into Dean’s eyes.
“I’m just glad that bottoming actually is something I like. With you. I wanted to be fully one with you. And I hoped I would feel good, you know. So you would like sex with me. I think it’s safe to say we both like it, right?” There was a twinkle in his eyes, and then they locked on Dean’s lips. “And I really like kissing you. Love it, to be exact.”

Dean’s chest warmed, and a grin tugged at his lips - slow, fond, a little wicked, but soft too. He reached up, brushing Sam’s hair back from his face, thumb grazing the curve of his jaw.
“God, غhràidh… I like it all,” he said, voice low and steady, eyes glinting with fire and something gentler. “Every bit of it. You, me… this. Being… close like this. And yeah,” he leaned in, pressing his forehead to Sam’s, “kissing you? I could get lost in it forever and never complain once.”
He lingered there, letting the words hang between them like a promise, as sweet and solid as the sun spilling through the soft, white clouds.

Sam smiled, happy. He had to be the luckiest man alive to be able to call Dean his.
“I loved how your skin looked like it was on fire when we climaxed,” he whispered softly. “The sun was hitting your sweaty skin just right, and your eyes were even more beautiful than ever. I’m so lucky to have you.”
He rolled to lie on his back, chest expanding as he breathed in.
“You know, I hate the feeling of being controlled by someone the way my father did. And with all he’s said and done, I thought once I found the right girl for me, I would stay away from all men, especially those that deem themselves powerful.”
He looked at Dean. “And now here I am with a gorgeous fireborn man as my lover, my savior, and I couldn’t be happier. I couldn’t feel safer! You changed my mind about men single-handedly and not just in regards to love. The type of man my father showed me is the worst there can be. And I want to make it all right. I want every strong man to respect their wards, their children, their old and sick ones. And I want every man who is afraid of an abusive wannabe leader to group up and learn how to stand up for themselves. I learned so much from you in such a short time. And I want others to learn in a similar method.”
Sam smiled when Dean spoke. He knew that Dean would back him with everything, but listening to him saying it made a special warmth spread through his body.
“I know. I know you’ll be by my side for everything, and you don’t know how much it means to me that you can see the fire in me. I have felt it a lot more than I heard it, and it made me wonder if what I felt was valid.”
Then he placed more kisses on Dean’s lips.
“You have no idea how damned grateful I am that I fell down that gorge. And that you found me. I know it sounds weird, but it’s the truth.”
Dean’s chest tightened, and a soft chuckle rumbled from him, low and protective. He cupped Sam’s face gently, thumbs tracing over the planes of his cheeks, holding him steady as if the world could try to pull them apart and he’d keep Sam anchored.
“You don’t sound weird, غhràidh,” he murmured, voice warm, steady, full of that quiet devotion he didn’t waste on anyone else. “You feel what you feel, and it’s real. And it’s yours. And me finding you? Hell… that’s the luckiest damn thing that’s ever happened to me. I’ve got you. Always. Fire and all.”
He pressed a lingering kiss to Sam’s temple, letting the words settle between them like a soft promise, a shield, and a weightless kind of home all at once.

Sam leaned into the kiss and closed his eyes. He relished the feeling Dean evoked in him and wished things would stay like that forever.
For a moment, there was silence, a comfortable silence. They had each other, and that was perfect.
“Dean?” Sam asked after a few minutes. “Should we go and clean ourselves up, and then turn around the cloak and relax here until the sun sets?”
Somehow, the thought of lying next to Dean, naked as the day they were born, in the midst of the beauty of nature sounded very appealing.
Dean let out a low, teasing chuckle, brushing his nose against Sam’s. “Clean up, huh? Sounds boring. But… yeah, fine, we’ll do that - before I end up frying the entire lake with my ‘fireborn charm’,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows and flashing a lopsided grin.
He stood slowly, stretching and flexing in a way that made Sam’s chest tighten a little, then offered a hand. “But don’t think I’m not dragging you right back here after. Sun, woods, me… yeah, that’s way too good to rush.”
Dean’s grin softened, just for Sam, and there was a warmth in his eyes that had nothing to do with fire or dragons. “Promise you’ll stay close, yeah? Can’t have my knight wandering off before the next round of trouble.”
“Next round of trouble?” Sam asked, eyes glinting. “Is that a threat or a promise?” He got to his feet and kissed Dean before walking to the shoreline, making sure that Dean got a good view of him.
Slowly, he waded into the water, only stopping when it had reached his belly button.
“Somehow the water feels a bit colder than earlier on,” he called over his shoulder. “I might need you to keep me warm.”
Dean laughed, low and throaty, and let the water lap at his thighs as he followed Sam in, eyes flicking over him just enough to make Sam flush. “Cold, huh? Yeah, I’ll keep you warm… dragon style,” he said, letting a teasing edge creep into his voice. “But fair warning… I don’t do subtle. You’ll be burning up faster than that midday sun.”
He stepped closer, letting the water swirl around them, careful not to bump too hard but close enough to make Sam feel his heat. “And if you start shivering, don’t think I won’t grab you and hold you tight. You’re not getting away that easily.”
Dean’s grin softened as he watched Sam’s chest rise and fall, feeling that quiet, fierce pull in his chest that made even a joke feel like something sacred. “Brave enough for round two, or do I need to drag you under?”
“Drag me under… your spell?” Sam asked with a seductive grin. “Do your worst, love. I doubt there’s a moment when you wouldn’t turn me on. You’re perfect. Beautiful and perfect.”
Sam let himself fall in the water, letting the waves close above him. And then he swam in a semicircle towards Dean.
Of course, he knew that Dean could see him, but that didn’t matter. He was having fun, and he hoped Dean was, too.
When he was right in front of Dean, he surfaced and stood right in front of him, shaking the water from his locks. “Hi,” he grinned, looking at Dean with a soft challenge in his gaze.

Dean let out a low, amused whistle, chest glistening in the sunlight as the water lapped around him. “Oh, hey there, troublemaker,” he drawled, smirk tugging at his lips. “You sure you wanna play like that? ’Cause I’ve got a long memory and a short fuse… and neither of ’em is afraid to turn up the heat.”
He leaned forward just slightly, letting the water ripple around him, eyes flicking over Sam like he was inspecting a very tempting disaster. “Perfect, huh? Careful - keep talking like that and I might start believing it… and then where would we be, huh?”
“Hmm, I don’t know. In paradise, maybe?” Sam laughed. “I like all about a short fuse sometimes. Maybe I’m tempted to set it off.”
Sam slung his arms around Dean, pressing his body against the other man’s.
“I hope you don’t think I’ve been lying about having had girlfriends, but… I actually haven’t been standing like this with another person that often.
But… I like it. With you. Allows me to feel all of you. Your muscles underneath that skin? Such a temptation.”
To prove his point, Sam let his hands roam all over Dean, finally letting them settle on his ass.
“Have you… have you ever had sex in the water, fireborn?” he asked.

Dean let out a low, teasing chuckle, the kind that rumbled in his chest and made Sam shiver just a little. He leaned closer, nose brushing against Sam’s temple, voice dripping with sass.
“Oh, Sam… you really know how to tempt a dragon,” he murmured, his lips twitching in a wicked grin. “Sex in the water, huh? That’s… ambitious. Hot, yes, probably messy as hell - but I like a challenge.” He let his hands slide up Sam’s back, squeezing just enough to make him gasp. “But careful, غhràidh… dragons bite back when you poke the fire too hard.”
Dean’s eyes glinted, half mischief, half molten heat, as he let his words hang there, daring Sam to test him.
Then he let out a slow, humor-laced sigh, leaning back just enough to grin down at Sam.
“Of course I’ve done it in the water before,” he admitted, voice low and warm, teasing but real. “Rivers, lakes… you name it. But, Sam… nothing, and I mean nothing, ever comes close to this. To you. Doesn’t matter if we’re soaked or dry as a bone - being with you… that’s fire enough to melt anything else I’ve ever known.”
He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to Sam’s jaw, letting the words hang between them, hot and honest.
Sam sighed, smiling.
“So you think no matter what we do or how we do it, nothing will ever come close to being this good?” he asked.
“I think I can live with that. Because I feel the same. It’s with you and that alone makes it the best, the most exciting experience every time.”
Sam rubbed his hands up and down Dean’s sides and then let one slip between them to take hold of Dean’s cock. Slowly, he massaged him, making it all about being a caress. Maybe a little more than a caress, but mostly one.
“You just feel so good in any way,” he whispered against his ear.
Dean’s head fell back with a low, ragged groan, body arching instinctively into Sam’s touch. Heat pooled between them, a wildfire coiling tight in his chest, and his hands tangled in Sam’s hair, holding him close.
“You… you don’t even know what you do to me,” he rasped, voice thick, burning with want. “Every touch, every damn whisper… it’s like you’re setting me on fire, and I don’t wanna be put out.”
He pressed forward, hips tilting, letting Sam feel exactly how alive he made him. His eyes, dark and heated, never left Sam’s, and even in the haze of desire, there was that sharp, consuming need to claim him - again, and again, in every way possible.
Sam remained quiet for a moment.
“What if I do know what I’m doing? If I want to set you on fire? Would that change anything?” he asked softly, kissing a few water droplets off Dean’s skin without interrupting his caresses. He kept his touch steady and firm, then teasing.
Dean’s breath hitched, chest tightening as heat pooled low in his belly. He caught Sam’s gaze, dark and slow-burning, and let a wicked grin spread over his lips.
“Oh, m’Sam… if you knew exactly what you were doing?” he murmured, voice low, rough, and dripping with want. He tilted his head back just enough to give Sam more access, heart hammering, fingers threading through Sam’s hair as if grounding himself. “You’d better be ready to handle it… ‘cause I don’t do gentle unless you beg me for it. And even then,” he growled softly, “it’s gonna be fire, sweat, and a whole lot of heat that only you can survive.”
His lips found Sam’s again, fierce and consuming, and every brush of their bodies together was a promise of the flames he’d let Sam stir inside him.
Sam changed his caresses slightly, making sure he’d flick his thumb over Dean’s glans now and then. The water was actually helping Sam keep cool, and the way he heated Dean’s body with his touch felt pretty special.
“How do you mean it, only I can survive it?” he asked, kissing more water from Dean’s neck before sealing his lips over Dean’s. He kissed him slowly, with feeling and a hint of heat, perfectly in sync with his hand that was gently jerking Dean’s cock.
After a few strokes, Sam opened his hand and wrapped it around both their cocks.
When their cocks touched, Sam could feel a spark of desire running through his body, and he closed his eyes for a second.
“You feel so good, everywhere I touch you, غhràidh,” he said softly.
Dean’s chest expanded, and a low, rough groan escaped him, half laughter, half need. He leaned into Sam, letting his hands tangle in Sam’s hair, pressing them closer until their bodies were flush and hot.
“You know, I’m just teasing,” Dean said, voice husky, lips brushing Sam’s ear. “But… only a mate could survive a dragon’s fire. Guess that means you’re lucky… or maybe in trouble.” He smirked, teeth grazing Sam’s jaw, letting the words land heavy with heat and promise.
Dean’s hips ground just slightly against Sam’s, teasing, daring, every movement slick and purposeful. “Feels like you’re made for this… for me,” he whispered, letting a deep, low moan slip out as Sam’s hands danced over him again, setting fire to every nerve.
Sam loved feeling Dean’s laughter rumble through his chest. It felt calm and collected and somehow reassuring. He smiled.
“You keep talking about dragons and fire like you’re one of them,” he whispered. “Is that a fireborn thing to?”
His grip around their cocks tightened.
“And don’t worry, I like it. I’m just wondering. I love the image it creates, in a way.”
When Sam pressed his lips to Dean’s, his kiss became a little more demanding than before.
Dean’s chest hitched, a low growl slipping past his lips as Sam’s teeth grazed just right, his hands pulling Dean closer until their bodies were flush. Heat pooled low, fire coiling through him, sharp and urgent, and Dean couldn’t help the slick groan that escaped as he tilted his hips, pressing into Sam’s insistence.
“God… Sam,” he rasped, voice thick, “you don’t know what you’re doing to me.” His hands slid down, gripping Sam’s hips, dragging him impossibly closer. Every brush of skin, every hard press, sent sparks through Dean that had nothing to do with sunlight. He was molten under Sam’s mouth, under Sam’s hands, and damn it, he wanted more. Wanted all of it. Now.

Sam took his time kissing Dean, his hand never stopping his caress. He loved the way Dean felt underneath his fingers and just wanted to feel more.
“Hmm, how about you tell me what I’m doing to you. I want to know how it feels for you. I want to know what you want.” Sam nibbled on Dean’s jaw, letting his teeth scrape through the stubble on his chin.
Dean’s knees buckled a little, a sharp hiss escaping him as he arched into Sam’s touch. “God… Sam, you’re driving me insane,” he groaned, voice rough, low, and ragged. His hands tangled in Sam’s hair, pulling him closer, hungry and desperate, every nerve alight. “Feels… hotter than fire, like I’m burning from the inside out,” he admitted, teeth grazing over his lower lip, struggling to keep control. “I want… want all of you, every damn bit of you… now.”
He pressed his body flush against Sam’s, heat rolling off them both, heart hammering, voice breaking in ragged moans that demanded and teased all at once.
Sam moaned. Feeling Dean this close, this needy, did things to him that he’d always thought were impossible. Giving himself over unconditionally to someone was not something he thought he could ever do, but with Dean, it was a whole different thing.
“How…” he croaked, stopping to swallow harshly. “What if I tell you to take what you want?” he asked softly, barely loud enough for Dean to hear it.
Sam had already handed himself over to Dean in the cabin and just now, on the shore, but this now felt like it was important for them. Both of them. Sam shivered, not from cold, and his heart beat faster in his chest as he waited for Dean’s reaction.
“What if I tell you to take all that you want?”
Dean’s green eyes darkened, blazing with a hunger that made Sam shiver all over. He leaned down, capturing Sam’s lips in a bruising kiss, hands sliding over him like fire, gripping, claiming.
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Dean growled, voice low and fierce. He pressed his body fully against Sam’s, feeling every curve, every shiver, and let his hands roam, teasing, owning. “’Cause I want all of you,” he rasped, his hips tilting, hard and insistent, pressing Sam flush against him. Every motion, every heat-soaked touch, was pure, raw, and Dean didn’t hold back - he was taking control, taking what Sam offered with a fireborn’s claim, and loving every desperate gasp and moan that came with it.
Feeling Dean’s desire was all that Sam needed to forget everything around them. He was standing inseparably close to Dean in the middle of a lake, but he didn’t feel the cold water or the gentle wind that made waves lapping around their middle.
All he felt was Dean’s heat against him and his own desire growing. His erection was trapped between their bodies, brushing against Dean’s with every move they made.
He could feel Dean’s heartbeat, not underneath his skin, but inside him, like they were one, and he wanted to be just that. One. Now.
“Can you take me right here?” he asked, lifting his leg along Dean’s thigh, letting the inside of his thigh glide along Dean’s hip. “I want to feel you.” A brief snap of his hips brought more pressure and drew a sharp moan from himself, and then, knowing Dean would hold him, he wrapped his other leg around Dean’s hips as well. “Never knew I could burn with so much desire for one man,” he whispered. “But you set me on fire.”

Dean’s eyes darkened, pupils dilating, and a low, dangerous growl rumbled in his chest, vibrating through Sam as he tightened his grip around him. “Oh, you have no idea, Sam,” Dean breathed, pressing their bodies flush, hips rolling with deliberate force. The water lapped around them, but it might as well have been molten fire for the way heat coiled between them, wrapping tight and inescapable.
Dean lifted Sam higher against him, arms locking under his thighs, carrying him with ease as the water reached their chests. “Stand still,” he commanded, voice rough, hot, and slick with lust, “or I’ll make you forget what standing still even means.” Every push of their hips, every slick press, sent tremors of need radiating between them.
Sam gasped, clinging to Dean, and Dean let his hands roam, gripping him at the waist, tugging him impossibly close so their hardnesses were locked together, pulsing. Dean’s mouth found Sam’s neck, teeth grazing, lips crushing down, and the moan that tumbled from Sam’s throat set fire to every nerve ending.
“God… you feel too good, Sam,” Dean growled, hands gripping tight enough to leave marks, hips snapping forward to fuck into him, standing up, swaying in the slick embrace of the lake. Every movement was slow enough to savor, sharp enough to drive them both wild, water spilling over legs and bodies pressed tight, hearts racing in sync. Dean’s fire was all-consuming, and Sam was his, every shiver, every gasp, every desperate grip a testament to that.
“Mine,” Dean whispered, low and breathless, before letting the lake bear witness to the full, hot power of them together, standing and swaying in the sun-drenched, water-lapped world they had carved just for themselves.

When Dean pulled him close and got deeper into the water, Sam let himself melt against Dean. He knew he could trust him unconditionally and let it show. His lips at his throat sent hot shivers through his body, and Dean’s words lit another fire in the pit of his stomach.
“Same,” he rasped, moving with him when he lifted him a little.
The moment Dean fucked into him, Sam groaned languorously, legs tightening around Dean’s waist.
“Always,” he rasped in response and bent his head to kiss Dean.
“Feels good,” he whispered. “Perfect.”
Dean’s grip tightened on Sam’s hips, every thrust hard and unrelenting, a wildfire rolling through him. He groaned deep in his chest, lost in the slick, shivering heat of Sam wrapped around him, every movement perfect, every gasp and whimper a spark fanning the blaze between them.
“You feel… fucking incredible, Sammy,” Dean growled, his hips pistoning harder, teeth catching the shell of Sam’s ear. His hands roamed over Sam’s back, down to his ass, hauling him impossibly closer as they moved together, perfectly in sync. Every thrust was claiming, claiming in a way that was rough and tender all at once, and Dean could feel the coil of magic and desire between them tightening, threatening to ignite.
Don’t stop, Sam had rasped, and Dean wouldn’t, couldn’t stop. He responded with a smoldering laugh, hips snapping faster, low, guttural moans spilling as he drove into Sam, lost in the absolute fire of it - each kiss, each shiver, each tremor, feeding the heat that only they could create together.

Sam had quickly picked up the rhythm Dean set, joining in like they were guided by the same thought. He met each thrust, holding on to Dean’s shoulders to ground himself.
“God, Dean… ‘s amazing,” he panted in between thrusts and then carefully leaned backwards a bit, trusting that Dean wouldn’t let him sink under. The new angle allowed Sam to feel Dean in a different way that heightened the force with which Dean thrust against his prostate.
“Fuck,” he rasped and reached between them to grasp his cock in an effort to push back his own need.

Dean’s grip tightened on Sam’s hips, guiding him with a feral precision, each thrust harder, deeper, relentless. The heat between them was suffocating, a storm of need and fire, and Dean could hear Sam’s ragged breaths and feel the way he clenched around him. “That’s it, Sam… just like that,” Dean groaned, his voice low and ragged, every syllable vibrating against Sam’s skin.
He slammed into him again and again, each movement claiming him, marking him, driving them both closer to the edge. Dean’s teeth grazed Sam’s shoulder as he leaned over him, hot sweat mingling with the lake’s water, their bodies slick and tight together. “You feel too good, Sam… too damn good,” he growled, letting the intensity take over, their rhythm rising hotter, harder, leaving nothing but the two of them and the fire coursing through every touch.
Sam groaned harshly because Dean was definitely right. It felt too good. When he picked up the tempo, Sam moved his hand back to Dean’s shoulder to hold on. He absorbed each thrust, answering it with a moan and then used his legs to pull Dean in even harder.
His breathing became more ragged the longer Dean slammed into him, and Sam finally felt his muscles tightening around his hips.
“Fuck… Dean… getting close,” he ground out between thrusts, a silent question whether he should try to hold on or let go. Although he wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to hold back anymore.
Dean’s hands gripped Sam’s hips like he was holding the world in place, eyes dark and hooded with heat. Every hard thrust had him groaning, low and guttural, as fire coiled through him with each shiver Sam gave. “Don’t you dare hold back, Sam,” Dean growled, teeth grazing the shell of Sam’s ear. He slammed in harder, faster, letting the rhythm take over, his own breath ragged, hips flush against Sam’s. Every cry, every tight squeeze, made Dean’s own body roar with need. “Cum for me, Sam… now,” he hissed, and pulled him over the edge, his hands and body claiming every inch, relentless and wild.

Like Dean’s words held the trigger to Sam’s sensations, the power over holding on or letting go, his body obeyed immediately. With a wrecked groan, Sam’s body shook and contracted as he climaxed violently between them.
Tremors kept running through his body, and he held on to Dean for dear life. His heels dug into the small of Dean’s back when his fingers slipped for a second.
But even in the throes of lust, Dean managed to somehow steady him enough to make sure he didn’t swallow any water.
“God, Dean, I…,” he panted, gently rocking as his body continued to shiver in the aftershocks of his climax.
Dean’s own body followed soon after, heat pooling low and coiling tight until he couldn’t hold back any longer. With a guttural roar that was all fire and raw need, he slammed in one last time, muscles trembling as the golden glow of his release rippled over him, bathing them both in its warmth. His arms wrapped Sam tighter, holding him as close as possible, teeth grazing his shoulder in a mixture of lust and devotion. “Fuck… that’s mine,” Dean growled between ragged breaths, his chest heaving against Sam’s, the warmth of the glow painting his skin like sunlight through stained glass, each pulse of it a whisper of ownership and burning desire.
Sam noticed the beautiful glow and smiled. While he had no idea how that was possible, he was sure it was a fireborn thing. “You’re so fucking beautiful like that,” he whispered, and when his feet touched the ground again, he wrapped himself around Dean. Whether it was for happiness or support, he didn’t know for sure, but it felt good to hold on to Dean. “I can still feel it,” he whispered, breathing against Dean’s glowing, droplet-covered skin. “I can feel the fire running through your veins. Feels like comfort. Like home.”
Dean sagged against Sam, every muscle trembling from the aftermath, a lazy, satisfied ache radiating through him. He wanted to tell Sam so badly, to let him know why his body glowed, why the fire that Sam could feel wasn’t just passion or magic - it was him. But he couldn’t. Not yet. Not ever, maybe. So he kissed the top of Sam’s head, nuzzling into the warmth, and let himself melt against him, hiding the truth behind soft, messy breaths and the faint, honest heat of a man utterly spent, completely tethered to the boy in his arms. “Yeah… home,” he murmured, letting the lie pass as a truth, because for now, being here with Sam was all that mattered.
Sam held on to Dean, grounding them both with the simple act. They were still chest deep in the water, and Sam could have sworn it was warmer than before. But that was probably just his perception caused by the stunning orgasm he’d just had. “Can we go back to the cloak to dry?” he asked gently, starting to move before Dean could answer. He didn’t let go of his lover for one second. He turned the cloak over so they’d be able to lie on the clean side and then settled down, pulling Dean with him. A moment later, he snuggled up, relishing in the heat Dean still radiated and that the sun provided. “Just asking for interest’s sake… if we were to fall asleep, would we wake up alive? Do mountain lions still fear you when you’re asleep?” He kissed Dean’s neck and snuggled impossibly closer.
Dean chuckled low, the sound rumbling through his chest like a gentle growl. He pressed a hand over Sam’s back, keeping him close, and shook his head. “Sam… mountain lions don’t come near us. They know better. Sleep, I’ll keep you safe.” His voice was calm, steady, and just low enough to make the words feel like a promise, not a warning. He couldn’t tell Sam the truth - the dragon instincts, the predator in him - but he didn’t need to. Sam was safe, and that was enough. He tugged Sam closer, letting their bodies heat each other up, and whispered, “Just rest, yeah? I’ve got you.”
“Okay,” Sam replied, suddenly noticing how worn out he felt. Worn out, but extremely happy. He shivered. “I love you,” he then mumbled, closing his eyes after stealing a quick kiss, letting his thoughts drift away. He concentrated on feeling, Dean, his skin, his heartbeat, the sun on his body warming him where Dean didn’t touch him, and then his thoughts drifted into nothingness. Because he could. Because he was safe.

Chapter Text

Dean stayed close to Sam for the rest of the afternoon, letting the sun dry the lingering wetness on their skin and watching the ripples in the lake catch the light. They swam lazily, held each other on the shore, and let the water and laughter wash over them. No words were needed most of the time - just touches, soft nudges, and the occasional mischievous grin that made Dean’s chest ache in a good way.

As the sun dipped low, painting the sky in orange and violet, they packed up slowly, wrapped in their clothes and each other’s arms, the air around them thick with heat and satisfaction. Back at the cabin, the fire was just being stoked as Dean carried the last basket inside. Sam settled onto the soft rug by the hearth while Dean pulled over chairs and started preparing a simple supper. Their hands brushed constantly, words light and teasing, the comfort of home mixing with the lingering tension of desire, filling the cabin with warmth that had nothing to do with the fire.

When they were finally sitting on the porch swing together - Dean had found a fluffy, fleecy blanket that actually felt soft like a cloud to Sam - Sam leaned as close as he could against Dean’s chest, watching the last rays of sunshine disappearing on the horizon, like they were waving goodbye. “This is cozy and safe, and I have to say, it’s the perfect conclusion to such a beautiful day. I really loved the lake and everything we did there, and the supper now was just fitting. Not much work, but delicious and filling. You’re going to have to let me do some work out tomorrow because I had too much of the bread. I will have to work it off before you demand a refund because I get too chubby.” He laughed, indicating that he wasn’t serious about the last part of his words, but the bread had been really delicious.

Dean tightened the blanket around them, letting one arm snake around Sam’s shoulders, holding him close like he never wanted to let go. “Hey,” he murmured, voice low and soft, “you’re perfect just like this. No refunds, no work, no extra chores.” He nuzzled the top of Sam’s head, feeling the warmth of him settle against his chest, steady and familiar. “Today… yeah, it was damn near perfect. Lake, supper, all of it… and you.” He let a small smirk tug at his lips, teasing, but gentle. “But don’t get used to me letting you off the hook so easily tomorrow, little knight.”
Sam grumbled deep in his chest.
“You still think I’m little? I’m as tall as you are. At least.”
Then he chuckled.
“And I’m counting on you putting me to work. I’m not used to doing nothing, and you got that right, I’m a knight. I know how to work. I’m not a princess, thank you very much.”
He fell silent for a moment, listening.
“It’s amazing how many crickets you can hear over here. I guess my village was just too loud and too busy to hear them. It’s somewhat calming, isn’t it?”

Dean leaned back in the worn wooden chair on the porch, one booted foot propped on the railing, the other dangling lazily. The last streaks of sunset painted Sam’s face golden, and Dean couldn’t help the soft, lazy grin that spread over his features. “Not so little, huh?” he murmured, shaking his head. “Yeah, sure… little, mighty knight of mine.” He reached over to toss a stray strand of hair out of Sam’s face, letting his fingers linger just a second too long, enjoying the warmth of the skin beneath. “Don’t worry - I’ll make sure you get put to work, but lifting the heavy stuff? That’s my job. Someone’s gotta keep you from breaking your neck, right?” Dean chuckled, glancing down the quiet forest line. Crickets chirped steadily, the faint smell of pine and smoke drifting from the hearth inside the cabin. “And you’re right… out here, with all the quiet and the crickets? Makes even the loudest knight I know look… peaceful. Kinda nice, huh?” He leaned a little closer, brushing his shoulder against Sam’s, the warmth between them enough to make Dean’s chest tighten. “You deserve this calm, Sammy. Even if you act like you don’t.”

Sam licked his lips. “I’m sorry. I’m just not used to this lightheartedness. Lifting the heavy stuff was always my job, and I don’t think he cared much if it hurt me or not. But… I don’t want to think about him. It just keeps happening when you show me how loving someone and being loved feels.”
He smiled at Dean, a big, genuine smile. “I just hope you let me do SOME of the heavy stuff because I’m quite fond of my muscle strength and I would hate to lose it all because someone wants me to be the princess. I just don’t have the fingernails to file, you know?”
Dean chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through his chest, and made Sam’s grin widen even more. He shifted slightly, still pressed close, the heat of their bodies lingering like embers, and let his fingers trace lazy patterns over Sam’s arm. “Hey, Sam,” he said, voice soft but edged with that familiar Dean teasing, “you don’t have to be a princess around me. You can still lift whatever the hell you want. Hell, I’d probably love watching you hoist barrels over your head while giving me that scowl that says ‘don’t you dare make fun of me’.” He smirked, brushing a stray lock of hair from Sam’s forehead. “You’re strong, yeah, but don’t forget, I’ve got the strength too… and I’m not afraid to let you lean on me a little. Hell, maybe we’ll make it a game - see who can carry the other first.” He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the curve of Sam’s jaw, voice dropping into a soft growl. “But trust me… even if you’re the strong one, I’ll always want to be the one holding you close when it counts.”
Sam looked at Dean with big eyes and a smile. “You want to make a competition? That sounds like fun. What’s the prize for the winner?”
He moved his head to make it easier for Dean to kiss him wherever he wanted. “And… I’m not saying I’m stronger than you. It probably depends on what we’re doing. But I’m not going to fight you about holding me close. I… I like that when it’s you who does it.”
Dean chuckled low in his throat, the sound vibrating through both of them. He leaned down, letting his lips ghost over Sam’s in a slow, teasing kiss before brushing a hand through his hair. “Prize, huh?” he murmured, voice husky. “Winner gets… to tell the other exactly how much they’re wanted. And maybe… a little extra favor for good measure.” He pressed a quick, heated kiss to Sam’s temple, then nuzzled against his neck. “And don’t worry, Sammy… holding you close? That’s always my win.”

Sam shivered at those words. They reverberated deep inside him, chipping away at some insecurity that had built for years and that he could never get rid of.
Being held had been something he’d always craved as a child, but had come to fear when it became a method of his father displaying his superiority.
“It feels good when you do it,” he whispered and moved his head to intercept Dean’s next kiss to his temple to let their lips meet.
“Gotcha. My lips are feeling lonely, you know?” he grinned.
Dean laughed, a low, rough sound that rumbled straight through Sam. He leaned down just a little more, letting their foreheads rest together, noses brushing, feeling the steady rise and fall of Sam’s chest under his hands. “Yeah, I noticed,” he murmured, voice thick with warmth and something more possessive, something that said mine. He pressed a soft kiss to Sam’s temple before letting his lips ghost over the curve of his jaw, teasing, tender, as if every touch was a promise. “You’re good at this… at letting me hold you,” he added, a wicked little grin tugging at his lips. “Don’t you forget it.”

“I won’t,” Sam replied. “Because it’s… it’s making good memories instead of what it used to be.”
He closed his eyes and relaxed completely against Dean. It was perfect, lying in his arms, feeling the warm but cooling evening air around his nose and having the concert of the crickets and the occasional owl in his ear.
“Perfect ending to a perfect day,” he sighed happily after a while. “It’s… magical.”
Dean pressed a soft kiss to the crown of Sam’s head, letting his fingers drift lazily through his hair. “Yeah… yeah, it is,” he murmured, voice rough but warm. He felt that rare, quiet weight in his chest, the kind that wasn’t fire or hunger, just… full. Full of Sam. “Days like this… worth remembering. Worth keeping safe.” He tightened his hold slightly, just enough for Sam to feel it, and let the silence stretch, comfortable and alive, the night wrapping around them like a cloak. “We’ll have a lot more, you know. Lots more perfect days,” he added, voice a soft rumble, almost teasing, almost prayerful.

“You have no idea how much I hope that,” Sam replied, gasping softly when Dean tightened the grip.
“Have you often done something like this? Just sitting outside listening to the night sounds of nature?” he asked.
“I have done it a few times when I had to camp out in the wild by myself because my father wanted me to learn to be self-sufficient.
The first time, it was rather scary because I didn’t know all the sounds. But I learned. It was never a really relaxed experience for me, though. Not like it is with you now.”
Dean let out a low, rumbling laugh, chest pressing lightly against Sam’s back. “‘Course I’ve done it,” he said, voice quiet and warm, teasing just a little. “Plenty of nights out there in the woods. You get used to the sounds… the rustle of leaves, the wind in the trees. Makes a guy appreciate the quiet… and the company that makes it worth staying still for.” He glanced down at Sam, lips twitching with that familiar crooked grin, letting the words hang in the air, half-truth, half-tease.

“Are you telling me to stay still?” Sam asked, lifting an eyebrow. “I can do that, no problem.”
He pressed his lips together, and only the twinkle in his eyes told Dean that he was making a joke.
Then Sam snuggled deeper into the embrace, inhaling the cooling summer air deeply. It smelled like forest and wild herbs, and Sam absolutely enjoyed it.
Dean chuckled, the sound low and warm, ruffling Sam’s hair with a hand that lingered a little longer than necessary. “Yeah, yeah, you stay still… for now,” he teased, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of Sam’s head. He let himself relax against Sam, letting the weight of the day and the heat of the afternoon settle between them. The forest around them was alive and sweet, and Dean couldn’t help the grin tugging at his lips - Sam fit here, with him, like he was supposed to. “Damn,” he murmured, voice muffled against Sam’s shoulder. “I could get used to this.”
Sam nodded to himself.
“Same,” he mumbled and interlaced his fingers with Dean’s.
“It’s peaceful in the most beautiful way and so much different from the night I spent outside before.”
He leaned his head back and looked into Dean’s eyes for a moment. Then he smiled softly and began treating him the same way he’d done before, placing kisses along his jawline up to the corner of his jaw and back.
Dean let out a low, satisfied hum, his body still trembling from the aftershocks of their heat. He tightened his fingers around Sam’s, leaning into the gentle kisses, savoring the contrast between the storm they’d just weathered and the calm now settling over them. “Yeah,” he murmured, voice rough but soft, “this… this is exactly how it’s supposed to feel. Quiet, safe… with you.” He brushed a thumb along Sam’s knuckles, watching the sunlight catch in his hair, and let himself just be there, anchored by the warmth and closeness that had nothing to do with fire and everything to do with them.

The sky was slowly becoming darker and darker, which somehow made the sound of the night stand out even more. It felt quite reassuring, and Sam scanned the night sky with sharp eyes.
Suddenly, he sat up a little, squinting.
“I think I saw a shooting star,” he finally breathed, staring in concentration to maybe catch another one.
“Oh, another one,” he added, turning to look at Dean excitedly. “They’re supposed to be good luck. Do the fireborn think that as well?”
Dean chuckled softly, brushing a hand through Sam’s hair as he leaned back against the cabin wall. “Maybe we do,” he said, voice low and warm, watching the stars blink above them. “Lucky, that is… or at least a sign that things are going our way.” He nudged Sam gently with his shoulder, teasing but tender. “Though, between you and me, I think having you here already makes me feel like I’ve got all the luck I need.” His eyes caught Sam’s, and Dean’s grin softened, heated with affection that didn’t need words.
“You think I’m lucky?” Sam asked softly. “I have to admit I never thought that way. Not with everything that happened. But ever since I met you, I’m beginning to see how I could be.”
He turned a bit in the embrace and snuggled up closely to Dean. His head was resting in the crook of Dean’s neck, and his fingertips lingered just above Dean’s heart, letting him feel the steady beat that was so in sync with his own.
“This connection between us,” he started, “still amazes me. Never knew something like that existed. But I remember how in the first days you thought my attraction to you was caused by it. And I have to say now, maybe it played a part. But the majority of it all was me. Is me! To me, it’s more like the connection we share enhances my feelings for you. Supports them. It doesn’t create them. You’re just simply someone that my heart immediately recognized from… I don’t know from where. But seeing you felt like I knew you a long time already.”

Dean swallowed hard, a lump forming in his throat. He wanted to reach out and tell Sam the truth - about what he really was, about how deep the bond ran - but the words stuck in his chest like burning coal. He pressed a hand over Sam’s, holding it tight, careful not to let the weight of his secret slip into the wrong tone. “Sam… I wish I could tell you everything,” he murmured, voice low, almost rough with guilt. “There’s… more to this. More to me. I can’t tell you all just yet… but I hope I can, soon. What we have, this - what we share - it’s real. It’s yours, and mine, and it’s enough. I just… I want to keep you safe. Always.” He shifted slightly, nuzzling Sam’s hair, letting the warmth of his body carry the words he couldn’t say out loud.

Sam licked his lips, leaning into Dean’s touch.
“I would be lying if I told you I wasn’t curious,” he finally said. “But I believe you have reasons not to tell me, yet. I can understand that. There are certain things I’m not ready to share, yet. Not because I don’t trust you. But because I buried them deep enough that even I will have to dig a while to unearth them.”
He breathed deeply.
“But it doesn’t change anything about how I’m feeling towards you, and I think the same is true for you. So… everything is good, right?”
His hazel eyes found Dean’s golden green ones, taking in how they looked in the low light and reflecting the starlit sky. He smiled, happy and content. And safe.

Dean’s chest swelled at the sight of Sam like that - open, trusting, safe. He brushed a thumb over Sam’s cheek, careful, slow, like he was memorizing the warmth of him. “Yeah… everything’s good,” he said, voice low and steady, though his heart was racing. “And it’s not just good, Sammy… it’s right. You… you make all the bullshit outside fade away. Makes me wanna hold onto this, onto you, forever.” He leaned in, pressing his forehead to Sam’s, breathing in that mix of forest, berries, and Sam that was entirely too intoxicating. “Safe… that’s exactly how I want you to feel. Always.”
Sam leaned into the touch, relishing it. “I do feel safe with you, you know that. You’ve seen that, right?
I think you’re the only person who has ever seen me like this. Relaxed. And without worry.”
He smiled unrestrainedly because he knew he could really just be the Sam he was with Dean. “Can we explore the area around this cabin tomorrow? I want to be able to move around a bit and not get lost if I lose sight of the cabin or you.”

Dean chuckled, brushing a strand of hair off Sam’s forehead as he tugged him closer. “Safe, huh? You’re telling me I’m your safe spot? Guess that makes me feel all knightly and heroic… or, y’know, like a very well-armed dragon guarding his favorite hoard.” He smirked, giving Sam a teasing squeeze. “And sure, we can explore. But don’t think I’m letting you wander off alone - I’ve got eyes like a hawk, and claws… well, not literally, but don’t test me.” He wiggled his eyebrows, grinning like a bastard, then leaned in to press a soft, lingering kiss to Sam’s temple. “Besides, I kinda like seeing you all cozy and… mine. And naked! I liked that a lot too!”

Sam barked out a laugh. “You like seeing me naked? I mean… yes, I sort of figured that, but why? I mean, what about me do you like? I’m curious.” Sam looked at Dean with honest interest. He knew he had a fit figure, and he thought his shape was quite good as well. But he’d never tried looking at himself with the eyes of a lover. Or similar. Usually, what he saw were muscles and bruises. But he knew that Dean didn’t count bruises or scars.
Dean smirked, shaking his head a little as he leaned back, still catching his breath. “Sam… you’re asking me like it’s some kind of riddle,” he said, voice low and teasing. “I like it all. I like the way you move, the way you sound when I touch you, hell, even the way you get all self-conscious about a stupid bruise - I swear it’s adorable. And yeah… I like seeing you naked. Your long legs, the way your skin is soft in all the right places, that vee of yours that’s just… damn, Sam. Makes it easier to remember I’m not letting anyone else touch you.” He let out a soft, crooked laugh, eyes flicking down for a second. “And let’s not even get started on that beautiful cock of yours—honestly, who wouldn’t stare?” He leaned back, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess that’s the honest answer. And, uh… bonus: your abs make a pretty damn good pillow when you crash into me like that.”
Sam’s eyes were glued to Dean when he told him in detail what he liked about him. But when Dean mentioned his vee and his cock, he blushed, hoping that Dean wouldn’t notice in the twilight.

“I make a good pillow?” he asked with a silly grin. “I’ll remember that for whenever you might fall asleep on me. Because that is one thing I love about you. The way you look all relaxed without a care in the world when you sleep around me. Makes my heart throb, and I want to cuddle you tight. But I would probably wake you if I did.”
Dean smirked. “Well, I can’t say I mind being your human cushion,” he teased, voice low and warm. “But don’t get all mushy on me now - my heart’s already working overtime from everything else you do.” He nudged Sam lightly with his nose, grinning as his fingers traced lazy patterns on Sam’s arm. “Though… yeah, I’d probably let you cuddle me anyway. Even if it means I snore like a war drum and drool a little.” He laughed, soft and teasing, but there was heat in his eyes, honest and entirely his. “Deal?”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “You don’t snore,” he said assertively. “But yes, deal!” He placed a quick kiss on Dean’s lips and kept smiling broadly. “I know I’m repeating myself, but I feel just so lucky. Being with you, every moment feels lucky and full of happiness. It’s something I never thought was possible. But it is.”
He slid down a bit further, using Dean for his pillow. “But, when I think about how I got here… I need to find out what exactly happened to my mother. I think we both know that it wasn’t a dragon who… who killed her, like he said. And I know we both think that he had something to do with her death. But why and how? And why the claim that it was a dragon? Do you think there is a way we can find out?”

Dean’s jaw tightened slightly, his eyes darkening as he considered Sam’s words. He shifted, resting his chin lightly on Sam’s head, letting the warmth of the moment mix with the weight of the question. “Yeah… we need to figure that out. And I think the only way we’re gonna get close to the truth is by talking to John. Straight up, no bullshit. Your father might’ve got his reasons for spinning his story the way he did, and hell, maybe John knows why he pinned it on a dragon… or at least why your dad wanted you to think that.” He gave a soft, careful squeeze, his voice dropping low and serious. “We’ll do it together, Sam. But promise me - whatever comes out of that talk, we face it together. No running, no hiding.”
Sam nodded. “You think there has to be some connection to a dragon. It wouldn’t make sense to blame it on one when everyone else thinks they don’t exist. He had to know they were real. Maybe you’re right. Maybe John knows something, or at least knows who to ask to know something.” He breathed deeply and absentmindedly massaged Dean’s hand that he had taken into his own.
“And when I know the truth, I want to tell him what I think of him. No minced words. I need to show him that I’m stronger than he could ever imagine. I need to make that clear to him before I don’t want to see him ever again.”

Dean’s chest tightened at Sam’s words, a mix of pride and something heavier curling low in his stomach. He leaned closer, letting his forehead rest gently against Sam’s. “You don’t have to prove anything to him,” he said quietly, voice steady but edged with fire. “You are stronger than he thinks - stronger than anyone could know. And whatever you decide to say, or don’t say, it won’t change that. I’ve seen it. I feel it. And I’ll be right here, no matter what, making sure he never forgets you’re not someone to be messed with.” His thumb stroked Sam’s knuckles, soft and grounding, like a promise they didn’t need to speak aloud.
Sam shook his head. “It’s not about the need to prove it to him, really. It’s more about the need to prove to myself that he has no more power over me. Dean, I think I need to do that, because if I don’t, I will always feel like I’m only free because of you. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”
Dean’s expression softened, the teasing light in his eyes dimming into something steady and serious. He reached out, letting his fingers curl lightly over Sam’s hand. “I get it, Sammy. I really do,” he said, voice low and thoughtful. “It’s not just about him, or the anger, or the past… it’s about you. About knowing that your choices, your strength, your freedom… all of that comes from you, not me, not him. You’re not just surviving, you’re standing on your own, and yeah, that’s something nobody can ever take away from you.” He squeezed Sam’s hand gently, letting the silence hold the weight of his words. “I just want you to see it the same way I do.”
Sam nodded, relieved. Of course, Dean would understand, but he’d needed to express what he wanted. To clear this up before they even know when or where this situation would happen.
“I don’t want him to think I ran away. I know I tried that a few times, unsuccessfully, of course. But this time, I don’t want him to believe that I ran away because I’m scared. He needs to realize it was my choice, because I’m stronger.”
Sam fell quiet again, for a few moments, then he breathed deeply, letting the tension go with it.
“Thank you for your understanding and your support. I love how you love me without seeing me as helpless or dependent on you.”
Dean’s jaw softened, and he leaned a little closer, resting his head against the cabin wall, his voice steady but warm. “Sam… that’s exactly why I love you. You don’t hide from your strength, and you don’t let anyone, not even me, make you feel less than what you are. You’re fierce, even when you don’t see it, and you make me proud just by being you. Hell, if anyone’s scared, it should be them - not you.” He let a small, wry smile tug at his lips. “And yeah… I’ll keep loving you exactly like that, no ‘helpless Sam’ included.”

Sam smiled, a warm feeling spreading in his stomach. Dean just knew what to say to make him feel good about himself.
“Thank you. Your words mean a lot.”
He glanced up at Dean leaning against the logs of the cabin wall. It was such a nice picture.
“You’re stunningly beautiful, you know that?” he asked. “I mean, I just can’t look away. Your eyes… your jaw… and that delicious stubble, it makes you look bold and roguish.” He reached out and caressed Dean’s stubbled jaw with his fingers, enjoying the gentle scratching.
Dean chuckled, the sound low and a little rough around the edges, and ducked his head so Sam’s fingers could linger. “Bold and roguish, huh? Gotta add that to the list of reasons you’re trouble,” he teased, though his eyes were soft, warm, and entirely focused on Sam. He reached up, brushing his thumb lightly over Sam’s knuckles, fingers brushing theirs together. “You keep saying stuff like that, and I might start believing I’m some kind of prince or hero in a ballad… and you’d better believe I’d hold you responsible if I start strutting around like one.” His grin grew wider, playful, but there was no mistaking the affection behind it.
“Hmm, you better believe you’re my hero and my price, but you can keep strutting around like yourself, I kinda like that,” Sam replied, working hard to keep a straight face.
Then he looked at Dean with admiration.
“I like all that you are. Because it’s you. Sounds like what you say about me, so if I have to believe you, you have to believe me.”
He waited another heartbeat and then kissed Dean, slowly but carefully and with all the love he held for the man who saved him.

Dean melted into the kiss, letting Sam’s warmth and steady pressure take over. He wrapped his arms around Sam, holding him closer than necessary, and whispered against his lips, a low, teasing murmur, “Damn, you’ve got a way of making your dragon weak in the knees, you know that?” He nuzzled Sam’s neck, letting a shiver of heat roll through both of them. “And don’t think I’m letting go anytime soon… you’re mine, Sam. All mine.” The words were soft, intimate, and laced with a hunger that made the air between them sizzle, yet somehow comforting, like a fire, safe to lean into.
Sam enjoyed Dean’s caresses, be it the tiny kisses or whenever he nibbled on his skin. It felt good, and he couldn’t get enough of it.
“Don’t want you to let go,” he whispered. “Not ever. I’m happy just the way things are now.”
His eyes were glittering like they were trying to back up his words.
“I wish to have this intimacy between us, this love and devotion, forever. Because it seems almost too unreal to be true. But it is true and I’ll be holding on with both hands, غhràidh.”

Dean felt heat coil low in his chest, a slow, dangerous fire that mirrored Sam’s longing. He leaned down, letting his forehead brush against Sam’s, breathing in the sharp, sweet scent of him, and whispered, “You don’t have to wish for it, Sammy… we’ll make it ours. Every day, every damn moment.” His hands roamed, lingering over Sam’s sides, gripping him just enough to draw a shiver, thumb tracing little circles that promised more. “And… I don’t plan on letting go either. Not now, not ever,” he murmured, letting his lips find Sam’s again, kissing harder, slower, until it was a claim and a promise wrapped into one heated, unrelenting touch.
Sam smiled and let his fingers slip underneath Dean’s shirt, rubbing across the silky skin. It felt nice, and right, and Sam could feel Dean shiver beneath his fingers.
“You want to be a dragon and you’re shivering when I touch you,” he whispered in Dean’s ear. “But maybe… maybe dragons like gentle touches, and it makes them shiver for other reasons than cold?”
His eyes gleamed, and he kissed Dean again, slowly letting his fingers slide down to Dean’s waistband.

Dean groaned low in his throat, heat pooling between them, and pressed his body closer against Sam’s. “Oh… you’re playing with fire, aren’t you?” he rasped, voice thick, and let his hands tangle in Sam’s hair, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. Every brush of Sam’s fingers sent sparks through him, and Dean’s pulse hammered hot and fast. The space between them shrank until all he could feel was Sam - the warmth of his skin, the way he moved, the teasing, sinful heat of the touch. “Careful, Sammy… you’re making it really hard to be gentle,” he murmured, lips ghosting over Sam’s jaw, each word a promise and a warning all at once.

“Gentle,” Sam repeated. “I like gentle. But… I also like rough. When it’s paired with love. I’m not going to break if you grip me, and I think you know that. Right, my dragon?” He smiled and sealed his lips over Dean’s, fingers pushing past the waistband, just carefully caressing the sensitive skin. “And… I like it when you pull on my hair. When you hold on to me like I’m your lifeline. Makes me… gooey on the inside.”

Dean’s grin was dark, low, and dangerous, the kind that made Sam’s heart stutter in his chest. “Oh, I know exactly how you like it,” he murmured, voice rough with promise. Without breaking the kiss, he swept Sam up effortlessly, letting the weight of him rest against his chest. Sam gasped, clutching at Dean’s shoulders, and Dean chuckled, a hot, vibrating sound that pressed against Sam’s ear.

The cabin was small, and Dean’s strength made the distance to the bedroom vanish in a few powerful strides. He set Sam down gently on the bed, but the fire in his gaze didn’t soften. Hands roamed over Sam’s body, teasing, gripping, exploring, and Sam shivered, hips arching instinctively toward him. Dean’s lips trailed down Sam’s neck, brushing against his pulse point, nipping just enough to make him groan.

“God, you feel like this was made for me,” Dean whispered against Sam’s skin, hot breath mingling with the scent of him, the tension thick and sticky like honey in the summer heat. He hovered over Sam, hips pressing close, hands clutching at thighs and waist, and Sam’s hands threaded through Dean’s hair, pulling him even closer. Every touch, every kiss, every brush of lips and skin sent sparks crawling along their nerves, and Dean’s voice dropped to a husky growl, “You’re mine, Sammy… all mine,” before dipping his head to capture Sam’s mouth again, teeth and tongue dancing with desperate, sweet hunger.

