Part 6: Just A Little Sentimental

The more Dean thought about it, the more pleased he was that Sasha would be gone for a week. It would give him the time he needed to think things through. And to pick up Sasha's present. He hadn't told Sam about it yet, but he was pretty sure his brother would be all over the idea.

That was what Dean focused his attention on as the first week went by and time ticked closer to when Sasha would be heading to his aunt's. They were still staying all together in one room, just in case, so it wasn't as if Dean got any time alone with one of them. That, at least, was a blessing. It was way too likely that if caught alone with either Sam or Sasha they would inevitably want to talk.

Hunting was slow, but that was also intentional. Sam's arm was quickly regaining full range of motion but it was still understandably sore. They had been trying to build up a better system for tracking down demon activity, like what Ash used to help them with, and so far it had granted them one small jackpot—a couple in Elizabethville, Ohio disguised as a priest and a female bartender.

It made for an easy hunt with the way Sam spotted them for what they were and then effortlessly exorcized them once the demons were caught, saving the hosts instead of having to use the Colt. Sure, Dean felt a little useless what with Sam's newfound abilities popping up more often, and with Sasha's abundant strength and resilience. But he wasn't about to complain. It just made Dean long for a haunting again or something unexplainable. The last thing he wanted in his last months was to sit back like a shmuck and let others do all the work.

Oh, Sam was still doing everything he could to find out some kind of information to help Dean, but it wasn't exactly easy to dig for information in front of Sasha when Dean was still against letting the incubus in on the secret. Sam had gone so far as to demand to know whether the demons they exorcized in Elizabethville knew who kept the contracts for souls sold to hell. They didn't have an answer, even under Sam's sway.

When Sasha asked about that detail later, Sam shrugged and said they had dealt with that sort of thing before and knew decent people sometimes got tricked into devil deals. Dean was grateful Sam made it seem like something more generally personal, but he didn't miss the scowl Sam shot him after the lie was made.

They were considering checking Massachusetts for demon activity next, a hunch Sam had after going over possible demonic signs. That would have to wait until after Sasha got back though, and after they went for Gordon and Kubrick. Waiting much longer to burn that bridge would only leave them open to unprepared attack again, and there was no way Dean wanted a repeat of that. He chalked up their bad luck last time to having gone back to the same place twice in so short a time span. They wouldn't make that mistake again if they could help it.

They had spent the night at a hotel usually used by oil drillers in Williston, North Dakota, but that also accommodated the few people who might actually drive through the town. Dean had taken notice of the Amtrak station when they drove past it, Williston being an apparently important stop along the famous train's route, but Dean didn't see anything but cowboys and old shops to give him a reason why that might be.

"Sounds like there's been a black dog sighting in Troy, Pennsylvania," Sam said from one of the beds as Dean came out of the bathroom, his laptop propped on his legs, "Not much else on the radar."

"Sure," Dean shrugged, rubbing at his hair with an extra towel, another still hanging loose on his waist from his shower, "Shame that Montana thing had to be a bust."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, what a shame the possible zombie attack was only a bunch of pranking teenagers."

"Hey," Dean looked around the room, suddenly noticing that he and his brother were alone, "Where's the redhead?"

Already, Sam had dived back into whatever he was looking at on the computer, probably leaving the information he had about Pennsylvania to return to his constant 'save Dean' search. Dean no longer bugged him about that, especially when Sam made sure Sasha wasn't able to catch sight of what he was doing. "Ran down to the gym," Sam said, "Said he needed to let off some excess energy."

Dean tried not to tense at that particular phrasing. Excess energy. Right. "This place has a gym?"

"I'm guessing a big empty room with a treadmill and a punching bag, but who knows."

"Huh." Dean tossed away his towels and reached for a clean pair of shorts he had already laid out. Modesty never mattered as much when it was just him and his brother. Sam's eye roll said he didn't agree, but Dean concentrated on getting dressed. "I think I'll run down there too."

Pulling a T-shirt over his head didn't stop Dean from feeling the weight of his brother's eyes as they turned to him. "You just took a shower."

"So? I'll stretch and do sit-ups. I don't have to get sweaty." Dean pulled on a pair of jeans, careful to keep his gaze away from the fixated stare of his brother.

"Dean…"

That was not the tone Dean wanted to deal with right now. "I'll make sure we're back in half an hour. We can grab some lunch at that place next door." He had to get out of the room before Sam tried harder to stop him. Screw socks. Dean pulled on his shoes and headed for the door.

"Dean."

Damn it. Dean knew he would regret walking out on Sam now, the evil little brother in Sam would make sure of it. Still, Dean had to salvage some of his pride, so he kept his back on Sam and stayed facing the door. "What?" he prompted warily.

"I hope you're going down there to apologize for whatever happened between you two. Did you and Sasha have some kind of fight? You know, besides you hitting him back in California."

Fight? "No," Dean said, peering back over his shoulder. "What makes you say that?"

The expression on Sam's face was completely incredulous. "You haven't noticed how pissed he's been at you the last couple of days? Maybe if you actually looked at him lately you would have seen some of the glares he's been giving you. Dean," oh God, here it comes, Dean thought, bracing himself for the worst, "Is something going on between you two?"

That was Dean's cue to leave. "Don't worry about it," Dean said dismissively, turning back to the door and reaching for the handle, "I'll...I'll talk to him. It's nothing."

Only it wasn't nothing. Dean hadn't noticed Sasha being upset with him because of exactly the reason Sam gave; Dean hadn't so much as looked at Sasha since their conversation at four AM while Sam was lying passed out on the opposite bed.

As Dean left the room, he definitely did not hear the impatient "Dean," that followed after him. He had some patching up to do, and that was much more important than talking things out with Sam.

Dean had originally planned to try and smooth things over with Sasha anyway, maybe get things back to normal somehow. Now he had an actual mission. He hadn't meant to be so standoffish and awkward around Sasha lately, he just didn't know what he should be doing. Half of him was still terrified to face Sasha, but his feet carried him along the hallways anyway, following the signs that pointed to 'Workout Room'.

Using his guest key on the door when he finally reached it, a single glance told Dean that he would have to remember to tell Sam he had been right. An empty room with a treadmill and a punching bag was pretty much all there was to the hotel's 'Workout Room'. That, a TV, and one of those elliptical things. Sasha was the only person in the room, not surprisingly, and he was currently pummeling the life out of the punching bag. Had anyone else wandered in, they probably would have turned on their heels to see the way Sasha was going at it.

"Dude, you break it, you buy it," Dean said with half a grin. He knew that if Sasha was hitting the bag like that then he probably had a reason for it. Him. "Did the bag insult you or something, coz I can totally help you take it down."

As Dean moved into the room, noticing several full-length mirrors along the walls but thankfully no windows, Sasha stopped mid-punch in recognition of being walked in on. When he tried to smile back at Dean, the expression fell flat. "Hey. Didn't you just shower?"

What was with these logical guys? Dean laced his fingers together and raised his arms above his head. "Felt like stretching. Some mid-morning calisthenics and…all that. You mind?" Yeah, coz that didn't sound awkward.

"Of course not," Sasha said, holding the bag to stop it from swinging, "I was just…"

"Releasing a little excess energy?"

Sasha laughed and that sounded flat too. "Yeah."

"Why not release a little on me?" Dean froze in his steps. He so did not just word things like that. "I mean…not…ya know. Just…sparring. Or something." Why was Dean so bad at this? It was like he was hopped up on pheromones again and wasn't entirely in control of what he did. Like a week ago when he made out with Sasha after their…pretty much date.

Oh God, it was so like a date. And afterwards all Dean could do was start acting like the biggest asshole in the world and try to pretend it never happened. No wonder Sasha wanted something to hit.

"I'm thinking I got a little excess energy too," Dean said, eyeing the cryptic and intense look that had taken over Sasha's eyes, "And I'm getting the feeling you'd really like to take a shot at me right now. Am I right?"

The intensity on Sasha's face broke a little and a small, real smile managed to break through. "I don't…want to fight you, Dean."

"I didn't say fight. I said spar. You know, friendly fighting. Better than hitting something that doesn't hit back."

"Dean—"

"Come on. Humor me." Dean grinned a little wider, not forgetting that Sasha had used that exact phrase on him in an alleyway that seemed like a lifetime ago.

Dean kicked off his shoes, glad he was barefoot now, and motioned Sasha closer as he positioned himself into a fighting stance. He hadn't sparred with anyone since a few weeks before his dad disappeared. Those fights were always a challenge, Dean remembered. His dad had been a Marine and a damn good hunter for years. He didn't just fight with Dean, he fought hard, as much as he would if the fight were real. Dean knew he would have to fight the same way to even keep up with Sasha.