Sam let himself sink into the mattress and joined in the kiss like it was the water he needed to live. When Dean told him he was his, he shivered and felt something deep inside him unlock.
He wanted to be Dean’s, but he also wanted Dean to be his. He wanted them to be equal, and he knew that when it came to lovemaking, things would always be the way they had been now. He respected Dean’s no to bottoming, and he was okay with it. But apart from that, he wanted to show Dean that he could take the initiative as well. That he hadn’t been broken by his father.
After a few moments of kissing, he growled deep in his throat and used his body strength to flip them, to reverse their position so he could lie on top of Dean and lead the kiss. “You feel nice like this,” he grinned and placed a few tender kisses on Dean’s nose and along all the freckles he could find on his cheeks.
Dean’s chest heaved, a low groan rumbling from deep in his throat as Sam pressed against him. The heat of him, the way his hands gripped Dean’s shoulders, it was driving him wild. “Fuck… Sam,” he whispered, his voice thick with need, “you feel… damn, you feel insane like this.” He let his hands travel over Sam’s back, memorizing every curve, every tense muscle under his fingers. His eyes flicked up, hooded with lust, and he tilted his head just enough to grin. “You… you wanna ride me? Because, hell, the thought of you doing that… Sam, it’s so hot I can’t even think straight.” His breath hitched as he swallowed hard, every nerve on fire, every inch of him craving the control and the surrender at the same time.
“Ride you,” Sam repeated. He hadn’t even thought of that, but the second Dean asked it, Sam knew that was exactly what he wanted to do.
“Yes,” he hissed hoarsely and pulled on Dean’s shirt. A moment later, he had discarded the offending garment and looked down on Dean’s bare chest.
Then he locked eyes with Dean and pulled his own shirt over his head, tossing it aside. Without breaking eye contact, he bent down and kissed along Dean’s jawline.
“You look spectacular,” he whispered. “And you taste even better.” A line of small kisses now littered Dean’s chest, and when Sam looked up again, his cheeks were flushed and his voice was raw.
“Need to get you naked,” he rasped and pulled on Dean’s waistband.

Dean leaned back on the pillows, letting the soft flicker of the evening light play over his chest, eyes locked on Sam like he was the only thing that existed. “You don’t have to wait any longer,” he murmured, voice rough and low, letting his hands hover over Sam’s waist, just grazing the belt of his pants. The air between them was thick, electric, every tiny brush of Sam’s fingers on his arms making Dean shiver. “God, you’ve got no idea what you’re doing to me,” he whispered, tilting his head as Sam leaned closer, chest pressing lightly against him, every movement teasing fire through Dean’s veins. His hands finally slipped to Sam’s hips, thumbs brushing over the fabric of his trousers, pulling him just a little closer, enough to feel every shift, every subtle reaction. “You look too damn good like this,” Dean said, lips brushing Sam’s ear, voice low and hot, “and I swear… I’m not gonna make it easy for you to stay fully dressed much longer.”
Sam looked at Dean, studying his expression. Then he backed up a little and loosened Dean’s belt so he could pull his pants all the way down. He let his gaze linger on Dean’s naked form, looking at him with appreciation.
“You were talking about my vee and my cock earlier,” he said. “You should see yourself. You look mouth-watering beautiful.”
Sam was about to get himself naked as well, but then a thought crossed his mind. Dean had said he wouldn’t make staying dressed easy for him, so he decided to accept the challenge.
Straddling his thighs with his pants still in place, Sam looked Dean’s body up and down before using his fingertips to gently trace Dean’s collarbones and the sternum, along the rib cage, and his hips. He touched Dean in all the sensitive places that he knew, but for his cock. And then he looked into those green eyes once more. “And you feel amazing.”

Dean’s hands went sudden, hot, and insistent, gripping Sam’s waist and sliding down to the waistband of his pants. “No teasing anymore,” he growled, tugging firmly until Sam’s trousers slipped down, followed by his undergarments. Dean had wrestled him gently onto his back, keeping him close, moving with a predator’s precision, pressing them together, their bodies slick with the heat of their closeness. His lips traced Sam’s jaw, down his neck, leaving fire-hot kisses as he held him captive with one arm, the other gripping Sam’s hip. “God, you feel too damn good,” he muttered, voice thick with lust, before leaning back just slightly to study Sam’s flushed face, green eyes burning with hunger and need. “Get back on top,” Dean commanded, a teasing edge to his voice, “straddle me again. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Sam watched Dean for a few moments before slowly moving and straddling Dean’s thighs again, this time skin on skin. He leaned forward and let his fingers scratch in a gentle way along Dean’s side, right down to his hip. A moment later, he slowly but deliberately closed his hand around Dean’s cock and then bent down in the same manner, licking a wet strip along Dean’s shaft.
Straightening up again without letting go of Dean, he smiled softly and licked his lips. Then he shifted closer so his own crotch was pressed up against Dean’s and leaned down to kiss Dean’s lips. Teasingly. Once and again.

Dean’s hands shot up, gripping Sam’s hips and pulling him impossibly closer, the heat between them coiling tight and hot. “Fuck… Sam,” he groaned low, his voice rough and hungry, lips crashing against Sam’s with a mix of need and teasing. Every brush of skin, every press of their bodies sent sparks rolling through him, and he couldn’t stop his hands from roaming—fingers sliding along Sam’s back, over the curve of his sides, tugging him down just a little more. When Sam’s lips found his again, Dean let out a ragged laugh, deep and desperate, leaning into him fully. “Damn, you feel too good… too damn good,” he muttered, dragging one hand down to his lover’s cock, matching Sam’s rhythm, their bodies slick and burning with want. His teeth grazed Sam’s neck, nipping just enough to make him shiver. “Gods… Sam… so hot.”
Sam loved feeling Dean’s hands all over him, and it would have been a lie if he’d said he didn’t react to it. Because he did. Very much so.
But he liked the way Dean reacted to him taking the initiative, and he wanted to see more of that.
“Shhh,” he made, placing a gentle finger on Dean’s lips. And then he took hold of Dean’s wrists, moving them to lie next to his head on either side, pinning them with his own hands.
And then he began kissing Dean, slowly at first, but then more demanding, more possessive.
“You like that, right? When I get a little more forceful. When you can see that I’m the knight and not the princess. And I’m willing to show you that every single day. And talking of hot… you should see yourself, fireborn.”

Dean’s chest heaved, and a low, rumbling laugh slipped past him, half pleasure, half warning. “Oh, I see how it is, huh? You wanna play knight today…” His hips pressed into Sam’s just enough to let him know he wasn’t a passive player, and yet… he let Sam have this for now, curious, teasing, and god, so turned on by how Sam was taking control. His eyes darkened, glinting with fire and mischief, as his hands itched to explore Sam’s body, to return the pressure, the heat, the intensity. “Careful, Sammy,” he whispered against his lips between kisses, voice low and rough. “I might just… lose myself in you if you keep this up.” And even as he said it, Dean was burning with anticipation, thrilled to see just how far Sam would go, how boldly he’d claim him.
“And would that be such a bad thing?” Sam asked, kissing Dean again. “Losing yourself in me, I mean.” He peppered more kisses on Dean’s face, pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, and then licked over it like a kitten. “I think… I need a bit more skin contact,” he then decided and shimmied upwards until his cock was lining up exactly next to Dean’s.
“That’s better,” he smiled. Letting go of Dean’s wrists, Sam sat up straight and rocked his hips along Dean’s. His eyes were glued to Dean’s chest, rising and falling, and it was beautiful, mesmerizing, and if Sam wasn’t completely mistaken, there was a slight shimmer on Dean’s skin like there was fire glowing underneath it.
Sam took hold of Dean’s hands again and placed them on his hips.

Dean’s breath hitched at the way Sam moved, and a low growl escaped him - half warning, half need. He tightened his hands on Sam’s hips, rolling his own against him, letting the heat between them ignite. “You’ve got no idea what you do to me,” he rasped, lips brushing Sam’s ear as he nipped it lightly. His chest pressed harder against Sam’s, feeling every shiver, every little gasp that Sam couldn’t hold back. “God… you’re driving me insane,” he admitted, voice rough and ragged, fingers digging in just enough to anchor himself while he rode the fire building between them. The shimmer beneath his skin flared brighter, invisible to Sam, but the heat radiating from him made Sam’s pulse hammer, and Dean leaned down, lips finding Sam’s again, deep, claiming, hot. “Gimme me more,” he murmured, teeth grazing Sam’s jaw as he pushed them both closer to the edge, the sun spilling across the floor catching the slick of sweat on their skin, making it glow like molten gold.
“More what?” Sam asked in a rough voice. “More rocking, more kissing…? Or should I see if my body’s ready to take you inside?”
Accompanying his question were his fingers wrapping around both their cocks. For once, he was happy that his fingers were quite long.
He groaned because the sensation was absolutely stunning, and he just breathed for a moment before slowly massaging their cocks rhythmically.
Dean’s eyes darkened, a low, hungry growl rumbling in his chest as he leaned closer, pressing his hips harder against Sam’s. “Yeah… more,” he rasped, his hands gripping Sam’s hips, tugging him in closer. “More of you… more of this… more of everything you’ve got.” He kissed Sam hard, tongue sliding over his lips, tasting him, claiming him, as his hips rolled against Sam’s with deliberate, punishing pressure. Every touch, every movement, every slick stroke sent Dean spiraling, and he wasn’t about to stop. “Gonna take it all… all of you, Sam… and I don’t plan on letting go,” he growled, nipping at the sensitive skin of Sam’s neck, leaving little fires in his wake. “Now, Sam… show me all of you.”

Sam licked his lips. If Dean wanted all of him, that’s what he’d get. He dug his teeth into his bottom lip, slowly dragging them across because he had already noticed that Dean loved to look at his lips. Then he followed it up with a little peek of his tongue before pushing up on his knees.
“All right,” he rasped, backing up and bending down in one fluid motion, and before Dean knew what was happening, Sam was already sucking on his cock, slicking it up at the same time as teasing him.
He let his tongue swirl around and tease the slit before taking as much of Dean’s cock down his throat as he could.
When he’d slowly released him again, Sam pushed back up on his knees and guided Dean’s erection to his waiting hole.
They’d already fucked that day, and Sam could feel he was still fairly open.
Slowly, he lowered himself just enough to settle Dean’s glans at his entrance, adding pressure until he just felt his body relenting and getting ready to take Dean in.
That’s where he stopped, looking into Dean’s eyes.
“All of me?” he asked, and with a predatory grin, he more or less sat down in Dean’s lap, taking him in as deep as he could. The sensation of being stretched like that while being on top drew a deep groan from Sam, and he shuddered once.
Dean’s hands gripped Sam’s hips, letting him take the lead as Sam rode him, slow and deliberate, every movement teasing and driving Dean wild. The warmth and wetness surrounding him, the tight pull of Sam’s muscles, and the press of his chest against Dean’s made his breath hitch and his chest burn. Dean’s head fell back against the pillows, teeth grazing his bottom lip as he let himself get lost in the rhythm, watching Sam’s eyes darken and lips part. Every tilt, every roll of his hips, every little shiver that ran through Sam made Dean groan low, deep, and ragged, the heat coiling tighter in his gut as he struggled to hold himself together, even as he gave Sam every inch of himself.

Sam had worried for a split second that he didn’t really know how to bottom from the top, but then he just followed his instinct. He began moving slowly at first, rolling his hips and getting used to the feeling. It was different from when Dean was on top of him.
Then, a smile lit up his face because he could see how much Dean was loving what he was doing, and Sam closed his eyes, just following his feeling, rocking and rolling and swirling. He didn’t even notice he was moaning when Dean’s cock brushed against an especially tender part of him.
When he opened his eyes to look at Dean again, he saw the fire glowing in them, the golden flecks lighting up even brighter, and his heart began racing faster and faster. This was what he loved seeing: Dean losing himself in what he was doing.
“You feel so awesome this way,” Sam panted, licking his lips.

Dean’s eyes darkened, heat rolling off him like the sun itself had decided to land in the room. He leaned into Sam, letting his hands trail over the curve of Sam’s hips, gripping him tight as he let his body respond to every motion. The way Sam moved, so carefully and yet with growing confidence, was driving him wild. Dean’s teeth grazed along Sam’s jaw, just enough to make him shiver, and a low, guttural sound slipped from his throat.
“You… you have no idea what you do to me,” Dean growled, voice ragged, fingers digging into Sam’s sides as he pressed closer. He let himself melt into the rhythm, enjoying the friction, the warmth, the way Sam’s body fit so damn perfectly beneath him. Every roll, every brush, every little gasp sent sparks crawling up his spine, and he didn’t care how loud he was, didn’t care if the whole cabin could hear. His mind narrowed down to one delicious, burning thought: Sam.
Dean’s lips found Sam’s shoulder, biting and kissing in a scorching, greedy line while his hands explored, memorized, and worshiped. He wasn’t holding back; he was letting every ounce of hunger, every flicker of desire, roll off him and into Sam. His cock throbbed, hot and hard, and Dean didn’t think about anything else - didn’t need to. All that mattered was Sam, Sam’s body, Sam’s reactions, and the overwhelming, intoxicating pleasure coursing through them both. He leaned in closer, grinding against him, letting a sharp groan escape as he rode every subtle movement, letting the fire inside him blaze.

Sam hummed at Dean’s words, unable to focus on a verbal reply. He was tuned into feeling Dean, moving his body and creating the ultimate pleasure for both of them.
The longer he was riding Dean, the more certain he became of how to move, switching things up between rocking and snapping his hips until finally he lifted himself a little so he could slide up and down, fucking himself on Dean’s cock.
“Ohhh,” he groaned as a shiver ran down his spine because the pressure this transferred to his prostate sent sparks of pleasure to his brain. “Fucking good,” he gasped and began combining his favorite ways of using Dean’s cock for his stimulation. “Damn, Dean… not sure how long I can keep this going, it’s making my head spin because it feels so good.”
Dean’s hands gripped Sam’s hips tighter, letting the strength he usually kept coiled like a spring drive them both harder. The way Sam moved, riding him with that mix of control and abandon, set a fire blazing straight through Dean. He leaned up, pressing his forehead to Sam’s, breathing heavy, voice low and rough. “That’s it… just like that… oh fuck, Sam…” He let a growl slip as he thrust up to meet Sam, every motion scorching and relentless. “Cum for me… now!”

Dean’s words spurred Sam on. His hips moved even faster, sweat covering all of his body. He twisted and rocked, letting his body chase after completion, and the only other thing that mattered was taking Dean with him.
“Gods, Dean,” he panted heavily, ending it in a high-pitched shout when Dean thrust up and made his ears ring from the pleasure shooting through his body. “I… fuck, D… gonna blow ‘f you keep thi… Dean!”
Of course, Dean didn’t stop thrusting upwards while Sam was trying to speak, and the last jab hit the most sensitive part of Sam’s prostate, sending him headfirst over the edge. Sam’s body drew tight and convulsed in the throes of pleasure when his climax rolled over him and he shot load after load of hot cum all over Dean’s stomach and chest, swaying vicariously. “Ohh… f… cum?” he rasped, hoping Dean knew what he was asking.
Dean groaned low in response, his own body taut and trembling as the friction and heat of Sam riding him pushed him over the edge. Every thrust and grind ignited fire through his veins, and when he felt his release shatter him, it was loud, guttural, and utterly unrestrained. His hands dug into Sam’s hips, holding him close as he rode out the peak, shuddering and spilling together with Sam, their bodies slick and trembling. “Fuck… Sam… yes… I… cum with… you and me… now,” he growled, voice rough and ragged, his chest heaving as the aftershocks rolled through them both, heat mingling with sweat and fire, leaving them locked together in the blissful wreckage of their climax.

Sam managed to keep a grip on himself just long enough to watch Dean’s orgasm before collapsing onto him, his world existing only of endorphins and the need to breathe.
He had no idea how long it took for him to regain some control, but when he felt Dean’s chest heaving underneath him, he groaned and rolled to his side. “Sorry, love… didn’t mean to crush you. You just… made me lose my mind. You felt… too fucking awesome. And you looked even more stunning than ever.”
Dean let out a low, throaty laugh, the sound rumbling through his chest in a way that made Sam shiver. “Crush me?” he teased, his grin devilish even through the haze of heat. “Sam… sweetheart, you could try. You’d have to swing a warhammer at me first.” He brushed a sweaty strand of hair off Sam’s forehead, his fingers lingering on his skin, memorizing the warmth and the soft shivers beneath his touch. “You don’t have to apologize for feeling… anything,” he murmured, voice rough but tender. “You were perfect, all fire and chaos, and I loved every damn second of it. Don’t you ever forget it, okay?” His lips pressed a soft, lingering kiss to Sam’s temple, holding him close, their breaths mingling in the quiet aftermath of heat and laughter.
“Lucky for you, I don’t have a warhammer, not that I would want to swing it at you,” Sam mumbled, letting Dean pull him in and hold him close.
His heart was still racing, and he was completely content being held and guarded by Dean. “You’ll find out I’m always chaos, though,” he whispered. “So you better get used to it.” He breathed deeply, inhaling Dean’s scent that threatened to mesmerize him even more, and then just melted in Dean’s embrace, unable to think much more.

Dean nuzzled Sam’s hair, letting his forehead rest against the side of Sam’s chest, still heaving, feeling every pulse and shiver of him. The bond between them - the way Sam trusted him, leaned into him, gave himself so fully - made Dean’s chest tighten with a fierce, protective warmth he could never quite name. “Chaos or not,” he murmured, voice low and rough, “you’re mine. And I’m not letting anything touch you that doesn’t belong to us.” He rolled them slightly so he could press soft, lingering kisses along Sam’s temple and jaw, hands tracing the curve of Sam’s back, memorizing every trembling inch. “Feel that?” he whispered against Sam’s ear, teeth grazing gently. “That’s me. Always here. Always burning for you.” Every heartbeat, every tiny sigh Sam let slip under his touch made Dean want to shield him and savor him at the same time, and when Sam shivered against him, Dean couldn’t resist pulling him even closer, murmuring, “I’ve got you… all of you.”
Dean shifted slightly, his arms wrapping tighter around Sam, holding him like he was the most precious thing in the world - which, in that moment, he absolutely was. His hands traced gentle patterns along Sam’s back, down his sides, making sure he was still trembling from the release but safe in the afterglow. “All of me, huh?” he murmured, lips brushing Sam’s temple, then catching his hair in a soft tug, playful but tender. “Good… ’cause I don’t ever plan on lettin’ go. You’re mine, Sammy. Mine to protect, mine to keep warm, mine to…” He pressed his forehead to Sam’s, letting the heat between them linger, “…mine to love. And I mean all of you, too, every shaky, gorgeous piece of you. Don’t you forget it.”
His voice dropped lower, intimate, almost a growl as his hands smoothed over Sam’s shoulders, chest, hips, ensuring the closeness they’d built wasn’t just physical, it was something deeper. “We’ll figure the rest out, together. Every moment, every storm. You with me?” He watched Sam’s chest rise and fall, the faintest smile tugging at his lips, and Dean knew, even if the world tried to rip them apart, right here, right now, he could burn anything down for Sam and call it love.

Sam nodded again, eyes searching Dean’s as he tried to smile. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to smile, but his body was still dealing with the aftermath of his climax, and his muscles barely obeyed him.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, still with the slight smile tugging on his lips. “‘xhausted,” he managed to add.
He had no idea how it was that with Dean, he felt safe in a way he had never known before, but he wasn’t going to question it. He would only enjoy and hope it would last forever. And beyond. “Y’know, when I’m with you… ‘t really feels like there’s a drag’n watchin’ over me.”
Dean let out a low, rumbling laugh, the sound vibrating through his chest as he tightened his hold on Sam, letting their slick, spent bodies press together. “That’s ‘cause I am watchin’, Sammy,” he said, voice rough, heavy with heat and amusement. His hand drifted down, tracing lazy, teasing lines over Sam’s still-sensitive skin, making the younger shiver again, even though he was already exhausted. “Every little twitch, every shiver… I see it, feel it. And I…,” Dean’s chest pressed closer, his lips brushing Sam’s temple in a scorched, lingering kiss, “I love it. Love you, like this. All tangled up and hot and… ours.” He gave a slow, knowing smirk, eyes hooded but bright, letting the fire in him show just enough to make Sam’s heart skip. “And don’t even think about hiding it, ‘cause this dragon? He notices everything.”

Sam looked at Dean with big eyes. He knew Dean was a fireborn, and he knew dragons. But Dean didn’t have wings or scales, and he definitely wasn’t as massively big as John was. But he liked to refer to himself as a dragon, and somehow Sam liked that. “Not gonna hide anything, I promise,” he smiled and nuzzled his head into Dean’s body. “I like having my own personal dragon, you know?”
Dean let out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling through his chest as he shifted to make Sam more comfortable against him. He pressed a careful kiss to the top of Sam’s head, tucking him in closer. “Guess I’ll take that title,” he murmured, voice soft but teasing, “personal dragon at your service. Just… promise you don’t go bragging about me being all fire and fancy around everyone, alright? Some secrets are too good to share.”
He ran a hand down Sam’s back, slow, gentle, savoring the warmth and the softness of the moment. “You know… you make it really easy to be protective when you trust me like this. Makes me want to curl around you forever, keep you safe, and… maybe spoil you a little too much.” Dean’s lips brushed Sam’s temple, then his cheek, a quiet, loving trail, as he let a grin sneak in. “You’re stuck with me, Sammy. And my dragon ways.”
“Hmm, and who would I go bragging to about having a personal dragon?” Sam smiled. “The squirrels and mountain lions?”
He snuggled deeper into Dean’s protective embrace.
“Guess we’re stuck together. And I don’t think there’s anyone I would rather be stuck with than you.”
Sam closed his eyes for a few moments, gathering his thoughts.
“You know, riding you was… a new thing, but it was worth everything. The view, the sensations… everything.”

Dean tightened his arms around Sam, careful not to crush him with his strength, and pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of his head. He let himself smile, soft and fond, hearing Sam’s words. Worth everything… yeah, it was, he thought, his chest warming with pride and something deeper. He wanted to tell Sam the truth, how much more there was to him, how riding him could feel in a way no human could imagine - but he couldn’t, not yet. Not until the time was right. For now, he could only hold him close, letting his heartbeat rumble low and steady beneath Sam, wishing he could give him even more. “You made it… perfect,” he murmured, voice husky, “and one day, you’ll see… there’s a whole other kind of ride I can show you. Hopefully sooner than later.” His cock throbbed with the thought, but he kissed Sam’s temple again, savoring the quiet intimacy between them, the warmth and trust in Sam’s weight against him, and the unspoken promise of more to come.
“Other kind of ride?” Sam asked curiously. Should he have done this in a different manner? He had seen and felt that Dean loved what he had done, but maybe he had expected something else.
“You can always tell me when I do something in a different manner than you… were thinking of.”
He licked his lips and let his fingertips rub gently along Dean’s forearm, taking in the warmth he emitted.
Dean smiled softly, his gaze warm and steady, letting the tension ease from Sam’s shoulders. He shifted slightly so that he could wrap an arm around him, drawing him close in a comforting hold. “Hey… you don’t have to worry about that, Sam,” he murmured, his voice low and tender. “I liked it exactly like that. Every little move, every touch - you don’t have to guess what I wanted. You just… being here, being you, that’s more than enough.” He brushed a loose strand of hair from Sam’s forehead, thumb lingering against his skin. “Trust me,” he added, a small, playful glint in his eyes, “you don’t have to overthink a thing. You’re perfect - right here, right now. That’s all that matters.” The warmth of his chest pressed against Sam, steady and grounding, letting him feel safe, cherished, and undeniably loved without words that could ever betray the truths he kept hidden.

Sam immediately relaxed when Dean told him he didn’t have to worry about it. He smiled and melted into Dean’s arms.
“Okay, you probably meant something different than with the riding. I just thought I did something wrong. I should have known I didn’t. Because you never tell me that I do things wrong. You support me no matter what I do.”
Sam kissed the closest bare skin available, which was Dean’s collarbone. He could still make out the love bite close by, which he had given Dean, and smiled. “I have a lot to learn, still. Or unlearn. But I know one thing for sure. You let me leave my mark, in a way. That means you love me enough to allow that. And I love you, too.”
Dean pulled Sam closer, nuzzling the side of his head and letting a soft chuckle escape. “Hey… look at you, all serious and sweet, and here I am just grinning like an idiot ‘cause you sound like a poet or somethin’.” He pressed a tender kiss to the top of Sam’s head. “You don’t have to worry about doing anything wrong with me. I love you, Sam. All of you. Every mark, every mistake, every little bit you’re figuring out - and hell, I’ll be right here with you, every step.” He brushed his thumb along Sam’s jawline, tracing it slowly. “We’re in this together, yeah? Always.” His voice was soft but steady, full of warmth and reassurance, and the look in his eyes was pure devotion. “So just… relax, and let me love you like this. You don’t have to earn it.”
Sam turned his head towards Dean to look into his eyes.

“I know that, my fireborn. I know it. But… this is about the first time I can do all that, and I have to remind myself that things are different with just you and me. I had to earn a lot of things, and sometimes, even when I thought I had done everything the way I was supposed to, I found out I didn’t earn it after all.” Then he smiled at Dean. Broadly and brightly. “But that’s not my reality anymore. You are my reality. And I fucking love it. I… I love you more than I thought I ever could love anybody.”
Dean’s chest tightened at Sam’s words, heat pooling in his stomach that had nothing to do with the sex. He cupped Sam’s face in his hands, thumbs brushing over the soft skin beneath his eyes, and leaned down to press a slow, lingering kiss to his forehead. “Sam… you hear me? You don’t have to earn a thing with me. None of it. You already have me - heart, body, soul, the whole damn fireborn package. And I love you too. More than I even knew I could. Every bit of you, every fierce, stubborn, beautiful piece… it’s mine, and I’m never letting go.” He held him tighter, feeling the steady rise and fall of Sam’s chest against his own, letting the warmth between them speak louder than words, letting it settle, safe and real, between them in the soft light of the evening.
Sam nodded.
“Yes, I know. It’s starting to really sink in. I’m trying to remind myself every time that feeling comes up. And I’m thankful you have the patience to tell me again and again.”
He looked into Dean’s eyes.
“Can we clean up together and then cuddle and kiss and sweet-talk until we fall asleep?”
Sam held Dean’s gaze for a moment and then looked down to caress the mark he left with his thumb, drawing tiny circles.

Dean’s chest softened at the sight, a small, warm smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah… we can do that,” he murmured, brushing a damp strand of hair off Sam’s forehead. His hand lingered there, thumb stroking gently, heart thumping at how close they were. “We’ll clean up, but no rush. I wanna take my time… with you. All of it - kissing, cuddling, talking, maybe even teasing a little if you’re lucky.” He leaned in, pressing his forehead against Sam’s for a moment, breathing in his scent. “You’re safe with me. Always. And I don’t just mean from the world, Sam… I mean from me too. I’m yours.” His lips hovered over Sam’s, soft and promising, before he finally kissed him, slow and tender, letting the warmth of the moment stretch between them as if the day itself had paused just for them.

Sam’s smile became wider when he listened to Dean’s words.
“That sounds perfect, my dragon. But,… what do you mean I’m safe from you? I don’t feel any threat from you, you know?”
He sat up and straddled Dean again, well aware that this way he was delaying them from heading to the bathroom. “I like this view, you know? Seeing your muscular chest… it does things to me, like turning my insides gooey. I like seeing toned muscles, and I never knew I did. Although I have to say that I didn’t like the ones of Hank the Giant. Have you heard of him? He travels the villages and lets people touch his muscles for money. He’s like at least a foot taller than me and has muscles like rocks.”
Dean chuckled, the sound low and warm, rumbling through his chest. He reached up and ran a hand along Sam’s back, tracing the line of his spine with gentle, deliberate pressure. “Hank the Giant, huh?” he said with a teasing grin. “I’ve heard of him… doesn’t sound half as interesting as you, though. All those rocks, and no fire to go with ’em. But me, Sam… I’ve got fire in my blood, and you get to see it up close.” His thumb brushed over Sam’s shoulder, lingering, and Dean leaned up just enough to press a soft, lingering kiss to the side of his neck. “But you’re safe with me, always. I’ll never hurt you, not in a way you can’t handle. You’re mine, Sam. And that’s… well, that’s all the protection you’ll ever need from me.” His eyes glinted with mischief and something tender as he rested his forehead against Sam’s, breathing him in, feeling the warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart beneath his own.

“I know… I know you’ll never hurt me,” Sam replied quietly. “I can feel it deep inside me. Right from the start, which is one reason I felt myself drawn to you.” He leaned in on the touch of their foreheads, like he wanted their brains to merge. “I honestly can’t believe I was lucky enough to meet you and you not being taken. Because it seems incredible to me that nobody has claimed you yet. But I’m not going to complain. I’m just thanking the Gods.”
Sam pressed his lips to Dean’s and then climbed off his lap, hand not letting go of Dean’s until he was on his feet as well. “Bathroom?” he asked, wondering if he should walk ahead and give Dean a show.
Dean let out a low, humorless chuckle, shaking his head as he pressed a hand to Sam’s shoulder. “Bathroom or not, don’t think I’m lettin’ anyone - anyone - claim me, Sam. Not now, not ever,” he said, voice quiet but firm, and there was a weight behind it Sam couldn’t see but could feel. “I’m mine. I chose you. And you… well, you chose me to keep you safe. That’s our bond, magical or not. Everything else? That’s just life lining up right, and me being stubborn enough to hold on.” He ran a hand over Sam’s cheek, thumb brushing gently against the skin, and gave him a soft, almost feral smile. “You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted, Sam. The only one I ever will. And that… that’s not up for debate. Not ever.”
“Oh… well, I’m claiming this kiss, though,” Sam replied and kissed Dean candidly right on the lips. Then he smiled and turned around, heading to the bathroom with the knowledge that Dean’s eyes were on him and he would be right behind him. “Just so I get this right… you’re mine, but I don’t get to claim you?” he asked over his shoulder. “Maybe because to claim means that it’s not… a mutual decision. You’re right not to let anyone claim you.”

Dean’s chest tightened, and he felt heat rush to his face - not from desire this time, but from something fiercer, protective, unyielding. He stepped closer, letting his shadow fall over Sam as he spoke, voice low and serious, yet still carrying that familiar teasing edge.
“Nah, Sammy… that’s not how it works with me,” he said, eyes locking with Sam’s. “No one gets to claim me just ‘cause they want me. I don’t… I won’t… let that happen. You hear me? I choose. And I chose you. You’re the only one who gets to call me yours, or touch me like this, or… anything. I don’t hand myself over to just anyone.” He smirked, letting the fire of his words linger in the air. “So yeah… you? You’re allowed. You’re the only one allowed.”
He reached out, brushing a hand along Sam’s arm, thumb grazing lightly, intimate and grounding. “I don’t care what anyone else thinks or wants. You got me. All of me. That’s your claim, whether you say it or not.”
Sam threaded his hand into Dean’s when he touched him and looked at him like he’d hung the stars in the sky. “Yes. I understand. And I know you’re not just saying it, which is what makes it like a very big deal to me. Thank you for spelling it out for me.” He pulled Dean close and kissed him tenderly. “I… when I was in a relationship with those girls, it was never anything as close as what we’re having right now. And
I don’t want to have THIS with anyone else. Ever.” His expression was as serious as Dean’s, and he held his gaze for a few seconds before leaning in for a kiss.
Dean pressed a lingering kiss back, letting his thumb trace Sam’s jaw as a slow smile tugged at his lips. “Yeah… us,” he murmured, voice husky. “It’s settled. We chose each other. No turning back.”

They stumbled under the shower, hands still intertwined, steam rising as they shed sweat and traces of their earlier passion. The water ran hot over them, Dean’s hands roaming freely while Sam leaned into him, letting him guide, washing each other in a quiet rhythm of care and lust. Laughter bubbled between kisses, and every glance was a promise - they were theirs, and only theirs.

Once clean, they stripped the tangled, damp sheets from the bed and replaced them, crisp and fresh. Still hot from the bath, they collapsed back into the center of the mattress, Sam half on top, half against Dean, and Dean curled around him possessively. “Yeah,” Dean murmured, nuzzling Sam’s neck, “this is ours now. All of it.” And Sam smiled, letting out a soft, satisfied sigh as they fell back into the comfort of each other’s arms, claiming the bed - and each other - again.

Sam had fallen asleep quickly in Dean’s arms, and since the day had worn him out pretty much, he slept deeply and mostly dreamless.
When he woke up in the morning, it was because of the sun sneaking in through the window and right into his face. Sam blinked and turned his head, facing Dean, whose eyes were still closed. Sam smiled because this was a perfect way to wake up.
He watched Dean for a moment and then began placing tiny kisses all over Dean’s face, along his jaw, and finally on the lips. When he stopped, it was to look into gold and green eyes looking back at him, and Sam smiled broadly.
“Good morning, my dragon,” he said quietly but with a cheerful voice. “I hope you slept just as well as I did.”
Dean blinked, slow and heavy-lidded, and a lazy grin spread across his face as he blinked up at Sam. “Morning, sunshine,” he murmured, his voice rough but soft, just the way Sam liked it. He shifted slightly so he could pull Sam closer against his chest, breathing in the scent of him, feeling the warmth of his body pressed to his own. “Slept like… well, like a fireborn should,” Dean teased, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk. “And looks like someone woke me up the right way,” he added, brushing a finger along Sam’s cheek, then catching his lips in a slow, lingering kiss that tasted faintly of sleep and honey. “Breakfast can wait,” he whispered against Sam’s mouth, “’cause I’ve got all the time in the world for you, my knight.”
Sam smiled broadly and leaned into Dean’s gentle touch. Then he kissed the lips that were almost touching his.
“Yes, breakfast can wait. I’m glad you slept well, because I did. I even dreamed something nice.”

Sam was still close enough to kiss Dean, and this close up, those green eyes were a bit blurry. Still, Sam felt a question forming in them. He laughed. He enjoyed this time. Being tangled up and comfortable in the bed with Dean felt like something he’d needed forever already, and now he finally had it, and it put his mind at ease. He didn’t have to watch his back or worry about having raised the ire of his father. Thinking that, Sam wondered if he had returned yet, and found that there was nobody at home left that he could boss around. He squeezed his eyes closed for a moment to push aside that thought and returned to the dream that had brought him back to a nice spot in his childhood. He kissed Dean again, slowly and with care and tenderness, before licking his lips. “That dream I had was probably about the one nice thing I can remember from my childhood. You wanna hear it?” But Dean didn’t even get a chance to say whether or not he wanted to hear it, because Sam just plowed on. “Have you ever done something as a kid that scared you for a moment, but then you enjoyed it? There is a creek not too far away from my village, and that’s where I learned how to swim.” He didn’t mention how, because that was not what the memory he wanted to share was about. “There was a ledge there, about three or four meters high, and the older kids all jumped down. I was… five, I think. And the height scared me. But I wanted to impress the older kids, so one day, it was still quite cool for summer, I went there all by myself and made myself jump. Took me about an hour sitting or standing up there because I was so scared, but finally I managed to get my shaky legs to jump. And I loved it. I was back up there in no time and jumped a few more times. And when it was hotter a few days later and everyone went, I remember some of the mothers that went there screamed for me to come back down, but I only jumped and pulled my knees up, splashing them all. I relived that in my dream, and it was as perfect as back then.” He smiled again, stole another kiss, and then looked to the side of Dean’s head. “Almost talked your ear off, now, didn’t I?”
Sam smiled and kissed Dean a few more times.

“For me, it was a way to prove to myself that I was in control of myself. I’m thinking those mothers were just scared I would get hurt and they would have to explain that to… my father.
I kept finding ways to do my own thing, even if nobody else was there to see it. But I think if I hadn’t done that, I would have become either a very meek, obedient workhorse that couldn’t function by himself. Or… I would have let out my anger at innocents who didn’t deserve it. Instead, I did things that challenged my fear. Like that jump.
Or like the time I climbed that rock face without any kind of harness. My heart was racing like mad, but when I reached the top, the rush I felt was so liberating.”
Dean listened, his golden-green eyes soft and steady, taking in every word Sam said. He could see the fire in Sam’s soul, the way he carried both his courage and his fear like twin blades, sharp and alive. Dean let a quiet smile tug at his lips and brushed a hand through Sam’s hair, thumbs tracing lazy circles on the back of his neck. “Sam… that’s… damn impressive,” he said, voice low and warm, filled with pride and something more tender, something Sam could feel pressing right against his chest. “You’ve always had that fire in you… even when you tried to hide it. And hell, watching you take it head-on? Makes me… wanna protect that fire, keep it burnin’, while I get to be the one you lean on when you need it.” He shifted slightly so their bodies molded closer, eyes locking, the quiet intimacy between them heavy but sweet. “You’re my knight, Sam… and my heart? Yeah, it’s all yours. Every reckless, brave, fiery bit of it.”

Sam looked right into Dean’s eyes, seeing the warmth and love there, and it made his heart beat a little faster. “You find that impressive? I mean, that I did all that just to keep myself… from becoming angry?
I wish I could have stood up to him in a different way, but I know that at the time, I couldn’t. Not without endangering me more than in that climb or that jump.” He dug his teeth into his bottom lip for a few seconds. “That you find it impressive actually means a lot to me. And I love being your knight. But… just yours. Always just yours. You’re actually the only person who knows about that rock climb now.” Sam leaned into Dean’s body like he was made for it, like that’s how they belonged. “You know my heart is yours, my fireborn. My dragon. I… you own everything I am.”
Dean’s chest tightened, a low rumble of a laugh and a growl mixed together, almost like fire itself vibrating through his chest. He lowered his head, letting his lips brush against Sam’s temple before trailing down to the side of his neck, tasting, nipping lightly, a reminder that he owned Sam in the sweetest, hottest way possible. “Damn, Sam… you have no idea what that does to me,” he murmured, his hands pressing over Sam’s back and hips, holding him close as if letting go would shatter them both. “You think I don’t see how strong you are? How brave? Climbing rocks, climbing life, standing up… me? You’re everything I want and then some. Always mine… and I’m never letting go. Ever.” He kissed Sam again, this time slower, deeper, letting the words linger on his lips, in his body, in every fireborn heartbeat between them.

Sam let Dean kiss him, enjoying the love he felt in it. Then he joined in, wanting to repay the feeling to Dean. Because of what Dean had said, that he was everything he wanted and then some, that’s how Sam felt about Dean as well.
“I know you don’t think I’m not brave, but I still want to show you that you’re right in that. It’s like for the first time I am not only proving this to myself, but to someone who means the world to me as well.”
He kissed Dean tenderly again and rubbed his hand over Dean’s arm.
“You do mean the world to me, and it’s the only world I know that sees me as me. And for that, I love you even more.”
Dean swallowed the lump in his throat but smirked, letting the tenderness hang there for a moment before shifting gears. “Alright, heart-of-gold talk’s nice and all,” he said, nudging Sam lightly with his shoulder, “but let’s not get all mushy and forget there’s work to do.” He leaned back just enough to look Sam in the eyes, his grin sharp and playful now. “The cabin council’s expecting us for that morning inspection. If we don’t show, they’ll think your dragon’s gone soft - or worse, that I’m letting my knight sleep through his duties.” He tapped Sam’s arm lightly, still keeping his hold casual. “So, unless you want me to drag you out there personally, I suggest we get moving. Armor to polish, swords to check, and, knowing your luck, probably some idiot trying to sell cursed trinkets again.” Dean’s eyes glinted with humor, but beneath it, there was a current of pride and affection.

“Cabin’s council, eh?” Sam asked and chuckled. Then he kissed Dean one more time and got up, stretching.
“So what are we inspecting, and is there going to be wood chopping maybe? I can do that. And I can bring in logs for the fireplace.”
He looked around and walked to the dresser. “Oh, and what exactly do you mean by cursed trinkets?” He knew Dean had just listed things to do for knights, but he wondered where he’d come up with the trinkets. His eyes twinkled when he looked back at Dean as he opened the drawer to check for clean clothes. “I think maybe one of my tasks today should be doing some laundry.”
Dean let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he watched Sam rummage through the drawer like a boy in a toy shop. “Cursed trinkets, Sammy… that’s old knight lore,” he said, leaning back on the bed and resting his arms behind his head. “I read about it once in one of those dusty scrolls in the king’s library. Supposedly, every knight who tried to free the princess from the dragon - y’know, the fire-breathing kind - ended up cursed in some ridiculous way. Could be a limp, could be a spell that made him speak in riddles, or… worst of all, he’d keep tripping over his own sword until he learned humility.” Dean smirked at Sam, eyes glinting with mischief. “So, if you’re volunteering for cabin duties and laundry, just… don’t go looking for any mysterious trinkets, or you might end up cursed and talking like a goat for a week. I’d hate to have to rescue you again.”

Sam looked at Dean, incredulous. Usually, it was he who made up these things and talked people’s ears off. Then he laughed. “Just admit it, you’d love to rescue me again. Right? But even if I do find a trinket, since I don’t free a princess from a dragon, it won’t be cursed. But if I end up talking like a goat… be glad it’s just talking and not smelling like one.” He chuckled and took his clothes to head to the bathroom to go through his morning routine. When he emerged again, dressed and clean-shaven, he looked at Dean and smiled. “Right? Should I start breakfast or look for a trinket first?”
Dean leaned back on the bed, stretching his arms above his head and letting out a low, lazy groan. He watched Sam with that amused glint in his eyes, the one that always made Sam’s heart do a little flip. “Hm, actively trinket hunting, huh? I dunno… sounds dangerous,” Dean drawled, voice teasing, as he swung his legs off the bed and stood, flexing slightly. “But I gotta admit… part of me kinda hopes you do go out looking for that little treasure. Gives me an excuse to swoop in and rescue you again. Just like old times… only this time, maybe we skip the goat part, yeah?” He winked, stepping closer so he could nudge Sam with his shoulder, his smile mischievous but soft. “Breakfast can wait, m’knight. Let’s see what kind of trouble you stir up first.”

Sam laughed, returning the nudge.
“Okay, you get dressed and I get looking for trouble. Sound good?”
He winked at Dean and placed a quick kiss on his lips before turning around and walking out of the room.
The sun was shining brightly outside by now, even if it was still rising, and Sam stepped outside to breathe in the nice warm morning air. He stretched again and then walked outside, looking around.
The wood that needed to be split was still patiently waiting, and when Sam walked around the corner, he stopped dead in his tracks.
At the edge of the meadow behind the house that stretched to the edge of the treelike, there was an impressive moose with antlers like shovels. It was grazing calmly and only looked up when it heard Sam’s surprised gasp.
For a moment, Sam was rooted to the spot. He’d never encountered a wild moose, but he had heard some stories. Breathing deeply, he stayed calm and tall. “Sorry for that,” he said in a low voice. “Didn’t mean to disturb your breakfast. I’ll… leave you to it, okay?” The moose resumed chewing and luckily didn’t look stressed at all, so Sam slowly backtracked and disappeared around the corner again. Once he was out of view, he hurried back into the cabin. “Dean?” he called, not too loud or stressed. He poked his head inside the bedroom. “There’s a moose behind the house.”

Dean came out of the bathroom, still bare-chested from his morning routine. “A moose, huh?” he drawled, running a hand through his messy hair. He followed Sam outside, the sunlight glinting off his scales - well, not that Sam would ever know - and breathed in the crisp morning air.
As they rounded the corner together, Dean froze mid-step. The moose was there, grazing calmly like Sam had said. Dean’s dragon instincts tingled, that deep, primal heat that always warned him of potential reactions in other creatures. He felt the moose tense, its ears flicking sharply. And then, in a heartbeat, the massive animal bolted, antlers swinging, hooves thundering into the trees.
Sam’s jaw dropped. “What the - did you see that?” he gasped. “It just… it ran! I barely even made a sound!”
Dean shrugged, grinning, fighting back a laugh. “Yeah… weird, huh?” His claws itched slightly at the thought of the animal sensing something it shouldn’t, but of course, he kept it hidden. “Maybe… it’s one of those mornings where moose are jumpy,” he offered casually, letting Sam believe it was just a coincidence. Inside, Dean was silently chuckling. Dragons did leave an impression - even if it scared the moose more than it should have.

Sam was still staring after the moose in consternation. “I never heard of them running like that,” he whispered and turned around, but Dean had already returned inside. Running the few steps, Sam followed him. “What was that? I mean, I never saw a moose before, but I heard that they will charge you if they feel threatened, and usually will move on eventually, but I never heard that they will bolt like that and run. I… I didn’t spook it, did I? I didn’t even know I could see a moose out here.” Finally, he took a breath and just looked at Dean, who had returned to getting dressed. “I’m sorry… I guess I did do my part and found some trouble.”
Dean glanced over his shoulder, tugging his tunic into place with one hand, the other running absently through his hair. He chuckled, low and warm, shaking his head. “Relax, Sam. You didn’t do anything wrong. That moose… well, maybe it just knew not to mess with a fireborn.” His grin was teasing, but his eyes softened as they landed on Sam. “You? You didn’t spook it. You didn’t even touch it. You just… exist, and apparently, trouble follows anyway.” He moved closer, adjusting Sam’s sleeve where it had bunched, his touch lingering a second longer than necessary. “And honestly… I like that about you. Makes life interesting. And hey,” Dean added with a sly smirk, “if anything ever does charge us out here, you’re stuck with me, and I promise I’ll handle it. Mooses, bandits, evil kings - you name it.”
“Evil kings?” Sam asked. “Plural?”
Then he laughed. “You like that I attract trouble? I mean… I attracted you, so you are in trouble? Trouble loves me, I get that. I also get that you, fireborn, are having some effect on wildlife here. Mountain lions run off, that moose, too. Are you that scary, and I didn’t get the memo?” He stepped closer to Dean and wrapped his arms around him. “Maybe it’s good I’m not an animal. I don’t get scared by you.”

Dean chuckled, low and throaty, the sound vibrating in his chest against Sam’s ear. “Scary? Nah… I’m terrifying only when I want to be,” he said, letting his hands wander lazily over Sam’s back, feeling the solid warmth beneath his fingers. “And yeah, maybe a little trouble follows me… but not like the kind you think. I mean, I don’t hunt kingdoms or drag villagers off. Mostly.” He smirked, nuzzling Sam’s neck, inhaling the faint scent of him. “But me? I do get… protective. Especially of you.” His arms tightened around Sam instinctively, the heat of his body pressing closer, and his lips grazed the shell of Sam’s ear. “So, yeah… wild animals and evil kings might scatter, but you? You’re safe, knight. With me. And I kinda like that you’re not scared.” He paused, letting the words hang, then added with a teasing growl, “Although… if you ever did get scared, I’d probably just enjoy it a little.”

“Hooold up,” Sam laughed. “I need to make sure I understand correctly. If I ever did get scared… in general? Or of you?” he asked. “Which of those would you enjoy?” His hands were holding onto Dean’s tunic just to make sure he wouldn’t move away. Or maybe to make sure Sam didn’t fall over. “And don’t think your answer would scare me either way.”
Dean let out a low, teasing laugh, the kind that rumbled deep in his chest and made Sam shiver. “Oh, Sam,” he said, brushing a sweaty strand of hair off Sam’s forehead, “you really wanna know the truth, huh?” He leaned closer, their foreheads almost touching, and the heat between them lingered like a living thing. “Honestly… I don’t care if it’s scared of me or scared in general. Makes no difference. What matters is you trusting me enough to tell me, to hold on when the world feels too big. That - that’s the part I enjoy. Everything else… well…” Dean’s lips curved into a sly, almost sinful smile, “let’s just say I’ll take care of the rest.” His hand traced a lazy line down Sam’s arm, the touch lingering, intimate, and promising. “Scared or not… you’ve got me. Always.”
“Well, I can’t imagine being scared OF you. But I know if there’s something that scares me, I have only to tell you. And that’s what I love. That you’re willing to defend me from anything.” Sam smiled broadly and then looked at Dean’s state of dress. “You’re all done?” he asked. “Can we finally start working so we can work up an appetite for breakfast? The wood is already calling and the axe… it’s waiting for us to fight over who gets to go first.” He grinned and kissed Dean on the lips before taking his hand into his own and walking outside, Dean in tow.

Dean let himself be tugged along, enjoying the warmth of Sam’s hand in his. The sun hit his shoulders and back, and though he was fully dressed in his leathers, the heat of the day and the sweat from their earlier… efforts still made him aware of every inch of his body. He didn’t care. There was something satisfying about the quiet strength of this moment - the simplicity of sunlight, the smell of woodsmoke and pine, and Sam grinning like life had finally given him something real.
“Alright, fair warning,” Dean said, tugging the axe from the rack, hefting it lazily, and letting Sam’s eyes flick to it with a mix of curiosity and challenge. “I go first, I get bragging rights, and you get to watch me chop the crap out of this wood. Then maybe I’ll let you have a turn.” He smirked, letting his dragon-like confidence show just enough without giving anything away. “But don’t get cocky, Sammy. I’ve got a long arm, and I swing harder than you think.”
He tossed the axe to Sam once he’d sized up the pile, watching the way Sam caught it, felt the weight, and grinned like it was a game made just for them. Dean’s chest swelled - half from pride, half from the heat of being so close to Sam, sharing this ordinary yet perfect moment. “Now,” he said, eyes gleaming, “let’s see if you can keep up… because I don’t plan on going easy.”
“Keep up?” Sam asked, raising an eyebrow. Sure, there was a lot of wood to split, but Sam had been doing that for years already, so he saw no reason to think he couldn’t compete.
“Okay, step aside, oh fireborn. There may be splinters flying.”
Sam smiled at Dean and then started to work the axe like a machine, steady and unrelenting. Like he’d been doing it since he could walk. Which wasn’t that far off, if he thought about it.

Each swing cracked a block clean in two, the echo rolling across the front of the cabin. The pile waiting for them was almost chest height when Sam started, but he didn’t falter, just planted, lifted, and swung the axe again.
After a few minutes, his breath was coming a bit harsher, but not labored, and sweat darkened his shirt on his back and front.
After he’d split close to a third of the pile, his arm started to ache. It was a dull throb that he’d felt in the beginning, when his arm had first been in a cast. With every motion, it became more and Sam gritted his teeth, refusing to give it away. He continued splitting log after log with that same hard rhythm, but when he closed in on splitting half the pile, he stopped, knuckles whitening on the handle. He drew a slow breath, then wordlessly handed the axe over to Dean as if nothing were wrong. “There you go. I hope I left you enough, my dragon.” He tried for a magnanimous smile, but wasn’t sure Dean would buy it.