At first Sasha didn't so much as flinch or blink in his direction. He still had the punching bag in his arms. He was barefoot too, just wearing a pair of sweatpants he had slept in. That would give him an advantage too since Dean was in jeans.

Then Sasha pushed the bag away from him and started towards Dean with a blank expression that made Dean shiver, and not in the way Sasha used to make him shiver.

"I can hold back," Sasha said, getting into a fighting stance as well, "But not much."

"Don't hold back at all," Dean replied. He was no pussy.

"I could kill you."

"I doubt it."

"I could break an arm or a few ribs."

"Try me."

"Dean—"

"Hit me. I've already gotten a hit off you, remember."

Sasha didn't reply but his eyes flashed a moment as if they wanted to turn red. He nodded.

What the hell am I doing, Dean thought, as they started to circle each other. There wasn't enough room to fight properly anyway, and Sasha had super strength. Still, the adrenaline rush that started to surge up into Dean's limbs kept him from calling a stop. They had some issues to work out, and finally Sam wasn't anywhere near them. This was the only way Dean knew how to face these issues, or face anything for that matter—head on and fists flying.

Dean threw the first punch, but Sasha dodged effortlessly to the side and brought a ready uppercut into Dean's ribs. That almost winded Dean right then, but there was no way he could let things end that quickly. Dean was hunched slightly from the well-placed hit and used it to his advantage, bringing a knee up into Sasha's stomach. Dean prided his small victory on catching Sasha unprepared. If Sasha didn't expect much of a fight, he was wrong.

Dean swung with the same punch he had tried before and this time he connected, clean across Sasha's jaw. He would have to ask one of the others to drive today and give his hands the chance to recover from this, but right now he could care less about his fingers jamming.

Recovering quickly from the hit, Sasha rounded on Dean with a kick to his shins and Dean went down. He was used to that kind of tactic though and rolled out of the way before Sasha could pounce again, managing to jump back onto his feet. Sasha was faster than Dean though, ready with another hit, but this time Dean was the one who dodged and then used Sasha's own movement to plow forward and throw his friend off balance. Sasha slammed back into the nearest wall and Dean reared back for another hit.

It was like the movies, only not cool or funny when it happened to you. Dean's punch got caught by Sasha's hand, and Sasha squeezed Dean's wrist tight enough for Dean's fist to completely release. That hurt. Dean tried to pull his hand away but Sasha's grip was too strong. The incubus pulled on the wrist, swinging Dean around into a hold that had Dean's back pressed against Sasha's chest. It felt tighter and closer than Dean ever remembered them being. Dean had to get out of it.

Ramming his hips backwards, Dean slammed Sasha into the wall again and lifted up with his back as he bent forward. It took all of his strength but he managed to flip Sasha over even if it also brought Dean down to his knees. Better to be on his knees than how Sasha was flat on the ground.

"Had enough yet?" Dean said with a smirk as he brought his feet up into a crouch.

By now Sasha was grinning pretty heavily too, which was much better than that look of blank determination. Of course, Dean should have realized that a mirrored smirk couldn't mean anything good for him.

Sasha was on his back with Dean staring down at him. Really, that should have meant that Sasha was the one at a disadvantage.

Lashing out with that same fierce grip, Sasha grabbed Dean's ankles only to throw them behind Dean towards the wall, knocking Dean down flat on his face. Dean immediately rolled onto his back, but he didn't have the chance to get up again before Sasha lifted his whole body up into a handstand and flipped over to land straddled on Dean's hips. Now that really hurt.

"Jesus Christ!" Dean called to the ceiling. He certainly hadn't expected Sasha to be quite that nimble and acrobatic about things. He only anticipated the strength. Too bad for him.

"No," Sasha said by way of answering, grinning down at Dean in pleased triumph, "Just your friendly neighborhood incubus. But you knew that when you got yourself into this, so you really shouldn't complain."

Dean took in a few labored breaths. Sasha had managed to soften the blow somehow, of that Dean was certain since he could still breathe, but that didn't mean a grown man hadn't just landed on a particularly sensitive area. "I'm not complaining…only my balls are," Dean said, and he wasn't exactly lying either.

The response Dean got was the one he wanted—Sasha laughed. "I'll have to make it up to them sometime then."

If Dean had been able to see his own face, he was pretty sure his eyes must have been bugging out of his head. He really needed to get out of his current position. Now. "Funny," he managed, "Do you mind letting me up? You win, okay? I concede."

"Really?" Sasha started. He looked a little too pleased suddenly, and Dean didn't miss that the incubus' legs locked a little tighter on his hips. "Well if I win…then I think I'm the one making the decisions here."

Shit. Sasha didn't usually look that dangerous…did he? "Uhh…Sasha…"

"Maybe I'm thinking of staying right where I am for a while," Sasha said, their hips tightly met and Sasha's hands holding Dean down by the shoulders, "Maybe I'm tired of waiting for you."

Dean froze, completely froze as a new shiver like he hadn't had in a very long time traveled down his body. That tone of voice, the low growl to it, as if Sasha was in his incubus form even though his eyes were still blue, it made Dean suddenly very aware of how much trouble he would be in right now if Sasha actually wanted to hurt him.

Thankfully, that was not what Sasha had in mind. "It's been a week, Dean. And this, right now, is the first time you've really looked at me since that night. What do you want from me? I thought I knew, thought I understood the signs you kept giving me. If you wanted me to back off then why the hell did you let me kiss you?"

"I…I don't know," Dean managed, but it was all he could say. Why hadn't he anticipated this? Or had he walked into the trap willingly, knowing he deserved it?

"You don't…know?" Sasha repeated, eyes narrowed and fierce. He pushed himself away then, freeing Dean's shoulders, but remained sitting on Dean's hips at first. He looked both sad and angry as he said, "Fuck you," before finally starting to get up.

Dean caught Sasha's arms so quickly and so tight, he almost thought it was enough to hurt the incubus by the sound of Sasha's gasp. "Don't," Dean said, because he didn't know what else there was to say. All he did know was that he couldn't let things go sour between them, not like this, not because he was scared again after all that time trying to bolster himself to get over it.

It was just a kiss. It was just a fucking kiss. It didn't have to be the end of the world.

There were so many things Dean wanted to say, but none of them found their way past his lips. He only managed a choked, "Give me more time," and then he felt like such a girl for this whole situation, felt like such a damn fool because he wasn't acting like himself at all. Even if Sasha hadn't been the insane combination 'male' and 'incubus', this wasn't the way Dean acted. How did Sasha unhinge him so completely?

"More time?" Sasha said, staying where he was but looking down at Dean in frustration, "More time for you to convince yourself you don't want me, you mean. I can only take so much, Dean. I may not be human but that doesn't mean this doesn't hurt."

Fuck. Fuck. Dean didn't even want to have this conversation, but he knew he couldn't run from it anymore. He literally couldn't even more. "I don't care that you're not human, and I know you can feel everything I feel, I know I've been an asshole," Dean admitted, " I just…I don't know what I'm doing."

"This may surprise you, but neither do I." Sasha's eyes softened and he sighed, bringing both hands up to run through sweat-dampened hair. Then he looked down at Dean again and started to lean closer with something between sympathy and strained understanding in the expression. "I can do slow, Dean. If you need slow, I can do that. It's the back and forth with you jerking me around I can't handle."

"I'm not jerking you. Around," Dean blurted, feeling stupider by the minute. He was fully aware of their intimate position and how he had actually been one of the factors that kept Sasha in it. "I…think maybe…I might be able to do slow too." Panic choked in Dean's throat as he said that. He couldn't take it back now. He couldn't make this all go away. They were in too deep and Sasha would never forgive him if he flipped-flopped on this again. Dean looked up at the smile growing above him and said quickly, "But it has to be like grandma driving on Sunday afternoon slow, okay, because this…this is…

"Kind of scary. I know. For me too, Dean. But it doesn't have to be…"

Dean knew it was coming, knew before Sasha started leaning down further, lips parted just so and eyes closing. Like that night in Sasha's hotel room, Dean let the kiss happen, let Sasha kiss him deep and press his body into the floor. He loved kissing Sasha, no amount of denial or blaming on other factors could keep Dean from believing that anymore. He couldn't survive on just dreams. And neither could Sasha.

Within the kiss, Sasha's hips gave a little jerk against Dean's and they broke apart with mutually sharp gasps.

"Okay…that's not slow," Dean said breathlessly.

At least Sasha had the decency to look ashamed. "Sorry. It's just…having you in this position like this…" He bit his lip a little and his cheeks went flush with whatever was going through his mind at the moment.

A lump rose in Dean's throat. "Let me up," he demanded. This was more than he could handle right now.