Dean took the axe without a word, glancing down at Sam’s arm just long enough to see the subtle tension, the slight flinch when he shifted his weight. A small smirk tugged at his lips. Of course you’re trying to tough it out.
With a whisper and a faint shimmer of warmth curling around Sam’s arm, Dean let the magic slide through, easing the ache, loosening the stiffness without making a fuss. Sam blinked, startled but too proud to comment, and Dean just shrugged like it was nothing. “There,” he said lightly, “feel better?”
Before Sam could answer, Dean was already swinging the axe, each motion effortless, the logs splitting cleanly with a satisfying crack. He moved with a fluid strength that made the pile disappear faster than Sam could follow, each block perfectly bisected, stacked, and lined up. Not a bead of sweat traced his forehead, not a tremor shook his shoulders. Sam watched, wide-eyed, trying not to look impressed, while Dean wiped a hand across his brow - uselessly, since there was no sweat to wipe - and grinned. “All done,” he said, setting the last piece down with a soft thud, “you can take a break now, knight.” Dean winked, leaning back against the cabin wall. “Fireborn stuff. Nothing you’d understand.” And with that, he stretched, relaxed, and casually started picking up stray splinters as if the entire pile hadn’t been his in a matter of minutes.

Sam had watched Dean work wordlessly after he’d eased the pain in his arm. There was a small smile creeping on his lips when he watched Dean making his effort look like a child had tried for the first time.
Or at least somehow that’s how Sam felt. He’d always hated splitting wood, mainly because he had no choice. If he wanted to eat, he’d have to do whatever he was told.
It hadn’t been the chore itself that Sam had disliked. But because of the circumstances, he’d always pushed himself to get it over with as fast as possible.
“That was amazing,” he replied, ignoring the not understanding fireborn stuff, because he didn’t. He wasn’t a fireborn and only knew there was such a thing for a short while. “And here I thought I didn’t do too badly, but I can’t swing an axe the way you do by a long mile. Color me impressed.” He settled down next to Dean and breathed deeply. After a few silent moments, he turned his head towards Dean to peek at him. “Did I manage to impress you a tiny little bit at least?” he asked with a shy smile.

Dean chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that made Sam’s chest tighten. He shook his head, leaning back slightly against the rough-hewn wall of the cabin. “You? Impress me? Hell, yeah, you did,” he said, eyes glinting with something like pride, maybe even awe. “Listen, fireborns like me, we’re built for work. Always hauling, splitting, lifting - we’ve gotta keep our strength up, especially through the cold months when wood’s harder than stone. Axes don’t swing themselves, and trust me, you don’t want to see a fireborn slow down.” He nudged Sam lightly with his shoulder, playful but serious underneath. “But you… for a normal human, you handled that like a champ. I’m impressed, Sam. Seriously. You didn’t just swing an axe—you owned it. That’s rare. Most wouldn’t even come close without giving up and whining. You… you didn’t quit. And that? That’s worth more than half the strength in my arms.” He gave him a teasing smirk, then softened, reaching over to bump their shoulders together. “So yeah… consider me impressed, knight of mine. Tiny bit, maybe? Nah. You nailed it.”
Sam’s smile became a little wider, and a soft blush colored his cheeks. The best compliment he’d gotten so far for his wood splitting was no comment from his father. Because if things weren’t on par, he’d be told he didn’t put in enough effort. So, no criticism had been as good as it got.
“Thank you,” Sam finally replied with a smile. “For your words, and for… taking care of my arm.”
He didn’t elaborate on it because he knew that Dean would probably have preferred that he’d stopped as soon as he’d started feeling it, but his pride and his upbringing hadn’t allowed it.

“So… fireborns are like workhorses with muscles like steel? I mean, how much wood do you usually split if this pile didn’t even make you break a sweat?”
Dean leaned back against the log he’d been sitting on, arms crossed over his chest, and let out a low, amused chuckle. “Workhorses? Yeah… that’s one way to put it. Steel muscles? Not too far off either.” He gave Sam a sidelong grin, eyes glinting with a mix of pride and mischief. “See, we fireborns, we gotta keep busy all the time. Cold winters don’t care if you’re tired or sore, and we don’t really do soft hands or empty bellies. Wood like this?” He gestured at the neat stack Sam had helped with, “I’d usually split a pile two, maybe three times this size in a day. Breakfast and lunch barely slow me down. But you…” Dean’s tone softened, just a notch, his grin lingering. “You handled that like a pro. For a human who’s not born to this, you did more than I’d expect. Hell, you even made it look… almost easy.” He shook his head, laughing lightly. “Don’t get me wrong, I’ll still outwork you any day of the week, but that doesn’t mean I’m not impressed.” His eyes softened as he studied Sam, the teasing in his voice fading to genuine warmth. “You’ve got strength in you, Sam… more than you even know.”

Sam licked his lips and nodded slowly. “I’m used to physical work. If it wasn’t the hunting and the necessary tools for it, like stamina and strength, then it was chopping wood, carrying stones, building things, cleaning the house… anything that needed to be done that he didn’t want to do himself. It was never a big thing for me because I thought it was normal. Once, when an earthquake had part of the stone wall around the property cave in, it was upon me to rebuild and reinforce to make sure it didn’t happen again. But hearing these words from you now makes me feel proud of what I could do. And it was worth the ache in the arm.”
Dean’s chest tightened a little, hearing the honesty in Sam’s voice. He leaned closer, elbows resting on his knees, watching the way Sam’s eyes glinted in the morning light. “That… that’s the thing, Sam,” he said, voice quieter, serious, but still carrying that rough edge. “You don’t see it, but all that work you did? That’s not just normal. Not for most humans. You push yourself, keep going, take the hits… and yeah, maybe it feels normal to you, but to me? That’s strength. Real strength. Fireborn or not, you held your own today. And you know what? That makes me proud as hell.” He let a small, almost shy smile tug at his lips. “I don’t say this lightly, Sam. You made that woodpile look easy - and believe me, I know how much effort it takes. You worked your ass off and still came out looking like… like a warrior. My warrior.”
“I know what you’re saying. I think there are a lot of things I need to learn to see differently, and I’m not trying to fish for compliments. But I am a bit competitive, and seeing that I can’t keep up with a fireborn in the way I want to, it takes some getting used to.”
He looked out over the meadow that was more or less framed by the forest, searching the tree tops.
“Maybe… maybe I can beat you in finding a shape in the clouds. Have you ever done that? Because that cloud over there looks a bit like a dragon to me. See that tail and… the wings?”

Dean’s gaze followed Sam’s, squinting at the cloud he’d pointed out. A slow grin tugged at the corners of his lips. “Ha… not bad, m’knight,” he said, nudging Sam lightly with his shoulder. “I see it. Tail whipping, wings spread wide… could almost be John.” He leaned back, letting the sun warm his skin, and chuckled low. “But I’m warning you - next round, I’m picking the cloud. And you’re going down, Sam. I’ve got an eye for detail… and, well, let’s just say it’s a lot easier when you’ve got a little fire in your blood.” His tone was teasing, but there was a warmth in it, soft and honest, as he watched Sam’s face light up with excitement, enjoying the simple, silly game that somehow felt like the most important thing in the world right then.
“I think I have enough fire in my blood,” Sam chuckled, knowing that what he meant was different from what Dean was talking about.
“So, come on, then… show me a cloud to interpret. But be warned, I have a lot of practice.”
He scanned the clouds nearby and found that all of them held great potential. At least when one had a good amount of imagination. And Sam had practiced that every time that he was alone somewhere out there and was stalling heading home.
Dean squinted up at the drifting clouds, letting his imagination wander in that lazy, teasing way he loved. “Okay… see that one?” he said, pointing with a crooked finger. “Looks like a big, angry dragon, wings spread wide, tail curling around its legs. That one there?” He nodded toward another, “That’s the knight—tiny little thing, standing brave, sword raised, about to charge the dragon.” He leaned back, letting the sunlight hit his face, a grin tugging at his lips. “Now… the fun part is imagining the dragon isn’t just any dragon. It’s a fireborn, sneaky bastard that thinks it’s smarter than the knight… but the knight? Oh, he’s got guts. And maybe - just maybe - he’s got a dragon of his own, hiding in plain sight.” He chuckled, his eyes flicking to Sam. “Told ya, I’ve got practice too.”

Sam smiled at Dean’s cloud interpretation. It was a lot more fun when there was more than one person using their imagination.
“The knight has guts, and he’s not alone. You see… over there, that cloud looks like a three-headed hound. One has sharp teeth, like… like a shark. And the second one has saliva containing acid. It can burn holes through dragon scales and is not a nice encounter. And the third one? The third one has the tongue of an angel. It will sweet-talk you into voluntarily putting one hand in the snout with the shark teeth and the other one into the acid one. And then you won’t be able to do anything, and the hound can take its time picking you limb from limb.”

Dean chuckled low, a fire‑warm rumble in his chest that made Sam glance up at him with a smirk. “Well… that sounds like one hell of a hound. And here I was thinking you’d make it easy on me,” he teased, reaching over to nudge Sam’s shoulder lightly. “But you know me, knight,” he added with a crooked grin, “I don’t scare easily. I’d probably just wrestle the tongues off the angel one first, keep the shark teeth busy, and - if I had to - I’d charm the acid one. Don’t think I wouldn’t. Might take a minute, maybe get scorched a bit, but hell, I’d make it fun.” He leaned back against the sun‑warmed cabin, letting the tension in his shoulders ease, eyes glinting with amusement and something softer, something private that only Sam could catch in the corner of his grin. “Besides… it’s more fun to face monsters when you’ve got company. Makes the victory sweeter.”
“Of course, the knight would be by the fireborn’s side. With a drawn sword, ready to cut off those heads,” Sam replied.
“Because this knight is the bravest of all knights, and he has faced death more than a hundred times.
He likes that fireborn that dares to take on the three-headed monstrous hound. And he will protect the fireborn, even when he knows it would probably be the other way around. His fireborn was much stronger, almost as strong as one of those giant dragons that kept flying over their heads.”
Sam laughed, and it was clear he was enjoying this. Dean was right, it was a lot more fun doing it with two.

Dean let out a low chuckle, shaking his head in amusement. “Yeah, well… that’s the thing about fireborns,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead as the morning sun warmed their shoulders. “We might look like we need saving, but a little dragon strength goes a long way. And honestly, I’d rather face a three-headed hound with you at my side than fight alone. Makes all the difference.” He leaned back against the cabin wall, eyes following the slow drift of clouds overhead, the warmth of the sun mixing with the heat still lingering between them. “Besides,” he added, voice dropping low and teasing, “someone has to keep the knight from getting himself killed… or at least from thinking he’s invincible. I’d hate to have to haul your stubborn ass out of trouble more than once a day.” His grin softened into something warmer, more intimate, as his gaze settled on Sam. “But… I wouldn’t trade it for the world. Not you, not this.”
Sam smiled. “You wouldn’t? That’s good. Because I wouldn’t either. I can’t promise never to get in trouble, though. Trouble sometimes finds me. Or I find it. Sometimes it’s hard to tell.”

Sam closed his eyes for a few moments. “You must wonder what’s up with me that I put up with my father’s… let’s call it rules. And when you see what I do and how I talk, you probably wonder why I’m courageous in the mountains but didn’t stand up to him. Thing is… he’s still my father. He’s my only family, and I think as a kid I always hoped it would be the last time he treated me that way. And when I was old enough to realize he wouldn’t change, I was scared. I have seen what he can do.”
Sam opened his eyes and looked at Dean. “I’m not proud of not standing up to him, but I am proud that I did now, in a way. With you by my side. And I know if I ever see him again, I will not be timid around him. I mean, I have a fireborn watching over me.”

Dean’s gaze softened, and a quiet smile tugged at his lips. “You know, I get it,” he said, voice low, almost reverent. “I know what it’s like to have someone powerful standing over you, someone who could crush you without even thinking twice… and yet, somehow, that person can still be the best damn father you’ll ever have.” He shook his head slightly, as if trying to measure the words. “Even if he scares the hell outta you half the time. Protects you in ways you can’t even see. Teaches you things you don’t realize you’re learning until you’re older. Makes sacrifices you’ll never know the weight of until you’re standing there, carrying it yourself. That… that kind of dad? He’s rare, Sam. And I’m - hell, anyone - would be lucky to have him.” He leaned closer, brushing a thumb over the back of Sam’s hand. “Even if he’s a fireborn, even if he burns a little hot sometimes… he’s still… amazing. And so are you, Sam, for holding onto it. That… that’s strength, kiddo.”
Sam took a deep breath. “I know,” he then exhaled softly. “I don’t know your father, but the way you talk about him, he’s wonderful. My father… he stopped being wonderful after…” Sam licked his lips and pressed his trembling jaws together. “You know what I think he did. And he scared me, yes, but not in the way he protected me or taught me things. He hurt me. In several ways. Not to teach me a lesson. But to demonstrate he was stronger. And I missed the point where that shifted. Where I grew stronger and could have stood up to him.”
Sam moved his hand to hold on to Dean’s. Then he smiled at him. “I know you think I’m amazing, and I can’t tell you how much that means to me. How much that do for me. Thank you for that.”

Dean tightened his hand around Sam’s, thumb brushing over the back of it in a slow, grounding rhythm. His chest ached a little at the raw honesty in Sam’s words, the way they spilled out like a confession in the quiet of the morning sun outside the cabin. “Sam,” he said softly, his voice rough but steady, “you’ve been carrying all that weight for far too long. And yeah… it’s fucked up. But you’re not that scared kid anymore. You’re… you. Strong, sharp, and stubborn as hell. And yeah, I see it. I see all of you. And I will always see it. You don’t have to prove it to him - or anyone. Not anymore.” He squeezed a little tighter, leaning close so their foreheads brushed. “I love you, Sam. Every part of you, the hurt and the brave and the goddamn stubborn. That’s who I fight for. Always.”

When Dean mentioned stubborn, Sam couldn’t suppress a soft grin.
“I know,” he replied. “And I love how you see the stubborn in me. I would probably tell you I’m not stubborn, I’m determined, but… I see how that is easily stubborn. And when you say it, it sounds like it’s a good thing to be.” He leaned into the touch of their foreheads and stole a quick kiss. “I guess my stubbornness was responsible for splitting more wood even when my arm started aching. And of course you didn’t miss that.”
Dean chuckled softly, the warmth in Sam’s words spreading through him like sunlight. “Nah, I didn’t miss it. You’re stubborn as hell, and maybe that’s exactly why I like it… keeps things interesting.” He let his fingers brush lightly along Sam’s arm, careful but lingering, enjoying the simple closeness, the easy trust between them. “But hell, I wouldn’t have you any other way. That stubborn streak… it’s part of what makes you you. And you? You make everything else - me, this mess of a life, all of it - feel… right. Even the part where you push yourself too hard,” he added with a teasing smirk, though his tone softened at the end. “Just don’t forget… I’m always here, watching, making sure my knight doesn’t overdo it.”

“I think pushing too hard… it’s because I always had to do that. He didn’t allow any excuses. And something in me still hears that when it comes to feeling pain. Or feeling like I’m failing at something. I hate that.” Sam sat up and turned to face Dean, taking both his hands into his. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. You make me feel worthy, you back me up when I need it. You take away my pain, and you make me feel safe! And for all that and a bit more, I love you!”

Dean opened his mouth, ready to answer, to tell Sam that he loved him too, that he’d always have him no matter what, when the deep rumble hit - the unmistakable, bone-shaking sound of massive wings. The cabin shook as a shadow fell over the doorway, the sun glinting off scales that weren’t human. John stood there, in full dragon form, massive wings tucked slightly to fit the space, claws tapping the ground, eyes blazing with the same intensity that had always cut through Dean.
Dean’s chest tightened. His dragon instincts flared, heat rolling through his veins, a fire of both warning and recognition. Sam’s hand tightened in his, eyes wide, but Dean stayed grounded - just barely - forcing his human voice to match his heartbeat.
“We need to talk.” John rumbled, voice deep and resonant, shaking the air like thunder. Dean’s jaw set, a slow, dark smile tugging at his lips. Dragon or not, he was still Dean. And he would handle this.

When Sam heard the rumbling of the massive dragon wings, at first, he instinctively tensed. He wasn’t used to seeing dragons fly at all, let alone so close.
Everything in his body told him to run and hide, but he didn’t. Because Dean didn’t. And because Dean knew the dragons and would tell him to run if it was necessary.
Looking again, he recognized John, but something told him that John wasn’t as happy as the last time, and Sam was sure it had to do with him.
When John told them they needed to talk, Sam had gathered his wits again and turned to look at the massive creature. And the way he looked at him was not with fear. He respected the dragon, but he refused to show any fear. “What does he want to talk about?” Sam asked Dean before looking straight at John once more. “I’m sorry, John. I should have addressed you. What do we need to talk about? Did I do something wrong in some way?” Sam was sure that whatever needed talking about was something about him.

Dean leaned against the rough wall of the cabin, hands tucked into the sleeves of his leather jacket, trying to look casual. But he could feel the weight in the air - his father’s presence carried authority and tension like a storm cloud ready to break. His eyes flicked to Sam, who was watching him nervously, and Dean gave a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head. Not your fight, Sammy. Not yet.
John’s claws scraped against the wood as he approached, his gaze sharp, piercing. “Dean,” he said, voice like steel, “I need to speak with you. Not… not the two of you together. Just you.” His eyes flicked to Sam briefly, and Dean saw the edge of irritation there, the way John made it clear he didn’t want to deal with anyone else right now.
Dean straightened, giving his father his full attention. “Alright,” he said evenly, keeping his tone measured. “What’s this about?”
John’s jaw tightened. “I had that talk with the council,” he said. “About… everything. About you, Dean.” There was no room for argument. Dean’s mind started ticking, already calculating every angle, every possible council demand, every word he might need to keep Sam safe and the truth of him hidden.
Dean’s gaze softened briefly toward Sam before returning to his father, sharp and controlled. “Got it,” he said, voice steady. “Let’s hear it. But remember, John… I handle this my way.”

Sam’s jaw was clenched, and he realized he hadn’t felt this tense in a long time. John hadn’t threatened him or anything, but just his demeanor, which was so different from when he had carried him here, was enough to get Sam to the edge of panic. But that was the last thing he wanted to do. Just because he’d been taught that a dragon had killed his mother didn’t mean that a dragon who wasn’t all friendly at all times wanted to kill him. “I… Dean,” Sam said softly. “Should I go inside? Or… stay?” Dean was the one who knew how to behave around dragons, and the last thing Sam wanted to do was do something wrong and mess things up.

Dean took a slow breath, letting his hand brush over Sam’s shoulder in a grounding squeeze. His eyes softened, catching the fear that Sam was trying to hide behind calm words. “Hey… it’s okay, Sammy,” he said, voice low, steady. “You don’t have to be brave right now. I got this. You go inside, alright? I’ll handle him.” He gave Sam a small, teasing grin to ease the tension, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “Go on. You can stay safe inside and… maybe grab another flatbread if you’re brave enough.”
Sam gave a small nod, trusting him, and turned toward the door. Dean waited until he stepped inside, then exhaled through his nose and stepped back into the open. John was already there, standing rigid, expression unreadable. Dean fell into an easy stride beside him, his hands loose at his sides. “We need to talk,” John repeated, tone carrying a weight that didn’t demand argument but guaranteed attention. John’s eyes flicked to Dean, and the dragonborn grin Dean couldn’t entirely hide tugged at the corner of his lips.
“Relax,” Dean murmured to himself. “We’ll get through this… together.”
He and John walked in silence for a moment, Dean keeping his gaze calm, controlled, every step measured, ready to manage whatever tension lay ahead without letting Sam, who watched them from inside the cabin, see a thing.

Finally, John stopped walking. He was sure where they were now, Sam could see them, but not hear them.
“You know why I came, Dean?” he asked sternly. In fact, he was sure Dean knew, because he knew that Dean was aware of the rules.
“You know I’m not here just because you helped Sam’s arm heal, even though you knew it would be something the council and I, as the leader pick up on.”
He looked at his son, like he were trying to read his mind. His thoughts.

Inside the cabin, flatbread was the last thing Sam could think about. He’d headed straight to the living room and stood by the window watching the massive dragon - John - stand next to Dean, who looked tiny in comparison, talk about whatever had gone wrong. Because something was wrong, no? Sam shook his head and forced down the panic he felt, but he wasn’t sure how long he could hold on.

Dean’s jaw tightened, and he shifted his weight, feeling the tension coil in his shoulders. He could hear John’s words, see the concern in his father’s eyes, and the way he tried to read Dean - but this time it wasn’t about discipline. It was about duty, the council, and rules that Dean had no say over. “I know why you’re here,” he said finally, voice calm, measured. “And I also know exactly what you expect me to hear - the council’s reaction. Doesn’t mean I’m not ready for it, though.” His gaze flicked briefly to Sam, standing there like he always did - wide-eyed, heart on his sleeve, completely unaware of the weight of what was being discussed. But he didn’t need to hide anything from him, not really. He squared his shoulders and met John’s eyes. “So… what did they say?” he asked, tone sharp but steady.
John sighed, but there was a softness in it, a look of pride under the weight of responsibility. “They were… unsurprisingly rigid at first,” he admitted. “The council doesn’t allow bonding with humans. You know that. But I argued for you. I told them Sam is… different. That you’re happy. That you’re safe. And they listened.” He paused, letting Dean take it in. “They’ve agreed - you can stay here. Together. In this cabin. They won’t interfere… as long as you’re careful.”

Dean exhaled slowly, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips despite the lingering tension. “Guess my stubborn little human’s safe after all, huh?” He glanced at Sam again, relief and pride and something hotter pooling in his chest. “And I get to keep him. You hear me, Dad? He’s mine.”
John smiled at his son. It was good to see the joy in his face, and he had to laugh briefly when Dean referred to Sam as his stubborn little human.
“Yes, you get to keep him. He gets to keep you. But… be careful. Nobody can know. If you have to go to human settlements, never disclose where you stay. Never!”
He looked at Dean pleadingly and with the worry of a father for his only child. “And now, tell me what makes Sam so stubborn. It sounds a little bit like someone I know.”
Dean chuckled, shaking his head as he felt the familiar warmth in his chest at hearing his father tease like that. “Ah, Dad… stubborn like a mule, sure. But it’s more than that. He’s… he’s got this fire in him. Doesn’t let anyone - or anything - decide for him. He fights his own battles, even when he shouldn’t, even when it’s stupid. But that’s what makes him… him. And damn it, that stubbornness? Drives me crazy… in all the best ways.”
He leaned back slightly, letting a rare, honest smile tug at the corners of his mouth. “He’s loyal as hell, too. Once he chooses you, he’s all in. And he doesn’t just take - you ever notice that, Dad? He gives right back, in a way that… makes you wanna be better, for him, for us.” Dean’s voice softened a little, just enough to betray how much he meant it. “And stubborn or not, human or not… I’d follow him anywhere. Any fight. Any danger. And if he’s got me? Hell, he’s safe.”
He paused, glancing at John with a half-grin, half-serious gaze. “So, yeah, he’s stubborn. But he’s worth every ounce of trouble that stubbornness brings.”
John listened to his son rambling on about that human, and that told him more than everything else. Sam was holding Dean’s heart in his hand, and John hoped that he knew how precious this was. “So… I get it. You love him. He loves you. And a bit of stubbornness never hurt anyone. It can be very important. But what exactly do you mean by he fights his own battles even when he shouldn’t? What battles are you talking about?” John had to admit he was curious and wanted to see just how exactly Sam had managed to put his claim on his son.

Dean’s jaw tightened, and he fought to keep his expression steady, though the sunlight glinting off the meadow made the heat behind his eyes harder to hide. He shifted his weight from one boot to the other, letting his fingers brush the grass lightly, buying himself a moment to measure words that could burn bridges if spoken wrong.
“It’s… personal stuff,” Dean said finally, voice low but steady. “Stuff Sam doesn’t want spread around. So… you should ask him. If you’re really curious, dad… ask him yourself.”
He let a pause hang, letting the summer breeze carry the weight of it. Dean knew the edge of this moment - he’d almost slipped, almost let the dark threads of Sam’s past slide out, and he wasn’t about to. “Trust me,” he added, letting a faint smirk brush his lips as he kicked a loose stone across the meadow. “He’ll tell you what you need to know. I’m… just here to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself again. That’s my battle. Sam’s battles… that’s his story, not mine.”
The smirk softened, just for a heartbeat, when he glanced toward where Sam was standing at the window inside the cabin.

John nodded. He wasn’t surprised Dean hadn’t told him more. Because Dean was loyal and wouldn’t go tell things that weren’t his to tell. “I will ask him when the opportunity arises. Just answer me this, please. I know I carried you two here to keep him safe. Will he be safe when you go into a settlement? To buy supplies? Or will you have to leave him here to do so to keep him safe?” John usually didn’t worry about his son, but he worried about this human. Because Dean worried about him. “Also, I will probably be your connection to the outside world other than the supply runs. Maybe Sam would like to get to know me a bit better? Can you ask him that for me?”

Dean leaned back, crossing his arms and looking thoughtful. “If it’s too close to his home village, he’s staying put. No exceptions,” he said firmly. “I’ll go alone, handle the supply runs, and make sure nothing from the village can follow me back. When I do take him along, I’ll be extra careful. Every step, every corner… I’ll make sure we’re safe before he even sees it coming. That’s my job.”
He paused, letting a small, wry smile tug at his lips. “And about getting to know you… yeah, I can do that. Sam’s curious, but in a slow, careful way. He’ll warm up once he realizes you’re not gonna scold him for asking too many questions or something. I’ll tell him you want to meet him, but don’t worry - he’ll figure out your dad’s… let’s call it old-school charm, fast enough.” Dean chuckled under his breath, eyes softening. “You’ll be surprised how much he listens once he trusts someone, though. And… yeah. I guess I’ll pass the message. If he likes you half as much as he likes breakfast that doesn’t burn, you’re golden.”
John raised an eyebrow.
“That doesn’t sound like it needs much effort on my part to get him to like me. But I will have to stay in dragon form. He can’t know we can shift. Don’t forget that. It would be too dangerous.
So, do you think he would trust me enough to have a chat with me alone, or would he want you to be around?”

From the window of the cabin, Sam watched the scene unfold. He’d been worried at first because the tone of John had been serious.
Now he couldn’t hear what Dean and John were talking about, but their body language told him the talk wasn’t tense and troublesome.
Breathing deeply, Sam slowly made his way out on the porch. He wouldn’t get closer, because John had wanted to talk to Dean alone. But he would wait on the porch for Dean to return, so he settled on the bench and watched the dragon and his fireborn talk.

Dean shifted his weight in the tall grass of the meadow, the sunlight catching the faint copper tones in his hair. He kept his voice calm, easy, but there was that underlying edge, the one that made John pause even in dragon form. “He’ll talk,” Dean said, letting his hands rest loosely at his sides, though his body was ready to spring at a moment’s notice. “Sam’s smart. Just needs to feel like he’s not being judged. Give him the space to think for himself, and he’ll listen.”
Dean’s green eyes flicked to the massive dragon beside him, John’s scales glittering in the sunlight, wings tucked but powerful, every inch a reminder of the dragon might he’d grown up with and trusted. “Alone’s better,” he added after a pause, voice quieter, a little more intimate. “Some things aren’t easy to say when he feels like I’m watching him. He needs to breathe first.” Dean tilted his head, just slightly, smirking. “Don’t worry, I’ll get him to listen. He won’t even know the half of what’s keeping him safe.”
John nodded. “Alright, son. I think you should talk to him about the possibility of having a chat we me alone, first, and it may still be a bit intimidating if I’m hovering around. I told you what you needed to hear. Unless you have anything else you want to discuss now that I’m here, I’d say I take flight and you return to your stubborn human. He’s already waiting for you. And I think he might be hungry.” John didn’t need to turn around to know Sam had ventured outside again. He had felt it. And he took it as a good sign, because it could only mean that he’d understood this meeting wasn’t a threat.

Dean ran a hand over his face, shaking his head just a little, though his green eyes softened as he glanced back at Sam. “Wait a sec, Dad,” he said, voice low and careful. “Don’t go just yet. I… I wanna check with him if he’s up for a talk later. Make sure he’s comfortable with it. Can’t exactly toss him into a dragon talk with you without asking, right?” He let his gaze drift to Sam, watching the way he toyed with the edge of his shirt, the sun glinting off his hair.
Dean’s jaw set in that way it always did when he was trying to be serious but keep it calm for Sam as he walked back to him. “Sammy… you feel ready to… talk to him after you eat?” His tone was gentle, patient, but there was that edge under it, the fireborn intensity that Sam didn’t notice - yet - that made Dean feel protective, like he could guard him from anything.

Sam’s eyes widened. He’d been looking around Dean when he approached and noticed that John stayed put.
“He wants to talk to me?” he asked in a low voice, like he feared the wind would carry his words to John.
He now looked at John, thinking. There he was, this dragon that was taller than any building Sam had ever seen. Right like he’d imagined dragons from what his father had told him. Immediately, those words were back in his mind, that it was a dragon who killed his mother. And while Sam could imagine dragons could kill a human easily, there were other things, other facts that made him doubt that she had passed away at a dragon’s hand. She had died in the house. And there was no way a dragon like John could fit in a house. Sam blinked and looked at Dean again. “I… if he wants to talk to me, I’ll be there. If he wanted to kill me, he wouldn’t have brought me here to keep me safe, right?”

Dean chuckled softly, shaking his head, though there was a seriousness in his green eyes that Sam couldn’t miss. “Nah, Sammy… he’s not here to fight you or… anything like that. Look, I already told you - he’s like… well, like a father to me. And because I’m important to him, he wants to know you. That’s it. Nothing more, nothing less.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice so only Sam could hear, brushing a thumb along Sam’s forearm. “He’s curious about my mate. That’s… you. You’re important to me, Sam, and that makes you important to him. That’s all there is to it.” Dean’s grin softened into something warmer, almost vulnerable, and he added, “So don’t overthink it. Just… be yourself. That’s all he really wants.”

Sam looked at Dean with trusting eyes and then nodded. “Okay. I know you trust him. And if he’s like a father to you, it would be rude of me not to get to know him.
I know he won’t harm me, but you know all the things swirling around in my head. Sometimes they shout at me even when I tell them to shut up. I know the story my father told me is… a lie. So… you can tell John that I’ll have that chat with him. You did say after we eat, right? Because I’m so hungry now, I could eat a goat.”
Dean chuckled, the sound low and warm, running a hand down Sam’s back as he leaned closer. “A goat, huh? A little appetite suits you, I guess. Don’t worry, we’ll get you fed before you try negotiating with the big, scary dad figure. Trust me, I’ll make sure nothing gets in the way of your stomach or your nerves.” He gave Sam a teasing grin, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “But… when you talk to him, try not to let all that swirling stuff win. Keep that sharp mind of yours on, alright? You’re stronger than you think, Sam. And yeah, he may be like a father to me, but I won’t let him - or anyone - make you feel small while you’re standing here with me.” His hand lingered on Sam’s shoulder, warm and steady, the kind of presence that said more than words could. “Now… eat first. Then we deal with the speeches and judgmental looks.”

Sam nodded, cracking a soft smile that was only reserved for Dean.
“All right. Let’s have breakfast. I don’t really want to make that big, scary dragon wait. And since there is no goat to eat, I wonder if I can get some flat bread and jam. I saw that somewhere. And coffee. I definitely need coffee if I want to face a dragon that’s taller than a house all by myself.”
He looked at Dean, quickly stole a kiss, and then went inside to set the coffee going and to warm the flatbread. And to find the jam. Sam needed sugar to calm his nerves, and jam was the best way to do that.
Dean chuckled, shaking his head as he followed Sam into the small kitchen, the sunlight spilling over his shoulders making him look impossibly golden. “Taller than a house, huh? Careful, Sam… he might start expecting a crown and a throne if you keep talking like that.” He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching Sam fuss over the coffee pot and the flatbread like a knight preparing for battle. “You know,” he added with a smirk, “if it’s sugar you’re after, I can make sure you get plenty. But fair warning… once you start, you’re not allowed to act all shy when you’re bouncing off the walls.” Dean’s eyes softened as Sam caught him looking, that small, nervous smile of his making Dean’s chest tighten in a way only Sam could. “Don’t worry,” he said, voice low and teasing, “I’ll be right here. No scary dragon’s gonna touch you while I’m around. Unless you want me to…” He let that hang for a moment, letting the words tease the edges of something deeper, before crossing the room to grab a plate and start pulling the breakfast together.

Sam raised his eyebrow at Dean’s words.
“Unless I want you to?” he repeated. “Because you’re my dragon, fireborn?”
He smiled, and for a moment, his fingers were still.
“I’m not afraid of John,” he finally started, carrying his plate and coffee to the table to sit next to Dean. “I’m afraid that he’ll find me boring, that I don’t know enough, and he doesn’t know what you see in me. That’s what I’m worried about.
And maybe it’s a little intimidating that he could end me just by coughing up some fire.
But I trust you. And when you say he won’t harm me at all, then I believe you.”
He took a sip of coffee and looked Dean over the rim of his cup.
Dean’s chest tightened a little at the way Sam looked at him - half teasing, half serious, all completely trusting. He pushed a stray lock of hair back from his forehead and gave Sam a crooked grin, trying to keep the teasing alive but letting the warmth of his feelings shine through. “Boring, huh? Sam, please. You’re anything but boring. And don’t you forget it, you’ve got more fire than you think, even if you don’t always see it.” He leaned closer, voice dropping just enough to make Sam lean in, too. “And as for him,” Dean said, nodding toward where John would have been, “don’t worry. He’s not gonna scorch you. Not with me around, anyway. You just sit there, drink your coffee, eat your flatbread, and look as amazing as you do right now. That’s all you need to do.” He reached across and brushed a thumb over Sam’s knuckle, his eyes flicking up to Sam’s with a spark of heat and something softer, something that said he’d burn the world down if it meant keeping Sam in one piece.

Sam smiled shyly. “I should sit there next to this giant and drink my coffee?” he asked. “That sounds like a hilarious scene to watch.” He licked his lips, thinking. “I’ll have my breakfast here, but then l’ll go out to him and meet him. Is that okay?” He sipped more coffee and then nibbled on his flatbread while glancing outside. He knew he was safe, but his mind was still whirling around words he had heard years ago and the sheer size of the dragon.
Dean watched Sam carefully, the corner of his mouth tugging into a small, reassuring smile. “Yeah,” he said, voice low and steady, “that’s more than okay. You don’t have to do it all at once, Sam. One step at a time. Giant dragon, scary fireborn, whatever - you take your breakfast, sip your coffee, and then go out there when you’re ready. No rush. And trust me,” he added, leaning back a little to give Sam space but letting the warmth in his gaze settle on him, “you’re way tougher than you think. You’ve been through more than anyone should, and you’re still standing here, looking like… well, like you just belong anywhere you damn well want to.” Dean reached over and nudged Sam lightly with his elbow, trying to ease the tension, “And if that giant tries anything funny, you know I’ve got your back. Hell, you’re probably the only one I’d let make a dragon blush anyway.” He smirked, teasing, but there was steel under the warmth, the kind of quiet promise that Sam didn’t have to question.

Sam chuckled briefly, still feeling his nerves, but he did what Dean said and sipped his coffee while eating the flatbread and glancing outside.
Once he was done, he carried his plate and mug back to the kitchen and quickly rinsed them. Then he turned to Dean once more.
“I’ll go out now, okay?” he asked, hating that even he could hear the slight tremble in his voice. He cleared his throat when Dean nodded and gave him a confident smile, which he returned and then followed by a hug.
Outside, Sam took a deep breath of morning air before squaring his shoulders and walking as confidently as he could across the meadow towards John.
“Hi,” he greeted when he was closer but far enough off that he didn’t have to strain his neck to look up.
“Dean told me you’d like to get to know me a bit. Well, here I am. I… I’m curious as well, but I don’t know… should I stand? Sit! Where?” He smiled shyly.

Dean watched from the edge of the meadow, muscles coiled but calm, letting Sam take the first steps. There was something about the way Sam held himself - nervous, sure, but determined - that made Dean’s chest tighten with pride. He wanted to step forward, to shield him, to make it easy and safe, but he stayed back, letting Sam do this on his own, trusting him. Dean’s green eyes followed every shift, every breath, every hesitant gesture, memorizing the way Sam’s shoulders squared when he spoke, the way his voice trembled then steadied. And when Sam smiled shyly, glancing around as if to check how he should behave, Dean let a low, soft rumble escape his throat - half amusement, half affection, all warning. Damn it, Dean thought, lips twitching into a grin, he looks too damn good trying to be brave… He flexed his claws just a little, imagining the warmth he’d wrap around Sam after this meeting, promising himself that no matter what John thought, Sam would walk back to him untouched, proud, and smiling.

John shifted smoothly onto the grass, settling into a sphinx‑like pose, massive wings folding neatly at his sides so his full size didn’t overwhelm Sam. His scales caught the sunlight, glinting bronze and gold, but his posture was easy, relaxed. “Morning, Sam,” he rumbled, his voice low and steady, almost soothing, carrying no threat. “I’m glad you came. Let’s take our time. No need to be nervous.” His eyes softened as he watched Sam approach, the hint of a smile tugging at the edges of his maw.

Sam shivered involuntarily when he heard John’s voice this close again. It sounded warm and calm, and he nodded at the suggestion of taking it slow while trying to get rid of his nerves.
“I… that’s easier said than done,” he replied with a soft smile. “I mean, I know I don’t have to be afraid. Dean reassured me of that. But I have to get used to this size of yours.”
He looked over his shoulder, catching a supportive glance from Dean, and then turned his attention back on John.
“He told me you’re like a father figure to him. I… I don’t really have a father figure I can look up to, so it probably sounds different to my ears than he meant it. But I’m always willing to learn, you know. And I trust Dean with my life.”

John let out a slow breath, his massive form settled on the grass beside Sam, wings folded in a way that made him seem less imposing. He studied the boy carefully, noting the nervous tug at the corner of Sam’s mouth, the way his hands fiddled with the hem of his tunic. “I can see that,” John rumbled, his deep voice surprisingly gentle. “Trust… that’s a rare thing. And you’ve got it in spades for Dean. That tells me more about you than you might think.” He shifted slightly, careful not to block the sunlight that dappled across Sam’s face. “You’ve got questions. Doubts. Fears. That’s human, that’s normal. And it’s good - good that you’re facing them instead of running. You don’t have to be anything but yourself here. You’ve got my attention, and my ears. I’m not here to judge or to threaten. Just… to understand. And maybe,” he added with a faint grin, “to help you see the man Dean really is, beyond the fire and the smoke.” His eyes softened, and for a long moment, the meadow was quiet except for the whisper of grass in the wind and the slow, steady breath of dragon and human alike, both testing the fragile, new trust growing between them.

Sam watched as John tried to make himself as small as he could, and even though it didn’t take away much of the size difference, Sam appreciated the gesture. He nodded.
“That’s true, I have questions, doubts. And fears. Most of them because I grew up hearing that dragons didn’t exist from everyone around me, but for my father.
My mother…”
Sam stopped for a second, his lips quivering when he mentioned his mother. Was it really wise to talk about that to a dragon? He didn’t know. But he knew that Dean had told him to be himself.
“My mother was killed when I was very young. I didn’t witness her death, but I was always told that she was killed by a… monster. He called dragons monsters.”
Sam looked up from John’s claws to his eyes, his own showing the pain he felt when thinking of his mother and his thirst for the truth.
“Everyone laughed at that, because… dragons didn’t exist. Monsters didn’t exist. Still, my father trained me to fight them. To hunt them. It’s… I think it’s where my fears come from. And my doubts.
I don’t know if Dean told you anything about that?” Sam closed his eyes for a moment.
“It’s why I was trying to hunt that dragon when I fell down the ravine where Dean saved me. I was taught dragons were evil and needed to be hunted. But I know now that I was never a threat to that dragon, but that he could have killed me if he wanted to. And he didn’t. That was when I was starting to doubt what I had been taught about dragons.
And then you brought me here to safety, just because Dean told you I needed it. And by now… I’m confused about many things that had an impact on my life.”
He gave John a crooked smile. “I hope Dean warned you about my rambling.”

John shifted slightly, feeling the grass underfoot and trying to make himself feel smaller, less like the looming figure Sam had grown up fearing and more like a man trying to listen. He looked down at Sam, really looked, and saw the mixture of pain, fear, and tentative trust in his eyes. He cleared his throat, his voice low but steady.

“No, he didn’t warn me,” John said carefully. “And it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you speak it anyway. I can’t pretend to know all the pieces of your life, the fears your father planted in you… the loss you carry. But I can hear you. That counts for something.” He paused, choosing his words with the care of a man who had seen far too much blood and wrongs in his time. “You were taught to fear dragons, to see monsters where they weren’t. But fear doesn’t mean ignorance. It doesn’t mean you’re wrong for feeling what you feel. I can see that you’ve already started learning something else, something truer. And… you’re still standing. That matters more than you know.”
John’s gaze softened, and for a moment, he allowed a hint of respect, even admiration, to flicker in his eyes. “I won’t lie to you - dragons, they’re powerful. But power doesn’t make someone evil. And that dragon you speak of… has spared you, protected you. That says more than any lesson your father ever tried to teach you.” He leaned back on one elbow, letting the sun warm his face, and when he spoke, he spoke without the weight of command or threat. “You’re finding your own path, Sam. And if you trust him… and if you trust yourself, you’ll find your truth along the way. Just don’t be afraid of it.”

Sam listened intently, relaxing a little as he did so. When John said that power didn’t necessarily make evil, his eyes widened.
“You see, John, I grew up experiencing something different. I grew up feeling the power of my father always looming over me. He was an adult, I was a kid. He used me to vent his anger, sometimes in a physical way, sometimes it was words. He used his power over me to keep me small. To make me his… his tool of his anger.
As I said, he kept telling me that a dragon destroyed his life by killing my mother. Years ago. He wanted… wants revenge. Although I’m not sure anymore if he remembers that it was about the person he was supposed to love. He still carries the hatred inside him and lets me feel it every single day. He trained me hard, and if he heard I failed at hunting that dragon in the gorge… he would come after me to punish me for that failure. Yet… I don’t think he would ever get after a dragon himself. On his own.”
Sam stood tall as he told his story. He didn’t want John to think of him as a meek, broken human.
“Since that day in the gorge, since meeting Dean, I have learned so many new things. And they led me here. I don’t want to hunt a dragon when I have never seen them doing anything bad.”
Sam’s voice had become a little louder, and he tried to subdue the anger he could feel welling up as he spoke about his father.
“I think the story my father kept telling me is not true. I think… it was him who was the monster. Then. And still now. And it confuses me. I don’t know what to think or to feel, and my time here with Dean is helping me find my way.”

John listened carefully, letting Sam’s words settle over the tall meadow grasses swaying in the morning sun. He had seen fear, pride, defiance, and vulnerability all wrapped into one human body before, but what struck him now was how the boy had grown in the span of a single day - or perhaps, since meeting Dean. He cleared his throat, choosing his words with care.
“Sam,” he began, voice steady but low, “that dragon you hunted… it was powerful. More powerful than you can imagine. Could’ve ended your life in an instant, and not a soul would have blamed it. But it didn’t. It saved you. Chose to carry you to the healer, to let you live, so that Dean could do his part. That… that is true power. Being so much bigger, stronger, faster, and still choosing kindness over cruelty, mercy over fear. That’s not weakness. That’s not something anyone can teach you - it’s a gift. A dragon like that… it doesn’t kill for sport, and it doesn’t take what it can’t protect.”
John’s gaze softened, and for a moment, the weight of his own failings—of the harshness he had carried in his own past - hovered in the air. “Power doesn’t make evil, Sam. Choice does. And right now, seeing you here, seeing the fire in you and the courage to speak your truth… I think you’re learning what that means. Dean showed it to you. That dragon showed it to you. And you… you’re beginning to understand that strength isn’t just the ability to crush or strike. It’s the ability to hold back, to protect, to care… even when you could do otherwise.”
He let the words hang, hoping they would sink in, hoping they could help the boy see that not all power had to hurt. And in that moment, standing alone with Sam in the open meadow, John realized that sometimes the lessons weren’t in the hunting, weren’t in the fear, but in the kindness that chose to rise above it all.

Sam took in John’s words and listened carefully. He could see the truth in them, felt the truth in them, because he had heard them from Dean as well already.
“I’m trying to be the best human I can be,” he whispered, voice trembling again. “Dean has helped me with that in so many ways already. I’m trying to make him proud, to see that I can overcome what I have learned all my life and be a bigger person.
But sometimes it’s harder than other times. And I wonder why I never had the courage to confront my father. Why I always felt that… obligation to him, even when what he said or made me do felt wrong.
I’m happy with Dean. The happiest I’ve ever been. I don’t ever want to lose him because he is my life.
But I know, one day I will need to face my father, and I will need to hear the truth from him. And I’m scared that if he’s sincere and tells me that it was him… that I can’t keep my calm. I’m afraid I will become him. That’s my biggest fear.
I want to be the bigger man. I think I will need Dean at my side then.”

John studied the young man in front of him, the tremor in his voice, the way his shoulders still carried too much weight for someone his age. It stirred something deep in his chest, an echo of the same burden Dean had carried when John had first talked to him about his mother. He lowered his massive head slightly, so that his gaze met Sam’s without overwhelming him, his voice a low rumble threaded with warmth.
“You won’t become him,” John said firmly, with the conviction of someone who had seen too many sons haunted by the shadows of their fathers. “The very fact that you fear it proves you’re nothing like him. Men who turn cruel don’t stop to question themselves. They don’t care who they hurt. You do. And that’s why you’ll never walk his path.”
The wind carried the scent of wildflowers through the meadow, but John’s focus stayed steady on Sam. “Dean is your anchor, yes. He’ll fight beside you when that day comes. But don’t mistake needing him at your side for weakness. It’s strength to lean on someone when the storm is too much to face alone. That’s what bonds are for.”

He paused, a small huff of smoke curling from his nostrils, softer than a sigh. “You make him proud already, more than you realize. I’ve watched him change since you came into his life. You’ve given him something I never could: a reason to want more than just survival. That, Sam, is no small thing. And it’s why you must trust yourself as much as you trust him.”
Sam remained silent for a bit after John had finished talking. His mind was running a million miles an hour, and he finally looked up. “I see now why Dean counts you as a father. You’re wise, you give advice, and… you care. Dean’s the first person who cares about me unconditionally and unafraid. The people in my village took care of me, too. But they are afraid of my father. They knew what was happening, but nobody ever said or did anything.”
Sam looked over his shoulder back at Dean. “He told me that we share a fate. That we both lost our mothers early in our lives. He understands how it feels. And it’s easy to talk to him about things, exactly because he knows where I’m coming from. I’ve been incredibly lucky to have him find me after my fall.”

John lowered his massive head, the sunlight glinting off the ridges of his scales as he regarded Sam with eyes that had seen centuries come and go. There was no fire in his gaze now, only a depth that spoke of loss, of hard-earned wisdom, and of the weight of carrying others through both. “Aye,” he rumbled, his voice low and steady, vibrating through the meadow grass, “Dean does understand. He carries his scars in silence, but that silence isn’t emptiness - it’s strength. And he’s given it to you because he sees himself in you. Not the pain, son, but the fight. The will to keep standing when the world would rather see you fall.”
John shifted, his wings folding tighter against his back as he bent his head a little closer to Sam, lowering his voice as though sharing something only meant for him. “What you said is true - he cares for you, without condition. That is no small thing for a fireborn, for one who has lived all his life guarding his heart. If you have his love, his trust, then you’ve been given a treasure greater than any hoard I could ever keep.”
He let a faint smile curve his scaled jaw. “And aye, you’ve been lucky. But so has he. Don’t ever think you were only saved, boy. You saved him just as much.”
Sam nodded. “He said as much. But… I don’t really see how he needed saving. Still, I believe him when he says that.” He took a deep breath, eyes on the shimmering scales of the dragon in front of him. It still seemed so unreal that such a massive creature could be so… caring and gentle, but Sam realized that some things just weren’t about size.
“John? Can I ask you something? I mean, you know about fireborns. Why is it that animals are… afraid of them? There was a mountain lion the other day, and as soon as he registered Dean… he retreated. And the same thing happened with a moose.” Sam was curious, and he hoped he hadn’t overstepped his boundaries with this question.

John’s great chest rose and fell in a deep, steady breath, his eyes narrowing slightly in thought as he considered how to put the truth into words a human could carry. “It is not fear in the way you think of it, son,” he rumbled at last, his voice low and warm, carrying across the meadow like distant thunder. “Animals sense what lies beneath the skin of a fireborn. They feel the heat in his blood, the shadow of the fire that marks him. To them, it is the echo of a predator that has walked these lands since before their kind took their first breath. Instinct tells them: This one is dangerous.”
He lowered his head a little, so that the golden slit of his eye caught Sam’s gaze, unblinking but not unkind. “But danger is not always cruelty. The mountain lion, the moose… they retreat because they know they cannot best what Dean carries inside him. It is respect as much as it is wariness. Same as they step back when they see me.”
John’s tail curled loosely in the grass as he added, softer, “You’ve felt it too, haven’t you? That weight he carries? The fireborn walk close to dragons because part of us runs in their veins. It can frighten those who do not understand it. But for you…” he tilted his head slightly, studying Sam with something close to a smile, “for you it is not a warning, but a call. And that, boy, is why you were meant for him.”

“I’ve felt something around him, yes,” Sam replied. “The strongest feeling I had was… connection. It was almost like what they call love at first sight. But deeper. Because that love I felt was foremost non-romantic. I just knew he was a good guy, a terrific friend, and someone I could always count on and rely on. And the romantic part was merely the cherry on top.” Sam blushed a little when he looked at John again. “Thank you for talking to me like this. I feel more relaxed now, and I know it sounds strange because you helped keep me safe by carrying me here. But I think I needed a talk like this, from a father figure, even when it’s not mine. I do wish my father were a lot more like you, though.”
John’s chest rumbled with something softer than a growl, a sound that carried warmth rather than warning. He lowered his head further until his muzzle was almost level with Sam, the great golden eyes narrowing in something like affection. “Your father’s failings are his own, lad,” he said, his voice low, rolling across the meadow like distant thunder. “They do not mark you, nor do they diminish what you are. I have seen too many young men broken by the weight of their sire’s shadow. But you… you are not broken. You’ve chosen a different path, and that choice is yours alone.”
He shifted slightly, the grass bending under the weight of his claws, careful not to disturb Sam’s space more than necessary. “Dean has always longed for someone who sees him for what he is, not what he can give. You do that, without even trying. And in return, he gives you all that he is. That bond you feel? That connection? Do not doubt it - it is real, and rare. Stronger than fear. Stronger than blood.”
A faint huff of smoke curled from his nostrils, but the dragon’s expression was calm, almost wistful. “As for your wish…” He paused, gaze steady. “You’ve no need to trade fathers. You have something greater now: a man who loves you without condition, and a bond that will outlast both of us. Take comfort in that, Sam. It is more than most ever receive.”
Sam dug his teeth into his bottom lip and nodded. “I will. He means the world to me.”
John could hear by his tone alone that Sam was sincere, and he hummed warmly. Sam blinked his eyes and looked right into those of John. “Can I touch your scales again?” he asked. “I liked the way they felt. And… do you want to talk with Dean alone again, or will you just come to the cabin with me now?” A moment later, Sam wondered why he thought John would stay on. Maybe he had somewhere else to be. Maybe there was something else he needed to do. But the question had come naturally to Sam, because it was just the way he was.

John’s big chest rose and fell with a slow, thoughtful breath, his molten eyes softening at the earnestness in Sam’s voice. He means the world to me. The words echoed in John’s head, carrying a truth that warmed even the parts of him hardened by centuries. With a low rumble that was half chuckle, half purr, he dipped his head toward Sam, lowering it until the sun caught along the ridges of his scales.
“Aye, lad. You may touch them. Few ever ask, and fewer still I’d allow. But you…” His gaze lingered on Sam, measuring, approving. “You’ve earned that trust, same as you’ve earned my son’s heart.” The word slipped from him naturally- son - because that’s what he was.
He gave a slow shake of his head, wings rustling softly. “As for Dean, there’s nothing left unsaid between us for now. What you and I spoke about will carry back to him in its own way - he’ll know. And I’ve no pressing call to leave, not today.” John’s gaze swept toward the cabin, then back to Sam. “So if you’ll have me, I’ll walk with you. Or fly, if you’d prefer to see the world from the sky.”
A glint of amusement sparkled in his eyes. “But I warn you, boy - once you’ve seen the world from above, the ground never feels the same.”
Sam beamed and slowly stretched out his hand to rub his fingers over the glimmering scales, which felt hard and flexible at the same time. He found that there was a texture to them that allowed grip and felt smooth as well, which was something Sam had never felt before. “Those scales are amazing,” Sam whispered, fingers continuing to feel them. Then he looked up. “You’re offering me to fly with you? I mean, here? Now? And this time, I can look down and see the lands? That sounds even more amazing. I would really love that.” His eyes were bright and he was smiling from ear to ear.

John huffed a low, rumbling sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, the heat of his breath stirring the tall grass around them. He tilted his head, allowing Sam’s fingers to explore the scales along his jawline, unbothered by the boldness. Few mortals would have dared such a touch; fewer still would have been welcomed to it. “Aye,” he said, voice resonant but warm, “I’ll take you up. You’ve earned the right, and more than that - you’ve the courage for it. The sky is no place for those who doubt their own heart.” His massive wings gave the faintest twitch, catching the light like bronze fire.
He lowered his head further, bringing his golden eye level with Sam, and held him there in that ancient gaze. “But understand this, lad - when you fly with me, you’ll see the world as we do. Vast. Untamed. Free. There’s no hiding in the sky, no fear of your father’s shadow, no walls of any tower. Only truth. If you are ready for that, then climb, and let me show you.” The corner of his maw lifted in something almost like a smile.
Sam’s eyes flashed briefly, and then he nodded resiliently.
“I’m ready,” he confirmed, and when John moved his massive paw slightly, he took the invitation and began climbing.
Of course, John had to help him a little, but soon Sam was seated between his spine spikes, which were ideal to hold on to because they were a lot grippier than they looked. And there were no sharp edges like Sam had thought when he’d seen John the first time.
“I’m ready,” he called down, already so much higher up than he had rarely been. Maybe once, when he had climbed the tallest tree he could find.
“It doesn’t hurt you when I hold on to this spike, right?” he asked. He hadn’t seen whether Dean had held on to them when they’d been flying there because he’d been hidden in John’s claw.

John let out a sound that was half chuckle, half rumble, his chest vibrating beneath Sam’s legs. “Nay, lad, it doesn’t hurt me,” he answered, his voice carrying up with ease. “Those spikes were forged by time and fire to bear more weight than your hands could ever give. They’ve steadied warriors, fireborn, and even my Dean more times than you’d believe. Grip them as hard as you need.”
He angled his head just enough so one molten-gold eye could glance up at Sam, gauging the boy’s nerves and his excitement. “Hold steady, breathe deep, and trust the rhythm. Flying isn’t just about holding on - it’s about feeling the wind, letting it catch you. The first time, it always feels like the world’s dropping out from beneath you. But once your heart finds the sky… you’ll never want to come back down.”
John’s wings unfurled, vast and powerful, catching the sunlight in a shimmer of bronze and flame. The meadow bent under the force of the air they stirred, flowers bowing low, grass rippling like waves. He gave Sam a moment longer, a steady pause before the storm. “Ready yourself, lad,” he rumbled, warmth threading his tone. “Because once we rise, you’ll see why Dean calls the sky his true home.”
Sam gripped the spikes tightly because he knew from the last flight, there would be no gentle acceleration.
“I’m ready. I promise you I won’t give you any trouble,” he called. He might not have ridden a dragon yet, but he had been on wild horses and even a bull once. He had some idea about what John meant by feeling the wind and trusting the rhythm.
Grabbing the spikes tightly, Sam looked over to the cabin, to Dean, and he was sure their eyes locked. He smiled, and despite the long distance, he knew Dean was aware of what was going on and smiling back.

John felt the subtle shift through the spikes, the way Sam’s hands trembled not from fear but anticipation, and it tugged at something deep within him. He spread his wings wide, their shadow sweeping over the meadow, and tilted his head just enough to catch Dean standing by the cabin. The boy was watching, his stance taut with worry and pride both, the kind only a man in love carried. John rumbled low in his chest - half reassurance for Dean, half a reminder to himself. He’s safe with me. I’ll bring him back to you.

“Good,” John said, his voice carrying in the air as his great body coiled with power. “Trust the wind, lad. It will take more care of you than strength ever could. Don’t fight it. Lean with it, feel it. You’ll see.” His claws dug into the earth, the meadow quivering beneath him. “And don’t look down until you’ve tasted the sky. Once you do, fear loses its teeth.”
He launched upward with a single thrust of his wings, the air booming around them. The wind howled, caught beneath his wings, rushing against his scales, against Sam’s grip. And as they soared higher, John felt it - that spark of awe, the moment when fear bent its head to wonder. A moment he remembered from Dean’s mother’s first ride, long ago. And with a rumble that might have been laughter, John thought, Yes. He was meant for this.

Sam anticipated John’s lift off like he’d done this countless times. He knew to relax his body to ride the ripples and lean with the steed’s movements. Only this time it wasn’t a horse or a bull, but a dragon.
John gained height quite quickly and soared through the air, skywards, like being pulled and guided by an invisible force. Sam remembered not to look down right away, so he looked up into the clouds that rushed closer at a rapid pace.
The first time John caught a low cloud, Sam laughed because it felt somewhat ticklish to fly through it. And once they were back out, he took a careful glance downward, and his breath caught.
For the first time, Sam saw the wide vastness of land that he had no idea existed like this. The horizon was a lot further than from even the highest tree, and still, Sam couldn’t see any end to the land.
“Wow,” he gasped, almost forgetting to hold on, but a slight shift in John’s body quickly reminded him to feel the wind and move with it. So that’s what Sam did.

John felt the boy’s awe ripple down through his spine, the way his body tensed and then loosened again as instinct finally caught hold. He remembered that sensation - the first time a human truly understood the sky, not as something distant or painted above their heads, but as a living place, wild and boundless. Sam’s laughter when they’d broken through the cloud made something deep in John’s chest stir, an old warmth that had nothing to do with fire. Dean chose well, he thought.
He tilted one wing, letting the air catch just right, bringing them into a long, sweeping glide where Sam could see the rivers glint like silver threads far below, villages no bigger than grains of sand, and forests rolling like waves of green. John’s great heart rumbled in satisfaction at the boy’s gasp. “Yes,” he called back, his voice carrying easily over the wind, “that feeling - remember it. The world is wider than fear would have you believe. Bigger than your father’s shadow. And you are part of it now, Sam. No cage, no tower. Just this.”
John angled them higher again, letting Sam taste the strength of the currents, before softening his voice. “This is the view Dean has always wanted you to see. The proof that freedom is real, if you dare to take it.”
“I never imagined everything being so large and so tiny at the same time,” Sam called back, referring to the vastness of the land and the size of it from the view above. He just didn’t know where to look first because it was just incredible for him.
When John turned again with the wind, Sam cheered because it made the pit of his stomach tingle with excitement.

“I don’t know if Dean told you that my father trained me for hunting dragons. And of course I never saw one… until that day. But I would often lie in the grass and watch the sky after I was done training and imagine how it would be up there in the sky if dragons were real.
And I can tell you now, it exceeds my imagination by… by miles upon miles. I’m gobsmacked by how awesome this is, and sitting here between your spikes? It feels as safe as can be. I’m not even sliding around at all.”
John’s chest rumbled with a deep, rolling sound - part chuckle, part contentment - as the wind carried Sam’s laughter back to him. His huge wings adjusted their angle, gliding them effortlessly over the meadow, the rivers flashing like silver threads far below. “That’s the truth of it, lad,” he called back, his voice carried strong on the rushing air. “The world always feels bigger once you see it from above. Makes your troubles look smaller, don’t it?”
He glanced at Sam with one golden eye, a flicker of pride in his gaze at how well the boy held himself, unafraid. “Your father may have trained you for killing,” John went on, quieter now, his tone low enough that only Sam could hear over the wind, “but he could not train out your heart. That’s why you looked at the sky with wonder instead of anger. That’s why you sit here now, safe between my scales, instead of wishing me dead.”
John tilted his head slightly, banking them toward the sun, letting the light warm Sam’s face. “Remember this feeling. The vastness. The freedom. It will serve you better than any bow or arrow your father ever placed in your hand.”
He let out another low, pleased rumble, a dragon’s smile curling in his voice. “And don’t worry about sliding, boy. You’re not going anywhere while you’re under my watch.”
“Oh, I’m not worried,” Sam replied. “You may be a lot bigger than the bulls I sat on, and the sky isn’t a pasture at all, but unlike the bull, you’re not trying to get rid of me.
It’s a pity Dean didn’t come to fly with, but I’m sure he’s going to ask me about every turn you took.”
He looked around, taking the landscape in, still in awe.
“Can we fly up towards that mountain top? I always wanted to be on top of one, but… they were too far to go there.”

John rumbled with deep laughter, the sound carrying through the open meadow like distant thunder. “You’ve a sharper tongue than I expected, lad,” he said, amused, though his golden eyes softened as they flicked back to Sam perched between his shoulders. “Dean wasn’t wrong - you’re braver than you give yourself credit for. Most men can’t string a sentence together when they’re this close to dragon hide, much less ask for a mountain tour.”
He adjusted his stance, wings flexing once before settling again, powerful muscles shifting beneath scales. “Aye, I can take you there,” he said, nodding toward the jagged peaks gleaming in the sun. “But mind this - flying higher isn’t the same as grazing a meadow. The air thins, the wind cuts sharper, and the world below shrinks until it feels like you’re standing at the edge of forever. If you think your heart can take it, then I’ll carry you up.”
John’s gaze lingered forward for a moment, thoughtful. “Dean will be jealous, you know. That mountain peak is where he first learned what it means to carry another’s weight and not falter. And after internalizing that, how to ride a dragon. If he asks me why I took you there, I’ll tell him it’s because you needed to see what he once saw - to understand him better.”
He tilted his great head just enough that one eye caught Sam again. “So, lad… shall we see how high your courage flies?”

Sam laughed, and he wasn’t sure whether the tears running from his eyes were from laughter or from the rush of the wind. He decided it was the laughter and wiped them away.
“If you don’t mind me asking, what did you expect from me, if it wasn’t a sharp tongue?”
He looked at the peaks John had nodded towards and contemplated his words.
“So what must I look out for then, when we fly higher? How does the thinner air feel for me, and is there anything I should let you know about if it happens?
And what do you mean that’s where Dean learned what it meant to carry?”
Sam’s natural curiosity came forward, undisguised and open. He knew he’d been wary and tentative at first, but he felt safe with John, and he knew Dean trusted him. And by now, he could feel why that was the case.
John’s chest rumbled with something close to amusement, though it came out like distant thunder. He tilted his head, angling one golden eye toward Sam as they cut through the air, his great wings steady as mountains beneath the sky. “A sharp tongue, lad, is no failing. Steel is steel, whether it’s forged into a blade or tempered into words. What I expected from you was honesty. And that,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching in something almost like a smile, “you’ve given me in abundance.”
He angled upward slightly, the air shifting colder as they climbed. “As for flying higher - aye, the air thins. To you, it’ll feel like your chest is bound, breath harder to catch, like you’ve run too far too fast. Tell me if your sight dims, or if your head spins too much. There’s no shame in it. A dragon’s body was made for this height. A human’s was not.”

His voice softened then, thoughtful. “And what I meant about Dean…” His wings dipped a little, as if the memory had weight. “He learned it here. On my back. I carried him to these peaks when he was younger, when his grief was fresh, when he didn’t know where to put the weight of it. He learned what it meant to be held aloft when all he wanted was to fall. And in time, he learned to carry others the same way.”
John’s gaze flicked to Sam, sharp but kind. “That’s what he does for you now. Carries you without complaint, because someone once carried him.”
Sam blinked his eyes as John’s words sank in. The grief of losing his mother had to have taken a toll on him, as it had on Sam himself. Sam hadn’t been aware that he’d known John back then already.
“I understand,” he mumbled. “I know he lost his mother early. But I don’t know how old he was. I was almost few weeks short of being three when it happened. I… I remember hearing screams and shouts, and I was unable to move, like frozen. And after that… I don’t know what happened. It’s a blur, really. But I know that it was then that I started fearing my father.”
Sam fell silent and shook his head involuntarily. He didn’t know why he told John, but it was too late now. Taking a deep breath, Sam picked up on what John told him about thin air. “I will tell you if I get dizzy or too cold or if I get short of breath. But I hope I can withstand it, because I really want to be on that mountain.”

John’s wings beat slow and steady as he brought them higher, the air thinning and crisp around them. His massive head tilted just slightly, golden eyes narrowing with thought as Sam’s words rattled inside him. There was something there - something familiar. A memory tugging at him like a thread just out of reach. The mention of screams, the age, the fear of a father… it pressed against an old wound in John’s mind.

He landed carefully atop the mountain, folding his wings in close so the gust wouldn’t bowl Sam over, then lowered his head until his gaze met the young man’s directly. His voice, when it came, was gentler than before, careful, as though trying not to scare off a truth he wasn’t sure he wanted. “Sam… when you say you were nearly three, when your mother was taken from you - do you remember how it happened? Did anyone ever tell you the truth of it? Fire? Battle? Or was she just… gone, without answer?”
His eyes studied Sam intently, the suspicion gnawing quietly at his chest. Could it be? No, the thought was too wild. Too dangerous. Yet the details matched too closely to be ignored. He lowered his voice further, rumbling deep like distant thunder. “Think hard, lad. Any detail, no matter how small, might matter more than you know.”
When they landed on top of the mountain, Sam’s eyes were wide with wonder. He could feel what John had said, the thin air making it hard to breathe and making his heart pump faster. But he didn’t feel dizzy or faint, and his vision remained perfectly normal.
And he could see why this was a spot anyone would want to see. It was spectacular. Looking around, Sam took in the view and the ice around them, without even feeling the cold.

And then he registered that John had spoken to him. He blinked his eyes, focusing, because he sensed that this was important. He shook his head. “I was in my room. It was bedtime. My mother had tucked me in and then left the room. I heard my father come home. For a while, everything was normal. And then there were loud voices. They argued. I heard… I heard her scream.” Sam’s voice had become very soft when he thought back. He shuddered. “I think she screamed my name at some point. I… was frozen to where I was in my bed. There… there was no fire, and no battle unless you mean them… screaming. Suddenly, things had become quiet. But I still didn’t dare to move. I don’t know how long I stayed in my bed, frozen with fear, and when my father came to look after me, I screamed for my mother. He told me… he told me to be quiet. And that she wouldn’t come anyway because a dragon killed her.”

John went very still, the mountain wind whipping around his horns and wings, but he barely noticed it. Sam’s words struck deeper than he cared to admit, each detail peeling open memories he’d buried long ago. The silence after the scream. The child frozen in fear. The lie - always the lie. His heart, ancient and scarred though it was, clenched as he studied the young man before him. Too familiar. Far too familiar.

His voice came out low, softer than before, though there was a tremor beneath it that betrayed the weight pressing down on him. “Sam…” he began, almost hesitant, and it wasn’t often that John hesitated. He drew in a slow breath, smoke curling faintly from his nostrils before he forced it down. He had to know. He needed to know. “Tell me, lad… how many years have you walked this earth? How old are you now?”
His gaze fixed on Sam, unwavering, though his mind was a storm. If the truth lined up with what his heart already feared, then fate had been crueler - and stranger - than even he had ever imagined.

Sam blinked his eyes, like he had to think about John’s question. He shivered because by now the cold was biting on his skin, but his mind didn’t notice it.
“How old? When we last celebrated Bealtaine, I turned 24 years.”
He licked his lips. It hadn’t been that long ago, but it felt like so much had happened thereafter. And it had. His father had taken on the job towns over, and eventually Sam had ended up chasing a dragon and falling almost to his death.

John studied him closely, the lines of his great jaw tightening as he let the answer settle. Twenty-four. The age fit. The timing fit. His chest ached with the weight of suspicion that had been gnawing at him since the boy had talked about his past. He lowered his head further, his breath stirring the grass as he spoke in a tone softer than one would expect from a creature his size.

“Aye… twenty-four.” His eyes narrowed just slightly, not in anger but in thought. “That’s the age I feared I might hear. The pieces fall into place, near enough, but I cannot speak it true unless I know more.”

His tail shifted behind him, restless, as he leaned closer still. “Tell me, lad… your full name. Not the one spoken in jest, not what your father called you when his temper ran sharp. The name your mother gave you. And her name - what was it?”
His gaze softened, though the golden fire still glowed deep within. “Don’t be afraid to speak it. Mothers’ names are not meant to be forgotten. They are the first gift we carry, and the last truth we leave behind.”
He waited, the meadow hushed, the answer poised to either confirm the fear clawing at his heart - or to ease it.

Sam was puzzled. Ever since they had landed on top of the mountain, John had asked things that made him go back in time and memory. Yet he couldn’t imagine what they meant for the dragon. Why they seemed important. Sam licked his lips. “My name?” he asked with a frown. “My name is Sam. My father… he always called me Sam. Only when he was angry and wanted to make me small, did he call me Sammy. I… hated it. Until Dean called me Sammy. It has a totally different ring to it then. When… before that night, my mother called me Samuel. Every time she told me that she loved me, she called me Samuel. And her name… her name was Mary.” Sam whispered the last words, like he was afraid he’d lose them when speaking them loudly. He lifted his eyes to look into John’s golden ones, and another shiver ran through his body. “Why do you want to know?”

For a long moment, John could only stare, every muscle in his vast frame locking as if he’d been struck by a blade of lightning instead of words. Mary. The sound of that name on Sam’s lips cracked something inside him that he hadn’t let move in decades. Her face rose in his memory - soft, kind, laughing in the firelight - and the weight of it threatened to knock the air from his lungs. And then the boy’s name - Samuel - echoed against it, heavy with fate.

John drew back slightly, his eyes narrowing not in anger but in shock, in desperate need to steady himself. He forced his voice gentle, careful, though it trembled beneath the surface. “Sam,” he said slowly, “I cannot answer you now. Not here. Not yet. There are truths in your words that…” he exhaled, wings rustling restlessly against his sides, “…that I must speak with Dean about first. Urgently.”

He lowered his great head until his golden eyes were level with Sam’s, letting him see the raw sincerity there. “I ask your understanding, lad. I will not leave you in the dark forever. You have my word as fire and as blood - I will tell you, and I will answer everything you ask me. But first… I must speak with Dean.”
With a faint rumble that was almost like a sigh, John pulled back, his gaze flickering once more toward the cabin where Dean waited. “Hold steady a while longer. Trust him. Trust me. And when we return, you’ll have the truth.”

Sam blinked, at a complete loss of understanding what was happening. This dragon, John, asked him questions and then told him riddles and asked for trust.
Somehow, instead of feeling angry, Sam felt that he did trust the dragon. Slowly, he nodded.
While he didn’t understand why John needed to talk to Dean about something that happened in his childhood, he knew that this dragon meant him no harm. “I trust Dean. He knows that. And I know he trusts you. So, in turn, I trust you,” he replied. “Where are we going? Or where are you going? I’m a bit confused, I admit. But… I trust you, John.”
John exhaled, a deep, resonant sound that stirred the grass around them, and lowered his head until his molten eyes were level with Sam’s. “I owe you an apology, lad,” he rumbled, his tone solemn and heavy with sincerity. “I’ve spoken in circles when you deserved clarity. It was not my intent to confuse you, only to protect what must be said between Dean and me first. I will not keep you in the dark forever. Once I’ve spoken to him, I swear it - you may ask what you will, and I will answer with no more riddles.”
He paused, watching the uncertainty flicker across Sam’s face, and softened his voice. “You’ve given me your trust freely, and that is no small gift. I will honor it.”

Shifting his massive shoulders, John lowered his body to the earth, wings spreading slightly so the sunlight caught along the leathery edges. “Come then. Dean waits for us, and I think you’ve been away from him long enough. He frets when you’re not close, though he’ll never admit it outright.” The corner of his scaled mouth almost looked like it curved in a knowing smile.
“Climb on, lad. Hold tight. I’ll take you back to the cabin.”
Sam blinked his eyes for a moment, feeling like he was missing a vital piece, but he could feel that John was sincere and genuine. So he climbed back up to sit where he’d been sitting before, holding on tightly.
He was looking forward to flying again, but his mind was still trying to figure out what he had said that had led to John asking those questions and what in his answers had made him have to talk to Dean.
“I’m ready,” he replied, and when John lifted off, Sam rode the winds on the dragon like he had done it many times already. A smile spread across his face, but otherwise he remained quiet.

~~~~~~

Dean stepped out from the cabin as soon as he heard the heavy thrum of wings cutting through the air, his gut tightening instinctively at the sight of John’s massive form settling down in the meadow. Relief flickered through him when he saw Sam perched steady on his back, hair whipping wild in the wind but wearing that crooked little smile that always managed to undo Dean. He moved fast to meet them halfway, boots sinking slightly in the grass, his eyes scanning Sam quickly - whole, safe, flushed but not afraid.

Before he could say much more than, “You good, Sammy?” John’s voice rumbled over them, commanding and heavy with something urgent. Dean, I need to speak with you - But then John’s head snapped east, wings twitching, his massive body going rigid. Dean felt the shift immediately, the sudden weight of something larger than them pressing down on the air.

“The flight,” John growled, eyes narrowing, “the Council calls for its leader.” His gaze softened again, briefly, as it landed on Dean and then Sam. “I cannot ignore it. Not now. But I will return - soon. And when I do, the two of you will hear what must be spoken.”
And just like that, with a great push of his wings, John launched back into the sky, vanishing into the distance before Dean could get a single word out.

Dean stood frozen in the meadow, jaw clenched, watching the sky ripple empty again. “The hell was that about?” he muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face. He glanced sideways at Sam, who looked just as bewildered. “I mean… one minute he wants a word, the next he’s off like the world’s on fire. And what the hell did you two even talk about out there?”
His chest tightened, not with anger, but with the gnawing sense that something big - bigger than even John - was moving, and he was standing in the middle of it without a map. He exhaled, long and low, before reaching for Sam’s hand. “Guess we’re both missing pieces here.”

When he had climbed off John’s back, Sam had seen the love and concern for him, heard it in Dean’s question. And then many things seemed to happen simultaneously.
John telling Dean he needed to talk, only to take off because the council had called him - just how? Sam hadn’t heard a thing. Blinking his eyes, Sam nodded. “I’m good, flying is amazing, but this now? I don’t know what happened. We talked about things, and suddenly he asked if I remembered more about how my mother was killed. And my age. My name. HER name. And I have no idea what happened then, but he said he needed to talk to you, and that’s when we headed back.” Sam looked into Dean’s green eyes. “I honestly don’t know what happened, Dean.”
Dean’s gut clenched as he listened, though he forced himself to keep his face steady, calm. He reached out and cupped Sam’s cheek, thumb brushing lightly across his skin, like he needed that touch as much as Sam did. “Hey… it’s alright,” he said softly, though his mind was already racing. John wouldn’t have pressed Sam without a reason. Names. Dates. His mother. That wasn’t casual talk - it meant something, and Dean knew his father well enough to know it had shaken him.

“Don’t beat yourself up over it, Sammy. If you don’t know, you don’t. That’s not on you.” His voice dropped lower, his thumb still stroking Sam’s cheek as his eyes flicked over his face with quiet concern. “What matters is you’re here. With me. Whatever John thinks he’s found, we’ll sort it out together. You’re not facing it alone.”
Dean pressed a kiss to his temple, lingering there a moment, trying to soothe the unease coiled between them. Inside, though, fire stirred in his chest - restless, protective, a little afraid of what John might have pieced together. Sam’s past mattered. More than Sam even knew. But for now, all Dean cared about was keeping him steady. “You’re safe, Sam. That’s all you need to hold onto right now.”
Sam wrapped his arms around Dean, leaning into him. When Dean pressed the kiss to his temple, Sam shivered.
“Flying was wonderful,” he mumbled. “And talking with John was good as well. I think I needed that to experience a dragon firsthand, apart from what you told me.”
He stepped back, glancing into Dean’s eyes.
“So, how was it for you while I talked and flew with John? He said if I’m away too long, you’ll fret.”
A soft grin played around Sam’s lips as he waited for Dean’s answer.

Dean let out a low huff, the kind that was halfway between a laugh and a growl, and slid his arms more firmly around Sam’s waist, holding him close like he’d been missing him for days instead of hours. “Fret? Pfft. That old lizard doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” he said, though the faint flush at the tips of his ears betrayed him. He nuzzled against Sam’s hair, breathing him in, grounding himself in the scent and the warmth he’d been aching for. “Okay, maybe I fretted a little. Watching you fly with him was… strange. Part of me was proud as hell, seeing you up there, fearless. And part of me was pacing the whole time, thinking what if he flies too fast, what if Sam slips, what if…” Dean cut himself off, shaking his head with a wry grin.
He leaned back just enough to look Sam squarely in the eyes, green flecked with gold in the fading light. “Truth is, غhràidh, I don’t like letting you out of my sight. Not ‘cause I don’t trust you, but because I can’t shake the thought that the world could try to take you from me. And yeah, maybe that makes me a little overprotective.” His thumb brushed Sam’s cheek, softening the words with touch. “But seeing you come back, smiling like this, telling me it was good… that makes the fretting worth it.”
Dean smirked faintly, leaning down to kiss him again, slow and sure. “Besides, now I get to remind you who your favorite dragon is.”
“Oh?” Sam replied, mischievously. “Who’s that?” He laughed.

“If you’re talking about the one that frets when I’m away, that holds me close and makes me see stars, that takes me swimming and scares away the mountain lions, then I think we’re talking about one and the same.”
He leaned forward and kissed Dean’s lips.
“So… is there any way to know when John will be back? Or can council things take a while, and we can enjoy each other’s company while trying to figure out why flying on the back of a dragon is exhilarating?”
Dean chuckled into the kiss, his hand sliding up to rest on the back of Sam’s neck, keeping him close for just a second longer before letting him go. “Yeah, sounds like we’re talking about the same guy,” he teased, his grin softening into something almost shy as his thumb brushed lightly against Sam’s jaw. At Sam’s question, Dean leaned back, rubbing his neck with a sigh. “ These Council things? Trust me, they can drag on longer than winter. Could be hours, could be days before John’s back. Which means…” He tilted his head, eyes glinting with mischief, “We’ve got time to ourselves. Enough to do more than just talk about stuff.” He smirked, leaning in close again.
“I see,” Sam replied. “Time sounds promising. Were you really worried I might slide off from between those mighty spine scales? They feel amazing, by the way. Cool and smooth, and yet grippy. Never once thought I would slip.” Sam’s beam was back, and it warmed Dean to see it. Then Sam looked at him intently. “John told me he carried you up there once. And he said it was part of why you’re now so willing to carry me if needed.” His hazel eyes were wide and trusting when he looked at Dean, and he reached out to thread his fingers through Dean’s hair.

Dean let out a soft laugh, leaning into Sam’s touch like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Yeah, he did,” he admitted, voice low, honest. “I was younger then, still figuring out what it meant to trust someone that much. Hanging on to him felt like clinging to a mountain that could just… decide to shake you off. But he never let me fall. Not once.” He caught Sam’s hand gently and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, his eyes glowing faintly in the sunlight. “Guess that stuck with me. And now? Carrying you - it isn’t a burden, Sammy. It’s a choice. My choice. And I’d do it a thousand times over, scales or no scales.”
Sam watched Dean with big eyes for a brief while. The way he spoke about him, looked at him, Sam felt like the most precious thing in the world. And it healed something inside him that he hadn’t realized needed healing.
“You’re amazing, fireborn,” he finally said. “I’m really happy to have found you, and I just wish we had met sooner.”
Sam licked his lips.
“Do you remember how old you were when John brought you up there the first time? Weren’t your parents scared? Or was that… was it after your mother passed?”

Dean shifted a little, his eyes softening as Sam’s question pulled him back to a place he didn’t often let himself go. “Yeah… it was after,” he said quietly, thumb tracing along Sam’s hand as though the motion anchored him in the present. “I can’t remember exactly how old I was - maybe four or… five? The years after she passed are… kind of a blur, and I was still so young. But I know it wasn’t long. A year or two, maybe.” He swallowed, his jaw working for a moment before he added, “I was lost. My dad didn’t know what to do with my grief, so he just… he gave me something solid again. A place I could breathe without feeling like the world was falling apart. And he did that through John.” He looked at Sam then, gaze steady, raw. “That’s why I get it. Losing her. Feeling like everything’s been ripped out from under you. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone… but it makes me understand you, more than I ever thought I’d understand anyone.”
Sam pressed his lips together, nodding. And then he hugged Dean fiercely.
“I know you know the feeling. And I’m so very sorry for your loss. I can imagine how it must have pulled the rug right out from under your feet.”
He squeezed him tightly once more and then relaxed his grip.
“We both know how it feels, and I don’t think any child should have to grow up without their mother or… father.”
He hesitated for a moment before saying father. But he knew his experience wasn’t everyone else’s, so losing a father could also be very traumatic.

Dean wrapped his arms around Sam in return, holding him close, letting the strength of his embrace speak where words might falter. He buried his face briefly in Sam’s hair, breathing him in, steadying himself on the warmth only Sam ever seemed to bring out in him. “Yeah,” he murmured, voice low and rough, “losing ‘em like that… it leaves a hole nothing ever really fills. You learn to live around it, but it never goes away.” He pulled back just enough to look Sam in the eye, brushing a thumb over his cheek. “But you’re right. No kid should have to go through that. And if I can help it, you’re never gonna feel that kind of loss again - not while I’m around.” His jaw tightened, then softened again as he added, quieter, “You’re not alone anymore, Sammy. You’ve got me.”
“I know,” Sam whispered, sinking into Dean’s strength and warmth. He felt safe and secure and knew he wanted to feel that way every day, and he wanted to provide Dean with the same feeling.
“Dean? When I was flying with John, I spotted a mountain cliff nearby where one should be able to overlook the valley below. Can we hike there and have another picnic, while enjoying the view?”
They could have each other all to themselves while getting a view that was maybe a little bit like watching the earth below while flying.

Dean smiled into Sam’s hair, the request tugging something warm and easy out of him. “A picnic on a cliff, huh?” he said, brushing his thumb along Sam’s side. “Sounds like you’re trying to spoil me now.” He leaned back enough to catch Sam’s eyes, his grin turning softer. “Yeah, we can do that. We’ll pack flatbread, maybe some of those berries you love so much, and plenty of coffee - since apparently I’m not allowed to face the day without it.” He kissed Sam’s temple, his voice dropping lower. “And yeah, I like the idea of just us, no interruptions. A view from above, only this time it’s the earth watching us.”
Sam smiled broadly, clearly happy.
“Great, then… shall we pack? I guess I’m rather impatient. And, I have to admit, to share a view like that with you sounds too good to pass on.”
He kissed Dean quickly and then hurried into the cabin to prepare everything they needed for the picnic.
Once they had everything ready, Sam’s eyes widened, and he dashed to the bedroom to grab a big pillow.
“This is for comfort, my dragon,” he explained. “And maybe for more cloud finding. There have to be more shapes there besides dragons.”
Dean leaned against the doorframe, watching Sam with that pillow tucked under his arm like it was the crown jewel of their little outing, and he couldn’t help but laugh. “Comfort, huh? You really are spoiling me, Sammy,” he said, shaking his head with a grin. “But I’m not complaining. If it means I get to lie back with you under the sky, I’ll carry that pillow myself like it’s a damn treasure chest.” He reached out, brushing a kiss across Sam’s temple as he took the bundle of food from his hands. “Clouds, dragons, castles… whatever you want to see, غhràidh. I’m just glad I get to see it with you.”
Sam laughed.
“I like it when you call me غhràidh, you know?” he said affectionately. “It sounds so special.”
Then he handed Dean the pillow. “There you go, carry your treasure, fireborn. And I’ll carry the remaining picnic accessories.
“Ready when you are. You want me to lead, or do you know the cliff I saw?”
Sam was already out the door, waiting for Dean’s answer. He was genuinely excited to go to the cliff with Dean, and his feet itched to get moving.

Dean followed him out, the sunlight catching on Sam’s hair as he stepped into the open, and for a second Dean just stood there, pillow under his arm, struck dumb by how damn alive Sam looked. “You kidding?” he called after him with a grin, catching up easily. “I’d follow you anywhere, غhràidh. Lead the way - just don’t get too far ahead or I’ll have to throw you over my shoulder again, picnic gear and all.” He bumped Sam’s shoulder lightly as they walked, voice dropping softer for just a moment. “And yeah… it is special. Because you are.”
Sam looked back over his shoulder, flashing Dean a stunning smile.
“I think you’re already busy carrying the pillow for us. You can try to catch me when we’re on the cliff.”
His step held a spring with it, and like he’d walked the path a hundred times, Sam unerringly found his way through the trees and clearings toward the cliff.
“And just in case you need to hear it, غhràidh, you are special yourself.”
Sam’s step quickened but was always steady and sure. He knew exactly what he wanted to do at the cliff, and if he wasn’t mistaken, Dean knew it as well.

Dean’s chest tightened at the way Sam’s smile hit him - bright, unshakable, like sunlight breaking through a storm. He followed a few steps behind, letting Sam take the lead, but his eyes never left him, watching the sure way he moved toward the cliff. “So you think I’m special?” Dean called after him, his voice roughened with affection. “Careful, Sammy. You keep talkin’ like that and I’m gonna start thinkin’ you actually mean it.” His lips tugged into a crooked grin, but beneath it, his heart beat heavy with something deeper. He

know what Sam wanted out there - he’d felt it in the bond already, humming like an unspoken promise. And damn if it didn’t make him want to scoop Sam up right there and never let him go.

“Oh, you better believe that I mean it,” Sam called back. He kept leading the way for about another quarter of an hour when finally the trees thinned and opened up to reveal a rocky, grass and moss-covered plateau that ended with the sharp drop of the cliff.
“This is it, Dean. Doesn’t it look perfect? The view is amazing already!” On an even, mossy patch, Sam dropped the basket and walked closer to the edge, holding his breath at the sight.
“This is stunning, but not quite as stunning as you.”
Dean let out a low whistle, stepping up behind Sam, his boots crunching over the moss as he took in the vast view of rolling hills and endless sky stretching out from the cliff’s edge. “Damn, Sammy,” he murmured, eyes flicking between the horizon and the way the wind caught in Sam’s hair, “It’s… yeah. Pretty damn perfect.” He moved closer, sliding an arm around Sam’s waist and pulling him gently back from the edge, smirking. “But don’t think flattery’s gonna distract me from making sure you don’t tumble off this cliff. You’re not allowed to compete with the view, got it?” He pressed a kiss against Sam’s temple, voice softening. “Still… I’ll give you this - you’re the most stunning thing out here.”
Sam shivered when Dean wrapped his arms around him, leaning back ever so slightly. The view was clearly breathtaking, but Dean’s words were even more so. Sam could feel the butterflies in his stomach starting up again, and he couldn’t stop smiling. “I would never dream of competing with the cliff, غhràidh. I don’t have wings. Otherwise, I might just do that. But I’m enjoying being with you too much to risk it.” Then he turned in the embrace to face Dean. “But I have to correct you, because the most stunning thing out here is YOU. At least from where I’m standing.”
Dean let out a soft laugh, the kind that rumbled low in his chest, and shook his head like Sam had just said the most ridiculous thing—but his eyes gave him away, glowing warmer, softer, because the words hit home in a place he usually kept locked tight. “You’re gonna kill me with that sweetness one day,” he murmured, leaning down to brush his lips against Sam’s forehead before resting there a moment. “Out here, it’s all cliffs and sky and endless views, yeah. But you? You’re the only thing I can’t stop looking at. Doesn’t matter if I had a thousand wings and all the horizons to chase - I’d still come right back here, to you.”

The smile Sam gave Dean could melt a block of ice, and their eyes locked for a long while as they seemed to hold a silent conversation.
Finally, Sam opened his lips slightly and kissed Dean tenderly.
“Maybe, at some point, we can fly together on John’s back. Would that work?”
Sam saw no reason why it wouldn’t work, and it sounded like a great thing to do if John was willing.
“Then you wouldn’t have to come back to me because we’d be together.”
Dean’s breath caught, and for a second, he just stared at Sam, torn between laughing and groaning at how damn innocent and sweet he could be. “You’ve got no idea how dangerous it is when you talk like that,” he said softly, brushing a thumb across Sam’s cheek. “Flying’s not just wind and sky, Sammy - it’s trust. It’s giving yourself up to something bigger, something that can’t be controlled.” His lips quirked into a smile, tender and a little mischievous. “But yeah… if John’s willing, I’d take you up there. Hold on to you so tight, you’d never doubt for a second you were safe. And you’d see what I see when I look at you under all this sky - everything.”
Sam studied Dean’s face for a moment. “I did feel safe when I flew with John,” he replied. “I know you trust him. I know you trust him with me. But you still worried, right? If I’d slipped, I’m sure John would have caught me. I know that you know he would have caught me. And still you worry. You fret. And that makes you so damned attractive, oh, fireborn. Because the only one you really trust with me, all the way, is you.” He smiled and hugged Dean tighter. “You’re everything to me, you know that? Everything!”
Dean let out a rough breath, his arms tightening instinctively around Sam like he could shield him from every danger just by holding on. “Yeah, you’re damn right I worried,” he admitted, voice low but steady. “I don’t care if it’s John, or the gods themselves - no one’s gonna guard you the way I will. No one knows how to catch you like I do.” He leaned back just enough to look Sam in the eye, the gold flickering there like embers. “You say I’m everything, but, Sammy… you’re the only thing that makes me want to be everything. Without you, all I am is fire and stone. With you? I’m alive.” He pressed a kiss to the tip of Sam’s nose, lingering there, his voice softening to a whisper. “So yeah, you’re mine to worry about. Always.”

Sam understood that telling Dean not to worry wouldn’t work. So he appreciated it.
“I like having you being my guardian in some way. I appreciate your worry, and I know it means more than I can ever put into words.”
He kissed Dean carefully and thoroughly and then glanced at the basket and the pillow.
“Should we get our picnic spot ready and then… cuddle and watch the sky?” Sam was already smiling at the thought because any kind of fun relaxation with Dean sounded like a perfect thing to do.
Dean’s grin spread slowly and easily, the kind that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Cuddling and sky-watching, huh? Careful, Sammy, you keep suggesting things like that and I’m gonna start thinking you’re trying to seduce me.” He leaned in, stealing another kiss, this one quick but full of heat, before tugging the basket closer with one hand. “Yeah, let’s do it. You get the blanket set, I’ll handle the food. Then we’ll just… sit here, under all this open sky, and pretend the world doesn’t need us for a while.” His gaze lingered on Sam, soft and steady. “Sounds pretty perfect to me.”

Sam spread out the blanket and then looked at Dean, deadpan.
“I didn’t know I had to try to seduce you,” he replied, but was unable to keep a straight face. The second the last word had left his lips, he broke into a big smile.
“Ah, of course I’m trying to seduce you. I always will. Because I just love the way you look at me then. And I love where this usually ends.”
He grinned again and bent down to pull the blanket straight before arranging the pillow and settling right in the middle. He stretched out and gazed into the sky before patting the blanket right next to him.
“Come here, my dragon. Let’s sky gaze and kiss.”
Dean barked a laugh, shaking his head as he set the basket down and toed off his boots. “So you did, huh? Newsflash, Sammy - you don’t even have to try. One smile from you and I’m already a goner.” He dropped down onto the blanket beside him, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look at Sam instead of the sky. “Though I gotta admit, the kissing part’s a hell of a bonus.” With that, he leaned in, catching Sam’s lips in a kiss that was slow, sweet, and just a little hungry - like he was tasting the promise of everything Sam had just said. Pulling back, he smirked. “Sky’s beautiful, but I’d rather watch you.”
Sam gave a nervous little laugh, eyes on Dean.
“You’re going to make me self-conscious, you know? But I love the way you are all over me. I really do.”

He stretched out his hand and rested it on Dean’s shoulder, just making sure he wouldn’t get the idea to stop kissing him. Sky gazing was wonderful, but it could always be done after kissing until he forgot his own name. “You can watch me whenever you want. And you can kiss me even more often,” he rasped and already went in for another kiss.
Dean met him halfway, lips crashing together in a kiss that was hungry and unhurried all at once, like he was trying to drink Sam in. When they finally broke apart, Dean kept his forehead pressed to Sam’s, his breath warm and ragged. “Good,” he murmured, voice low and rough, “’cause I wasn’t planning on stopping anyway.” His hand slid up to cup Sam’s jaw, thumb brushing over the corner of his swollen lips. “You think I could ever get tired of looking at you? Or kissing you? Not a chance. You’re mine, غhràidh, and I’m never letting you forget it.”
“Yeah,” Sam replied. “I can see that. “Is there anything else you won’t get tired of, my dragon?”
He let his fingers trail along Dean’s arm, up and down, and then further up until they threaded into his hair.
“Love feeling your hair, you know? It feels different than mine and… it feels like home.” He closed his eyes for a second and just felt, before looking right at Dean again.

Dean’s breath hitched at the word home, his chest tightening in that way Sam always managed to do without even trying. He leaned into Sam’s touch, eyes half-lidded, a slow smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah,” he said softly, almost reverently. “I’ll never get tired of that. Of your hands in my hair. Of the way you look at me like I’m… enough.” He tilted forward to steal another kiss, whispering against Sam’s lips, “Feels like home to me, too, Sammy. Always will.”
“You like it when I do this?” Sam asked and kept moving his fingers through Dean’s hair like he was combing through grass or sand. “That’s a really lucky coincidence. And of course, you are enough, Dean. Are… have other experiences told you, you weren’t enough?” Sam knew how it felt, because he’d always experienced it with his father. But with his former partners, it was more like he’d felt their fear of his father, and that he was the one thing that made him not be enough.
Dean’s jaw tightened for a moment, his eyes flicking away before settling back on Sam’s with something rawer than he usually let slip. “Yeah… I’ve heard it. More times than I care to count,” he admitted quietly. “Not the man my father is and therefore not man enough, not good enough, not what they wanted. But you…,” his hand slid to cover Sam’s at his hair, grounding himself in the touch, “you make all that noise, shut the hell up. With you, I am enough. More than enough. And that’s not a feeling I’m ever letting go of.”

Sam felt Dean’s pain at those words even when they weren’t directed at him. But he could easily see how they’d hurt. “They were looking for someone to be like their father? Or yours? At any rate… fools are what they are. Why would I want someone to be like someone else… that I can’t have for whatever reason. I just want you to be you, because you are awesome just the way you are. Heaven forbid I would want you to be like my father. Never in my life I would compare you. When I got to know you, I liked the way you looked at me already. I was a stranger, but you saved me. You looked at me like you cared, and you did. Of course, I also am kind of obsessed looking at you, because you’re breathtakingly gorgeous. But that is just the cherry on top. What use are good looks if your soul is ugly? I was lucky enough to find a beautiful soul with the perfect wrapping paper.” He fell silent and looked deeply into Dean’s eyes. “I love all of you, just the way you are. The way you look, the way you think, the way you’re maybe a little overprotective of me. All of it.”
Dean swallowed hard, Sam’s words cutting deeper than he wanted to admit, but in the best damn way. For a long moment, he just looked at him, eyes burning, chest rising and falling like he’d been struck. Finally, he let out a low, shaky laugh and shook his head, brushing his thumb across Sam’s cheek. “Damn it, Sammy… you’re gonna ruin me if you keep talking like that.” His voice was rough, stripped down, but honest. “You have no idea what it means, hearing that from you. I’ve spent so long trying to be what everyone else wanted, or needed, and here you are telling me I don’t gotta be anything but me.” He leaned in and kissed him, slow and deep, like words weren’t enough. When he pulled back, his forehead stayed against Sam’s. “You love all of me? Then you’d better be ready, ‘cause I’m not holding anything back. Not with you. Not ever.”
“I’m ready,” Sam whispered, feeling emotional just by seeing Dean’s response. “I’m ready to share my life with you. You were there for me when I needed you. And if roles should ever be reversed, I will be there for you, just like I am now.”
He leaned his head a little more against Dean’s, reassuring him that he wasn’t going anywhere.
“And just so you know, I don’t want you to hold anything back. I’ve told you my bad and my worst, and you haven’t run, yet. I’m not going to run. They would have to drag me away, but I know you wouldn’t let them.”

Dean’s throat tightened, and for a moment, he couldn’t trust himself to speak. He wrapped his arms tighter around Sam, holding him as though sheer strength could make good on every promise Sam had just whispered. “Damn right I wouldn’t let them,” he said finally, voice low, steady but thick with feeling. He pulled back just enough to look Sam in the eyes, his thumb brushing gently along his cheek. “You’re mine, غhràidh. And I’m yours. No masks, no half-truths. You want all of me? You’ve got it. The good, the bad… even the parts that would make other people run. You’ll see them all. And I’ll still be right here. Always.” He pressed a fierce kiss to Sam’s lips, more vow than affection, sealing the truth between them.
Sam’s face, having been serious, now broke into a warm, affectionate smile.
“I know, Dean. I can feel that you… are you. And I want you. Now, and in a hundred years. You make me feel complete, and I would wither if I had to be away from you.
Guess that means you’re stuck with me, just like I’m stuck with you. And it’s the best way to get stuck.”
He pulled Dean close and hugged him tightly, foreheads and noses touching, lips a hair’s breadth apart. “We’re like one, can you feel it?” he whispered.
Dean closed his eyes, letting the closeness sink into every corner of him, the bond humming steady and fierce beneath his skin. “Yeah,” he whispered back, voice rough, almost breaking with how true it felt. “Like you’re under my skin, in my chest, in every damn breath I take. You’re not just with me, Sammy - you are me.” His hand slid up the back of Sam’s neck, fingers threading into his hair as he pressed their foreheads harder together. “So yeah… we’re stuck. For now, for a hundred years, for however long this world lets us. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”
“Yeah,” Sam nodded against Dean’s head. “I just want to enjoy it. Being with you, being safe.”
He inhaled deeply, feeling a slight breeze swirling around them, like a caress from the elements. “A hundred years somehow doesn’t sound long enough,” he then whispered and turned a little to glimpse the sky. It was blue and calm, and just a few clouds were hanging around.
“Have you ever flown on a dragon in a storm?” he asked, not quite sure what made him think of it.

Dean stilled for a second, his gut tightening at the question, but he forced a small smile as he let his fingers trace idle patterns along Sam’s side. “Storm, huh?” he echoed, keeping his voice steady, casual. “Yeah, I’ve… been up in rough skies before, close enough to know it’s no easy ride. The wind cuts sharply, the rain blinds you, and the lightning? Makes you feel like the whole damn world’s out to shake you off.” He tilted his head, pressing a soft kiss to Sam’s temple, grounding himself in the warmth of him. “It’s dangerous as hell, but if you’ve got something - or someone - you’re holding on to, it’s worth it. You ride it out together. And when the skies finally clear…” His voice dropped, gentler now. “The view’s even more beautiful than before.”
“Wind and rain sounds… cold,” Sam whispered. “I mean, wet skin and the winds from flying, as well as the storm wind? You would have to warm me up or even unfreeze me, since I’m not a fireborn. But I’m sure you would gladly do that.”
He kissed Dean briefly. “But maybe, when John comes back and it’s not stormy, he can carry both of us? I really would like to fly with you.”
He smiled. “Then you could ask John to show me your favorite places, and maybe… could we fly along that river? Or would the risk to be seen by humans be too high?”

Dean chuckled softly against Sam’s lips, though his eyes softened with something warmer than amusement. “Yeah, you’d freeze your ass off in a storm like that. And you’re right—I’d gladly warm you up. Might even make that the best part of the whole trip.” He brushed a knuckle along Sam’s cheek, studying him like he couldn’t quite believe how easily Sam dreamed of flying at his side. “As for John… if he’s willing, then sure. We could fly the river. It’s a risk, but sometimes risks are worth it. The world looks different from up there, Sammy - like it’s endless, like all the heavy crap down here doesn’t matter so much.” He leaned in and kissed him again, softer this time. “If that’s what you want, then yeah. We’ll make it happen.”
Sam nodded. “Yes, I’ve seen it. It looks amazing and so different from when you’re on the ground. And it felt like I was soaring like a bird with him. You know, at some point, it was like I knew beforehand which turn he would take and could lean in with him. It felt like riding a horse that you know inside out, so you have an almost telepathic understanding.” Dean could hear the joy in Sam’s voice, as it was obvious and palpable.
Dean let out a soft hum, letting Sam’s excitement wash over him, and then stretched out on the blanket, tugging Sam down with him until they were both lying side by side. “Sounds like you two made a good team,” he said with a lopsided grin, eyes following the slow drift of clouds above them. “Speaking of teams… what d’you think that one looks like?” He pointed to a long, stretched shape overhead. “Looks like a lopsided goat to me. Or maybe a very confused donkey.” He chuckled, eyes warm as he glanced at Sam. “Bet you’re gonna say it’s something noble, like a knight or a stag, huh?”
Sam studied the cloud Dean pointed out for a moment or two.
“Hmm, not a stag, nor a knight. No… but… maybe a wolf. Yeah… you can see the teeth, look.”

Sam liked wolves. They looked wise and majestic. But he knew to keep a distance from them. “And that one over there looks like the contraption loony Harvey once made as he tried to fly. I mean… he fell further than he flew, but he was so excited thinking it worked.”
Dean squinted at the cloud Sam was pointing at, then turned his head to look at him instead, one brow arched. “Loony Harvey?” he repeated, lips twitching like he was fighting a grin. “You’re gonna have to fill me in on that one, Sammy, ’cause I’ve got no damn clue who that is. Some village idiot with wings strapped to his back, thinking he could outsmart gravity?” He chuckled, leaning back on the blanket with his arms folded under his head, eyes returning to the drifting shapes above. “Guess I’ll take your word for it. To me, it just looks like a lumpy goose with a death wish.” He shot Sam a sidelong grin. “But hey, I’ll give you wolves. I can see that one.”

Sam laughed heartily.
“Oh, yes, loony Harvey always comes up with the most useless inventions. Like shoes with holes in the soles to let the feet breathe - only you get wet feet if it rains, and if you’re unlucky, you get a thorn stuck in your foot. Or that time he created a weather machine. It was supposed to carry the rain with you during a drought. He just forgot you needed water for it in the first place.
He made a ladder for squirrels to put on trees, and of course, his special giant feathers that he thought would let him fly.”
Dean flopped back onto his back in the grass, folding his arms behind his head as he stared up at the drifting clouds, a grin tugging at his mouth. “Giant feathers, huh? Guess old Harvey was just one tumble away from making himself a squirrel’s pet instead of a genius inventor.” He nudged Sam lightly with his knee, chuckling. “Though, I gotta admit, I’d pay good coin to see him strapped into those feathers and running off a roof yelling about flight.” Dean squinted at a cloud overhead, pointing lazily. “That one there looks like the poor bastard mid-fall - arms flapping, face screaming, no wings to save him.” He smirked and turned his head toward Sam. “What do you see?”
“Honestly?” Sam asked. “It looks a bit like how I picture those kraken that you read about in stories. And that one? A giant shoe. Or maybe a boot?” He looked around and then made a happy sound. “Look, over there. That one definitely looks like a dragon.” Sam’s hand, the one that didn’t point to the dragon cloud in the sky, found its way into Dean’s hand, squeezing it.

Dean’s chest tightened at the squeeze, warmth rushing through him even as he let out a low chuckle. “A dragon?” he said, squinting up at the cloud Sam pointed out. “Yeah, I can see it. Big, mean-looking, wings stretched wide… though nowhere near as handsome as the real deal.” He turned his head just enough to catch Sam’s smile, giving his hand a squeeze back. “Guess that makes you the fearless knight again, spotting trouble in the skies.”
“It’s just my luck that you like fearless knights,” Sam laughed.
“So, if this fearless knight doesn’t only spot trouble but also rushes to fight the dragon cloud, what will the fireborn do?”
Sam grinned as he looked at the ever-changing clouds and suddenly burst out laughing.
“Oh nooo, the dragon is changing into a giant kitten. The knight can’t fight a kitten, so I guess you’re in luck. I’m staying here.”
Dean barked out a laugh, rolling onto his side to look at Sam properly. “A giant kitten, huh? Guess that means I don’t have to swoop in and save the day after all.” He smirked, leaning in closer, voice dropping low. “Good thing too… ‘cause I’d rather keep my fearless knight right here, in my arms, than watch him try to duel a puff of clouds.”
Sam grinned warmly. “What if I wanted to duel a puff of clouds? And now I can’t. Can I duel with you?” He closed the distance quickly and stole a kiss. Then another, before pulling back and looking at Dean with a challenge in his hazel eyes.
Dean smirked against the stolen kisses, eyes glinting with heat and mischief. “Careful, Sammy,” he drawled, tugging him closer by the waist, “you challenge me, you better be ready to lose… and I don’t fight fair.”

Dean’s lips curved into a slow, wicked grin, eyes half-lidding as Sam’s fingers ghosted over his skin. “That’s what you call fighting dirty, huh?” he drawled, his voice rough but threaded with amusement. He wasn’t ticklish - not even close - but the feather-light touches sent a pleasant shiver rolling down his spine, sparking something low and heated instead. “Hate to break it to you, Sammy, but if this is your best weapon, you’re not gonna win a damn thing.” He leaned in, letting his breath brush Sam’s ear as his hand slid to grip his waist. “Except maybe me… enjoying the hell out of it.”
Sam pouted for a moment, but he hadn’t missed how Dean reacted to the light touches.
“Well, I’m not fighting life or death, am I? I would definitely fight a different dirty then. But here? I don’t want to accidentally hurt you, so I thought maybe I could find out if you’re ticklish. Which you aren’t. But you like this…”
He repeated his light touch while Dean pulled him closer to him.
“And enjoying the hell out of it sounds somehow exciting. Can I enjoy that, too?”
Unlike Dean, Sam was ticklish, and Dean’s breath on and around his ear gave him goosebumps all over his body. “Because… if you don’t want me to enjoy it, I’ve got bad news for you.”

Dean let out a low laugh, the kind that rumbled deep in his chest, and tugged Sam even closer until he could murmur right against his ear. “Bad news for me, huh? Sounds more like trouble for you.” His lips brushed Sam’s skin as he spoke, sending another ripple of goosebumps across him. “’Cause if you enjoy it that much, I’m not stopping anytime soon. I like watching you squirm, Sammy. And the way you gasp when I get close?” He nipped lightly at Sam’s earlobe, grinning against him. “Yeah… that’s all the permission I need to keep at it.”
Sam looked deeply into Dean’s eyes.
“You always have my permission, ‎غhràidh, I trust you, remember? I want to spend my time with you, with us laughing or doing things together like this hike or swimming in the lake. Or having a wood chopping competition. I bet even watching the grass grow would be interesting with you.”
He smiled and wrapped one leg around Dean’s.
“So, just listening to you, it seems that I have telltale signs. Are there any more that I need to keep in check if I don’t want you knowing that I’m enjoying it?”
Dean smirked, eyes glinting with mischief as he rolled just slightly toward Sam, their legs tangling even more. “Oh, Sammy… you think you can hide that from me?” he teased, his thumb brushing lazily along Sam’s hip. “Let’s see… there’s the way your pupils blow wide when you’re trying to act calm. The little shiver that runs up your spine even when you’re pretending it’s just the breeze. And then there’s my personal favorite - the way your voice drops, just a little rougher, when you’re on the edge of giving yourself away.” He leaned in closer, lips brushing Sam’s ear as he whispered, low and playful, “Newsflash, غhràidh - you couldn’t hide it from me if you tried.”

And somehow knowing that Dean could read every little hint about how he felt made Sam feel even warmer inside. “I’m like a book to you, aren’t I?” he stated, very aware of Dean’s thumb on his hip and what it was doing. “Back at Brynmor, when we kissed in the bathroom, and I asked to talk… were you angry at me for breaking the moment? I remember I wanted you. I wanted you so much, but I had never felt something like that for someone who wasn’t a girl… no, for nobody. What I felt for the girls didn’t even come close, and if I can be honest, I was scared to embarrass myself by cumming just from kissing you. I was literally that close. And now? Now I know I didn’t need to be scared because you wouldn’t have made fun of me. You might be teasing me about something like that at a later occasion, but you would never think of making fun of me. And that is - was something that I never experienced. With my father, it was telling me I’m not good enough for whatever he wanted me to do, or making fun if I couldn’t do it, or at least not fast enough. But you? You make me feel so safe and secure because you always take me seriously. And that is one reason why I love you so much.”
Dean’s chest tightened, the weight of Sam’s words sinking into him like an arrow - but one that struck deep in the best way. He shifted onto his side so he could look at Sam properly, brushing his thumb across his hip in a slow, steady rhythm. “Sammy,” he said softly, voice rough with honesty, “I was never angry at you that night. Not for a second. You could’ve stopped me right in the middle of a kiss, or pulled away when I wanted more, and I’d still never be mad. Because it wasn’t about just wanting you - it was about having you the way you wanted to be had.” He leaned in, forehead pressing to Sam’s, his eyes burning with sincerity. “And yeah, I tease you - hell, I live for teasing you - but not like that. Never like that. You’re not something to laugh at, you’re… everything I ever wanted to hold on to. And when you say you love me for keeping you safe, for taking you seriously? That means more than you’ll ever know. Because you’re trusting me with the part of you no one else ever got to see. And I swear to you, I’ll never break that.”
Sam’s eyes were glued to Dean’s lips as he talked, like he was reading them along while listening. Finally, he nodded. “I know, Dean. I know that you would never break that trust. And you know something else? I never even knew I would ever trust someone so… unconditionally, but with you, I just did. Like… I couldn’t not have.” He blinked his eyes for a moment and glanced at the sky. “And somehow, I have a similar feeling to John. I knew he would take me seriously and not make fun of me. Probably because you told me you trust him. So,… I trust him as well.”

Dean swallowed hard, his throat suddenly tight. Sam’s words warmed him, but that warmth twisted sharply inside his chest, tangled up with guilt. He tightened his hold around Sam just a fraction, like maybe closeness could drown out the secret clawing at his insides. If only you knew…
He forced a small smile, brushing his nose against Sam’s temple. “You don’t know what that means to me, Sammy… hearing you say that. That you trust me. That you even trust John because of me.” His voice dipped lower, husky, edged with something heavier. “I just… I hate knowing there are things I can’t tell you. I never wanted secrets between us. Not ever.”
Dean’s gaze drifted to the horizon, the sky too wide, too open, reminding him of that day - the fall, the arrows, the moment he caught Sam in his arms as a dragon. He exhaled slowly, almost painfully. “You deserve the truth in everything, غhràidh. And one day, I swear, you’ll have it. All of it.” He kissed Sam’s hair, lingering. “But until then… just know this - every breath I’ve got, every beat of my heart, it’s yours.”

Sam looked at Dean with a calm but searching look. He understood that not everything was Dean’s decision because obviously, the fireborn community had rules Dean wasn’t allowed to break, not even for him. He could understand that, but at the same time, he’d be lying if he said it didn’t sting a little. “Do you think that whoever or whatever is preventing you from telling me will change their mind in the future? That they will allow you to tell me what you can’t tell me now? I have to admit it makes me curious what it is and why they don’t want you to share it, but I guess I’ll have to be patient.” He hoped that whatever Dean would tell him when he was free to do so, it would be something positive.

Sam thought about Dean’s words, trying to understand. “So, do you think if I’d known it now, I would see things differently? Things between you and me? Do you think it would affect how I’m feeling about you?” Sam was trying to sort through his confusion. “Dean, I can’t see how things would change for us. But as I said, I trust your judgement. And I’m looking forward to when you can tell me.” He reached out with his left hand and gently pulled Dean closer to him, until their lips finally met for a sweet, brief, enchanted moment.
Dean lingered in that kiss for a heartbeat longer, savoring the taste of trust and sweetness laced between them. When he pulled back just slightly, his eyes stayed locked on Sam’s, steady and warm. “No, Sammy,” he murmured, thumb brushing over his jaw. “Knowing more wouldn’t change how you feel about me. It might give you answers, sure, might fill in the blanks - but what we’ve got? That’s real. That’s not something a secret can touch.” And Dean truly believed in them. In Sam.
He leaned in to kiss him again, softer this time, almost reverent. “I’ll tell you when the time’s right. But until then, all you need to know is that nothing in this world - or out of it - can change the way I feel about you.”
“Okay,” Sam nodded. He trusted Dean, so he wouldn’t waste time worrying. Then he broke in a big smile as he remembered they had brought food with them. He held up his index finger and turned around, reaching for the basket behind them. Purposefully, he pulled out the container with the berries and opened it. A moment later, one of the berries had disappeared in his mouth, and he hummed contentedly.
“They’re good, see?” he said and offered Dean one, big and juicy looking.
Sam grinned and then followed Dean’s request, accepting the berry, which was sweet and juicy and just right.
“Ohmmm, nice,” he sighed, immediately going for another one. He quickly popped one into his mouth before offering another one to Dean. Watching him eat, Sam already prepared the next berry, but this time he took it between his lips before offering it to his fireborn.
“Ghere you go,” he muttered, trying not to bite into the berry, and waited for Dean to take it.
Dean arched a brow, a slow grin spreading across his face as he leaned in, eyes locked on Sam’s like he was about to take far more than just a berry. “You’re playing dangerous games, غhràidh,” he murmured, his lips brushing deliberately against Sam’s as he bit into the fruit, juice bursting sweet and tart between them. He lingered there, close enough that the taste of the berry mixed with the taste of Sam, before finally pulling back with a soft chuckle. “Might be the best damn berry I’ve ever had. Though I’m not sure if that’s because of the fruit… or the delivery.” His thumb brushed over Sam’s lower lip, catching a stray drop of juice, and his voice dropped low. “Think I like you feeding me this way a little too much.”
Sam could feel his hairs standing on end from the way Dean talked to him. His voice, his eyes, what he said, and that little touch of his thumb? Sam gave a full-body shudder and then shook his head.
“I know what you mean. You’re getting me addicted to delivering that way.”
Without looking at the fruit bowl, because his eyes were locked on Dean’s, he reached for another berry and delivered it the same way. Only this time, he held on with his teeth a little harder, making sure the juice coated his lips.

Dean’s eyes darkened the moment he caught what Sam was doing, heat flashing through him as if the sun itself had dipped lower just for them. He leaned in slowly, deliberately, gaze fixed on Sam’s berry-stained mouth. “You’re playing with fire, Sammy,” he murmured, voice low and dangerous in the sweetest way. Then he bit down on the other half of the berry, lips brushing deliberately against Sam’s, tongue flicking out to chase the juice before pulling back just enough to smirk. “Sweet,” he said, licking his lips, “but not half as sweet as you.” His hand slid up to cradle the back of Sam’s neck, thumb brushing along his jaw. “Keep feeding me like that, and I’m not gonna stop at berries.”
A soft smile played around Sam’s lips at Dean’s words.
“Is that a warning? Or a challenge?” he asked and slowly reached for another berry. Or two. He took two this time and popped on in his mouth, but didn’t bite down.
Instead, he stuck out his tongue, berry resting on it, and then slowly pulled his tongue back in to eat it.
The second berry he let rest on his tongue, moving closer to Dean in an unspoken challenge to take his offer.
Dean’s eyes darkened the second he caught on, his breath catching as he watched Sam’s tongue tease the berry. “Oh, you’ve got no idea what kind of game you just started,” he rasped, a slow, wicked grin tugging at his lips. He leaned in, closing the space until their mouths brushed, then claimed the berry straight from Sam’s tongue with his own lips, kissing him deep and hungry before biting down into the sweetness. When he pulled back, he licked his lips slowly, deliberately, his gaze locked on Sam. “Challenge accepted, Sammy. But just remember - when I play, I never lose.”
“I don’t think anyone here can lose at that game,” Sam laughed, then got serious again.
“Do we need berries still?” he asked, “or can I just do this?”
He held Dean’s gaze for a long second and then leaned forward and very gently, very carefully traced Dean’s lips with the tip of his tongue.
Once he’d come full circle, he sealed his lips over Dean’s and kissed him. For a split second, it was tender and caring, and then Sam’s kiss became more fiery and heated.
His hand returned to Dean’s hair, threading in, gripping tightly without being rough.
Dean let out a low, guttural sound the second Sam’s tongue touched his lips, the kind that came from deep in his chest and gave him away completely. His hand slid to the back of Sam’s neck, pulling him closer as he met that fiery kiss with equal heat, their mouths clashing and molding until Dean felt like he was burning from the inside out. When Sam gripped his hair, Dean groaned into his mouth, tilting his head to deepen the kiss even more. He pulled back just far enough to rasp against Sam’s lips, breathless but smiling. “Forget the berries, غhràidh… you taste better than anything I’ve ever had.”

“Hmmmm,” Sam hummed in agreement because kissing was more important than speaking. When their lips finally parted, both of them breathing heavy, Sam realized his fingers were still buried in Dean’s hair. Slowly, he gave a gentle tug, getting Dean to follow him as he lay down on the blanket and the pillows. “I like the view,” he whispered, releasing Dean’s hair. “Better than any clouds.” His hand reached out to hold on to Dean’s shoulder, making sure he wasn’t going anywhere.
Dean followed without hesitation, bracing himself above Sam with a grin tugging at his lips. “Careful, Sammy,” he murmured, voice low and warm, “you keep saying things like that and I’m gonna start thinking I’m the only view worth keeping.” He lowered himself just enough for his chest to brush against Sam’s, his weight steady but gentle, the heat of him seeping into every inch of space between them. His eyes flicked down to Sam’s lips again, then back up, softer now. “And don’t worry - I’m not going anywhere. You’ve got me right where you want me.”
Sam laughed, a light, giddy sound.
“You’re not wrong there, my dragon. Your view is definitely the only one worth keeping. And I want you around all the time. But right now, I want you kissing me. Like there’s no tomorrow.”
He lifted his gaze from Dean’s lips to his eyes, staring into them deeply.
“Your eyes are so fascinating. How the green and gold swirl and mix… so damned beautiful. And your lips? I could kiss you all the time, they’re so plush and tempting, and I really can’t understand why the girls weren’t more after you. But… that was good for me then.”
Dean let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he leaned in closer, lips just brushing Sam’s before pulling back enough to tease. “Guess those girls didn’t have the right eyes to see what was in front of them. Their loss, your gain.” His hand slid up to cradle Sam’s jaw, thumb grazing over his lower lip as his voice dropped to a husky murmur. “And if it’s kissing you want, غhràidh… then that’s all you’re getting. Every damn kiss you think you missed before, I’ll make up for now.” Then he pressed in, capturing Sam’s mouth with a kiss that was deep, consuming, and laced with the promise that he had no intention of letting him go - ever.

The world tilted, or maybe it was just Sam’s, and for a moment he felt suspended between the coarse texture of the blanket beneath him and the dizzying expanse of sky above. Dean’s body was a delicious weight on him, his lips warm, their tongues battling, and he never wanted it to end. Dean’s kisses made his body come alive, making his senses swirl like a leaf caught in a vortex.
Sam wanted to pull Dean closer, to devour him, to melt into him until there was no space left between them. His breath mingled with Dean’s, whose lips felt like a soft, relentless magic. Sam could never get enough.
“What girls were we talking about again?” Sam finally panted before looking at Dean with a crooked smile. The girls were not important. Only Dean was.

Dean broke into a laugh, low and rough, the sound rumbling against Sam’s chest as he pressed his forehead to his. “Exactly, Sammy. Who the hell cares about the girls? They were just a stop along the road that led me here.” His lips grazed the corner of Sam’s mouth, lingering before deepening the kiss again, slow and claiming. When he finally pulled back just enough to breathe, his eyes gleamed with heat and affection. “Only thing that matters is this. You. Us. And trust me - there ain’t a single girl, or anyone else for that matter, who could ever make me feel what you do.” He smirked, brushing his thumb along Sam’s jaw. “So yeah… forget the girls. I already have.”
Sam smiled.
“Which girls?” he asked with a grin.
“Kissing you is such an experience,” he whispered, already chasing after Dean’s lips again. “And I agree, it’s us that matters. You. Me.
I never knew a single person could be so dear to me that I wouldn’t really need anyone else in my life, but… here we are. You make me just need you. Nobody else.”
Sam’s hand found Dean’s, and he caressed it, squeezed it, and finally used it to pull Dean a little closer.
Dean let himself be tugged closer, a grin tugging at his mouth as he met Sam’s kiss, slow and lingering, before pulling back just enough to murmur against his lips. “Which girls?” he teased, his voice low and playful. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” He brushed his nose against Sam’s, softer now, the joking giving way to something steadier. “Truth is, they don’t matter. Never did, not like this. You’re it, Sammy. You’re the one who’s got me wrapped so tight I don’t even want to think about anyone else.” His fingers threaded with Sam’s, grip strong but tender. “I don’t need the world when I’ve got you right here.”
“Hmm,” Sam smiled back. “Show me? Show me how much I matter, ‎غhràidh. I mean, you show me every day, but here, now? I’d love that.”
And then Sam pulled Dean even closer, wrapping his body around his and rolling them, so he came to lie half atop of his fireborn.
“I like this view,” he said softly. “I like looking at you, really looking at you, knowing you’re all mine and I’m all yours. It does things to me, sends tingles down my spine.”
He dropped his head and claimed Dean’s lips.

Dean groaned into the kiss, one hand fisting in Sam’s hair while the other slid down his back, pulling him flush until there was no space left between them. His hips bucked up, pressing hard against Sam, heat rolling off him in waves he couldn’t hold back even if he wanted to. “You wanna feel how much you matter?” he rasped against Sam’s mouth, kissing him again, deeper, hungrier. He rolled his hips once more, slow and deliberate, grinding their cocks together until sparks shot through every nerve. His voice dropped, low and molten, as he tugged Sam’s lip between his teeth. “Then take it, Sammy. Take everything I’ve got. Because it’s all yours.”
And Sam did. He bent down, capturing Dean's mouth in a hungry, open-mouthed kiss that tasted of everything he'd ever wanted. He poured every ounce of his longing, every unspoken word, every dream into that kiss.
He moved his hips, a deliberate, sensual grind, wanting to hear that beautiful groan again, needing to feel the answering push from Dean. He trailed his lips from Dean's mouth to his jaw, to the pulse hammering at his throat, and with each touch, each caress, each movement, he was saying, "You're everything I got, too."

Sam groaned in response, his grinding intensified with each deliberate twist and thrust designed to elicit a response from Dean. He kissed him harder, deeper, their breaths mingling in a hot, ragged rhythm.
With one hand still caressing Dean’s back, his other moved, tracing a slow path down Dean’s torso. His fingers found Dean’s nipple, and through the soft fabric of his shirt, he flicked it, once, twice.
The noises Dean made spurred Sam on, making him grind harder, faster, more purposefully, all while his lips never left Dean’s, as if he were trying to pull the very soul from him.

Dean’s body arched into Sam’s touch, a raw, broken moan tearing from his throat as the flick of Sam’s fingers sent shockwaves of heat straight to his cock. His hands clamped down on Sam’s ass, dragging him harder against him, grinding so deep it felt like sparks might ignite between them. He kissed back with a hunger that was almost violent, teeth scraping, tongue demanding, until he had to break away just to gasp for air. “God, Sammy,” he groaned, voice thick with lust, “you’re driving me fucking insane.” His hips snapped up, meeting every grind with a thrust that had his whole body trembling, desperate. His mouth found Sam’s neck, sucking hard, marking him, before growling against his skin, “Don’t stop - fuck - don’t you dare stop.”
Sam’s hands found the hem of Dean’s shirt, pulling it up and over his head. The cool breeze hit Dean’s heated skin, and Sam's eyes took in the sight of Dean’s bare chest, a landscape of hard muscle and tight skin.
“Insane sounds like just the right state of mind,” Sam breathed against Dean’s ear, before sealing his lips around one of Dean’s hard nipples. It was a soft, suctioning pressure that was designed to make Dean gasp. Sam's fingertips scraped lightly along Dean’s sides, from his ribcage to his hips, a touch that was both a caress and a question. “And I’m definitely not going to stop, my dragon.”

Dean’s breath hitched hard, a raw groan ripping free as Sam’s mouth closed over his nipple, the sensation shooting straight down his spine. His hand fisted in Sam’s hair, not to pull him away but to hold him there, to feel that sweet sting of suction and the scrape of teeth. His other hand slid low, gripping the curve of Sam’s ass, guiding his grind against Dean’s cock with a hunger that left no doubt. “Gods, Sammy,” he panted, voice wrecked and hot, “you’re gonna ruin me.” He bucked up, desperate for more friction, more of that maddening mix of tease and claim.
And then Sam looked up at him - really looked - and Dean felt the fire flare inside him, almost literal, licking under his skin, sparking so hot it made the air between them hum. Gold flickered in his green eyes, molten and wild, impossible to hide, and for a heartbeat, Dean swore Sam could see every ounce of what he was. He had never been more exposed, and never more beautiful - Sam made him feel that way, be that way. His head tipped back, exposing his throat as he growled, rough and needy, “Don’t you dare stop. Make me burn.”

“Not stopping,” Sam replied in a rough voice. He bent down, unable to resist the offered throat and kissed and nibbled on the exposed, stubbled skin. When Dean groaned, he could feel the vibration against his lips, which in turn made him groan in response.
When Sam had to come up for air, he looked at Dean hotly, lips spit wet and deep red. A moment later, he growled again and began pulling on Dean’s leg-wear to get him all naked.
As soon as Dean was completely naked, Sam quickly discarded his own clothes without caring where he flung them. Then he resumed his spot on top of Dean and dove back in for a heated kiss.
A few moments later, he pushed his hand between them, wrapping his long fingers with certainty around Dean’s erection and began pumping him with purpose.
“Gonna make you burn with desire for me, my dragon,” he grunted through clenched teeth as he rocked his hips, his own erection, against Dean’s thigh. “Feel what you’re doing to me?”

Dean’s breath hitched, his body arching up into Sam’s touch, every nerve lit up like fire racing beneath his skin. A ragged groan escaped his throat, deep and broken, as Sam’s hand worked him with unrelenting purpose. “Oh, fuck - Sammy…” he gasped, his voice gravel and heat, eyes fluttering shut before snapping open again to watch the flush in Sam’s cheeks, the hunger burning in his gaze.
His hands roamed desperately, gripping at Sam’s ass, kneading hard to pull him down tighter against his thigh. He ground up into that pumping fist, every motion deliberate, his cock throbbing in Sam’s hold. “Yeah, I feel it,” Dean growled, lips brushing against Sam’s jaw before biting down on the curve of it, just enough to make him gasp. “I feel all of it… every damn inch of you hungry for me.”
He shifted a little, rolling his hips faster, matching Sam’s rhythm stroke for stroke. “You’re making me burn, Sammy,” he panted, his voice breaking into a groan as his fingers dug in harder, dragging him closer still. His forehead pressed to Sam’s, their lips brushing with every rough breath.
“Gotta burn hotter, fireborn,” Sam rasped as he squeezed Dean’s cock even harder. He trembled against Dean’s thighs, but he knew that seeing Dean like this was a rare occasion, and he didn’t want to miss a single second of it.
Without breaking the connection of their foreheads, Sam claimed Dean’s lips, kissing him full of desire and passion. He nibbled on Dean’s lips and then adjusted his position to slot his cock right next to Dean’s, taking them both in his hand.
“Gods, you feel so good in my hand, against my cock… just wanna make you burn even hotter, feel the eruption. Fuck, Dean… I’m gonna erupt myself soon.”
Dean’s whole body arched up into Sam’s touch, a ragged groan tearing from his chest as the friction seared through him like wildfire. His fingers dug into Sam’s hips, holding him close, grinding against him in perfect rhythm, every nerve lit and screaming for release. His breath came hot and broken against Sam’s mouth as he kissed him back, desperate and messy. “God, Sammy… you’ve got me right there,” he rasped, voice raw with restraint. He forced his eyes open, locking onto Sam’s, molten and wild. “If you wanna cum - do it. Right here, with me. Give it to me.” He nipped at Sam’s jaw, gasping between words.

Sam shuddered at Dean’s words, hand clasping their cocks impossibly tighter. It was like he was in control, but Dean pushed the button.
“Fuck,” he groaned, a sound that tore right from his chest and trembled along with his body. “Dean!”
Sam snapped his hips forward, thrusting into his hand and along Dean’s cock, and then his back arched, head thrown back, and he erupted with a wrecked grunt. His cock pulsed hotly between them, painting Dean’s chest with his release.
“Oh ffff… Gods, I… fuck!” he ground out, ready to collapse. But he held on because he didn’t want to miss Dean burning for him. His cock was very sensitive now, be he still thrust it into the passage formed with his hand to drive Dean over the edge.
Dean’s control shattered the moment Sam’s release spilled hot across his chest. His whole body arched off the ground, a guttural roar tearing loose from deep in his chest as if his soul itself had broken free. Golden light burst beneath his skin, racing along every line of muscle, every vein, until he looked less like a man and more like a living flame barely contained. His cock pulsed violently in Sam’s grip, spilling thick and hot between them, each throb dragging another raw groan from his throat. His eyes blazed molten gold, head thrown back, lips parted as though he was drinking in the sky itself. Every pulse of his climax painted him in fire and beauty, golden light rolling through him in waves until it finally softened, flickering like embers, leaving him trembling, chest heaving, utterly undone - and achingly beautiful beneath Sam’s hands.

Sam’s eyes were wide as he watched Dean come undone just for him. And burning for him, he did. Sam thought he’d never seen anything as beautiful as this, and while he didn’t understand how it was possible, he knew that fireborns were really living with fire inside them. And he got to see it. “Fucking beautiful,” he whispered and let himself collapse onto Dean’s chest, wrapping his arms around his body to pull him close. “You’re so… stunningly beautiful. And all mine. Made you burn just like you said.” He kissed Dean’s parted lips with the last strength he held and dropped his head on Dean’s shoulder. “Beautiful…,” he whispers again, “like lightning.” He pulled Dean even tighter, making sure he felt him, felt safe. “I got you,” he whispered hotly against Dean’s neck.
Dean’s arms closed around him instantly, holding Sam like he was the only thing anchoring him to the world. His chest still heaved, skin slick and warm, but there was no hiding the soft glow in his eyes - the kind that came from more than just fire. He pressed his lips to Sam’s hair, breathing him in, and murmured, voice low and rough but tender, “Yeah, you got me… every part of me.” His hand rubbed slow circles over Sam’s back, soothing, grounding, even as his own heart raced. “You call me beautiful, but you don’t even see yourself right now, do you? You’re the one who made me burn. You’re the lightning, Sammy. Always were.” He kissed the crown of Sam’s head, smiling against him. “And I’ll never let go.”

Sam looked up. “Never?” he asked, hopeful. Then he smiled. “I’m glad I’m the one who can make you burn. I like seeing you like that. It’s mind-blowing to see that molten lava inside you when you’re getting close. I don’t understand how it can be, but it’s stunning. You - are stunning.”
He stretched to kiss Dean tenderly.
“And you’re right, I never looked at myself as being beautiful. I’m just me. The people around me, they didn’t see much to call beautiful, or if they did, they never said it.”
He closed his eyes for a moment and breathed deeply. “It doesn’t matter, though. You make up for everything.”
Dean cupped Sam’s face gently, thumb brushing over his cheekbone like he was memorizing the shape of him. His voice came out low, steady, threaded with warmth. “Never,” he promised, eyes locked on Sam’s. “You’re stuck with me, غhràidh. I’ll be here to remind you every damn day how wrong they were. You’re more than beautiful - you’re strong, and brave, and everything I never knew I needed until I found you.” He leaned in, kissing him slowly and softly, letting the words sink into his skin more than air. Pulling back just a fraction, he added, “If no one else ever saw it, that’s their loss. I see it. All of it. And I’m not letting it go.”
Sam blinked his eyes and nodded. “Okay. I know. You’re about the only one who never let me go. And it blows my mind.” He dropped down next to Dean, exhausted and limbs still tangled. It didn’t matter because it was Dean. And nobody else was around to care.
“I hope I zapped your energy as much as you zapped mine,” he whispered after a few moments. “I don’t have to move for a while, right? Because my body right now feels like it weighs a ton.”
Despite his words, his fingers found Dean’s hand, and he interlaced them, not ready to give up their connection.
Dean let out a low, breathless chuckle, squeezing Sam’s hand back as he shifted just enough to press their joined fingers against his chest. “Trust me, غhràidh, you drained me plenty. I’m not movin’ anytime soon either. Feels like my bones turned to molten lead - and I’m not complainin’.” He tilted his head to brush a lazy kiss over Sam’s temple, his voice softening. “So yeah, you don’t gotta move. Not for a long while. We’ll just lie here, heavy as stone, light as fire… doesn’t matter. Long as you’re right here with me.”
Sam smiled, feeling warm and fuzzy all over. He closed his eyes, letting everything drift away. All he needed was Dean’s warmth and their body contact, and being able to listen to the birds sing.

He had no idea how long they’d been lying there, but when he focused his eyes again, Sam felt more energetic than before. He turned in Dean’s arms, facing him, and simply placed a kiss right in the center of his forehead. “How are you feeling by now, fireborn?” he asked, stretching. “And before you ask, I’m golden.” He kissed Dean softly on the lips again and then frowned. “And we’re sticky. Good thing there is a stream nearby. Shall we wash up?”
Dean chuckled, the sound low and warm as he leaned into Sam’s kiss. “Golden, huh? Guess that makes two of us,” he murmured, brushing his thumb lazily along Sam’s side. At the mention of sticky, he smirked, eyes glinting with amusement. “Yeah, can’t argue with that. Not that I mind you all over me, but if we lie here any longer, we’ll peel apart like old parchment.” He pushed himself up on an elbow, looking down at Sam with a playful grin. “Stream it is. But fair warning - water’s probably cold enough to make you squeak. And I’m not promising I won’t laugh if you do.” He pressed another kiss to Sam’s lips before finally nudging him gently. “Come on, let’s wash up before we stick to the grass for good.”

“I’m not gonna squeak like a birdie,” Sam protested as he got to his feet. He tried his best to look indignant but failed and held out his hand to pull Dean up.
Together, they made their way to the stream, and Sam was determined to prove Dean wrong. Without hesitation, he stepped into the water at a shallow part and sucked in a breath.
The water was ice cold, alright, like it had been the other day. He could feel his feet cramp slightly, but he refused to give Dean the shriek he was waiting for.
Slowly, Sam waded in deeper and held his breath once the water sloshed over his hips. It was so cold. He shuddered and then used his fingers to get rid of as much of their lovemaking residue as he could, which turned out harder than he’d thought because his hands were quickly freezing as well.
Dean followed him in at an easy pace, water rippling around his legs like it was nothing more than a warm summer stream. He smirked when Sam’s shoulders hunched and his teeth clicked from the cold. “Careful there, tough guy,” he drawled, crouching down and scooping water over his arms with no flinch at all. “Gonna freeze yourself solid just to prove a point?” He slicked his hair back, completely unfazed, the fire in his blood humming steady beneath his skin. “Perks of being fireborn, Sammy. Cold doesn’t bite the same way it does you. So yeah - you can glare at me all you want, but I’ll be the one enjoying my bath while you’re turning blue.” He stepped closer, brushing a hand over Sam’s chilled arm, his voice softening. “Don’t stay in too long, alright? You’ve got nothing to prove to me.”
Sam just looked at Dean and shuddered as the cold began to spread through his body. Still, he didn’t want to get out too quickly because, whether Dean told him not to stay in too long or not, he had his pride and at least wanted to try for a dignified retreat.
Pressing his jaws together, Sam did exactly what Dean said and glared at him, before dipping in up to his shoulders to make sure he washed off completely.
He was sure that if it were possible, there were ice crystals building on his skin. Then he pushed up straight again and began wading over to the shore, hoping Dean wouldn’t catch his chattering teeth.

Dean watched him with a smirk tugging at his lips, though inside his chest tightened at the sight of Sam’s shoulders stiff with cold. The stubborn idiot - trying to look dignified while freezing his ass off. Dean waited until Sam’s back was turned, then let a slow, careful breath of heat slip past his lips, invisible but warm, curling over Sam’s skin like the gentlest breeze. He saw the shudder change - less from cold, more from sudden warmth - and bit back a grin. By the time Sam reached the shore, Dean was already deep in the water, unhurried, letting it roll over him as if it didn’t bite. He scrubbed himself down quickly, took his sweet time rinsing, then finally came ashore, water dripping from his hair and chest, eyes glinting as he caught Sam’s still-frosty glare. “What?” he said innocently, grabbing the cloth to dry off. “Told you it was cold. But you look alive enough to me.”
Sam had felt the warmth running over him and immediately knew it was Dean’s doing. The glare was just a glare now because he hated it that Dean had noticed.
“Thank you,” he then said, and decided to settle on a chair-sized rock that was actually in the sun that came through the foliage.
“So… can you ever freeze?” he then asked Dean curiously as he watched him swim around in the really cold water like it was nothing special. And when Dean left the stream again, Sam strained his eyes to see any goosebumps, but was disappointed. “I wish I could learn that trick,” he then sighed, eyes still on Dean’s body.

Dean smirked as he shook the water from his hair, droplets glinting in the sunlight before sliding down his chest. He caught Sam staring and let him, liking the way those eyes followed every line of him. “Freeze?” he echoed, stepping onto the rock beside the stream and stretching like a cat in the sun. “Not really. My blood runs too hot for that. Cold water feels good, sure, but it doesn’t stick to me the way it does to you.” He crouched in front of Sam, resting his hands on his knees, eyes dancing with warmth. “And as for tricks - trust me, you’ve already got one. You look at me like that, and I forget the cold even exists.”
“I can vouch for your blood running hot,” Sam agreed and got to his feet. “So, what are we going to do now, all naked in the woods near a stream and the cliffs. There’s still that picnic flatbreads and… maybe clothes? I mean, I don’t know, if John returns now and spots us like this… will he have to gouge his eyes out?” Sam laughed at his joke and then went to hug Dean, bringing their bodies close. “Your warmth really feels nice. I think there are some parts inside me that are still holding some ice crystals.“
Dean laughed, low and rough, slipping his arms around Sam and pulling him in tight. “If John shows up right now, I’ll make sure he’s the one who has to deal with the trauma, not you,” he teased, nipping gently at Sam’s ear. “And trust me, he’s seen worse.” He leaned back just enough to look into Sam’s eyes, his thumb brushing along the curve of his spine. “As for those ice crystals…” his voice dropped, warm and serious now, “I’ll melt every last one of ’em. Doesn’t matter how long it takes, Sammy. You stay with me, and you’ll never feel cold again.” He pressed his forehead to Sam’s, letting the truth of it hum between them, before adding with a grin, “Now let’s dry off, get some clothes on, and give that flatbread the attention it deserves.”

Sam smiled and nodded when Dean mentioned he’d deal with John if he came then.
When they walked back, Sam looked down on himself, seeing the scars on his body, and realized he had all forgotten about them. Because Dean didn’t stare, because Dean didn’t seem to be bothered by them.
He closed his eyes for a moment and then headed for their blanket, settling down. He was already dry, but for the tips of his hair, and the blanket was nice and soft.
Reaching for the flatbread, Sam offered one to Dean and then went about to take a bite of his as if sitting naked in nature was the most normal thing to do. “How is that stream so cold? Is it because of the snow on the mountain tops?” he asked.
Dean flopped down beside him, still toweling off his own hair with a scrap of cloth, and snorted at the question. “Yeah, that’d be it. Meltwater runs down from the peaks - straight outta the snow and into that stream. Cold enough to freeze your balls off if you’re not a fireborn and you stay in too long.” He tore off a piece of the flatbread Sam handed him and popped it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully before adding with a crooked grin, “Not that I’m complaining. Watching you squeak when it hit your skin was worth it.” He leaned back on one elbow, eyes tracing over Sam with a softness that belied the teasing. “Besides, nothing wrong with cold water. Makes warming you back up the best part.”
Sam’s head shot up.
“I didn’t squeak, fireborn,” he contradicted. “I shuddered. My teeth might have chattered. But I didn’t squeak.”
He licked his lips.
“But you’re still more than welcome to warm me up completely. I mean, maybe you missed one or another ice crystal.”

He took a bite of the flatbread and chewed happily because that bread was just delicious.
“I heard that sometimes water gets so cold that you can freeze off a finger in a few seconds. And that just blows my mind, you know? I can’t imagine how that can be true.”
Dean smirked, leaning in close enough that his breath ghosted over Sam’s damp hair and the curve of his ear. “Didn’t squeak, huh? Guess I’ll have to take your word for it… though the way you shivered in my arms tells another story.” His hand slid over Sam’s thigh, fingers tracing deliberately slow circles against bare skin. “And trust me—I didn’t miss any ice crystals. But if you think I did, I’ll just have to search every inch of you.” His voice dropped lower, rough with heat. “Thoroughly. With my mouth.” He stole a bite of flatbread straight from Sam’s hand, golden-green eyes locked on him as he chewed, grinning. “You’re right about one thing, though… cold can bite deep. Which means you’re gonna need me to burn you alive again and again, just to be sure.”
Sam looked at the bread where Dean had just stolen a bite and raised an eyebrow.
“Burn me alive? What are you gonna do with all the ash?”
His eyes were glued to Dean’s fingers dancing across his skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
“And when you’re gonna search for ice crystals with your mouth… are you going to search for anything else as well? I mean, there could be more things to find.”
Sam lifted his eyes to Dean’s lips and, after a second, decided he could also steal touches and bent forward to steal a kiss, trying to look innocent doing so.

Dean caught that kiss, but he didn’t let it stay innocent. He deepened it, slow and hungry, his tongue teasing until he pulled back just enough to let his lips ghost over Sam’s. “Ash?” he rasped, voice dark with heat. “I’d scatter it on my tongue, taste you even then.” His hand slid lower, fingers tracing deliberate circles over sensitive skin, making sure Sam felt every touch. “And what else could I find?” Dean’s smirk turned wicked, his breath hot against Sam’s mouth. “Your innocence is already mine… but I’ll keep searching. Every inch, every hidden place, until you’re melting under me again.” He nipped Sam’s lip gently, whispering, “And you’ll beg me not to stop.”
Sam’s eyes grew wide when Dean told him what he’d do with the ash. He gasped and held his breath until Dean nipped his lip gently.
“You know, now you’re challenging me to avoid begging you not to stop,” he explained with a smirk. “Means you’ll have to work really hard for it.”
Then he laughed and slung his arms around Dean’s neck, making sure Dean wasn’t going to pull away.

“What if I caught you in my trap before that? Maybe it will be me who makes you beg?”
Dean’s grin turned slow and dangerous, heat sparking in his eyes as he leaned in, their mouths just a breath apart. “Your trap, huh?” he rasped, his voice low and thick with promise. “Sweetheart, you don’t even know what you’ve caught.” His hand slid down Sam’s spine, deliberate and lingering, until it rested at the curve of his ass, pulling him in tight against the hard line of his body. “You think you can make me beg? Then you’d better be ready to keep me there, because once you’ve got me, I don’t stop until we’re both wrecked.” He nipped Sam’s jaw, hot breath against his skin. “So go ahead, Sammy. Spring your trap. Just know I’ll break every rule you set the second I get the chance.”
Sam’s eyes went big.
“You want to break my rules?” he asked. “I think you just want to break me with your attention and your touch and then put me back together again, only to break me one more time.”
He laughed and turned his head to return the nibble on the jaw.
“I know you love me like this all the time, and it still blows my mind. I really love that, you know?”
He nibbled his way along Dean’s jaw to the chin and then, carefully, placed his lips on Dean’s. But he didn’t kiss him. Not yet.
Instead, Sam ghosted his lips along Dean’s, and on the second time, he let a tiny bit of his tongue trace the seam on Dean’s lips.

Dean groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating between them as his lips curved into a wicked grin against Sam’s teasing touch. His hand slid up the back of Sam’s neck, fingers threading into damp hair, holding him just close enough to feel the heat but not close enough to satisfy. “You think I wanna break you, Sammy?” he murmured, voice dark and seductive. “Nah… I wanna ruin you. Slow, sweet, until you’re begging for me to put you back together again.” He tilted his head, letting his breath mingle with Sam’s as his tongue flicked out just enough to taste him back. “And the way you’re torturing me right now? You’d better be ready to pay for it.”
“Hmm,” Sam hummed, thinking. “So you want me to pay for giving you this opportunity to enjoy sweet torture? Shouldn’t you pay for it?”
He smiled against Dean’s lips.
“Name your price, dragon,” he whispered, his fingertips finding Dean’s side, tracing the skin with featherlight touch up the side to his pecs. “I can’t believe I can want someone the way I want you, Dean,” he added in a raspy voice, shuddering.
Dean’s breath hitched at the touch, his muscles tightening under Sam’s teasing fingers. His lips brushed Sam’s ear as he whispered, low and molten, “My price? Easy. Every sound you make when I drive you crazy. Every shiver, every moan - you give me all of it.” He let his teeth graze the lobe, sucking it into his mouth before pulling back just enough to meet Sam’s eyes, burning and dark. “And if you think wanting me is unbelievable… just wait till I show you how much I’ve been aching for you. Then you’ll know what hunger really feels like.”

Sam shivered. Feeling Dean’s teeth on his earlobe was doing that to him.
“Show me,” he then whispered, because he needed to know. “I want to feel your hunger. Let me be your flatbread, ‎غhràidh.”
He had to laugh at his own words.
“Or maybe I taste better than any flatbread. Maybe I taste like your favorite food.”
Sam shuddered again and then turned his head so their lips met for real this time. And this time, Sam kissed Dean, carefully, putting all his feelings into that one touch of lips.
Sam’s arms came around Dean, and he pulled him close, already trying to get as much physical contact between them as possible.
Dean groaned into the kiss, the sound deep and hungry, his hands sliding down Sam’s back to press their bodies flush. His lips parted, letting the kiss turn hotter, wetter, his tongue sweeping into Sam’s mouth like he was starving for him. “Better than flatbread,” he growled against Sam’s lips, nipping at them before diving back in. “You taste like fire and sin, like something I’ll never get enough of.” One hand gripped Sam’s thigh, dragging it over his hip so he could grind against him, slow and deliberate. His voice dropped, rough and seductive. “And you want my hunger? You’ve got it, Sammy. I’m gonna devour you - piece by piece - till you’re trembling and begging me not to stop.”
Sam groaned softly. Dean’s words, his actions, made him tremble in expectation and desire. He had no idea how he wanted this man so much, but he did. “So…,” he rasped, “where will you start devouring me. My lips?” Sam leaned in to kiss Dean, but his touch on his thigh drew a low moan from him again. “Gods, fireborn… your touch is lighting a fuse in me. You’d better make sure there’s fireworks in the end.” He breathed deeply once, trying to regain his composure a bit. But he knew he was already lost.

Dean’s lips curved into a dark, hungry grin, his eyes blazing as he kissed Sam hard enough to steal the breath from his chest. “Your lips, your throat, your chest…” he murmured against his mouth, each word punctuated by a teasing brush of his tongue and teeth as he trailed down to Sam’s jaw. His hand tightened on Sam’s thigh, pulling him closer, grinding harder until the air between them crackled with heat. “Every inch of you, Sammy - I’ll taste it, claim it, burn it into memory.” He kissed him again, slow and deep, before whispering hotly against his lips, “And don’t worry… the fireworks? They’ll be loud enough to wake the gods.”
“Promise?” Sam gasped, knowing that he didn’t need to ask this to be sure. Dean was a man of his word, and Sam knew that he would always remember whatever Dean was going to do.
“Then show me. I’m ready. I’m… I’m yours, Dean.”
Sam looked at Dean with burning eyes, moving his fingers to gently rub around his nipples and down along his sternum.
“Because if you don’t start now, I will. But maybe… maybe that’s what you want so you can wrestle the control from me with those hot lips.”
Licking his own, Sam’s eyes flashed briefly, and he kissed Dean on the lips before trailing his jaw to his ear, much like Dean had done earlier.

Dean’s breath hitched, a guttural growl rumbling low in his chest as Sam’s lips ghosted along his skin. His hand snapped up, cupping the back of Sam’s neck, pulling him tight so their mouths hovered a hair’s breadth apart. His eyes blazed, dark and molten, and his voice dropped to a sinful whisper. “Careful, غhràidh… you’re playing with fire.” He let his lips brush Sam’s teasingly before biting down on his lower lip, tugging just enough to make him gasp. His free hand slid down, fingers gripping Sam’s hip hard, holding him still against his heat. “You wanna test me? Go ahead. Start. But the second you do, I’ll take it from you - and I’ll make you remember exactly who you belong to.”
Sam made a small noise in his throat when Dean’s fingers dug in his hip. “Maybe I want to play with fire,” he whispered. “Maybe I want to tease you until you take what you want. Maybe… I need to feel your strength to feel that I belong to you.”
His eyes were glistening. “It might sound mad, but… I know I’m yours. Yet I want you to make me yours.” He was breathing harshly, looking into Dean’s eyes. Then he shifted until their lips almost touched, and he could feel Dean’s breath on his face. “Gods, I need you, Dean. I need your fierceness.”

Dean’s control snapped like a bowstring. With a guttural growl, he seized Sam’s mouth in a bruising kiss, claiming every inch of him with teeth and tongue. His hands gripped Sam’s hips hard, dragging him into his lap, grinding against him with raw hunger. “You ARE mine,” he rasped against Sam’s lips, his voice molten, demanding. “And I’m done with teasing.” He flipped them, pressing Sam down into the blanket, his weight pinning him, breath hot and ragged. His mouth trailed down Sam’s throat, biting, sucking, marking him with possessive fire. “You asked for fierceness, غhràidh,” Dean growled, his eyes blazing as he looked down at him, “and now you’re gonna take every damn bit of it.”
With a shiver, Sam's control crumbled. He groaned, and the world narrowed to the feel of Dean's hands on his hips, the bruising pressure of his mouth. A gasp tore from his throat when Dean's teeth grazed his lip, like a silent permission for the storm that followed. Sam’s challenge was met, and he shivered with desire as Dean's raw hunger consumed him.
“Gods, more,” he gasped, arms closing over the heated skin of Dean’s back. Their eyes locked with an intensity like never before, and he knew his request was being honored. Sam had asked for fierceness, and now he was getting it. And may the Gods help him, he wanted every damn bit of it.

Dean’s growl vibrated against Sam’s lips as he seized the moment, rolling them hard into the blanket until Sam was beneath him, laid out exactly how he wanted. His mouth crashed back down, claiming Sam’s lips with bruising hunger, tongue pushing deep like he needed to own every breath Sam gave. His hands roamed possessively - one gripping Sam’s jaw to keep him still for the onslaught of kisses, the other sliding down, clutching his thigh and hauling it higher over his hip so he could grind into him with ruthless intent. “You want more?” Dean rasped against his mouth, eyes blazing with raw need. “Then you take it. Every inch, every thrust, every burn - I’m giving it to you whether you can handle it or not.” He bit down on Sam’s lip again, sharp and hot, before growling, “Mine. All mine.”
Something inside Sam snapped when Dean buried him underneath himself. He groaned needily, the weight of Dean giving him something he didn’t know he needed. Grounding.
The way Dean handled him sent chills through his body that he absolutely loved. Because it was Dean who had him. Nobody else.
“I can handle it,” Sam whispered, looking at him. “Because it’s you. I can handle all you do to me, fireborn.” He moved underneath Dean, but just to feel him more intensely. “I’m gonna take everything you’re giving me.”

Dean’s breath hitched, his chest heaving as molten heat flared through him at Sam’s words. “Damn right you will,” he growled, voice low and thick, before crashing his lips back onto Sam’s in a kiss that was both fierce and unbearably tender. His hips ground down with bruising intensity, every thrust staking his claim, while his hand slid up to cradle Sam’s face, thumb brushing reverently across his cheek as though he were fragile. The contrast burned through him - rough and unyielding in his hunger, yet gentle where it mattered most. With a guttural groan, Dean finally pushed forward, sliding deep into Sam’s body in one long, claiming stroke that tore a gasp from his throat. He stilled only long enough to look into Sam’s eyes, making sure he saw the fire and the love there, before moving again, harder, surer, every thrust searing the promise into his soul. He broke the kiss only long enough to hover over Sam, eyes dark and blazing. “You’re mine, غhràidh. All of you. And I’ll take every inch, every sound, every shiver… and give you back more than you ever dreamed.” Then he slammed his hips forward again, groaning as he drank in the way Sam clung to him, needing him, trusting him completely.

The moment Dean thrust into him was a mixture of pleasure and pain for Sam, and his groan held both sensations. He was still new to this, but feeling Dean stretching him was something Sam realized he never knew he could crave and miss.
The pain subsided quickly, being overridden by pleasure that grew with every thrust.
“Yours,” he grunted in between thrusts. “Gods, Dean… you feel amazing. Don’t stop moving, please!”
Sam’s hands clung to Dean’s arms, letting them be his anchor to meet Dean’s thrusts to increase the sensation.
When the angle changed a little so Dean hit Sam’s most pleasurable spot dead on, Sam couldn’t contain his moans or shivers anymore. He knew if Dean didn’t pin him down with his body, he’d be completely lost. “More,” he finally managed to groan, and wrapped his legs around Dean’s waist.

Dean answered with a guttural growl, slamming his hips forward harder, faster, each thrust ruthless in its demand and yet precise, angled to drive Sam wild. His hands pinned Sam’s wrists to the blanket for a moment, holding him there like he owned every inch of him, before softening his grip just enough to lace their fingers together, grounding him even as he tore him apart. His mouth was everywhere - devouring kisses, biting down on Sam’s neck, then soothing the sting with a tender lick. “You’re mine, Sammy,” he rasped against his skin, breath hot and ragged. “Every moan, every shiver, every fucking heartbeat - you give it to me. And I’ll never let you go.” He thrust deep again, deliberately brushing that spot that made Sam break apart, watching with burning eyes as he fell apart under him.
And breaking apart was what Sam did faster than he could imagine. He wanted to hold on, to make it last, but Dean was fucking him with precision, every thrust designed to make him lose his mind.
The stimulation to his prostate was relentless, and Sam’s eyes glazed over when he was thundering toward the point of no return.
“Dean!”
The word was a plea and a demand at the same time. He needed Dean. He needed more. And he wouldn’t even try to hold back anything because he knew that Dean loved it.
“Ohhh,” Sam grunted, lifting his head as his body tensed. He could feel his muscles tremble with the effort to hold on, not to hold back, and when Dean snapped his hips again, hard, it was the push Sam needed to tumble over the cliff and down a ravine of ecstasy.
His back arched as he screamed Dean’s name, chest heaving in an effort to draw in oxygen as his body tightened around and underneath Dean’s.
With great effort, Sam found Dean’s eyes, and for a second, they locked. Then Dean’s cock tapped against Sam’s prostate, again, and he spilled even more release between them before his eyes rolled around in his head like marbles and his body became limp for a moment.

Dean’s control shattered with Sam’s scream, the sight and feel of him writhing, clenching, undone beneath him too much to withstand. A guttural roar tore from his chest, raw and primal, echoing off the meadow like thunder - and for a heartbeat it wasn’t human at all. His body glowed golden in the half-light, eyes blazing molten fire as his climax ripped through him, every thrust pouring heat and need and possession into Sam. For a split second, his form seemed to blur, scales where skin should be, the shape of wings curling around them - then gone, as if it had never been. He buried himself deep, spilling with a shudder that left him trembling, lips parted, panting hard against Sam’s neck. His body still hummed with that dragon-deep fire as he clung to Sam like he was the only thing keeping him from burning apart completely.
Somewhere between awareness and blissful oblivion, Sam registered the now familiar glow, and the ghost of a smile graced his face. Then he felt Dean’s full weight settle on him, and he let himself drift into an ecstasy-induced doze.
When his mind started to clear again, Sam felt his throat burn somewhat, and he wondered if he’d screamed that much. Probably chased off any predators with that.
The next moment, he wondered where his mind had come up with a thought like that. He wrapped his arms around Dean’s back, pulling him impossibly closer, and pressed his lips against his warm skin.
“‘mazing,” he whispered. “Still floating. ‘S crazy. Good, crazy.”
He fell silent for a few moments, thinking of nothing in particular. Then his thoughts focused again, and he squeezed Dean briefly.
“Love you,” he whispered now.

Dean let out a shaky breath, the kind that came from being completely wrung out, body heavy and spent. He didn’t even try to hold his weight back - just melted into Sam, every muscle loose, every wall down. His lips pressed a lazy kiss to Sam’s damp temple, lingering there as though he could breathe him in forever. “‘Love you too, Sammy,” he murmured, voice raw but soft, almost reverent. His fingers traced aimless patterns over Sam’s ribs, tender and unhurried, like he was reminding himself this was real. He shifted just enough to look at him, eyes warm and glowing faintly in the fading light. “Rest. I’ll hold you till the world ends.”
The smile on Sam’s lips became wider when he heard Dean’s whispered reply. He knew Dean loved him. But hearing the words was still special.
“‘Kay,” he mumbled when Dean told him to rest. There wasn’t much more he was capable of doing the way he felt now, so he breathed deeply and closed his eyes, letting his mind drift into nothing.
He knew he was safe because he could still feel Dean’s weight on him and his breath against his neck.
Till the world ends, Dean had said, and those words were floating around in Sam’s skull like caresses he never knew he needed. But he did.

Dean’s own eyes grew heavy as Sam’s breathing evened out, the steady rhythm lulling him into that place between waking and sleep. He tightened his arm around Sam instinctively, making sure there was no space between them, no chance of letting go. His last thought before sleep claimed him was the warmth pressed to his chest, the bond humming low and constant like a heartbeat not his own.

And when dreams came, they came vivid - Sam’s laughter echoing in wide open skies, the two of them flying higher than the clouds, weightless and free. Even in sleep, Dean’s body refused to ease its hold, clutching Sam close as though some deeper part of him knew: he’d never let him slip away.

Chapter Text

When Sam woke, the first thing he noticed was that he was warm and something was on top of him. Someone. Dean. He smiled and opened his eyes a little, noticing a slight gleam emanating from him. He still found it amazing how fireborns seemed to have molten lava in their veins instead of blood.
His fingers began to trace soft and gentle patterns over Dean’s skin, along his sides and over his back, around the shoulder blade, and down to the swell of his ass. Over and over, he repeated his pattern so Dean would feel his love the second he woke up.
Dean stirred slowly, a low hum rumbling in his chest as Sam’s touch pulled him from sleep. His body shifted instinctively, pressing closer into the warmth beneath him, savoring the feel of Sam’s fingers mapping him like sacred ground. Cracking one eye open, he caught the sight of Sam’s smile and the softness in his gaze, and it made his chest ache in that way only Sam ever could. His green eyes still shimmered intensely golden, the fire from their joining not yet faded. “Careful, غhràidh,” he rasped, voice still gravelly from sleep. “You keep touching me like that, I’m never getting off this blanket. Not that I’d mind.” He stretched lazily, then tucked his face into Sam’s neck, kissing the skin there with a sleepy grin. “You trying to wake me up, or you just reminding me I’m yours?”
“Shhh, sleep, my dragon. You’re not supposed to be awake. You’re supposed to pretend to be asleep and secretly enjoy my little massages. Caresses. It’s about one thing I remember my mother did when I was little, and I loved it.
Lying in her arms pretending to be asleep while she massaged my back, so she wouldn’t stop.”
He kissed Dean’s temple and returned to concentrate on feeling all of Dean. The warmth of him, the softness of the skin. The hardness of the muscles underneath… all of him.
Dean went still at Sam’s words, the memory hitting him like a spark in the dark. His throat tightened as he let out a soft breath, eyes falling half-shut while Sam’s touch kept gliding over him. “Yeah…” he murmured, voice lower than he meant, almost reverent. “My mom used to do the same. Thought I was asleep when she rubbed slow circles on my back. I never had the heart to tell her I stayed awake for it every damn time.” He swallowed, leaning into Sam’s kiss at his temple, letting the warmth sink deep. “Guess some things you never outgrow, huh? Except now it’s better. ‘Cause it’s you. And I don’t have to pretend.”
Sam nodded silently. When he closed his eyes, he could basically see his mother in front of him, beckoning him to come to her and lie down. “You don’t have to pretend,” he whispered, fingers still moving over Dean’s skin. “I would do this forever if it would keep you with me.”
His fingers began drawing little pictures on Dean’s skin. A cloud, a house… a little dragon. And a heart. “It was my favorite time with her because it was just the two of us. I wish I remembered more about her.”
He fell silent for a moment, but his fingers didn’t stop moving.

Dean’s chest tightened at the quiet honesty in Sam’s voice, the fragile hope woven into every word. He let Sam’s finger-traced shapes linger on his skin, not flinching, not shifting, just being there for him. His hand came up to cover Sam’s, pressing it gently against his chest, right over his heart. “You don’t have to remember everything to keep her with you, Sammy,” he said softly, his voice steady but thick with feeling. “She’s in you. In the way you smile, the way you care, even in the way you’re drawing on me right now.” He kissed Sam’s temple, lingering there, before adding, quieter still, “And as long as I’ve got breath in me, you’ll never have to carry that alone.”
Sam’s fingers stilled, but gripped Dean a little tighter. “I know, Dean. I don’t even need you to say it, because I somehow can hear you saying it inside me. You said your mother used to do the same thing. Mothers must be the same, fireborn or not. I think… I think I would have liked your mother. And your father? How is he? Or how was he when you grew up? Was he affectionate like your mother?”
Dean’s eyes softened, the heat of the moment giving way to something quieter, steadier. He let his hand rest over Sam’s, where it clung to him, thumb stroking absent circles. “Yeah… he was. Still is. Different than my mother, but… just as loving in his way. When she was gone, he tried to fill both roles. Made sure I never doubted I was wanted. He was strict sometimes, yeah - had to be, with what I am - but there was never a day I didn’t feel cared for. He did everything he could to keep me whole, even when I felt broken.” Dean’s lips quirked into a small, thoughtful smile. “Guess you could say he carried me the way I carry you now. And I’ll always be grateful for that.”

Sam resumed moving his fingers, without knowing whether it was to calm himself or caress Dean. It was probably both. “Did he ever talk to you about your mother? How they met? How she was? Things like that?” He moistened his lips that had suddenly become dry. “I remember I asked my father once. And he told me to never ask again.” Sam nuzzled his face into Dean’s hair and breathed in his scent. “Thank you for carrying me, ‎غhràidh. You have no idea how much it means to me.” A kiss followed his words, and he pulled Dean a little closer, a little tighter.

Dean let out a slow breath, the kiss on his skin sinking deep, warming him from the inside. He turned his head just enough to brush his lips over Sam’s temple, voice low and steady. “Yeah… he talked about her a lot. Still does, when I let him. Always wanted me to know her, even if I couldn’t remember her myself. Told me how she laughed too loud, how her eyes lit up when she saw me, how I was never an accident but always - always - wanted.” His chest tightened, but his mouth curved into a faint, tender smile. “He made damn sure I grew up knowing I was loved. Even when she was gone, he carried her love for me like it was a torch. And he passed it on to me.” His thumb traced along Sam’s wrist, grounding them both. “That’s what I carry to you, Sammy. Not just me - but all the love I was given, too.”
Sam held his breath as he listened to Dean’s words. And deep down, he wished his father had been like that when he was younger. But with the knowledge he had now, namely that it was most likely that his mother was not killed by a dragon but by her own husband, Sam could see why he didn’t.
“Your father guided you to become a perfect man,” he whispered. “Perfect for me. If I ever meet him, remind me to thank him for that.”
Sam took a deep breath and held Dean closer, even for a moment.
“What are we going to do now, love? I mean, I’m not sure I’m awake enough to move, but if we stay here like this until the sun goes down, you’ll really have to keep me warm. And fed. ”He smiled into Dean’s hair and kissed him again. “You could keep feeding me with your love as well; that would be totally acceptable.”

Dean chuckled, the sound rumbling low in his chest as he shifted against Sam, the mountain air crisp around them, but the sun still warm on their bare skin. He let his lips brush lazily over Sam’s cheek, the rasp of his stubble leaving a trail behind. “Greedy,” he murmured, though the word carried nothing but tenderness. His hand slid down the length of Sam’s back, tracing the curve of muscle until it rested possessively at the small of it, keeping him close. “I’ll keep you warm, I’ll keep you fed. There’s dried meat and bread in the pack…,” his mouth quirked into a smirk, “and my love, which you’ll never run out of.” He pressed a slow kiss to Sam’s temple, eyes lifting to the sweep of peaks above them, the sky bright and endless. “But for now? We’ll stay right here. Just a little longer, with the sun and you.”
Sam smiled broadly. “Don’t blame me for my greed. I am only greedy for the best. Food. And you. If there’s that, then I have no worries.”
He snuggled a bit closer into Dean’s arms to be close to his warmth and closed his eyes. Not to sleep, but to concentrate on everything Dean. His warmth, his scent, the way his skin felt against his, the beating of his heart. Everything. “When you were a kid, did you have a best friend? Or do fireborns mostly stay by themselves? I want to know all about you, my dragon. All.” He moved his head back a little to peek at Dean and smiled.

Dean chuckled softly, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest as he shifted to look down at Sam. His arm tightened around him, protective, almost instinctive. “Guess I can live with that, seeing as I’m the one you’re greedy for.” His smile softened, though, when he thought of Sam’s question. “Best friend… aye, I had one. Fireborn don’t stay alone, not always. We find kin where we can. Mine was a boy named Cedric. He wasn’t afraid of what I was, not even when my temper sparked flame. We ran the hills together, stole apples, got into trouble with the old people more times than I can count.” His voice grew quieter, tinged with something bittersweet. “He died young, though. A fever took him. Since then, I’ve learned to keep my circle small. But now?” Dean tilted his head, brushing his nose against Sam’s hair. “Now I’ve got you. And that’s better than all the friends I ever dreamed of.”
“That sounds… nice. And sad. I’m sorry for your loss,” Sam said sincerely. “Stealing apples sounds familiar. To think that I got in trouble for it because people complained about it to my father and not because I did it, was a bit disconcerting.”
He remained quiet for a moment, thinking. “So, your best friend was not a fireborn like you? Did you have any fireborn friends, or are you so rare that there were none your age?”
Dean’s lips twitched, part smile, part shadow. “Cedric was,” he admitted softly, voice carrying the weight of something old. His thumb slowed against Sam’s wrist, as if he were drawing circles in memory more than in flesh. “He was fireborn like me. A brother in everything but blood. But…” His jaw tightened, and for a heartbeat, the warmth in his eyes burned sharper, darker. “The fire runs hot in us, hotter than most can stand. Cedric carried it steadily. Me—” Dean shook his head, forcing out a low breath. “I’ve got a temper, Sammy. Always have. It’s why people looked at me twice, why they thought twice before getting too close. Fireborn aren’t that rare - but the ones who can keep the fire from eating them inside out? That’s rarer still.”

Sam watched Dean as he told him about fireborns, seeing that having lost Cedric was something that weighed on him somehow.
“So, are you telling me he was the one who kept you… calm? Losing him must have been hard for you.”
He wrapped his arms around Dean and held him tightly for a moment.
“As a kid, I had friends when I was very young. But as I got older and my father’s reputation became worse, they stayed away. I thought it had changed when I started dating, but I found out it hadn’t really. But now that I’ve got you, that all makes up for it. I can be myself and you still love me, with no shadow of my father hanging over me.”
Dean drew in a breath, letting Sam’s words sink into him like rain on dry earth. His arms circled Sam’s waist, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them. “Cedric… yeah, he steadied me. He had this way of making the fire in me feel less like a curse and more like something I could wield, something I could own. Losing him was like losing a piece of myself I didn’t even know I needed.” His green eyes softened, searching Sam’s face in the warm sunlight. “But you, Sammy - you give me that and more. You don’t just calm me, you remind me who I am. And I swear, I’ll never let your father’s shadow touch you again. Not while I breathe.”
Sam smiled softly and nodded.
“I know. I trust you, remember?”
He settled with his arms still around Dean, seeking to give comfort as much as taking it.
“Can you tell me a bit? About you and Cedric? If it isn’t too painful, that is. I just want to know a bit more about how you were as a kid. I think we could have been friends back then already.”
Without thinking, Sam began massaging Dean’s shoulder with one hand, exploring muscles and just feeling Dean with all there was.
“Your muscles feel amazing,” he whispered. “All steel and power covered by warm, golden skin.”

Dean huffed out a low laugh, the sound rough but fond, his eyes slipping shut at the warmth of Sam’s touch. “Cedric?” he murmured, leaning just a fraction into the kneading fingers on his shoulder. “He was a little older, steadier than I. I was the reckless one - always climbing trees and rocks I wasn’t supposed to, running off into the woods with a sword too big for me. Cedric… he’d follow, grumbling the whole way, but he never left me to face the world alone.” His lips curved into a wry smile. “We balanced each other out, I guess. He taught me patience, I taught him trouble.” Dean tilted his head, brushing his cheek against Sam’s hair, voice softening. “If you’d been there, Sammy, you’d have fit right between us. You’ve got both in you - the fire and the calm. You’d have been the one to make us both better.”
Sam smiled. “You think so? I think I was all fire, like you. But I had to learn the calm to keep safe. Doing what I wanted, saying what I was thinking… let’s just say some of the cuts and bruises I had were not from falling out of a tree. Others were. But in a way, I wish we could go back in time and find each other. Then we would know how things would turn out.”
He leaned into Dean’s touch and let his hair tickle Dean’s face. “My friend Ardal was a bit like how you’re describing Cedric. Not always the voice of reason, though, but when I was younger, he told me not to let my temper stand up to my father because it wasn’t good for my health. He was the only one who wasn’t afraid to come to my house. He had a way of speaking to my father that meant he was welcome.
But he also told me what he thought of him. It was a sad day when he left the village.”

Dean’s throat tightened at Sam’s words, though he let a soft huff of a laugh escape, brushing his lips against Sam’s hair as if that could hide the ache in his chest. All fire, huh? He knew better. Sam wasn’t forged of flame the way he was - he could feel it every time their bodies touched, every time his dragon’s senses stirred and whispered of difference. Sam’s fire was borrowed, tempered by something gentler, something he couldn’t name aloud without revealing what he was. So he only held him closer, letting his hand drift slowly and steadily down Sam’s back. “Guess Ardal saw something in you worth standing up for,” he murmured, voice low, careful. “Not everyone gets a friend like that. And not everyone would’ve deserved it. But you…” Dean let his smile curve wry and fond, hiding the truth behind it. “You were worth it then, and you’re worth it now. More than you know.”

Sam laughed, and his eyes glinted happily when he looked at Dean. “You always know what to say, you know? To make me feel good, to make me smile. You keep telling me I’m worth it, and I’m going to believe it.” Sam leaned in and kissed Dean gently. Tasting him. Caressing him.
Finally, he relaxed back on the pillow they had brought and looked into Dean’s green eyes. “Can I ask you something about John? I mean, I heard dragons can get really old, but… is he old for a dragon, yet? And you refer to him as a father figure. Is it common that a dragon provides guidance like that to a fireborn?”

Dean held his breath for a moment, the question cutting closer than Sam could possibly know. He forced a small smile, one that he hoped passed as easy and untroubled. “John’s… way older than most I’ve ever known, that’s true. He’s seen more winters than any fireborn I’ve met. Age sits on him like armor, heavy but steady, and it makes him wise in ways I’ll never stop learning from.” His fingers brushed over Sam’s hand, thumb circling slowly. “As for guidance - yeah, it’s not totally uncommon, but very few dragons take on roles like that, and only with fireborn who earn their respect. They pass on their strength, their fire, their discipline. John’s always been that for me. A father in more ways than one.” Dean’s throat tightened, but he kept his gaze steady, praying Sam would hear only what he wanted him to.

“So… your fire, as opposed to Cedric’s calm, impressed John? Did Cedric also have a dragon to guide him?” Sam was curious and tried to read between the lines at times. He had the feeling Dean sometimes was tentative with what he said, but he put it down to dragons being supposed to be a secret, and fireborns probably as well. Because Sam had never heard of them before Dean mentioned being one.
“You said fireborns have something in common with dragons. Does that mean you can also get very old? Or is it mainly about the fire in your veins?”

Dean let his gaze wander over Sam’s face, the earnest curiosity there tugging at something deep in his chest. Careful—that word rang in his head like a bell toll. He couldn’t tell Sam everything, not yet, not like this, but he wouldn’t feed him falsehoods either. “It’s both,” he admitted, voice low, roughened by the weight of truth. “The fire’s more than light in my blood, more than heat in my bones. It keeps us strong, slows the passing of years. A fireborn can outlive a dozen kings, maybe more, though we’re not immortal.” His mouth quirked faintly, though his eyes stayed steady on Sam’s. “And magic - aye, it lingers. Not the wild kind you’ll find in stories, but enough to heal, to endure, to… protect.” He paused, thumb brushing absently over Sam’s wrist as though grounding himself there. “We’re tied to dragons, close enough that their breath still shapes us, even when they’re far away. That bond doesn’t fade easily. Not across centuries.”
The way Dean talked about it sounded like it was common knowledge, which it probably was when you weren’t an ordinary human.
“You know,” he said softly, “since I met you, it feels like I’m living in a fairy tale. And I keep wondering if I’ll wake up and it was all a dream.
I just can’t believe I never knew all this, but nobody I know knew it either. And I know I shouldn’t think so, but it makes me feel… it makes me feel like we’re not worthy. When in reality it’s probably just to protect you, because humans would try and kill all creatures that are different.”
He looked at Dean. “I just hope that whatever will happen, wherever we will go, that people see me for me, and not for being with you.”

Dean held his eyes, steady as stone, but his touch stayed gentle, thumb brushing across Sam’s hand. “They’ll see you,” he said, low but certain, like he was laying down a promise. “And if they don’t, then they’re fools not worth your breath. You’ve got nothing to prove, Sammy. You don’t need crowns or titles or any of the stories people whisper in the dark. What matters is that you’re the one who looks at me and doesn’t flinch. You’re the one who makes me feel like I can be… just a man, not the weight I carry. That’s rarer than any treasure, rarer than most could dream.” His lips tugged in the faintest smile. “Fairy tale or not - you’re the only part I’d fight to keep real.”
Sam reciprocated the smile. “As I said earlier, you always know what to say to make me feel good. And that’s part of why I love you.” He took Dean’s hand and placed it right over his heart. “That’s all yours, you know.” Sam pulled Dean down to him and kissed him again, slowly and with all of his emotions pouring into that kiss. “It seems like I have a lot to discover still, and I’m looking forward to discovering it with you by my side. I know you’ll always be there for me and protect me. Like I would protect you if I could. You’re my fairy tale, you know. Because I never thought I would find someone like you who loves me like you do.”

Dean’s chest tightened at Sam’s words, the weight of them sinking deeper than steel ever could. His mouth curved into a faint smile, but his eyes burned with something older, something untamed. “Fairy tale, huh?” he breathed, lowering his forehead to Sam’s. His voice dropped to a low rumble, like a secret carried on smoke and fire. “Then I’ll be your dragon, Sammy. Not the monster in the stories, but the one that circles your skies, that guards your nights, that no blade or spell could ever take from you. I’d fight every cursed beast, every dark sorcerer, every damn kingdom if it meant keeping you safe. I’ll burn the world down before I let it touch you. You’re my only treasure worth keeping… the only one I’d never let go. And you are my story too, Sammy - the one worth telling until the end of time.”
“That sounds… awesome. To have my own dragon looking out for me, keeping me safe. I mean, not everyone can say that about themselves, right?” Sam smiled broadly and let his fingers travel all over Dean’s back, right down his spine to his ass. There, he drew little scale-shaped patterns on his skin and touched his lips to Dean’s. “I just wonder, can dragons kiss? I mean, they’re gigantic and majestic, but I don’t even know if they have what would be lips. Because I would like to kiss my dragon.”

Dean let out a soft huff of laughter, shaking his head as he brushed his nose along Sam’s cheek. “Dragons don’t have lips like we do, Sammy. They’ve got teeth and fire, and a maw big enough to swallow a man whole. So no, they can’t kiss the way you mean.” His voice dropped, threaded with warmth and promise. “But me? I’ll always find a way to kiss you. No matter what shape I take, no matter what the world makes of me - I’ll find a way to press myself into you, to remind you I’m yours and you’re mine.” His mouth sealed the vow with another slow, searing kiss, as if to prove his point then and there.
Sam felt his insides tingle when Dean kissed him like that, like he wanted to devour him and keep him safe at the same time. Dean’s kisses always had that effect on him, and he shivered from the intensity.
“So…,” he breathed in between kisses, “if dragons… do not kiss… how do… they show their… love for their… partner?” Sam’s hand by now had climbed up again to trace Dean’s shoulder blade with gentle fingers. “Just by telling them?” he added before diving right back into their kiss.
Dean chuckled against Sam’s mouth, the sound low and rough, before breaking the kiss just enough to whisper against his lips. “Dragons don’t waste breath on words, Sammy. They guard what’s theirs. They wrap their wings around their mate, shield ‘em from fire, from blade, from the whole damn world if they have to.” His eyes darkened, fierce and tender all at once, as his hand slid to the back of Sam’s neck, thumb stroking slow circles. “And when they let their fire touch you - not to burn, but to warm - that’s love. That’s forever.” Then he kissed him again, deeper, like he was proving every word.

“That sounds nice,” Sam replied. “Being wrapped in a dragon’s wings, I mean. I imagine it’s like a cloak that saves you from weather and elements, from enemy fire and other bad things.” He let Dean kiss him, enjoying the feel of his lips as they explored and caressed him.
“How do you mean what you said with their fire?” he breathed in between kisses. “How can their fire touch humans without burning them?” Sam had no idea if dragon fire was any different from normal fire. Until a short time ago, he didn’t even know for sure they existed. But fire to him held a heat that he couldn’t imagine would not burn anything or anyone.
Dean let his lips linger at the corner of Sam’s mouth, then lowered them to the soft skin of his throat. He breathed out slowly, steadily, and the warmth that rolled over Sam wasn’t the harsh bite of fire but a deep, steady heat that sank into his skin and loosened the tightness in his chest. He felt Sam shiver—not from cold, but from that strange comfort, that warmth that didn’t belong to mere breath. Dean’s smile curved against his skin, hidden in the shadows. “Some flames don’t burn,” he murmured, voice low, almost secret. “They shield, they protect, they… belong.” He pulled back just enough to meet Sam’s eyes, masking the truth that throbbed behind his own. “Of course, dragons are the masters of that. They can keep you warm without harm, turn their fire into a gift instead of a weapon.” He swallowed the rest - the part that wanted to say I know, because I am one - and smoothed his thumb over Sam’s jaw instead, hiding the truth behind touch.

When Dean breathed over his throat and Sam felt the heat on his skin, he held his breath. It felt like a deep warmth, a comfortable one like the one a tiled stove provided in winter. Only more intense. He lowered his eyes to look at Dean with big eyes. His face was filled with emotions, bewilderment, amazement, and confusion. And for a few long moments, he was lost for words. When he recovered from being speechless, he swallowed and then licked his lips. “Is… did you… can fireborns also use… dragon fire?” he asked, his voice still betraying his amazement. “Did… was there a flame on my skin? Because it was a lot hotter than your breath could be, but… it felt like comfort. Like… home.”
Dean’s mouth curved, half a smile, half something older, something that carried the weight of secrets he rarely spoke aloud. He didn’t pull back - kept his lips close enough that Sam could still feel the ghost of his warmth. “Not a flame,” he murmured, his voice rough as stone but steady, “not the kind that burns wood or melts steel. What you felt… it’s older. The fireborn carry a spark, aye, but it’s not for destroying. It’s what binds us. What we give when words aren’t enough.” His green eyes caught the sunlight, bright and unflinching. “If it felt like home, then that’s because you are mine. And I wanted you to know it - on your skin, in your bones.”
Sam shivered with awe, and Dean’s closeness did the rest.

“So, a dragon’s flame is similar? I always thought dragon fire would burn and destroy. Then again, I thought they didn’t exist. Or… I was torn. You know why.” He closed his eyes for a moment, leaning his forehead against Dean’s. “Can you do that again? That… heat? It does things to me, you know? Not in a sexual way. But it makes me feel protected in a way I don’t ever remember feeling.”
Dean huffed a low laugh, the sound rumbling in his chest as his hand came up to cradle the back of Sam’s neck. “Dragon fire can burn, Sammy. It can tear through stone, scorch armies to ash. But that’s not all it is. The flame answers to the heart that wields it. Mine’s not meant to destroy you - it’s meant to shield you. To wrap around you so nothing else can get close.” His thumb brushed slow circles against Sam’s skin, steady and sure. “And if it makes you feel safe? Then that’s me doing it right. That’s the way it should be.”
Dean tilted his head, letting his lips hover just beside Sam’s ear before exhaling slowly and deliberately, sending that same low, smoldering warmth over Sam’s skin. The heat rolled like a living thing, not searing, but deep and steady, wrapping him in invisible armor. Dean felt Sam shiver again, and he couldn’t help the small, protective smile that tugged at his mouth. “There it is,” he murmured. “My flame, yours to keep.”
Sam was still mostly speechless, too many emotions and thoughts running through his mind. First, he learned that dragons existed, then there were the fireborns. And Dean was a fireborn. Somehow, to Sam, fireborns seemed like a mixture of dragons and humans. He definitely looked human, but he had a flame like dragons, and his skin was glowing, his eyes were swirling golden, or flame colored, when they were intimate.
“Mine to keep?” he repeated Dean’s words. “I want to keep you, flame or no flame. I… it seems the world I know is a lot less than it really is, and discovering it with you? It’s stunning, amazing, and in some way liberating.” He looked at Dean for a moment before continuing. “Is there more stuff that I’m missing besides dragons and fireborns?”

Dean huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head just a little. “Yeah, there’s more. Always is. Kingdoms think they know it all, but truth is, half the world’s hidden right under their noses. Creatures, old magic, stories that never made it into the songs they teach kids at the fire.” He tipped his chin, catching Sam’s gaze with something steady and sure. “But don’t go thinkin’ you gotta carry all that at once. You got me. And whatever else is out there, I’ll be the one to walk you through it. One step at a time. You won’t ever have to figure it out alone.”
Sam hummed softly and nodded.
“And you have no idea how glad I am about that. Right now, regarding all this, I feel like a toddler who explores the world. And what I remember from being a toddler, or a small child, the world is scary. And I could need better guidance than… before.” He leaned his head back and looked at the sky for a moment.
“Can you do that again? With your flame? Warm me and… keep me safe? I think I need that feeling.”
His eyes were still big, showing Dean a mixture of all the emotions that were swirling around inside him. Things were getting a bit much, and he needed to feel grounded. Safe. Anchored. And Dean did that. Dean and that flame.

Dean’s chest tightened at the way Sam looked at him - like he was the only steady thing left in a world tilting on its axis. He lifted his hand, palm hovering just above Sam’s chest, and let the ancient fire stir inside him. It rose slowly, controlled, not to burn but to cradle, seeping warmth into Sam’s skin until the boy shivered and then sighed, shoulders loosening. Dean watched the glow paint Sam’s features in gold, watched fear and weariness ease just enough for peace to slip in. “Aye,” he murmured, voice steady as iron, “I’ll give you that as often as you need. My flame’s yours, Sammy. To guard you. To remind you you’re not alone.”
Sam closed his eyes when Dean began to let that flame work, and he could feel how the heat melted away some of his worries and stress, then a little more. He could feel his body react in a way that he had no control over, but as soon as the relaxation began to sweep over him, he felt the shivering subside slightly.
He lost track of time, but he could feel like something dark and depressing inside him was lifted, making him feel lighter and somewhat heavy at the same time. But not heavy with worry, his body began feeling heavy as the tension flowed from it. “So good,” he whispered. “Must’ve done s’mthin’ right to d’serve this.”
Dean’s mouth curved, not into his usual smirk, but into something softer, something meant only for Sam. He let the fire hum steadily in his chest, letting the warmth seep from his palms into Sam’s skin, careful and sure like tending a sacred flame. “You did plenty right,” he murmured, brushing his lips close to Sam’s ear. “More than you’ll ever give yourself credit for. You’ve carried weight that wasn’t yours, fought battles that should’ve broken you - and still, you’re here.” His voice dropped, threaded with both reverence and promise. “If anyone deserves rest… if anyone deserves this, it’s you.” He smoothed his hand over Sam’s chest, feeling the rhythm there, steadying, matching his own.

Sam breathed deeply, feeling Dean’s hand on his chest, his lips against his ear, and his words resonating in his mind. He wanted to answer, but his lips felt too heavy to move. But he managed a light smile, hoping Dean would take it for what it was. A thank you.
Dean’s warmth was all-encompassing, and Sam honestly couldn’t tell if he was asleep or awake. Somehow, it felt like both.
When he managed to open his eyes again, the sun had moved, but Dean was still there, keeping his flame for him, watching him, guarding him. Like he was a treasure.
“Hey,” Sam croaked and cleared his throat. “Thank you, my dragon. This… it’s amazing. I’m feeling a lot lighter, inside.”
Dean’s chest swelled at the sound of Sam’s voice, rough and honest, like gravel over gold. He shifted just enough to look down at him, the sunlight catching in his hair and making him seem almost otherworldly. “You don’t have to thank me,” Dean said softly, though his thumb brushed across Sam’s cheek as if to reassure himself this wasn’t some fragile dream. “You were meant to feel this, to know what it is to be guarded, cherished. You are my light, my treasure, Sam - and a dragon guards his treasure with fire and blood if he has to.” His lips curved into a smile that was both tender and dangerous, a promise carved into the marrow of his bones. “And you? You’ll never be alone again. Not while I breathe.”
Sam studied Dean’s face, smiling. Dean kept referring to himself as a dragon, and Sam liked the ring to it. And if he was honest, a fireborn pretty much sounded very similar, but for the scales and gigantic size.
“I want to thank you,” he replied. “It may seem normal to you what you’re doing, but to me it means the world. You… mean the world.”
He turned on his side to face the fireborn with a smile on his face.
“Is there anything I can do for you, maybe? Because it doesn’t seem fair that you keep giving and I receive.”

Dean’s mouth tugged into a half-smile, the kind that softened the hard lines of his face but never stripped it of its strength. He shifted closer, the sunlight catching in his eyes, flickering like the embers of something older than time itself. “You already do, Sammy,” he said, his voice a low rumble, steady as stone. “Every time you look at me like that, every time you don’t flinch from what I am… you give me more than I ever thought I’d have.” His hand rose, roughened fingers brushing against Sam’s cheek, reverent in their touch. “You don’t owe me balance. You’re the only one who ever made me feel like I’m more than the fire in my blood. That’s enough - for a dra… a fireborn, that’s everything.”
Sam’s smile got wider. “Why don’t you say dragon? You keep calling yourself one the whole time. And I like calling you my dragon, even when you’re a fireborn. I mean, obviously, you’re not gigantic and have no wings and scales. But you have fire inside you, and you’re making me feel so well all the time.”
He breathed deeply again and then let his gaze travel across Dean lovingly. “So, what would you like to do? It seems to me that today we’ve just been doing things that I asked for. I think it’s your turn, ‎غhràidh.”

Dean huffed a soft laugh, though his chest warmed at hearing that word on Sam’s lips. He tilted his head, pretending to think it over, though in truth his mind had been set for a while now. “As much as I like sunbathing with you,” he said, voice low, threaded with affection, “what I really want is to head back. By the time we reach the cabin, evening will be creeping in, and I don’t want to miss you showing me how to cook that lamb the way you promised. I’ve been craving it all day.” His lips curved in a teasing smile as he nudged Sam’s shoulder with his own. “So, what do you say, my clever cook? Will you let your dragon trade battles and roads for fire and a good meal?”
“Sure,” Sam smiled, and as if it agreed, his stomach rumbled. “This has been a rather eventful day, and I think we both, but especially you, deserve that lamb.”
He leaned towards Dean and kissed his lips. Then he looked around in search of his clothes, and after handing Dean’s to him, he got dressed, slowly. “You know, once in a while it’s good to have a day like this. I mean… a picnic with a spectacular view, awesome sex… getting to be naked in nature, flying with a dragon? That’s fantastic. And now I have to feed my dragon.” He grinned and quickly began packing everything together, and when he’d bundled everything up, he straightened. “Ready. Lead the way, fireborn,” he requested with a gleam in his eyes.
Dean chuckled at that gleam, shaking his head as he pulled on his tunic and his leather. The way down the mountain passed in a quiet rhythm - the crunch of their boots on stone, the settling night air cooling around them, Sam’s steady presence just a step behind. By the time the little cabin came into view, Dean’s chest felt lighter, steadier, as if the mountain itself had bled away the weight of the day. Inside, he set down the bundle, folding the blanket with practiced hands and tucking the pillow back into its place in the chest at the foot of their bed. He lingered just a moment, fingers brushing over the wood as if sealing away the memory. Then, catching the faint clatter of dishes and the promise of warmth, he followed Sam into the kitchen, the scent of herbs already teasing the air.

Sam quickly packed away the bundle he’d carried and then focused his attention on the lamb. He spiced it the way he liked it best and made sure there were no spots left open.
Once the lamb was seared nicely and in the tray and the wooden stove oven, Sam went on to find potatoes and beans. He even found some bacon, which he cut into a few slices that he then chopped finely.
His focus was solely on getting food up that matched the day’s vibe, being spectacular, and soon the smell of lamb and thyme, pepper and garlic was wafting through the cabin. Sam steamed the beans and then put them in a tray where he’d melted butter, garlic, and salt, a little pepper, and more of the thyme before frying the beans in it and adding the bacon when it was almost done for extra flavor. “Five minutes,” he finally called and got the last of the flatbread from the pack, placing it on the hot stove to reheat.
Dean leaned back on the bench, watching Sam move about the cabin like he was born to command hearth and flame as much as he did sword and shield. The smell of lamb and herbs wrapped around him, rich and warm, and he couldn’t help the way his mouth watered. But more than the food, it was Sam himself that held him - steady hands, furrowed brow, the quiet pride he took in making a simple cabin feast into something fit for a king. Dean’s chest swelled with a mixture of hunger and something softer, deeper, the kind of ache that came from seeing everything he’d ever wanted right in front of him. He let his fingers drum against the rough wood of the table, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “You’ll spoil me, Sammy,” he murmured, voice low, almost reverent.

Sam smiled, having heard those soft words. “Not as much as you’re spoiling me. That flame-induced nap was like a reset for my mind and soul. All that felt heavy and tired inside me before that is now light and chipper. So… thank you. But if you insist on doing something, how about you get the dishes out? I think the lamb is done.” He flashed Dean a brilliant smile and searched for oven gloves to handle the tray with the lamb. He sliced it, arranged it in a pleasing-looking way on a plate, filled the potatoes and the beans in bowls, and poured the juices of the lamb into a small cup to pour over the meat. Once everything was on the table, Sam headed back to the pantry because he had spotted some wine in the box that was the coolest place in the cabin, and brought it to the table. “Is wine okay? Or would you prefer water? Or juice?” he asked, looking at Dean expectantly.
Dean leaned back, watching Sam bustle around the little cabin like he owned the place - or maybe like he’d been meant to, all along. The smell of roasted lamb and herbs filled the air, rich and mouthwatering, but Dean found himself more caught by the glow on Sam’s face than the food on the table. “Wine’s fine,” he said, voice low and a little rough from the warmth that had nothing to do with the fire. He stood, moving to fetch the dishes as Sam had asked, his hands steady even though his chest wasn’t. As he set them down, he let his shoulder brush against Sam’s, a fleeting touch that lingered more than it should. “But don’t go thinkin’ this resets you alone, Sammy. Feels like it resets me too - every time I get to see you smile like that.”

Sam turned his head to Dean and smiled broadly.
“You like it when I smile. I know that. I like it, too. But this smile now, that’s just because of you.”
He picked up the meat fork and attached a slice of lamb, looking at Dean. “How many would you like?” he asked and draped it on Dean’s plate, looking at him as he waited for his reply. “Oh, and for the potatoes? They’re crispy, but a little of the roast sauce tastes marvelous with it without taking away the crunch. And the crunch in the beans is the bacon bits. Made them extra crispy.”
Dean couldn’t help the low chuckle that rumbled in his chest, the sound slipping out before he even answered. Sam’s grin, the way he fussed over the food like a lord at his own table - it warmed something in him deeper than the fire crackling at their backs. “Two slices’ll do,” Dean said, his eyes lingering on Sam more than the lamb. “And plenty of those potatoes. You know I can’t resist when you go on about the crunch like that.” He leaned his elbow on the table, studying him with quiet fondness, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smirk. “Truth is, I’d eat damn near anything if you put it on my plate, Sammy. But I won’t lie - watching you light up while you talk about it makes it taste better already.”

Sam added the other requested slice to Dean’s plate and then gave him a healthy helping of potatoes and beans.
“Enjoy the food, fireborn,” he then smiled and plated up for himself.
“I like cooking. And I can tell you I am enjoying it right now even more because you really appreciate my food and the effort I put into it.
If you want to I can check later if I can make some kind of dessert? Some pudding and custard, maybe?”
He opened the wine bottle and first poured himself a little, smelling the bouquet. “That seems to be quite a good vintage,” he noted and proceeded to pour first for Dean and then added to his own glass. “I do hope you’ll enjoy the food,” he smiled and watched closely as he waited for Dean to taste.
Dean leaned forward, taking the plate with a nod that was more reverent than casual. The firelight caught on the edges of his face, softened only by the warmth in his eyes as he met Sam’s gaze. He lifted the fork and cut into the slice, chewing slowly, letting the flavors settle on his tongue before he swallowed. A low sound rumbled in his chest - approval, contentment, something deeper. “Sammy… this is good. More than good. You’ve managed to make a dragon forget the skies with a mouthful.” He set the fork down, fingers brushing the stem of the wineglass before lifting it, the ruby liquid catching the light like blood and promise both. He tipped it slightly in Sam’s direction, a toast unspoken but heavy with meaning. “A man could get used to this - used to you.”

Sam’s smile grew impossibly wider. The fact that Dean enjoyed his food and praised him meant the world to Sam. “You mean you’re considering keeping me?” he then laughed. “I’m so glad I’m tolerable enough to get used to.” His eyes sparkled at those words, and it was clear he was just teasing Dean. He tucked into his own plate with enthusiasm, especially happy about the meat that was very soft and juicy with a tasty crust, just how he had intended to. “What’s your favorite flavor?” Sam asked between bites. “For pudding and custard, I mean.”
Dean chuckled low, setting his knife down with a deliberate grace as though he were weighing the question like some knightly oath instead of simple table talk. His gaze lingered on Sam, softer than the firelight dancing in the hall. “Vanilla,” he said finally, the word rolling easily from his tongue. “Plain to some, maybe. But it’s clean, true… steady. Doesn’t need to shout to be good. Just is.” He leaned back a little, a faint smirk playing at his lips. “Guess I like the kind of sweetness that lasts, not the kind that burns quick and leaves you empty.” His eyes flicked over Sam once more, a silent meaning tucked behind the simple answer.
Sam smiled silently as he enjoyed the food. He had heard Dean loud and clear and just couldn’t stop his heart from beating faster.

“Vanilla, eh?” he then stated. “Good choice. I like it, too. I also like caramel, and I usually add some rock salt in there. Not too much, just a little to make you enjoy the sweet even more.”
He smiled, a little shy. He hadn’t forgotten the looks he’d gotten from Ardal when he had made that caramel the first time. And he was sure Ardal had only tasted it not to hurt his feelings. But… he had loved it. “I could make a vanilla custard and then some salted caramel brittle to sprinkle over if you like.”
Dean leaned back on the rough-hewn bench, watching Sam with a warmth that had nothing to do with the fire crackling nearby. “You and your sweets,” he murmured, lips tugging into a smirk that softened almost instantly. “You’d have half the kingdom wrapped around your finger if they tasted what you put together. Custard and brittle, huh? Sounds like something fit for a lord’s table, not two worn travelers on the road.” He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from Sam’s brow, his touch lingering just a breath too long. “But if it’s your hands making it, I’d eat it every day and call myself blessed.”
“Well, then it’s good we’re in a cabin and not on the road,” Sam grinned conspiratorially and put another potato into his mouth. “Vanilla and brittle it is… when we’re done here.”
He took a small refill of the beans and an end piece of the roast, as he liked the crunch.
“You know what’s pivotal to a good caramel sheet? You have to mix it with the right amount of butter to make it smooth and glistening, and it dissolves in the mouth. And it mustn’t be too thick. Because that will make it the best experience.”

Dean leaned back on the bench, watching Sam with a look that was equal parts amusement and something warmer, softer. His hunter spoke of sweets as though reciting scripture, eyes alight with a spark that no battlefield could ever dim. Dean let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re talkin’ like a monk over his holy text, Sammy. Caramel, butter, smooth, and glistening - hell, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re preachin’.” He reached for his cup, the firelight throwing golden flickers across Sam’s face, and for a moment, Dean just watched, letting the quiet domesticity settle into his bones like a rare blessing. “Still,” he added, voice rougher, though laced with fondness, “if it makes you smile like that, then I’ll fetch you all the sugar in the realm.”
“I’m not preaching, fireborn. I’m just raving about that stuff. Because it deserves all the praise it can get. But,” he grinned, “you will see. Even those who don’t have much of a sweet tooth love it.”
Sam set about cleaning his plate because he’d really gotten an appetite from how they spent their day.
Once his plate was empty, and the bowls were, too, he sat back, licking his lips. “How about we let this settle a little, then I cook up a custard and make the caramel sheet, and while that stuff settles, we do something to pass the time?” Sam looked at Dean, waiting for his reply.

Dean leaned back on the bench, the firelight painting his smirk in warm gold. He watched Sam with an ease that came only after a day well spent, his heart tugging at the sight of him licking the last trace of sauce from his lips. “Aye,” Dean said, voice low and roughened by contentment, “that sounds like a fair bargain. Let the custard sit, let the sugar harden… and in the meantime, we’ll not waste the hours staring at the embers.” His gaze lingered, intent and unflinching, before he reached across the table to brush his knuckles against Sam’s hand. “I’ve got a thought or two on how we might pass that time.”
“Oh?” Sam looked mock surprised. “Care to share?” He was curious about what Dean had in mind.
He took in the empty plate and smiled. “I take it you liked the roast,” he then said. “I’m sure you’ll love dessert. How about I clear this up now and then start up the custard? You can tell me your thoughts, and while the caramel settles, we explore your thoughts?”

Dean smirked, leaning back, the firelight catching on the curve of his mouth as though it shared in his amusement. “Explore my thoughts, huh? Careful what you ask for, Sammy. My thoughts aren’t always courtly or fit for a scholar’s ear.” His gaze lingered, slow and deliberate, before he pushed the plate toward Sam with a lazy flick of his wrist. “But since you fed me like a king, maybe I’ll humor you. Though I warn you,” his tone softened, a husky edge threading through it, “the sweetest thing in this hall isn’t custard, and I don’t need a hearth or pan to prove it.”
Dean rose halfway from his seat, one hand braced on the table, the other already reaching toward Sam as though drawn without thought. His voice dipped lower, rich and intent. “While the custard settles, I want to taste something far rarer. I want to have you in my arms by the fire, feel you lean into me like you do when the world grows quiet. Let me hold you close, steal a kiss or two, maybe more, and remind you that no dessert could ever match the sweetness I find right here.”

Sam’s eyes flashed momentarily, and he graced Dean with a reverent smile.
“I think that’s a great idea,” he smiled and got up to get started because he didn’t want to waste time. Being in Dean’s arms by the fire was too enticing.
Making short work of washing the dishes with Dean drying them off, Sam quickly rolled his sleeves up and began collecting the ingredients for the custard.
In a steel pot, he poured milk and cream, heated them slowly, and used a whisk to swirl them together with tiny black seeds he had scraped from a fresh vanilla pod. Sam stirred slowly, watching the black flecks dance in the liquid.
Custard wasn’t about rushing things. It required balance, knowing when the heat had kissed the mixture just enough to thicken without curdling.
The air smelled faintly of sugar and vanilla, a soft sweetness that clung to the cabin walls like a promise.
“Here,” Sam said, handing Dean the whisk. “Keep swirling it. Slowly. When it thickens, let me know. I’ll start the brittle now.”
He smiled at Dean and was tempted to kiss him, but that would distract him from setting up the brittle.

Working on the other side of the stove, Sam let sugar melt into a golden pool. It bubbled angrily as it transformed, and Sam sprinkled in flakes of rock salt. He listened to the crackle as the caramel deepened into a rich amber. When the sugar had lost all crystals, Sam flicked in a blob of butter, which he stirred in as it melted. When the sugar and the butter had combined, he added a little more rock salt and poured the substance thinly across a tray, which he set aside so it could now cool into a sheet of brittle glass.
Finally, he glanced over at Dean and the custard pot and inhaled.
“Gods, that smell makes my mouth water already,” he whispered.
“I think the custard is ready. I’ll get the bowls to pour it in. The caramel just has to cool until it’s hard. And then we smash and break it.”

Dean chuckled low, the sound rumbling from his chest as he kept the whisk moving in a steady rhythm. The mixture had thickened under his hand, silky and warm, and he couldn’t help but marvel at how patient Sam was with such things. Dean wasn’t built for patience, not really, but standing there with the fire crackling, the sweet scent of vanilla wrapping around him, he felt himself settling into the moment. “You always make it look easy,” he said, watching Sam fetch the bowls with that quiet determination of his. “Me, I’d probably burn the whole damn pot if you weren’t here.” His eyes lingered on Sam longer than he meant to, the firelight catching on his hair, the curve of his smile. Dean swallowed, voice softer now. “Guess I like learning it from you, though. Makes it worth the waiting.”
Sam smiled at Dean because his words and the lingering look he hadn’t missed made him feel warm inside. “Well, sometimes you have to be patient. If you rush the custard, you’ll burn down the place or at least risk having a slightly burnt taste to it. And I tell you, that is nasty. So, slow and steady it is, on a low heat. Believe me, I know. I had to learn that patience, and I learned it the hard way.”
He laughed. “The brittle is easy. You just have to make sure it doesn’t burn while melting the sugar, and once it’s fluid and the butter and rock salt are incorporated, pour it and let it cool. It breaks like a thin sheet of ice in winter when it’s done, and it will melt in your mouth. So if you hear me making any obscene noises while eating it, it’s because it’s almost as good as your kisses.”

Dean huffed a laugh, shaking his head, though the heat that crept into his chest was nothing to joke about. Trust Sam to compare his kisses to sugared brittle and custard, to make love sound like a kitchen craft. “You’re something else, you know that?” he murmured, voice thick but laced with amusement. He tilted Sam’s chin up with two fingers, studying him in the flickering firelight that painted their little cabin’s walls. “Sweet talker, tempting me with burnt sugar and blasphemy in the same breath. But you’re right about patience. A steady hand, a slow fire - that’s how you temper steel, too. And I swear, Sammy, I’ve never had the patience for anything in this life but you.”
“Oh?”
Sam looked at Dean, at the green eyes that swirled golden.
“In that case, I consider myself lucky.” Then he got the pot with the custard, which smelled divine, and poured it evenly into the two bowls. Then he set them aside along with the tray of sticky, sugary caramel and quickly cleaned the pots.
“Okay, my impatient dragon. Where do you want to sit and kiss? We have about an hour until the brittle is cool enough to… brittle.”

Dean’s mouth tugged into a grin, low and slow, the kind that always came when Sam teased him like that. “Anywhere you’ll have me,” he rumbled, the gold flickering brighter in his eyes as the firelight caught them. He stepped closer, brushing his knuckles down Sam’s arm, savoring the warmth of him after the long day. “But if I’m choosing…” His gaze drifted toward the hearth, where flames licked steadily and the fur rugs lay thick and soft. “Let’s settle in front of the fire. You in my arms, the warmth at our backs, nothing else between us.” He leaned in, voice dropping with a husky edge. “Food can wait, Sammy. Kissing you never can.”
“Such a lucky circumstance that the food has to wait anyway,” Sam replied and then walked to a big armchair, taking Dean’s hand into his to pull him along. Not that he would need to pull him.
At the armchair, Sam had a mischievous glint in his eyes and pulled Dean close. He kissed him and maneuvered him just the way he needed to gently push him into the chair. “There, that’s perfect,” he hummed, content. Then, with quick movements, he straddled Dean in the chair, slung his arms around his neck, and then leaned their foreheads together. “Sooo… you said something about kissing until the brittle is cool, no? How’s this here then? Acceptable seat? The fireplace is near. You’re sitting. And me? I’m here, ready for any mischief.”

Dean let out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling against Sam’s chest as his hands instinctively found their place at Sam’s hips. He tilted his head back just enough to catch the firelight glinting in Sam’s eyes, that dangerous mix of innocence and temptation. “Acceptable?” he murmured, voice thick with heat and amusement. “Sammy, this seat is better than any throne I’ve ever heard of.” His fingers flexed against the firm line of Sam’s waist, holding him there like he had no intention of letting go. The warmth of the hearth brushed against his skin, but it was nothing compared to the warmth of Sam pressed against him. A smile curved across his lips, equal parts reverence and wicked promise. “Now, about that mischief… you’d better be ready to make me forget what brittle even is.”
Sam laughed softly.
“And here I thought I had to show you what brittle is. You were talking about kissing, right?”

He let his eyes drop to Dean’s lips and then slowly leaned forward until their lips touched. It felt like a tiny lightning bolt when his lips settled on Dean’s and he kissed him gently. The kiss was slow, deep, and unhurried, like a quiet conversation. Sam’s hands rested on Dean’s chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart through the shirt. For a moment, the only sounds were the crackle of the fire and the soft sighs that escaped them both.
Then Sam’s kiss became more intense, more suggestive, and he held on to Dean’s shoulders to move his body even closer to him.
Dean felt the shift as surely as the spark of steel meeting flint, heat surging through him like it had been waiting in his blood all along. He answered the kiss with a hunger of his own, one hand sliding up the strong line of Sam’s back, anchoring him close as if distance itself were an enemy. The firelight painted Sam’s face in shades of gold and shadow, and Dean’s chest tightened at the sight - like some vow had just been forged between them in silence and touch. His lips lingered, deepened, claimed, yet always softened at the edges, as though he feared breaking the very thing he craved most. When he finally drew back, his breath fanned against Sam’s lips, rough and reverent. “Aye, Sammy,” he murmured, voice thick, “kissing. And something far more than that.”

“Far more?” Sam asked. Of course, he knew what Dean was referring to, but at that moment, he wanted Dean to tell him. Or show him. Because for a reason he couldn’t name, it was exciting to be allowed into Dean’s mind. Moving once more, he stole another kiss.
“I think you have to show me what type of more you’re talking about, ‎غhràidh.”
Sam let his fingers trail down over Dean’s shoulders and arms all the way to his hands and back up. Then he held on to Dean’s shoulders and pulled him closer again.
Dean’s breath caught, the old word curling in his chest like fire and balm both. غhràidh. His heart ached with how natural it sounded on Sam’s tongue, like it had always belonged there. He tilted his head, letting his lips hover just above Sam’s, close enough that the heat between them was its own kind of kiss. “Far more,” he murmured, the words roughened with promise, “means I’ll never stop finding ways to make you feel wanted. Not just tonight, not just in whispers, but in every damn thing I do.” His hand slid up the curve of Sam’s neck, thumb brushing beneath his jaw as he drew him in. “You’ll never have to wonder, Sammy. I’ll carve it into every moment until you can’t forget it.”

Sam’s eyes moved between Dean’s. He knew Dean meant every word just the way he said it. He may only have experienced different things from the person who was supposed to mean every word when Sam was a child. His father had mostly made him feel unwanted, and it had caused Sam to feel similar in most places. But with Dean, he never felt unwanted. And he was sure it would stay that way.
“When it comes from you,” he started in a quiet voice, “I can’t forget it. You’re about the only person who meant every word he said to me. And it feels special.”
He interlaced his fingers behind Dean’s neck and softly kissed Dean.
“You don’t just make me feel wanted with words, but with everything. Your eyes, your lips, the way you touch me… watch me. And you have no idea how good that feels.”
Dean let his eyes fall shut for a moment, letting the kiss linger like a vow pressed to his very soul. When he pulled back just enough to breathe, his forehead rested against Sam’s, the faint weight of his hands settling at Sam’s waist as if to keep him close forever. “I know what it is to grow up with shadows where there should’ve been warmth,” he murmured, his voice low, steady, carrying the cadence of a knight’s oath. “But if I’ve got anything worth giving, it’s the proof that you’ll never be left in the cold again. Not while I breathe, not while my fire still burns. You’ll always be wanted, Sammy - wanted like you were carved into my fate before I ever knew it.” His thumb brushed along the line of Sam’s jaw, reverent, claiming.

Sam shuddered briefly.
“Shadows,” he repeated. “That’s one way to call it. But you’re like the sun, chasing the shadows away. I had days growing up where I wondered if I’d ever see the sun in people. And I did, sometimes. But none shines as brightly as you. Maybe that’s what instantly drew me to you.”
He smiled at Dean and then turned his head to kiss his thumb. “You saw me even before you knew me. And you saved me again when others would have thought that dropping me at a healer would be enough. I think that is part of why I trusted you immediately.”
Dean felt the corners of his mouth tug upward, slow and almost shy, though there was nothing shy about the heat that swelled in his chest at Sam’s words. He tilted Sam’s chin just enough to look at him fully, green eyes steady, unwavering. “You make it sound like I’m some kind of knight from the old songs,” he murmured, a wry edge to his voice that softened as his thumb brushed over Sam’s jaw. “Truth is, Sammy, I just couldn’t turn away. Not from you. Not then, not ever. It wasn’t duty, and it wasn’t charity. It was… something deeper. Like I’d been waiting for you without knowing it, and the moment I found you, every road behind me suddenly made sense.” He let out a breath, rough but sure. “So no - don’t thank me for saving you. You’re the reason I burn bright at all.”
“Something deeper,” Sam replied, nodding. “You keep saying that, and it definitely feels deep. A good deep.”

Sam settled his hands on Dean’s chest once more and gently touched him all over, like he was memorizing his body with his fingers and locking him in his memory.
“Not sure if I told you, but I love the way you feel, my dragon. It doesn’t even matter where I touch you; it always feels like I’m supposed to be doing this, touching and feeling you. And I love it. It calms my inner unrest.”
Dean’s chest tightened at the sound of it - my dragon - a name that clawed at the truth he could never let slip. He swallowed, forcing his breath even as he closed his hand over Sam’s, pressing it firmly against his chest. “You don’t even know what that does to me,” he murmured, voice rough with more than he dared admit. “The way you touch me like I’m not some stranger, but a man you want to know… a man you trust.” He leaned down, brushing his lips across Sam’s brow, lingering there. “You calm me more than I’d ever thought possible, Sammy. With you, it’s like some of the weight I’ve carried all my life finally eases. Like maybe I was made to be yours.”

Sam looked at Dean, studying his eyes, his expression. Everything he saw told him that Dean saw him for himself and really meant those things. “Somehow, it sounds unbelievable that I can calm someone. I mean, usually the moment I warm up to someone, I talk their ears off. And I think I do that to you, too. And still you say that I have a calming effect on you. That actually makes me feel quite happy.” He smiled warmly and leaned forward to kiss Dean. “And… you ground me. You make me see myself, my strength, and you tell me to believe in myself. And that means so much to me. More than you can imagine.”
Dean let the kiss linger, soft but steady, before drawing back just far enough to meet Sam’s eyes again. The firelight flickered across Sam’s face, catching in his hair like threads of gold, and Dean felt the ache of it settle deep in his chest. “You think I don’t imagine it?” he murmured, voice low, edged with a husky kind of wonder. “Sammy, every time you look at me like that, I know exactly what I mean to you. And yeah, you talk too much - half the time I don’t even catch all the words. But the way you say them, the way you light up when you forget to guard yourself? That’s what calms me. Reminds me I’m more than battles and blood.” His hand came up to cradle the back of Sam’s neck, thumb brushing slow circles. “You’re my proof, Sam. Proof that I can still be seen… and still be worth something.”

Sam swallowed hard. He had always thought that there could not be anything worse than having to endure what he had to. But Dean had suffered a similar trauma as a child, and as much as being a fireborn seemed awesome to Sam, he was learning that it wasn’t the fairy tale existence it had first sounded like for him. It may not be the same struggle, but it was a struggle in the same right.
“I’ll gladly prove to you that you’re worth something, Dean. Because you are. You saved my life. At the gorge, at Jonas’ house, and then again when you brought me here. To me, you’re worth every star in the sky and all the riches of the world. You’re worth sacrificing my soul.”
Dean’s thumb in his neck made Sam shiver softly because the gesture was so innocent and intimate at the same time.
“You’re showing me a whole new side to life, away from harsh words, physical punishment, and scars.”

Dean’s breath caught at Sam’s words, a rough ache blooming in his chest that no blade could ever match. He tilted Sam’s chin up just enough so he could see those earnest eyes, the firelight painting them with gold. “You think I’m worth all that, Sammy?” His voice was low, almost a whisper, but steady with the weight of truth. “Then you should know the same’s true for you. You’re not some burden I dragged from the ravine or a broken boy I had to patch up. You’re the reason I keep standing, the reason I’d bare my fangs at kings or gods if they tried to take you from me. Whatever scars you carry, whatever words were carved into you before - I’ll fight ‘em, burn ‘em away, until all that’s left is the man who makes me believe in more than just survival.” His hand lingered at Sam’s neck, tender, unyielding.
Sam leaned into Dean’s hand, smiling.
“That means we keep each other standing because we know what we’re worth to each other. And it doesn’t matter what others think.”
His fingers began playing with Dean’s shirt as Sam wondered about something.

“Dean, what do you think has a bigger effect on a person? A visible scar, like the one on my stomach, or an emotional scar? Nobody can see it, but it’s there. And sometimes, I realized, people don’t believe in what they can’t see.”
Dean’s gaze softened, his thumb brushing slow circles against Sam’s cheek as if to smooth away the question itself. “Scars of the flesh… they tell a story folk can point to. Proof you fought, proof you survived. But the ones no eye can see?” His jaw tightened, his voice lowering with weight. “Those are the ones that shape how you breathe, how you carry yourself in the quiet. They can cut deeper than steel ever could.” He leaned closer, pressing his brow to Sam’s. “But scars - be they flesh or soul - don’t lessen a man. They mark the battles he’s fought. And you, Sammy… every scar just means you’ve stood through hell and still found your way to me.”

Sam looked up, soaking up Dean’s words. Then he nodded. “I’ve always felt like I needed to fight for something. Not just for myself. Maybe it was for someone. Maybe it was you, your energy, that kept me going. I don’t know, but… I like that thought.” He dug his teeth in his bottom lip, and when he pulled free, he smiled. “I really like that thought.”
Breathing deeply, Sam took in the enticing smell of vanilla.“Hmmm, I can’t wait for that brittle to be done. But… there’s this really great distraction right in front of me.” Sam cupped Dean’s chin and pulled him a little closer as he leaned in. “Finding my way back to you now, fireborn,” he warned Dean. And then he kissed Dean again, gently. “You’re worth all the scars and all the pain. When we kiss, all that disappears from my mind.”

Dean’s lips curved into a slow, knowing smile against Sam’s, the kind that carried both pride and relief. He let the kiss linger, savoring the weight of Sam’s words, before he drew back just enough to speak. His green eyes caught the firelight, steady and fierce. “Then let it all burn away, Sammy. The scars, the shadows, the ghosts - they don’t own you here.” His hand slid up to cradle the back of Sam’s neck, thumb brushing along the edge of his hair. “I’d walk through hell and storm to get you, and I’d do it again as many times as it takes. You don’t need to fight for me - I’m already yours. Always have been.”
Sam licked his lips. “You keep saying that. And I love hearing it. Because I know you mean it. So… suppose you have to do that, to walk through hell and storm to get me, and you finally find me and save me… can you kiss me like you just found me?”
He looked at Dean with big eyes, sparkling with expectation. He hadn’t forgotten how it felt when Dean made him his, and he wanted to feel it again.
Dean’s chest rose with a slow, hungry breath, the weight of Sam’s eyes pulling him closer than any vow could. “Then let me show you,” he murmured, voice low as the rumble of distant thunder. His hand slid up, cupping Sam’s face with a tenderness that belied the calluses of a warrior. And then he kissed him - deep, fierce, unrelenting. It was the kiss of a man who had clawed his way through storm and flame, who had bled and burned and still refused to fall, because this was what he was fighting for. His mouth claimed Sam’s with a desperate reverence, like he had been starved for him, like the world itself could end and Dean would still not let him go. When he finally drew back, foreheads pressed together, his voice was a ragged whisper. “That’s how I’d kiss you. Every damn time.”

When Dean started to kiss him, Sam’s heart skipped a few beats. Right away, he felt the urgency, the remnants of the storm Dean fought to get to him, and the immense power of his love for him in that kiss. A shiver ran through his body as he memorized that kiss with every fiber of his being.
After Dean told him he would kiss him like that every time, Sam closed his eyes for a moment to gather his composure. “And this… this is how I’d kiss you back,” he whispered and reciprocated the kiss with a similar intensity. Nothing else but kissing Dean existed; it was not about arousal but about a love that couldn’t be described with words. It was a promise.
Finally, Sam rested his forehead against Dean’s, breathing raggedly. “Thank you,” he whispered against Dean’s lips.

Dean’s hand came up, roughened from sword and reins, yet trembling now as it cupped the side of Sam’s face. He pressed his brow more firmly against Sam’s, eyes closing, as if the closeness itself was a shield against the world. “Don’t thank me,” he murmured, voice low, threaded with both command and tenderness. “You’re mine to protect, mine to love. Every storm I ride through, every blade I raise - it’s all so I can come back to this. To you.” His thumb brushed along Sam’s cheekbone, reverent. “You’re the one thing I’ll never let the world take from me.”
Sam nodded against Dean’s skin, knowing that they both felt the same.
“Okay,” he whispered. “I hope you will never have to fight for me, that this council will let us be here in peace, and that my father never finds us. But I want you to know I would fight tooth and nail for you, to be with you. Always.”
Closing his eyes, Sam drank in the sensation of their touch, their intimacy, their togetherness.

Then a block of wood in the fire popped loudly, sending a shudder through Sam’s body. He lifted his head, hugged Dean tightly again, and looked into his eyes. “Are you ready for custard with brittle? I think it could be ready.”
Dean chuckled softly, the sound rumbling low in his chest as he brushed a strand of hair back from Sam’s face. The firelight painted him in gold and shadow, and for a moment Dean let himself just look - at the trust, the warmth, the fierce loyalty shining in Sam’s eyes. “A feast fit for kings,” he murmured, leaning in to press a slow kiss to Sam’s brow. “And I’d rather share it here with you than sit at any lord’s table.” His thumb lingered at Sam’s jaw, steady, reverent. “You talk about fighting for me, Sammy, but I think you’ve already given me more than any sword or shield could. You’ve given me peace, and that’s rarer than gold in these times.” He smiled, faint but real. “Now come on, let’s see if that custard can live up to your promises.”
Sam returned the brilliant smile and slowly climbed off Dean’s lap, stealing a quick kiss before he did so.
He walked over to the kitchen counter and checked the brittle. It had indeed set, and Sam smiled broadly.
“I don’t know about you, but my mouth is already watering,” he announced, and went to grab the bowls with the custard, which wiggled slightly in the bowl. Sam distributed the portions in equal parts, smashing the brittle with a spoon before sticking a little shard between his lips.
“Oh, damn… perfect,” he hummed, and sprinkled it over the custard. Then he carried the bowls to the table and got a spoon for Dean.
“There, love. Tuck in. It’s perfect.”

Dean watched him with a warmth that spread deeper than the fire in the hearth, his chest tightening at the sight of Sam fussing over the bowls like it was some royal feast instead of a humble sweet. He let the grin tug at his mouth, unable to help it, and leaned forward as Sam set the dish before him. “Perfect, huh?” he murmured, eyes never leaving Sam’s face. He dipped the spoon into the custard, broke through the brittle with a soft crack, and let the sweetness hit his tongue. A low sound escaped him, part chuckle, part groan. And although he didn’t have that much of a sweet tooth as Sam, he admitted, “Gods, you weren’t lying.” He shook his head slowly, green eyes glinting as he reached across the table to brush his fingers over Sam’s wrist. “But nothing’s ever going to taste half as good as seeing you this happy.”
Sam’s eyes were glued to Dean when he tasted the dessert, and they lit up when Dean made that noise, which confirmed that Sam’s prediction of the custard being perfect was spot on.
“I never lie about dessert,” Sam replied. “It was the most important thing for me. It was rare, and it was sweet in a world that wasn’t. That’s why I love it so.”
He took a spoonful of custard and brittle and celebrated the taste, eyes closed.
“I could eat that all day until you can roll me down the mountain,” he gushed, and took another spoonful.
Only then did he seem to realize Dean had said something else.
“You think seeing me happy is better than this dessert?” he asked.

Dean leaned back on the bench, his gaze never straying from Sam’s flushed, delighted face. The firelight painted gold over Sam’s cheekbones, over the curve of his lips as he licked the spoon clean, and Dean felt something tug deep in his chest, fiercer than hunger, steadier than the sweetness of any dish. He gave a crooked smile, voice rough with something softer than jest. “Aye, I do. This - watching you forget the weight of the world, even for a breath - it’s worth more than the king’s gold, more than the choicest feast. I’d trade a hundred custards if it meant I could keep that light in your eyes, Sammy.” He let his fingers brush across the table until they grazed Sam’s wrist, a silent vow beneath the simple words.
Sam remained silent for a moment, looking a little like a deer in bright light. Then he blinked, smiled softly, and pointed at Dean’s bowl.
“But… this custard I made for you, and it would make my day if you enjoy it. That I would like even more than I like my lifeline with desserts.”
Sam’s voice was low and a little rough, like he didn’t trust himself to speak. Dean was giving him what he couldn’t remember anyone ever giving him: unconditional love. And he didn’t really know how to handle that moment.
So he licked his lips, blinked his eyes again, and offered Dean a shy smile.
Dean’s lips curved as he caught that shy smile, a flicker of warmth stirring deep in his chest where fire usually slept. He lifted the spoon slowly, the custard trembling in its shallow curve, and for a moment he thought how strange it was—this small, sweet thing given freely. He had never sat at feasts, never cared for the trappings of men with their banners and boasts. His life had been fire, stone, and sky. Yet here was Sam, offering him something that tasted of home, of trust, of a bond deeper than any hoard of gold. Dean leaned in, voice low, rumbling like a promise. “If it’s yours, then it’s already mine. And I’ll guard it, same as I guard you.” He let the spoon touch his lips, savoring the custard, but more than that - savoring the devotion behind it.

Sam’s smile grew a little wider because Dean acknowledging his love for desserts and promising to guard it like it was his own meant a lot to him.
“You’re amazing, you know that? I never knew I could love someone the way I love you, and be and feel loved by someone the way you do. You are—and I repeat—amazing.”

He continued to eat his custard, even cleaning the bowl with his finger when he was done, which he then stuck into his mouth to lick clean.
Then he got up and checked the tray of brittle, where he found some shard splinters still. Picking them up, he put them into his mouth and slowly let the brittle melt there.
“I haven’t made that in a long time,” he said softly. “But it was worth the wait, and perfect for sharing with you.”
Dean shifted on the bench, shoulders easing as he watched Sam nibble the last bits of brittle, slow and deliberate, like every shard mattered. A wry smile tugged at his mouth, though the weight in his chest was anything but careless. “I’ve never cared for armor, crowns, or coin,” he said, voice low, steady. “None of it lasts. None of it keeps a man warm.” His fingers tapped once against the wood between them, a quiet rhythm to ground him, before stilling close to Sam’s hand without quite touching. “But this - watching you smile, knowing you’re safe - that’s the only treasure I’ve ever needed. And it’s the only thing I’ll guard with everything I’ve got.”

Sam looked at Dean’s hand, so close to his own. Then he reached out and covered it with his, sporting the warmest smile.
“I have my own personal guard,” he said softly. “That’s quite something.”
He stood next to Dean now and hugged him, only to let his lips find Dean’s.
“You still taste like the custard,” he remarked a moment later, eyes on Dean’s as if he were trying to figure out what to do next.
“How about we clean up quickly, and then I’m all yours - whatever you feel like doing? You let me make this dessert; it’s your turn to choose what we’ll do next.”
Dean couldn’t help the low chuckle that rumbled out of him, the sound roughened by the weight of the day but softened by the sight of Sam’s smile. His arm slipped naturally around Sam’s waist, holding him close, the scent of vanilla and spice still lingering between them. “My turn, huh?” he murmured, tilting his head just enough to brush his lips over Sam’s again, slow and claiming this time. “Careful what you offer, Sammy. You know I don’t settle for half-measures.” His thumb traced idle circles at the small of Sam’s back, his gaze steady, burning with a warmth that was more dangerous than any blade he’d ever carried. “But first, aye, we’ll clean up. I don’t want a single distraction when I decide what’s next.”
“Hmm, but you know that I don’t offer half-measures,” he replied with the same energy.
“Come on then, my dragon. Clean up we do, and then… whatever fun you can think of.”
He kissed Dean one more time and then carried the bowls to the sink, where they both got to work.
Once the table and the kitchen looked clean and presentable once again, Sam hung up the last towel and turned to Dean.
“I’m ready for fun and mischief, fireborn,” he announced and slung his arms around Dean’s neck. “What have you decided for us?”

Dean chuckled low in his throat, the sound rumbling like distant thunder, and he let his hands settle on Sam’s hips. The boy’s eyes were bright, mischievous sparks dancing there, and it stirred something wild in him. “Decided?” Dean echoed, tilting his head as if weighing the word. “I don’t decide mischief, Sammy. Mischief decides for us.” He leaned closer, his breath warm against Sam’s ear, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “But if you’re asking what I want… I’d say a game of chase. Out in the meadow, under the moon. You run, I hunt. And when I catch you…” His grin turned wicked, green eyes glinting like firelit steel. “…then you’ll find out what your dragon does with his prize.”
“A hunt?” Sam replied, intrigued. “Okay, I think I can manage that.”
He was usually the one who hunted, had to, but he could put himself in the being-hunted role.
“Are there any rules? Where to go, where it is taboo? Can I go anywhere? Do you have to see me or touch me to win?”
Sam was curious, as he had to deal with a situation that was new to him in a way.
“Do I get a head start?”
He looked right at Dean, making sure the other man saw his excitement.
“And what happens if I run into a tree because the clouds cover the moon and I see nothing?”

Dean’s mouth curved into a slow grin, the kind that held more promise than answer. He let his gaze roam over Sam, taking in the spark in his eyes, the restless energy in his shoulders. “Rules?” he echoed, his voice low, carrying the weight of a knight who had never needed them. “The forest is yours to roam. No path barred, no ground forbidden. You’ll have your head start, but know this - darkness is my ally, not yours. I’ll find you by sound, by breath, by the very beat of your heart.” He leaned closer, brushing a strand of hair back from Sam’s face with deliberate care. “And if you run into a tree…” Dean’s grin deepened, wicked and tender all at once. “Then I’ll be there to catch you, long before the night does.”

“Deal,” Sam replied. He might not be a cat, but he had practiced moving in the dark. He knew that Dean was still having an advantage. Fireborns seemed to have superior strength and other abilities, but a game of catch sounded like fun.
“What’s my head start going to be, and do I get to take anything with me to defend myself - not from you, but things or animals I might run into?”
He looked at Dean with a gleam in his eyes that gave away his excitement. But as much as he was about fun, he wanted to know exactly what he had to deal with to be able to gauge his options.
Dean’s mouth curved, the kind of smile that carried equal parts mischief and heat. He leaned back against the rough stone wall, arms folding across his chest, studying Sam like a wolf might study prey that had just offered itself up to the chase. “Head start,” he drawled, letting the words stretch, “long enough that you think you’ve got a chance. Short enough that I’ll still feel your trail burning under my skin.” His gaze flicked over Sam’s eager stance, the gleam in his eyes, and it stirred something deep and hungry inside him. “Take what you want. Stick, blade, or just your wits. Makes no difference to me. In the dark, it’s not steel that’ll save you—it’s how well you know yourself.” He leaned in just slightly, voice dipping lower, rich with promise. “And don’t worry about beasts in the night - none will touch you while I’m near. They’ll sense me and keep their distance.” His eyes glinted, secret and knowing. “All you’ll have to fear out there is me.”

Sam licked his lips.
“You know I don’t fear you. But I’ll make it as hard as I can for you to get me. So, you decide whenever you want to follow, and I just… run. Okay.
I think l will take my small knife. Just in case.”
He closed the distance to Dean and slung his arms around his neck.
“Give me a few minutes so it will not be over too soon, okay? I would like to try and impress this fireborn a tiny little bit, even though I know I don’t need to.
He loves me, but I want to show him as well that I’m not always clumsy enough to fall down a ravine and that I can hold my own as well.”
With that, Sam kissed Dean’s lips, then he smiled and went to fetch his knife.
“See you later, my dragon,” he grinned and dashed out the door.
It was dark outside, so Sam just stood there for a minute to let his eyes adjust. The moon was out, and only occasionally covered by clouds, so he figured if the trees weren’t too close to each other, he would be able to see nicely. Of course, it also meant it would be easier to be seen.
Sam looked to the forest and then across the meadow and decided to head into the forest right away. At first, he kept to the open spaces between the trees, where he could run at a decent pace without much trouble.
Changing directions a few times, Sam kept a mind map in his head to be aware of the rough direction the cabin was in.
He crossed the small stream a few times, followed in its path for a while, and when he spotted a group of trees that looked well-suited for climbing, he went up the one.
For a moment, he gave himself time to rest and think about what to do next, because in that tree, he would be easy prey.
In this part, the trees were closer together, and Sam was able to cross over to another tree and then a few more until he came to a rock wall.
Looking up, he found that it seemed to be going up straight for a few meters before sloping more evenly, and his mind was made up.
Once his foot slipped a bit on the rock, but not enough to threaten his safety, and he quickly climbed up and over the edge.
He had reached a fairly plain open meadow with not much space to hide, so he crossed it quickly to get to the part with more brush.
Checking for a spot to hide, Sam made sure he had several options to go to and chose a spot with brush and a dead tree stump to hide, which let him scurry off into the thicket again if he should feel he needed to change location.

Dean waited longer than he needed, listening to the faint echo of Sam’s footsteps fading into the night, the grin still tugging at his mouth. His chest burned - not with fire this time, but with the heady mix of pride and aching fondness that only Sam ever stirred in him. Foolish, stubborn boy, darting into the woods as though a dragon wouldn’t know every shift of wind, every snapped twig, every quickened breath. Still, Dean let the game unfold, let Sam believe he could outpace him. He leaned against the cabin wall, letting his senses spread - scent and sound and something deeper, that thread of instinct that had nothing to do with mortal senses. Already the forest whispered where Sam had gone: the churned earth near the stream, the brief pause in the trees, the scrape of boot on stone. Dean’s mouth curved slowly, deliberately, his blood alive with the hunt. He would give Sam his head start, because Sam deserved to play at fox in the moonlight, deserved the thrill of believing the fireborn might be fooled. But soon enough, Dean would follow - quiet as shadow, sure as fate - and when he caught him, he’d remind him just how dangerous it was to tempt a dragon’s patience. And how sweet it was to be caught.

Sam was crouched in his hiding spot, not too small so his muscles wouldn’t seize up. He measured his breathing, tuning in on the nocturnal sounds of the forest, listening for anything that could mean Dean was near.
He could feel the moment Dean started to follow him through their bond, but he was not used to listening to it, to interpret it, but he knew the hunt was on.
After waiting a few more minutes, Sam felt his insides itch and decided to change position.
He retreated deeper into the thicket until he got to the other side of the rock plateau. Carefully, he started his descent, about five meters down to the ground. Just about two feet before he reached it, he slipped and hit the ground harder than intended.
Biting back a hiss, as he scraped his fingers a bit, he quickly looked around for orientation and hurried to get cover between some spruces.
Dean moved like the night itself - silent, patient, deliberate. He’d felt that stutter in the bond, the faint flare of Sam’s discomfort, and it pulled a smirk to his lips. His prey was moving, clumsy only in the way of someone unused to being chased instead of chasing. Dean crouched low, fingers brushing the damp earth, and let instinct guide him. The moon spilled silver through the canopy, breaking in shards across his leather and steel, and he breathed it in like it was part of him. Sam thought himself clever, slipping deeper into the trees, but Dean could hear the echo of his breath, quickened from that small fall. He could taste the tension in the air, the mix of caution and excitement thrumming through their bond. He circled wide, boots leaving no sound on moss and root, his green eyes glinting as he closed the distance. The hunt was never about catching - it was about making Sam feel the weight of pursuit, about teaching him what it meant to be seen even when he thought himself hidden. And gods, Dean relished every heartbeat of it.

In the spruces, Sam used the moonlight to inspect the damage. There were a few scrapes that burned and a little blood mixed with it, but nothing that would make him stop doing what he was doing.
He listened to his insides, feeling for the bond, and he knew Dean was a lot closer now.
Of course, Sam was aware that this wasn’t really about not being caught. He would do some things differently if he had to escape someone who was really out to kill him. But he wanted to make it as hard as possible for Dean.
He moved, softly, trying for stealth more than pace now. Switching to hiding mode now, Sam did what he would do if someone or something was out to kill him. He kept a lookout for a spot that protected him from three sides so he would only have to defend one.
Crossing another small stream, he followed it briefly and finally spotted more spruces that had very low-hanging, densely needle-bearing branches. Sam crawled to not disturb the branches too much and smiled when he found a boulder somewhere in the midst of the spruces.
Leaning his back against the rock, Sam controlled his breath, ignored his burning hand, and waited.
He didn’t know if Dean would just come waltzing in to tell him he found him, or if he would try to surprise him. But he could feel the bond thrumming, which told him that Dean was enjoying their game as well.

Dean moved through the trees like a shadow that knew its own weight. The night was his element - quiet, heavy, pressing close against his skin - but the bond lit a thread of gold through the silence, pulling him toward Sam with a certainty no trail could give. He had tracked beasts through storms, prey that thought itself clever and hunters that thought themselves merciless. But Sam was none of those. Sam was will and fire, sharp mind and stubborn heart, and Dean found himself savoring every step because of it. He could taste Sam’s intent in the bond - this wasn’t just a hunt, it was a test, a proving ground. Dean’s lips curved faintly, almost wolfish. He slowed, letting the earth and the spruce needles muffle his stride, his senses straining for the softest sound. Somewhere ahead, Sam was waiting, pressed into the dark, thinking he could hide from him. Dean’s chest swelled with pride, with hunger, with the thrill of knowing that Sam wasn’t running anymore - he was fighting to be found. And Dean was more than willing to answer that challenge.

Sam sat in his spot, still as if he were part of the boulder. He could sense Dean being close, but he wanted to be found. He wouldn’t give up his position for anything. His muscles were coiled because he was going to show Dean that he was willing to put up a fight, that he wasn’t one to sit down and just keel over when found.
A slight rustling next to him was the only warning Sam got that something was happening. But instead of Dean, a medium-sized snake was gliding out of the brush. Sam was no expert when it came to snakes, but he knew sudden movements could cause an attack. So he kept his eyes on the snake, or what he could see of it, and stayed still.
The snake hesitated a moment and then adjusted its path, slithering across Sam’s leg. Sam’s heart was beating rapidly, but he stayed calm and motionless. A moment later, the snake slithered away, and Sam slowly let out his breath.
He didn’t take much time to think about the encounter because he knew Dean couldn’t be far. And he didn’t want the fireborn to think he surprised him. Sam was keeping himself ready.

Dean had been watching him for a while, silent as the shadows pooling around the boulders. He’d seen the snake glide across Sam’s leg, seen the way Sam’s jaw clenched and his chest barely moved as he forced himself to stay calm. A proud little smile tugged at Dean’s mouth - Sam had courage, more than most men he’d ever known. But courage wasn’t going to save him now. Dean moved like a hunter, step by step, circling behind the rock until the night swallowed the sound of his boots. Sam’s shoulders were tense, his head tilted just enough to listen for him, but Dean knew he was too focused on the danger that had already passed. That was when he struck. His arm hooked around Sam’s chest, dragging him back against his body in one swift pull, his other hand braced over Sam’s wrist to still any fight before it started. Warm breath ghosted against Sam’s ear as Dean leaned in close, his voice a low rumble meant only for him. “Too late, Sammy. You’re mine.”

Sam noticed Dean a split second before he felt his hands on him, but it was too late to do anything to fight. Still, his instinct let him tense up, trying to break free, and his pride made him struggle a little longer.
Sam’s heart was racing, blood rushing through his ears, and he finally breathed and relaxed in Dean’s grip, conceding defeat.
“I’m sorry that I didn’t make it harder,” he whispered, feeling a bit ashamed that he relied too much on the boulder to watch his back. “I hope you still enjoyed this cat and mouse game.” He turned to look at Dean, taking in his features that looked fondly at him.

Dean held him firm, the strength in his arms not just restraint but possession, a claim he had no intention of relinquishing. He leaned in, his breath warm against Sam’s cheek, lips brushing close enough to ghost over skin without quite kissing yet. “Hard enough,” he murmured, the words carrying a smile that curved his mouth but didn’t dull the heat in his eyes. “I don’t need you to break yourself proving your strength to me, Sammy. I already know what you’re capable of. What matters is that, in the end, you’re in my hands.” His grip tightened just a fraction, enough for Sam to feel the inevitability of it, the truth that no boulder or clever trick could have shielded him forever. Dean’s voice lowered, rough and tender at once. “And don’t mistake me - I enjoyed every heartbeat of the chase. But what I enjoy most… is the way you yield, when you finally decide to stop running.”
“How do you mean?” Sam asked, curious what Dean meant exactly. He was now completely relaxed in Dean’s hold and just focused on him, so he didn’t feel the rocks on the ground digging into his skin, nor the slight burning of his hand.
“I stopped running because I knew you could move faster than me. And when I keep running, I have even less of a chance to see or hear you coming. I tried to find a spot that was safe and hidden. Yet a snake and you found me easily. It doesn’t seem that I made it really hard for you. But I tried my best.”
Dean’s lips curved, not in mockery but in quiet pride, the kind that softened the hard lines of his face. He shifted just enough so his shadow fell more fully over Sam, as if to shield him from even the memory of danger. “You did better than you think,” he murmured, voice low but carrying that gravel of conviction. “The snake doesn’t count - it belongs to the wild, not the game. And me?” He let out a rough chuckle, brushing his nose against Sam’s hair. “I’ve hunted since I was a boy. Learned every trick the woods could teach a man, and some it never meant to. You’re not supposed to outpace me, Sammy. Not yet. What matters is that you thought like a fighter. You stopped, you listened, you chose a place to stand your ground. That’s more than most men your age would do.” His thumb traced the back of Sam’s hand, slow, deliberate. “Don’t measure your worth by whether I found you. Measure it by the fact that you never gave up trying. That’s what’ll keep you alive in this world - and what’ll keep you mine.”

Sam breathed deeply.
“You make it sound like you’re a lot older than me,” he said with a soft laugh. “And of course I stopped and listened. I learned that the hard way when I was a kid. It’s what made me stay safe at times. I only kept running once. And I was eight years old. Never made that mistake again.” Sam closed his eyes as a fleeting memory of him hiding in a wardrobe and underneath the overhanging growth of a blackberry bush into the stream just to escape his punishment long enough for the first hot anger to die down. “But now that you have me here, I’m curious what the dragon will do with his prize.”
Dean’s lips curved, not with cruelty but with the weight of something older, deeper, etched into his very bones. He tilted Sam’s chin with slow, deliberate fingers, his green eyes catching the flicker of moonlight like the molten heart of a forge. “A dragon does not squander what he has fought for, Sammy,” he murmured, voice a low rumble that carried both danger and devotion. “He guards it, treasures it, lets no thief or blade or council decree lay claim to what is his.” His thumb lingered against the hollow of Sam’s throat, feeling the steady beat beneath. “And make no mistake - you are mine now. Not as some prisoner in chains, but as the jewel I’d burn kingdoms for.” Dean leaned closer, his breath warm against Sam’s ear. “Curiosity’s a dangerous thing, though. Because once you ask what I’ll do with my prize, you ought to be ready to feel the answer.”
Sam shifted a bit so he could look at Dean in the waning moonlight, or what managed to get through the spruces.
“I hope you don’t think I’m not ready for the answer, oh, fireborn. Because I am. And I know you wouldn’t keep me as your prisoner.”
He tentatively tried getting his wrist free and then placed his hand on Dean’s shoulder. Lightly. Ignoring the slight burn.
“Question is, where do I get the answer? Out here between snakes and spruce needles? Or do we hike back towards the cabin? It’s only about half an hour in that direction.” He pointed to his left.

Dean let his hand glide slowly down Sam’s arm, heat sparking beneath his touch as he whispered the words of old, the kind only his bloodline still remembered. Magic shimmered faintly at his fingertips, seeping into Sam’s skin, knitting torn flesh and soothing bruised muscle until the tension eased away like shadows at dawn. He felt the bond between them hum, stronger now, brighter - like it always did when he gave of himself this way. When Sam’s breathing steadied, Dean leaned in close, lips brushing the curve of his ear. “There,” he murmured, voice carrying the weight of promise and possession alike. “Whole again. No one gets to break what’s mine.” His gaze lifted in the direction of the cabin they’d taken refuge in, its rough-hewn walls and smoke-darkened beams holding just enough privacy, just enough darkness. A slow smile curved his mouth, something edged and hungry. “And since I paid in blood and magic, Sammy… I’ll be collecting my due right there. In our bed.” His thumb lingered against the pulse at Sam’s throat, steady and alive beneath his touch. “All night, if I choose. You’re not walking away from me - not tonight.”
Sam held his breath when Dean used his magic to heal his scrapes. He hadn’t even mentioned them, but Dean had probably noticed him holding his breath and knew what was up because of their bond. At least, Sam felt it humming more loudly inside.
“Never thought about walking away,” he replied. Somehow, he liked Dean’s thumb against his throat. The skin was sensitive there, but it was a very vulnerable spot, dangerous even. Trust had to run deep to allow this touch, and run deep it did. Sam trusted Dean with his life. “Not now, not ever.”

Dean felt the words settle in him like steel driven into bedrock, unshakable, unmovable. His thumb lingered against the hollow of Sam’s throat, feeling the steady pulse that beat there - fragile, human, and yet stronger than any vow sworn before altar or king. Magic still hummed at his fingertips, the faint glow ebbing as the last of Sam’s wounds sealed, but what thrummed louder was the bond between them, alive and certain. He leaned closer, his breath ghosting warm across Sam’s ear, and spoke with the quiet weight of a knight swearing fealty. “Good. Because I’d tear kingdoms apart before I let you walk away. I’d burn every oath I ever swore if it meant keeping you by my side.” His hand shifted, not possessive but protective, cupping Sam’s jaw as though he held something sacred. “You’re mine, Sammy - and not by magic, nor blood, but by choice. By your choice. That’s worth more than any crown or spell I’ll ever wield.”
Sam’s eyes were glued to Dean’s, and even in the pale light of the moon, he could see the golden swirls in the green.
“You saved me. You see me. Who I am. And you accept me the way I am. You don’t try to make me anything, so I make myself yours.”
Sam swallowed and turned his head to capture Dean’s thumb between his lips, between his teeth, gently nibbling on the hardened skin.
“Tell me about how you’ll be collecting your dues, my dragon. I’m curious, and I have a very vivid imagination. Getting back to our bed will need focus, but I’d rather focus on what’s to come.”
Dean’s breath hitched, the sight of Sam’s mouth on him sparking heat that coiled low and sharp. His thumb dragged free from those lips only so he could cup Sam’s jaw, thumb smearing wetness across flushed skin. “My dues?” he murmured, voice dark with promise. “Oh, Sammy… you’ll pay them in gasps, in shivers, in the way your body arches for me when I claim you again.” His hand slipped down the column of Sam’s throat, pausing over the frantic beat there. “I’ll collect every sound you make, every tremor you can’t hold back, until you can’t remember anything but my hands and my mouth. And when I’ve burned through every last bit of your control, I’ll remind you why you call me yours.” His teeth grazed Sam’s ear as his voice dropped lower, molten and hungry. “And why you’ll always be mine.”

Sam pressed his lips together to keep them from trembling. He refused to fall apart at the words already because all that he might have gained with his way of not just keep running would fall away if he now crumbled at Dean’s seductive announcement of what he’ll do to him. “If you keep this up, fireborn, you’ll have to remind me how to walk back over creeks and rock walls, through spruce and beech trees,” he whispered against Dean’s jaw. “And I would like to walk there and not be carried. You can take me apart then.” Sam breathed a couple of times. “Or you have to do it here.”
Dean’s laugh rumbled low, wicked and warm, curling against Sam’s ear as he slid strong arms beneath him and lifted him clean off the ground. Sam’s protest was nothing but a sharp breath swallowed by Dean’s mouth as he kissed him hard, then pulled back just enough to murmur against his temple. “You think I’m gonna let you walk? Not a chance, Sammy. You’re mine to carry.” His stride was sure, boots steady over moss and stone as he bore Sam through the dark forest, the night wrapping close around them. With every step, Dean bent his head, his lips brushing Sam’s skin, his voice a sinful whisper - promises of stripping him bare, of laying him down by the firelight, of making him beg and gasp until the cabin walls trembled. Each vow sank hotter than the last, until Sam’s breath came ragged and Dean’s hold on him was pure possession, relentless and tender all at once.

Sam couldn’t believe that he didn’t struggle to be put down on the ground. Being carried like his, when he was conscious, was a feeling that he had to get used to. And he wasn’t sure he liked it.
What he did like was Dean’s lips on his skin, his breath against it as he whispered all those things that made him tremble even before they reached the cabin already.
Despite the unfamiliar feeling of being carried, Dean’s sure steps soon let him relax and melt against him in a way that made it easier for him to carry Sam. Unlike the time he was bleeding and unconscious and probably as unhandy as a bag of potatoes. “Can’t believe you’re really carrying me all the way back,” he whispered and then kept listening to Dean’s vows, which lit a fire in his insides.
Dean’s grin curved slowly and dangerously, his voice roughened with heat as he bent to Sam’s ear. “Oh, you’d better believe it, Sammy. Every step, every breath - I’ve got you. And when we’re inside, when the door’s shut behind us, I’m not just carrying you. I’m going to lay you down where the straw’s softest, strip you bare, and taste every inch that’s mine.” His lips grazed Sam’s throat, teeth scraping lightly before his tongue soothed the mark. “You think this fire inside you’s burning now? Wait until I set you alight properly. You’ll beg me not to stop - and I won’t, not until you’re wrecked and smiling for me in the same breath.” His grip tightened around Sam’s thighs, a promise in the way his body pressed close, strong and unyielding.
“I would never beg you to stop, my dragon,” Sam whispered, just as breathlessly as if he were walking himself and carrying someone. “I just ask you to catch me, ‎غhràidh. I know you will, but… I need to say it.”

Soon, he recognized the trees and the little stream, knowing they were almost back at the cabin. “Why did you want to carry me?” he asked, curious. He knew Dean was very possessive and promises meant a lot to him. He would go out of his way to keep his word and expect the same from whoever gave him a promise. “And… is this already part of you taking me apart? Because if it is, it’s working.”
Dean slowed his steps until they stopped altogether, the night air wrapping around them like velvet. He shifted Sam in his arms, holding him tighter, savoring the weight, the warmth, the trust given so freely. His lips grazed Sam’s hairline, his breath hot against sensitive skin as he murmured, “Aye, it’s part of it, Sammy. Taking you apart, yes - but only to put you back together stronger, bound tighter to me.” His voice dropped lower, roughened by heat and reverence. “You’ll never fall alone. Not once, not ever. I’ll always catch you.” He pressed their bodies closer until Sam could feel the hard, undeniable want between them, Dean’s desire matched only by the tenderness in his embrace. For a long moment, he didn’t move, letting his heart beat steady against Sam’s chest, promising with every breath that he would never let him go.

“Then bring me home, my dragon, and start taking me apart for real,” Sam said earnestly. “Because I’m at a point now where I can’t wait to feel your hands all over me.”
He waited a second and then brought his lips to Dean’s, kissing him tenderly. His fingers settled on Dean’s chest, feeling his heart beating beneath his fingertips.
“And I can’t wait to put my fingers on you, too.”
He looked over his shoulder, catching a glance at the cabin.
“You going to carry me right to our bed?” His fingers tightened around Dean’s shoulders as he waited for the answer, subconsciously massaging the muscles with his grip. “I know better than to ask what you have planned, but… I can’t wait.”
Dean’s blood roared hot, every word from Sam stoking the fire already raging inside him. He caught that tender kiss and deepened it, slow at first, then demanding, claiming, until Sam’s breath hitched against his mouth. “Our bed,” Dean rasped when he pulled back, voice rough like gravel and smoke. “Aye, I’ll carry you there as carefully as possible.” Strong fingers gripping possessively as he pressed their bodies flush, letting Sam feel exactly how much he wanted him. “And when I lay you down, dragon or no, you’ll know you’re mine.” His teeth grazed Sam’s lower lip in promise, his breath hot as it ghosted over Sam’s mouth. “I’ll take you apart piece by piece, until the only word left in you is my name.”

Sam shifted in Dean’s arms, wanting more connection, more touch, more kisses, and their bed.
“You’re driving me crazy here, my dragon. I think… I think I want that bed now, and us kissing until I can’t think anymore. This half hour of being carried by you is driving me mad with wanting you. Can you feel that?” Sam pulled himself tighter towards Dean again and rolled his hip a little to get more pressure against Dean. “I’ll say your name a zillion times, Dean… my fireborn, my dragon. ‎غhràidh.” Then he nibbled on Dean’s bottom lip and pulled it between his. “Take me to bed, love.”

Dean’s breath left him in a rough growl, the sound vibrating low in his chest as Sam’s teeth caught his lip. Gods, this boy knew exactly how to undo him. Heat surged through him, dragon blood singing as Sam pressed that needy roll of his hips tighter against him. “You think I don’t feel it?” he rasped, voice hot as the forge, rough with desire. His arms shifted, carrying Sam like he was nothing but a precious treasure, like he’d never let him fall. When the cabin door gave way beneath his boot, Dean strode straight for their bed, lowering Sam onto the furs with care that belied the hunger burning in his veins. He followed immediately, bracing himself above Sam, mouth finding his with a fierce, devouring kiss that spoke of fire, of dragon-heat, of a man barely holding back the storm of want building inside him.

When Sam’s back finally made contact with the furs, he groaned greedily, wanting and needing to feel Dean’s weight on him instead of against him.
“If you couldn’t feel it,” he breathed between kisses, “I would seriously worry about my masculinity.”
He laughed briefly against Dean’s lips and tugged on his clothing.
“And… Gods, I want to get you out of these clothes, I want to get out of mine, please?”
He had no idea what Dean had planned exactly, and if he wanted to keep it slow. He could have all the slow he wanted to after they got naked.

Dean’s laugh rumbled low in his chest, hot against Sam’s mouth, before he pulled back just far enough to let his eyes sweep over him - wild, hungry, and utterly intent. “Careful what you beg for, Sammy,” he murmured, voice husky, fingers already sliding beneath the laces of Sam’s tunic. “Because once I’ve got you bared to me, I won’t be stopping.” His weight settled hard and deliciously over Sam, pressing him deep into the furs, the feel of leather giving way to heat and flesh as he dragged the stubborn fabric loose. Dean’s lips trailed down Sam’s throat, biting, soothing, marking, as his hand slipped boldly lower, promising with every touch that nothing - no gods, no kings, no vows - would come between them tonight.
He made quick work of the rest, tugging free his belt and tugging cloth down until Sam lay bare beneath him, skin flushed in the firelight and eyes wide with want. He drank in the sight like a starving man, then let his hand glide slowly down Sam’s chest, reverent in every sweep of his calloused palm. Tender, careful - but beneath that touch ran a heat that wasn’t just human. Dragon fire licked beneath Dean’s skin, scorching and alive, making every caress sear with a delicious burn. His thumb circled over Sam’s nipple as if to soothe, yet the warmth radiating from him betrayed the truth: his desire ran molten, and Sam was the only one who could withstand it, the only one he would ever bare that fire for.

When Dean started undressing him, Sam’s heart was racing with excitement. Every look, every touch, every removed garment made it stutter, and when he was finally completely exposed, he breathed deeply, face flushed because all those little touches of hands and lips, the nibbling on his skin, had set Sam’s insides on fire. He was sure that if he were a fireborn, he would be glowing just like Dean, from the inside.
“When you look at me like that,” he rasped, “it makes my blood feel like lava in my veins. I’m yours, there’s no doubt. ‎غhràidh.”His hand came up to cup Dean’s, and with the other, he let his fingers tug on Dean’s clothes, showing unmistakably that he wanted Dean just as naked.
Dean’s breath caught at the sound of that word on Sam’s lips - غhràidh - so raw, so full of surrender, it made his blood roar. Heat coiled low in his belly, desire burning brighter than the firelight flickering along the walls. He leaned in, teeth grazing Sam’s flushed skin, savoring the shiver that ran through him. “Mine,” he growled, rough and possessive, as he let Sam’s hands tug at his tunic. He stripped it away without hesitation, the cool night air brushing his bare chest, and pressed himself down against Sam’s heated skin. Their bodies fit as if forged for one another, every line and curve sparking like steel struck to flint. Dean caught Sam’s mouth in a fierce kiss, tongue demanding, hands roaming with greedy reverence. “You’ll have me bare, love,” he whispered against his lips, voice husky. “Every inch of me, burning just for you.”

Sam gasped when Dean’s bare body slid over his like it belonged there, like the sole purpose of his existence was to be there, like that, with Dean on top of him. His gasp morphed into a moan, and the returned Dean’s kiss just as heatedly.
Their tongues met in an intimate dance as Sam’s hands, much like Dean’s, slid all over the other man’s body like he was trying to map every inch with his fingertips. “F… yeah,” Sam breathed to Dean’s heated words, “want you naked, want you here, all of you.”
He kissed Dean again, teeth clashing. “You don’t know how much I want you, my dragon.”
Dean’s blood roared like fire through his veins, every muscle tightening with want as he claimed Sam’s mouth again, rougher this time, hungrier. With a swift, almost feral urgency, Dean stripped off his pants and boots, casting them aside as if they were shackles holding him back. He ground his hips down, the hard press of his cock sliding against Sam’s with nothing left between them, sparks shooting hot and wild through his body. “Oh, I know,” Dean growled against Sam’s lips, voice dark, velvet, and wicked. His hand slid down, gripping Sam’s thigh, spreading him wider, taking what was being offered like a conqueror seizing his rightful spoils. His mouth trailed down Sam’s throat, biting, soothing with his tongue, leaving marks like a brand. “I know, Sammy. And you’re gonna feel just how much I want you too.”

Sam groaned as his lips pulled into a smile. He loved seeing Dean this unguarded, wanting him like he was the last drop of water in an unrelenting desert.
“Promise?” he whispered, as he wanted nothing more to feel Dean’s love, his desire, like he’d felt it at the lake and in their bed before. He was burning so hot for Dean, he didn’t care if the fire consumed all of him in an inferno. “Let me feel it, feel you,” he asked, almost begged already. “I need it, you know? Never knew I could need someone this much.” He let his fingernails rake gently over his skin, from Dean’s shoulders down to the swell of his ass. “You’re my everything,” he added.
Dean’s breath hitched, the words striking him like a spark to kindling, and suddenly his blood was molten. He shifted, pressing Sam down into the furs with a hunger that was anything but gentle, though his touch trembled with devotion. His mouth found Sam’s throat, open and hot, teeth grazing the vulnerable skin before he soothed it with his tongue. “Gods, Sammy,” he growled against him, voice thick with desire. “You have no idea what you do to me. I’ll give you everything - my strength, my fire, my damn soul if you want it.” His hips pressed flush, leaving no doubt of his need, and his hand slid lower, cupping and claiming, fingers digging in hard enough to make Sam gasp. “Feel me now,” he whispered, lips brushing Sam’s ear, rough and promising. “All of me. And I won’t stop until you’re ruined for anyone but me.”
“Dean,” Sam gasped breathlessly. “I just want you, in any way you want to.”
He shuddered at Dean’s touch, feeling the heat of his desire crystal clear.
“I feel you, how can I not feel you?” he shivered and pushed his hand lower, pulling Dean closer. “I can feel your desire burn into my skin. And I want to feel it inside as well. Want you to set me alight inside.”
Sam lifted his head and kissed Dean roughly, groaning when he had to take a breath. Then he dropped back down and rolled his hips up against Dean, making it clear that the desire Dean felt was just as strong in him.

Dean’s breath tore out of him like a growl, low and dangerous, as if Sam’s plea had struck some primal chord he could never ignore. Heat surged through him, raw and unchained, and he pressed his bare body down, skin to skin, the burn of his arousal searing into Sam with nothing left between them. He crushed their mouths together, claiming Sam with a hunger that tasted of fire and need, his tongue sweeping deep until Sam was gasping for air. One hand gripped the back of Sam’s thigh, dragging it higher, opening him, pulling him tight against the hard length that throbbed against his heat. “You’re mine, Sam,” Dean rasped, voice thick with lust and possession. “I’ll burn you from the inside out until you can’t breathe without me.” His teeth grazed the tender hollow of Sam’s throat as his hips rolled forward, slow but ruthless, making him feel every inch of the promise he had just sworn, thrusting in deep to fuck Sam with all the love and desire he felt for him.
Sam met Dean’s roll of hips with a drawn groan, like somehow finally scratched an age-old itch.
“Gods,” he gasped, a roar coming from his throat as he rolled his hips to meet Dean’s thrusts.
“Never thought I’d love to bottom so much. It’s like I just never knew what I was missing. And now I have found it. I found you. Or you found me.” He let his head drop back and rolled his hips up again, loosely locking his ankles behind Dean’s back. “I’m all yours, love. Make me breathless.”
Dean’s body bowed over Sam’s, heat and hunger coursing through him as he drove in deep, a growl slipping from his lips. He caught Sam’s wrists and pressed them into the furs above his head, holding him there as he ground down slowly and relentlessly, savoring every desperate lift of Sam’s hips. “Mine,” he rasped against his mouth, teeth grazing the swell of his lower lip before biting down just enough to make him gasp. “Every inch of you, every sound you make - mine to claim, mine to worship.” His hips snapped forward harder, the slick slide of their bodies igniting fire through his veins. “And I’ll make damn sure you never forget it, Sam. Not tonight. Not ever.”
Sam’s eyes were big and bright, watching Dean with underlying heat. He loved Dean’s intensity, the way he took control of everything without hurting him. “Like I could ever forget that. You,” he replied. “You’re my life. I owe it to you.”
He took Dean’s thrusts like he was made to take them. With each thrust, his arousal heightened, and his legs held on tighter to Dean’s waist. “Fuck, you feel… out of this world good,” he croaked, shaking with each thrust, from the force and the arousal.

Dean’s grip on Sam’s wrists tightened, leather-rough palms branding him with every pull and push. Heat coiled low in his belly, molten and fierce, as he watched Sam’s body give and take beneath him like it was forged to match his. The flicker of firelight painted Sam in fire - sweat, flushed skin, lips parted, begging without words - and Dean’s chest burned with something darker, deeper than just lust. His thrusts snapped harder, deeper, grinding into the tight clutch around him until the air shook with Sam’s moans. He bent close, teeth grazing the damp edge of Sam’s throat, his voice ragged as it tore free: “Mine. Always mine, Sammy. No knight, no king, no fucking god gets you but me.”
Sam was riding Dean’s thrusts, moaning with each of them, because Dean just kept hitting the right spots. His skin was covered in goosebumps, his body covered in a fine sheen of sweat as he tightened around Dean a bit to make the sensation even more intense.
“Want no… king,” he whispered, voice vibrating with the intensity of Dean’s thrusts. “Only want… you.”
He closed his eyes, exposing his throat, and then looked at Dean through tiny slits. He loved seeing the fire light up inside Dean, showing his veins and spreading through his whole body. “Gods, you’re driving me insane with lust, fireborn. I need more… of you.”
Dean’s breath came ragged, his gaze locked on the vulnerable stretch of Sam’s throat, the way his lips parted in a broken plea. The sight alone made his blood roar hotter than any battlefield flame. He grabbed Sam’s hips with bruising strength, forcing him down harder, deeper, until Dean was buried to the hilt, until there was no space left between them - no kingdom, no crown, nothing but flesh and fire. His teeth scraped over Sam’s jaw, the promise of a bite hovering just below his skin as he growled low, guttural, right against Sam’s ear. “Mine, Sammy. Not a king, not a god. Just me - filling you, breaking you, making you beg.” He slammed up into him again, savoring the choked cry it tore from Sam’s lips, every thrust staking his claim hotter, deeper, until he was sure Sam would never forget whose fire consumed him.

Sam could feel Dean’s fingers digging deeper into his skin, but he didn’t care whether there would be any bruises left. He’d wear them with pride.
Feeling Dean’s teeth gently scraping along his skin, Sam shivered lightly as each thrust pushed him slowly but surely closer to the edge. He could already feel his orgasm tingling at the edge of his spine, and his muscles tensed in response and anticipation.
“Dean,” he whispered tonelessly, the soft sound holding a question, a demand, hope, and a plea.
He struggled a bit against Dean’s hands holding him down, but just from arousal. And then his body began to shudder. Harshly, uncontrollably. “Dean!” he cried out, voice rough like gravel.
Dean’s world narrowed to the heat of Sam’s body and the way his name tore from Sam’s throat like a prayer. He held him pinned, savoring every twitch and shudder, every surrender that wasn’t weakness but trust. His teeth grazed harder, biting down just enough to make Sam gasp, to mark him, to claim him. The rhythm of his thrusts grew sharper, deeper, pulling raw sounds from Sam that made Dean’s blood burn hotter than fire. His lips brushed against Sam’s ear, words hot and ragged. “That’s it, Sammy… give it to me. Every drop, every breath - mine.”
Those words went straight to Sam’s core, resonating in every fiber of his being. With Dean’s next thrust, Sam snapped his hips to meet him, and his body pulled stiff, muscles tense as he tumbled right into a mind-blowing climax.
Sam shouted as his body convulsed briefly and he came hot and hard between them, giving Dean exactly what he’d asked for, every drop, every breath, and every conscious thought. “Dean!” he croaked, struggling to calm his breathing as his body was floating in bliss.
Dean groaned deep in his chest, the sound half a growl, half a prayer, as Sam clenched around him, dragging him over the edge. His thrusts turned ragged, desperate, until heat ripped through him and he spilled inside, trembling with the force of it. His head dropped back, lips parted, as golden fire surged through his veins once more - brighter than before, flooding every line of his body. The glow spilled out across the room, painting the stone walls in a haloed light, wrapping them both in its warmth. Dean’s hands gripped Sam’s hips like he’d never let go, body shuddering with the aftershocks, the sacred mix of pleasure and power making his release burn slow and endless. “Sammy,” he gasped, voice rough, reverent, as though the name itself was the only thing that could hold him together.

Sam was gasping for breath when he blinked his eyes and focused on Dean to watch his climax. He noticed the glow seeming even more intense than before and knew that Dean’s fingers would leave marks on his skin. He didn’t mind at all and just couldn’t tear his gaze off Dean when he gave in to pleasure.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered and breathed deeply. “And you’re all mine. Can’t believe you’re all mine. But I swear to you, l’ll keep you. Forever. You’re the only one who can call me Sammy.”

Dean’s breath came rough and uneven, chest heaving as he fought to steady himself, but Sam’s words struck him with a force no armor could withstand. He looked down at the man beneath him, flushed and trembling, yet fierce in his devotion, and something inside him twisted tight, almost painful in its intensity. In the shifting firelight, Sam’s eyes burned with that vow, binding Dean more surely than any oath of blood or steel. He lowered his head, pressing his lips to Sam’s damp brow, tasting salt and warmth, and whispered against his skin, “Aye, and I’ll never let another soul call you that. You’re mine as I am yours, bound tighter than the laws of kings or gods. Forever, Sammy.”
Sam reciprocated the kiss briefly. He was still too out of breath, but a smile played around his lips.
“Forever,” he repeated, confirmed.
“Just… hold on to me,” he added after a moment, slinging his arms around Dean, pulling him close. “I just wanna sleep like this. With you in my arms. And I’m in yours.”
Humming contentedly, Sam’s fingers began to draw idle patterns on Dean’s damp skin, and the knowledge that Dean was in that state because of him was extremely satisfying.
Dean let his forehead rest against the curve of Sam’s neck for a breath, savoring the steady thrum beneath his lips. He shifted slowly, mindful not to break the closeness they’d forged, guiding them onto their sides until Sam’s back was nestled against his chest. Still joined, still one, Dean wrapped his arm around Sam’s waist, holding him firm but gentle. “There,” he murmured, his voice husky from both effort and tenderness. “This way we stay just like you want it - your arms, my arms, nothing lost between us.” His thumb stroked along Sam’s ribs, soothing, grounding, while his own eyes fluttered shut against the pull of exhaustion softened by deep, bone-deep peace.
“Hmm,” Sam just hummed, feeling warm and cozy and most importantly safe in Dean’s arms. He could feel the sleep-like heaviness of Dean through the bond, and since his energy matched Dean’s, he kept his eyes closed, melted back against Dean, and hummed as he let himself drift.
It only took him a few moments to doze off, knowing that nothing and nobody would be able to harm him.
The day had been quite exciting with everything that happened, and that hunt had gotten his spirits going again. Even though he’d known Dean would find him, he had tried to make it as hard as possible for him. Sam wasn’t quite sure whether he had succeeded, since Dean had seemingly found him easily, but he knew they had both enjoyed the hunt. And now they were both asleep after consummating their love once again. Sam couldn’t be happier or more relaxed.

~~~

Dean stirred with the first light, the faint song of birds slipping through the cracks in the shutters. Sam was still curled against him, warm and heavy in sleep, his hair tickling Dean’s chin with every slow breath. For a long moment, Dean let himself stay - eyes closed, arms wrapped around the one thing he’d never believed he could have. But the ache in his bones wouldn’t be ignored any longer. His body, bound too long in this fragile human shell, thrummed with restless power. Muscles tensed, joints stiff from restraint, wings clawing at the inside of his skin, begging to be freed. He brushed a kiss to the crown of Sam’s head, careful and lingering, then slowly disentangled himself, easing Sam’s hand from his chest and setting it gently on the furs. Sam murmured faintly, but didn’t wake, sinking deeper into the bond’s echo of Dean’s comfort.

Dean rose in silence, slipping on his undergarments, his bare feet making no sound on the worn floorboards. The air outside was sharp with dawn chill, the horizon painted in strokes of gold and rose. He drew in a breath of it - clean, unfiltered, alive - and felt it burn down into the very core of him. He set off toward the lake, the world still hushed in early morning reverence. Every step stretched sore muscles, every breath reminded him that he had pushed his human form further than ever before. His shoulders ached where wings belonged, his spine thrummed with the weight of a tail that wasn’t there yet, his lungs strained for the depth only a dragon’s chest could give. By the time he reached the lake, the shimmering surface catching the newborn sun, his control was frayed.

With a shudder that ran the length of his body, he let go. The shift tore through him like fire, painful and glorious, bones stretching, skin erupting into scales that shimmered black-green with veins of soft gold in the rising light. His wings unfurled with a thunderous snap, vast and powerful, scattering droplets of dew from the reeds. His tail lashed once, curling through the grass, leaving deep furrows in the earth. Emerald eyes, brighter than jewels, opened wide to the morning - alive, fierce, unbound. Dean rumbled deep in his chest, the sound vibrating the very ground beneath him, before stepping into the cool water. The lake embraced him, rippling outward as his massive body sank in, washing away the ache, cleansing the weariness. For the first time in days, he felt whole.

When Sam woke up, he was still warm, but he immediately noticed he was alone in bed. Stretching, Sam felt his skin pull where the remnants of their lovemaking had dried on it.
“Dean?” he called. “I think I need a shower. Where are you?”
Getting up, Sam looked around. Dean’s clothes were still on the floor, just like his. Sam picked them all up and sorted them over a chair.
Everything was quiet, but for some bird song and leaves rustling.
He walked through the house but found no trace of Dean. The only thing he felt was their bond pulling slightly. Maybe Dean went out to collect berries.
Sam sighed and decided to clean himself up quickly. Then he pulled on clean clothes and let the body guide him into the woods.
It took him a moment, but finally he realized that he was headed to the lake. The closer he got, the stronger he felt the pull.

Then, finally, he could spot bits of the lake through the foliage and slowed his step.
Something was in the lake, something big. With scales. Black and green scales that somehow struck him as familiar.
Sam knew he was seeing a dragon, but that dragon wasn’t John. He kept walking, slowly, like he was being pulled there.
When he was in the open, he couldn’t stifle a gasp. That dragon in the lake… he was beautiful. So similar to John and yet so different. And Sam knew that this wasn’t the first time he had seen that dragon.
A white hot memory flashed through his mind, and he could see the dragon flying ahead of him, diving low and high, letting him come close and then put a distance between them. He gasped when he realized that this was the dragon that he’d been hunting when he had fallen into the ravine. Who had saved him, carried him from the bottom of the gorge up to where Dean could find him.
For a moment, Sam stood stock still, aware that the dragon had probably noticed him. He was shivering slightly, unable to tear his eyes off the massive body. And then their eyes met. Sam shivered again.
“Hi,” he rasped, lost for words. He knew the dragon understood him, but he needed his mouth to catch up with his mind to put his scrambled thoughts into words.
“I… you… I know you…,” he finally whispered.

Dean’s heart slammed against his ribs, the sound echoing louder in his skull than the water lapping against his scales. He hadn’t meant for Sam to see him like this - not here, not now. His throat burned with the need to answer, to explain, to break the silence that hung thick between them. But what could he say? That the beast before Sam was the same man who had held him through the night, kissed his temple, sworn his love? No. He couldn’t. The truth would break them both before Sam was ready. So Dean stayed still, forcing his body to obey when every instinct screamed to move, to flee, to shift back. His wings twitched, restless with the weight of his secret. And yet, when Sam’s voice cracked with that fragile whisper - I know you - Dean found himself nodding, slow and deliberate, a rumble deep in his chest escaping despite himself. He couldn’t tell him. But he could answer. Just enough to keep Sam close.
Dean’s throat worked, and all he let slip was a single word, rough and low as stone: “Yes.”

Sam’s insides vibrated when he heard that single word, and his blood began rushing in his ears. Yes. The dragon had confirmed that they knew each other.
“You… you’re the dragon from the gorge,” he said when he’d regained his voice. He stepped forward a bit but then stopped in his tracks. “I… I was… hunting you and I fell. You…”
Sam breathed deeply to calm his hammering heart. “You saved me, you carried me up. I remember some of it, vague. You… you put me down for Dean to find me. I was hunting you and you saved me, and… I want to thank you for that. For not letting me die at the bottom of the ravine. Thank you.” He looked at the dragon, not knowing what he would think. Did dragons thank each other for these things? It didn’t matter. Humans thanked each other, so that’s what he did.
Still, he couldn’t take his eyes off the black and green dragon. It was like he was spellbound. There was something about the dragon, something that went beyond him having saved him. But Sam had no idea what that was. Not yet.

Dean felt the weight of Sam’s words - sharp, steady, impossible to ignore. His chest burned, not with fire, but with the ache of holding himself back. He wanted to lower his head, to rumble out the truth that it had always been him, that the arms Sam trusted and the wings that saved him belonged to the same soul. But the promise he had given his dad bound tighter than chains, and secrecy was survival. Sam’s survival.
So instead, he shifted his massive frame, the green shimmer of his scales catching the fading light, and let his breath spill in a low, controlled exhale that stirred Sam’s hair but gave nothing away. “Gratitude,” he rumbled, his voice deeper than stone. “Few offer it to my kind. You honor me… hunter.” And though the title tasted bitter on his tongue, Dean let it stand - because it was safer for Sam not to know. Yet.

Sam licked his lips when the dragon‘s voice held a rumble that tickled his insides. “I give gratitude when it’s deserved. And I don’t pick by species whether or not you deserve thanks. You could have left me to die. You didn’t. And as I know now, dragons can understand me. Speak to me. Of course, I thank you. My mother would have my hide, if she still could, if I didn’t.”
Sam breathed deeply and looked around. He half expected Dean to show up from the trees or wherever. He could feel he was close by.
“You haven’t seen my friend, Dean, by any chance? He… he came out here and I was looking for him now.”
Sam looked at the dragon again, noticing how strikingly similar the dragon’s green eyes were to Dean’s. “He’s got eyes the same color as you,” he added.
Dean’s heart clenched, the weight of his secret pressing harder than the scales on his chest. The boy’s words curled warm and sharp inside him, gratitude threaded with trust he hadn’t earned in the way Sam thought. His claws dug into the earth to keep from shifting, to keep from breaking the promise that bound his tongue. Sam’s gaze lingered on his eyes - too close, too knowing - and Dean forced a low rumble from his throat, a sound that could pass as nothing more than a dragon’s restless breath. He wanted to reach out, to answer as himself, but instead he lowered his massive head just slightly, a silent acknowledgment. The closest he dared come to confessing: I’m here, right in front of you, and you don’t even know.

Sam noticed the subtle nod. Of sorts. And he narrowed his eyes. What did that mean? Had he seen Dean? Or did he mean the eye color?
Sam shivered. Something was in the air that made his hair stand on end. And… where was Dean? All there was was this - beautiful - dragon with eyes the same color as Dean’s… Sam gasped as a strange thought crossed his mind. It couldn’t be, could it? Dean was a fireborn, a human.
Breathing deeply, Sam tried to calm his racing heart. The way he trusted this unknown dragon like he had known him a long time. “You’re almost… almost feeling like him, you know? Like Dean. But, that’s impossible.” He blinked and walked a little closer. His heart fluttered.

The morning mist curled low across the lake, silver ribbons rising from the still water as the first warmth of summer sun touched the shore. Dean stood half-hidden in the shallows, his scales glinting faintly like wet onyx beneath the light. The scent of pine and damp earth grounded him, yet Sam’s presence on the bank made every instinct coil tight inside. He should have slipped away before dawn, before Sam’s sharp eyes could draw lines between the man he knew and the creature before him. But here Sam was, hair catching the sun like spun gold, gaze fixed on him with a mix of wonder and dawning suspicion. Dean let the breeze carry across the water, stirring ripples at his feet, masking the quiet rumble in his chest. He held still, every breath measured, praying Sam’s heart would hear only the trust between them - and not the truth that pressed so dangerously close to breaking.
Sam’s eyes were glued to the dragon’s. But for the size and the elongated slit for a pupil, those eyes were exactly like Dean’s. The exact same tone.
Suddenly, Dean’s voice echoed in his head, about him calling himself a dragon, when Sam just dismissed it as the closeness between fireborns and dragons. The times he’d started saying the word, but then changed his words. And Sam remembered the way Dean’s skin lit up, like lava, and once, almost like scales. He’d been barely conscious then, but now it seemed like more than a fever dream.
Sam’s mouth was completely dry. He’d come here because he felt Dean was here. But there was no sign of Dean. Instead, there was this dragon who seemed so familiar.
If… if these things could be true, that could mean that the dragon he’d hunted was the same as the man who had saved him. Sam’s head was spinning, and he looked at the dragon, really looked. What his eyes told him, it couldn’t be. How could it be? And yet…? “Dean? Is… is that you?” he asked with a trembling voice.

Dean’s chest tightened at the sound of his name on Sam’s lips, the trembling plea carried out over the still water. Morning light shimmered across the lake, scattering in golden ripples, and every delicate reflection seemed to mock him with the simplicity of truth he wasn’t allowed to give. No cavern to hide in, no smoke to veil the air - just open sky, fresh earth, and Sam standing bare and unarmed on the shore, staring straight into him. The dragon in Dean ached to surge forward, to dissolve the distance and wrap himself around his mate, to breathe warmth against Sam’s skin until doubt melted away. But John’s voice haunted him, sharp and unyielding: He can never know. You swore, Dean. You swore. The promise tasted like ash, more bitter with every heartbeat. Dean shifted his weight in the shallows, claws curling into the soft lakebed, wings folding in tight to make himself smaller, less monstrous. The water lapped gently at his scales, glistening where sunlight kissed the ridges that Sam must have already noticed. His throat burned, not with fire, but with words unsaid - yes, it’s me, always me, only me. Instead, he lowered his head until his eyes were level with Sam’s, letting the silence carry what he couldn’t: the steady green gaze Sam got to know so well in the last few days, now blazing from a dragon’s form. Love. Recognition. Agony. The unspoken prayer that Sam might see beyond the beast and know the truth of him anyway.

Even though the dragon didn’t reply in words, Sam could sense the answer. Dean was a dragon. Dean was the dragon that he had hunted. And who had saved him.
He was the one who promised him… so many things. To keep him safe, to hold him close, to fight kings for him. And… he was a dragon.
Sam didn’t know how he could be one and the same, but he could feel that it was the truth. And he didn’t know how to react because so many emotions ran through his body. The man he’d trusted as soon as he had consciously laid eyes on him was a dragon. The very same dragon that saved him.
Tentatively, Sam stepped closer to the water, but then his legs became soft like noodles, and he fell to his knees a few meters from the shore.
“Dean,” he repeated the name that was swirling around in his head. “I… how? And… and why didn’t you tell me?”

Dean’s massive frame trembled where he stood, scales catching the sunlight in fractured shards of silver and shadow. Smoke curled from his nostrils, not in menace, but in anguish, every exhale carrying the weight of the truth he had buried too long. His voice, when it came, wasn’t the deep rumble of the beast Sam had hunted, but the same voice Sam had known, carried through the cavernous chest of a dragon. “Because I wasn’t allowed,” he confessed, shame darkening his eyes. “Because my father -John - he made me swear it. He knew what the world would do to us if they learned what I was. What I am. Humans and dragons - they don’t forgive. They don’t forget. He wanted to protect me, Sam. But more than that… he wanted to protect you.” His throat tightened, a low growl of grief rumbling beneath his words. “That you’d be dragged down with me, just for loving what you should not.”

The dragon’s head dipped low, eyes burning with a sorrow no fire could match, green depths shimmering wet like a man’s tears. His talons dug into the earth, as though he might rend the world itself for what he had done. “I swore to him, Sam. I swore I’d never tell you, no matter how much it hollowed me out. And gods forgive me, I kept that vow, even while I gave you others. Every promise I ever made - to protect you, to fight for you, to never let you fall - it was truth, bound to a lie I carried in silence.” Smoke curled heavy around them, carrying his broken whisper. “I’m the dragon you hunted. The beast you were taught to fear. And yet I have never been anything but yours. Even now, when it means you’ll look at me and see a monster, I cannot bear the silence any longer. I never wanted to deceive you, Sam. But I did. And it’s killing me.”

Sam kept looking at those big, green eyes, reading every emotion as he listened to the words. His head was spinning with all his thoughts, with all his emotions, and with the ones he could see in Dean. That he could feel in Dean.
There was a part of him that was angry, angry for having been deceived, especially since he had trusted Dean with his deepest, most private secret, with what made everyone else just look at him in pity. He had told Dean what he had believed, that a dragon had killed his mother.
He had told Dean that by now he believed that it wasn’t a dragon, but his own father. He had asked Dean about dragons, and he’d told him about fireborns. Did fireborns even exist? Or was it just another way to keep his true origin from him?
But Dean was his life, his partner, he loved him and needed him and… trusted him. He had trusted Dean when he’d allowed John to fly him to this cabin.
Sam’s head jerked briefly. John. The dragon. Had Dean just called him his father? Not just a father figure, but his actual father? His head was buzzing, and his body ached for the safety of Dean’s arms. A safety that he had trusted without hesitation. Unconditionally.
Blinking his eyes, Sam swallowed. Unconditionally. This word ran deep now. It meant that there was no condition to his love, nothing about Dean having to be a human.
He sobbed, emotions becoming too much. He knew somewhere inside him he felt betrayed, but he could understand why Dean had done so. But at a spot inside him way deeper, he felt he needed that man. That dragon. “Dean?” he whispered, trying to make eye contact, but it was so hard to control his body. “I need you, Dean.”

Dean’s breath caught at the sound of Sam’s voice - quiet, cracked, but carrying a weight that pressed right into his chest. He hadn’t realized how tightly he’d been clinging to the dragon’s shape until those words undid him. The great beast’s muscles quivered, scales rippling once like shivering skin, before the sunlight on the water shimmered across his body and folded inward. Wings shrank, claws retracted, and in the next heartbeat, Dean was kneeling at the lake’s edge, bare-chested and human again, breath ragged from the shift. The warmth of summer air pressed against his damp skin, but all he felt was the pull of Sam’s need drawing him closer. His hands hovered for a moment, uncertain - gods, he wanted to just gather Sam up, crush him against his chest until all the hurt and the questions faded - but he forced himself to pause. Sam deserved more than instinct, more than the hunger of a dragon guarding its mate. “I’m here,” Dean murmured, voice rough, trembling in a way nothing else had ever made him tremble. “Not the fire, not the wings. Just me. The man who loves you.” He reached out, slow and steady, until his palm cupped Sam’s cheek, thumb brushing away the wetness he found there. Green eyes met hazel, no scales left to hide behind, only the truth of who he was. “I won’t ever hide what I am from you again, Sammy. And I swear - you’ll never have to fear me.”

The moment Dean’s hands touched his skin, Sam began to shiver in earnest. Not from cold, but from emotions. He could feel that Dean meant every word he’d said, and he hadn’t wanted to deceive him. Still, Sam also knew that he had done so after all, but he would have to figure out what to do with that knowledge later. Right then and there, there was nothing that he could have done to prevent himself from reacting the way he did. It was like his body was still warring with his emotions, and he needed someone to make all this spinning stop. “I don’t… fear you,” was what he could get out in a whisper. “I need you. My head’s spinning, my mind is spinning, and my… my stomach is spinning, too. Can you make it stop?"
Dean gathered him close, slow and deliberate, like cradling something breakable. His arms tightened just enough to let Sam know he was safe, but not trapped. “I can,” Dean murmured, his lips brushing Sam’s hair as his magic began to flow, a gentle warmth seeping through his palms. He let it move like firelight licking along Sam’s nerves, soft and steady, chasing the chaos back into quiet. “I’m not hiding this from you, Sammy. You’ll feel it, my magic, my touch, it’s me, and nothing else. No tricks, no chains. Just me trying to steady you.” His voice was low, almost reverent, as the power curled into Sam’s racing pulse. “So you’ll know it’s never betrayal. Only love, only truth.”

Gradually, Sam felt himself calming down. His breath came easier, and his thoughts seemed more organized, but his mind was still turmoiled. He was in so many different frames.
He understood the promise he had given his father - John was his father - and he understood why John had asked it of him. But he felt hurt because he thought Dean trusted him. He wouldn’t have done anything to harm them. Not after figuring out his mother hadn’t been killed by a dragon.
Sam had been dealing with hurt and disappointment all his life, but he hadn’t expected this. He trusted Dean. He loved Dean. He did neither with his father.
Despite the war going on in his head, Sam knew he was safe with Dean. His trust hadn’t been shaken. He sank against Dean’s shoulder, accepting the hug he needed to ground himself again, but he just didn’t know what to feel.
“I know your love isn’t a lie, Dean,” he whispered after a long time. “And I understand your dilemma about your promise and me. I want to be honest. I heard so many lies growing up. I don’t want any of that between us. I don’t know what to think, how to feel. I feel like something is tearing me apart. And I don’t want that. What I want is… you.” He quieted down for a heartbeat. “I don’t know what to do.” He sounded utterly lost and felt very small in Dean’s arms.

Dean tightened his arms around him, feeling the tremor in Sam’s voice like a blade to his own chest. The lake’s surface rippled in the morning sun, throwing flashes of light across the water, but all Dean could see was the boy in his arms - his lover, his anchor, the one thing he’d never let the world break. He lowered his head, lips brushing Sam’s hair, and let the warmth of the moment hold them both steady. “Then don’t do anything, Sammy,” he murmured, steady but soft. “Not right now. You don’t have to choose, don’t have to carry every burden at once. Let me do that for you. Just… stay here with me, by this lake, under the sun. That’s enough.” His thumb traced a slow circle against Sam’s arm, grounding them both. “We’ll figure the rest out together. You’re not alone in this - not ever.”
Sam remained silent. He nodded, but he didn’t trust his voice. He kept seeing Dean, the dragon, in his mind and wondered how he couldn’t have seen it before. Then again, how should he have? He had no idea that dragons could change form. That’s why he dismissed every slip, every hint.
“Do fireborns even exist?” Sam asked after an eternity, his mind having focused on that question. “Or did you use that to describe a dragon in human form? How is that even possible?”

Dean held Sam’s gaze, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, though his eyes stayed solemn. “They exist,” he said, voice low, carrying the weight of centuries. “Long before men learned to call us dragons, we were Fireborn—born of flame itself, tied to it like breath to lungs. Humans gave us new names, built legends on bones they never understood. But shifting?” He exhaled through his nose, thumb brushing over Sam’s skin as though to keep him steady. “It’s no gift, Sammy. It burns inside, bending scale to skin, wings to flesh, until I wear this shape. Hurts like hell, too. That’s why most of us don’t do it, unless we’ve got no choice.” His jaw tightened, the fire in his chest thrumming low. “Me? I chose it - for you.”
Sam shivered when Dean spoke, telling him about fireborns and shifting. He could imagine it hurting. The immense change in size was unimaginable to him. “Why did you choose it? For me? You chose that back at the gorge. You didn’t even know me. And to save me, you could have just dropped me outside a village. Could you really feel our connection already? I mean, when did you start feeling it?”
Sam felt himself getting a grip again and moved a little. He brought just enough distance between them to look into Dean’s eyes. His human eyes. “And why did you come here to change? Did you want me to find out, but didn’t know how to say it without breaking your promise?”

Dean held Sam’s gaze, steady and unflinching, though the weight of the memories pressed heavily on his chest. He remembered the gorge as if it had happened that very morning - the torn earth, the sharp stink of blood and stone dust, and Sam’s body sprawled so small and fragile against the broken rocks. His own claws had trembled when he lifted him, the dragon in him braced for loss, but something had blazed back from Sam even then: a spark so fierce it burned through Dean’s doubt. “I didn’t choose it, Sammy,” Dean said softly, voice rumbling like distant thunder. “It was chosen the moment you opened your eyes and met mine. The old stories - they ain’t just tales spun by traveling bards. A soul like yours, rare and untainted, calls to a dragon whether you want it or not. That day at the gorge, I felt you calling me. Not with words, not with knowing… but with need. And dragons’ answer needs.” He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from Sam’s brow, the gesture almost reverent. “I could’ve left you, sure. Dropped you near a village, flown back to the peaks. But you were already in me. Every breath I’ve taken since… it’s had your name in it.” His throat tightened, but he pressed on, unwilling to let silence take what needed saying. “And why I came here to change? It wasn’t about wanting you to find out - it was because I’d been too long in my human skin. It aches, Sammy. Burns like chains when I don’t let the dragon out. The lake gave me cover, gave me space. I needed to breathe as what I am… even if it meant risking you seeing me that way.”
Sam listened carefully, taking in every word and thought about them carefully. He didn’t want to say anything wrong, especially not before he’d found a way through his emotions and calmed his inner turmoil. “So, you’re saying when I opened my eyes when you… the dragon… carried me up the bond was created? Because I’m… what? A rare and untainted soul?”
He licked his lips and looked down between his feet. “I don’t feel untainted, Dean. I feel… filthy. Misused. And I’m not talking about you being a dragon and me finding out the way I did. I’m talking about all those years before, when HE told me lies. About pretty much everything. And I’m sorry you feel your skin aching when you’re human too long. I have no idea how it feels, but it doesn’t sound nice.”

Dean watched him, the summer light spilling gold across the lake’s glassy surface, turning every ripple into fire. Sam sat there hunched, shoulders curved inward as though he wanted to fold himself away from the world, bare toes digging into the damp earth at the water’s edge. The sight of him like that - diminished, carrying poison in his own thoughts - made something primal coil in Dean’s chest, dragon-deep and aching. He wanted to reach over, to drag Sam against him until he understood, until the shame was drowned out by the truth. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, letting the morning breeze ruffle his hair and cool the heat in his blood. His voice was steady, but it carried the roughness of gravel underfoot. “Sam,” he said, watching the way the name rippled through him, “don’t you ever call yourself filthy again. Not here, not ever. You’re not the lies he poured down your throat. You’re not the shadows he tried to bind you in.” Dean turned his head, caught the way sunlight touched Sam’s profile, and his jaw tightened. “The bond didn’t happen because you were some prize or some pure thing the world wanted to hide away. It happened because when I carried you out of that gorge, my soul knew yours. Dragon or man, I recognized you. And I’ll keep recognizing you, every damn day.” He dragged in a breath, the lake’s scent of wet stone and pine sharp in his lungs. “You make the fire inside me quiet, Sammy. When I’m too long in human skin, when the ache sets in, you steady me. You make the beast in me breathe like it was born to.” His voice dropped, low as the lapping of the water at their feet. “Look at me. You are not tainted. You’re the truest thing in my world.”

Slowly, Sam lifted his eyes to follow Dean’s request. He was grateful for his words, but at the moment, everything was too much. He’d believed his mother being killed by a dragon for over twenty years and now, within a matter of weeks, he found that dragons were really real, they didn’t kill his mother, he fell in love with one, even when he had no idea, and now he was sitting at a lake in a mountain forest with this dragon and nothing was making real sense anymore. Maybe he needed a day or two to grasp everything.
“You said John made you promise,” he said quietly after a long time. “What is he gonna do when he finds out that you DID tell me. Or rather, that I found out. Is he going to step be… tween us?”
Sam stumbled over the word that began rushing in his head like the wind rustled the leaves. Between them. Like they were a couple. Which they were, despite the fact that Dean was not human after all.
Sam felt the connection, and he knew he wanted to be with Dean, even if he felt a little hurt. It wasn’t like they were going to bring baby dragons into the universe. If that would even work.
And Sam knew he had to stop the swirling thoughts before he could get back into being with Dean in an untainted way.

Dean’s breath caught at the word, between, the way it slipped from Sam’s lips like a secret suddenly bared. He let the silence linger, not rushing it, because he knew what it cost Sam to even think it - let alone say it aloud. The lake mirrored the sky, streaked with fire and blue, and Dean let his gaze fall there for a moment before answering, steady and low. “No, Sammy. He won’t stand between us.” His voice carried the weight of memory, of firesides and long nights with John’s voice etched into him. “When I was younger, I thought his rules were iron. That he’d chain me down if I ever dared break them. But when it came to you… he saw it before I did. Saw the way I spoke about you, the way you fit into the empty spaces I didn’t even know I had.” Dean’s hand slid over Sam’s, warm and firm, anchoring him back to the now. “He told me - yeah, the bond between human and dragon’s forbidden, but what kind of father would he be if he asked me to cut my own heart in half? He said if I found someone who could see me, truly me, wings and scales and all, he’d damn well stand beside me, not against me.” Dean turned then, green eyes catching the soft light, fierce and tender in the same breath. “So, no - he won’t break us apart. Not now, not ever. We’re not just surviving some rule, Sammy. We’re rewriting it.”
Sam nodded.
“Ok,” he whispered.

His head was still trying to comprehend what had happened. How could a dragon the size of a house fit into a human form? How and why was that possible? How many dragons had he met already without knowing?
Suddenly, his head jerked up. Had his father known? That dragons could shift? Did he maybe not mean that a dragon in dragon form had killed his mother, but in human form?
Sam looked at Dean, with clear panic in his eyes. He knew Dean was no killer, but… was it possible? That a dragon in human form was responsible?
Sam shook his head to clear it. He had seen his father’s action in a new light after meeting Dean. Where he used to think that the way he treated him, his own son, was due to his pain from the loss, he now knew that grief couldn’t be the reason. Dean had suffered the same fate, and his father - John - hadn’t treated Dean that way.
Sam lifted his hand and rubbed his head. All these thoughts were giving him a headache, and he hated it. He wanted things to be back to normal, just him and Dean, and no worries at all.
Dean sat with him at the lake’s edge, the morning sun spilling warmth over the rippling water, the air heavy with the hum of summer insects. He stayed close but not pressing, letting the soft brush of their shoulders speak more than words could. Sam’s eyes were far away, chasing thoughts too heavy for the stillness of the day, and Dean felt the pull to reach for him, to promise, to banish every shadow. But he held himself steady instead, quiet as the lake, a constant presence at Sam’s side. If Sam needed space to untangle his fears, Dean would give it; if he needed strength to lean on, Dean was already there. Love, he knew, wasn’t about drowning out doubt - it was about waiting in the silence until the other found his way back. So he sat in the summer light, patient, unmovable, letting Sam know without a word that he wasn’t going anywhere.

Sam hugged his knees tighter to his chest, staring at the way the sunlight broke on the ripples. His reflection wavered there, distorted, fractured, just like the thoughts twisting through his head.
The idea that his father could have told him the truth sickened him. He didn’t want to believe it; he couldn’t. Dean wasn’t a monster, not in the way his father had drilled into him since childhood. Dean was warmth where his father had been cold. Dean was patience where William had been iron. And yet… the questions gnawed. If dragons could slip into human skin, then nothing was certain anymore.
He buried his face against his arm, fighting the heat pricking at his eyes. He hated this. Hated doubting, hated questioning, hated the hollow feeling of not knowing what was real. And most of all, he hated that the doubt tried to creep toward Dean.
Dean, who had been nothing but steady reassurance. Dean, who had stayed after saving him, when he could have just left. Dean, whose silence right now felt like a shield, a promise that no matter how ugly Sam’s thoughts got, he wouldn’t turn away.
He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing the heel of his hand against his temple. The headache pulsed sharply and mercilessly, like the clash of two worlds fighting inside him.
Sam rubbed at his temple again, fingers pressing against the throbbing spot like he could will the ache away. It only seemed to get worse the harder he tried not to think. He drew in a slow breath, then let it out in a sigh that sounded more like defeat than relief.
Then he shifted, leaning the barest bit closer, shoulder brushing against Dean’s like he was trying to draw strength from the touch without admitting it. His hand dropped from his temple and rested against his knee, fingers twitching like they wanted to reach out but didn’t quite dare. Finally, his lips obeyed, and he whispered. “Dean, I… I need your warmth. Please?” The words were spoken in an innocent way, asking for reassurance, steadiness, and support. And he knew he would get just that.

Dean’s heart clenched at the sound of Sam’s voice, soft and fragile in a way he rarely allowed himself to be. The boy’s plea was no grand declaration, no desperate cry, but it hit Dean harder than a sword through his chest. He shifted slowly, careful as though he were approaching a skittish colt, and let his arm slide around Sam’s shoulders, pulling him in until the younger man’s frame settled against his side. The heat of him seeped into Sam’s body, not just skin to skin but soul to soul, like the warmth Sam asked for was something Dean had carried all his life just to give away in this moment. His jaw brushed the top of Sam’s hair as he lowered his head, the strands catching the faint golden light like a halo that Sam himself would never claim. Dean let his palm settle against Sam’s temple, and with a quiet breath, he wove a sliver of his magic into the touch - softly, carefully - drawing the pain away until the pounding headache ebbed into nothing but calm. “You’ve got it, Sammy,” Dean murmured, voice low but steady as bedrock. “As much as you need, for as long as you need. I’ll hold it for you when you can’t, I’ll burn it bright enough to chase away whatever shadows your old man planted in you.” He tightened his arm, protective, possessive, but gentle too, as though to shield Sam from his own doubts. “You don’t have to believe every word I say yet,” Dean admitted, lips brushing Sam’s temple in the barest ghost of a kiss. “Just… believe in this. Believe in how it feels, here, with me. That’s the truth I can give you.” And in the silence that followed, Dean swore to himself that if dragons and men and the weight of kingdoms tried to break Sam apart, he would stand as the fire between - unyielding, unrelenting, until Sam remembered what warmth truly meant.

Sam let out a long, trembling breath the moment Dean’s arm closed around him, the dam inside him cracking with the sheer relief of being held. He didn’t fight it, didn’t try to put distance between himself and the warmth pouring off Dean like a hearth fire after a storm. Instead, he let himself sink in, pressing his cheek against Dean’s chest, listening to the steady rhythm there that grounded him more than any words ever could.
He felt the magic spread inside him, a subtle, quiet hum beneath Dean’s hand at his temple, but Sam felt it spreading through him all the same. Like sunlight spilling over frostbitten earth. The pounding headache eased, first to a dull throb, then into nothing but silence, and in its place came a bone-deep weariness. His limbs grew heavy, sinking into Dean as if they’d always belonged there.
Sam had wanted to argue, to say that doubt didn’t vanish that easily, but as Dean’s words settled into him, the ache in his chest loosened. He wanted to believe. No. He chose to. Because in Dean’s arms, with that warmth seeping into every crack the years had left in him, belief felt less like a risk and more like coming home.
His eyelids fluttered. “Feels… better,” he murmured, voice thick with exhaustion. The edges of the world blurred, softened, and Sam didn’t care to hold onto them. He curled closer, giving in to the pull, letting Dean’s steadiness carry him where his own strength couldn’t. If this were true, Sam was sure it was the only one he wanted.

Dean felt Sam’s weight give in against him, that final surrender of trust that lodged itself deep in his chest. For a moment, he just sat there, still as the morning lake, listening to the soft hitch of Sam’s breath against his ribs, the way it steadied in rhythm with his own. The dragon in him stirred, restless and protective, every scale and sinew aching to shield this boy - this man - from every shadow that would ever dare touch him. He shifted carefully, rising with Sam gathered safe in his arms, and carried him across the soft grass, back home, through the cabin door, and into the quiet stillness of their room. The bed creaked as Dean lowered them both onto it, settling on his side and drawing Sam close once more. The air smelled of pine and sun-warmed water drifting through the shutters, a summer breeze brushing over them, but Dean’s warmth was a different thing - ancient, endless, meant for Sam alone. He bent his head, brushing his lips against the crown of Sam’s hair, and closed his eyes. No words now, not when silence spoke louder. Just his arms, his heat, his steady heart carrying both of them into the morning, into a peace Dean had never thought he’d deserve. For the first time in his hidden life, he didn’t feel like a beast to be feared, but a home to be held. And he swore, with every quiet beat of his heart, that Sam would never doubt it again.

When the mattress dipped beneath them and Dean’s arms came around him again, Sam breathed in deep, drawing the pine and sun-filled air into his lungs, letting it mix with the grounding warmth radiating from the man beside him.
The tension that had ruled his mind ever since he spotted the dragon in the lake and learned the truth loosened, thread by thread. He focused on the steady beat of Dean’s heart, on the rise and fall of his chest, on the simple act of being held. Each sound, each touch, each breath was a tether, his tether, pulling him back from the edge of doubt and settling him in a space where nothing hunted him. Not memories and even less doubts.
Images drifted through the quiet haze of his thoughts, the sharp gleam of the green dragon eyes he’d glimpsed just before darkness had taken him again down in the ravine, and the certainty he’d felt in that moment that he was safe despite the strangeness of it. Dean’s arms had been the same then as they were now, even though he hadn’t known that, yet, unyielding and protective as they carried him away from danger and into peace.
The softness of the pillows cradled his head, and the warmth of Dean’s body wrapped around him. For once, Sam didn’t fight the heaviness pressing down on his eyelids. He let it wash over him, let the comfort sink in until every swirling thought dimmed into quiet.
His last conscious flicker of thought was of Dean. His strength, his warmth, his love filled every corner of Sam’s mind. With a faint sigh, Sam surrendered to it, slipping into sleep with nothing but Dean’s presence wrapped around him like the safest place he’d ever known.