The heat drained from Sasha's eyes and he stared down at Dean like a child that had lost his balloon and had to watch minute by minute as it disappeared from view.

"You're crushing me," Dean tried, forcing a smile, "And I just know that any minute now some middle aged woman's going to come waddling through that door. So…can you please?" Please. Dean had been saying that word way more than he normally did, around Sasha and around Sam. He had also been letting loose flurries of 'sorry' and 'are you okay?' and who knows how many other Sam phrases that just felt weird on his tongue.

At least it did the trick, because Sasha smiled sheepishly down at Dean and then he was getting up and holding a hand out for Dean to take.

"Déjà vu," Dean said, allowing Sasha to hoist him up off the floor.

"More than once now," Sasha replied, still smiling, and looking much more flushed than he had seemed while they were on the floor. Dean didn't want to think about how flushed he probably was.

Sasha made to move closer to Dean but Dean held up his hands defensively, just in case Sasha was trying to go in for another kiss, or maybe a hug, or maybe nothing. "I mean really, really slow," Dean said, "And, you know…low profile. Not all…public and everything."

Sasha's smile turned crooked and he crossed his arms over his bare chest. "You don't want Sam to know," Sasha deduced.

Okay, so Dean wasn't the best at playing the subtle card. "Just not…not right now. He's not stupid. He knows something's up with us, but I just…there's so much going on, he's still a little hurt right now, Gordon's out there…"

"I get it, Dean. It's okay," Sasha broke in. He reached to touch Dean's shoulder, casual and supportive enough that Dean didn't flinch, "You're being good enough to keep my secret from Bobby, even though you think it's silly and I know I should be able to let the secret go. I can do the same for you. Just…not forever." Sasha smirked a little, making those words seem more like a tease, though Dean knew the incubus meant them.

Forever wouldn't be a problem. Dean didn't have anywhere near forever. But if Sam found out what was going on between them he would make Dean tell Sasha about the deal before Dean was ready. Keeping an extra secret seemed plenty worth it to avoid that.

"And I can do slow," Sasha said, dropping his arm down to his side again, "I don't like slow. I might have trouble with slow. But I can do it. That doesn't mean I don't want another kiss though."

"Haha…" Again with the uncomfortable laugh. "Sasha…" Dean warned, trying to back up despite the wall his body met before he could take more than a single step.

"You've been the biggest test of my patience ever, Dean Winchester," Sasha said as he moved in closer to Dean's body, "Be thankful I have the self-control not to just jump you right now."

The tone was still playful, but Dean sensed the truth hidden in those words. The hungry looks Sasha sometimes gave him, and was currently giving him right now, were almost ravenous.

"I've enjoyed every minute I've spent with you since we met. Even the harder, scarier times. Even when you made me so mad, like I've been all week, waiting for you to say anything to me about what happened. Because it's you, Dean. And I don't know what that means exactly, I just know that you make the difference." Sasha reached towards Dean's face, his palm bushing Dean's cheek as gentle fingers ran through Dean's hair and smoothed it back.

Dean thought maybe he was shaking, but he couldn't move, so he couldn't be shaking, could he?

"Dean…please…" Sasha said in a whisper, "Just something…one kiss to feed the addiction you've become for me. Please…"

Dean didn't think it was possible for his gut to feel any hotter. Sasha was begging him for a simple kiss. Christ. Dean may have thought he was in this alone, but apparently they both had the craziest effects on the other. Sasha was beyond just being unhinged by Dean. Sasha was drowning, had drowned already, and didn't want to come back up for air.

Maybe that was it, maybe Sasha's deeply growing desire for Dean was what finally melted Dean down, but suddenly Dean didn't care about the details anymore. He didn't care about the angry butterflies eating away at his stomach, he didn't care about Sam sitting up in the room pondering over what was happening between his companions, and he certainly didn't care about consequences.

Reaching out as Sasha had reached for him, Dean gripped the back of Sasha's neck and pulled the incubus down into a kiss. This was Dean's kiss. His first kiss. The first time he had pulled Sasha to him. Dean had almost forgotten how thrilling it felt to do that. He was always the initiator with a girl. Sasha was just so different, and not just because he was an incubus and so undeniably male, but because he was Sasha. Dean's best friend.

When Sasha pushed the kiss a little deeper, pressing forward to pin Dean against the wall, the little voices at the back of Dean's head started whispering again. Dean refused to listen to them, but they still managed to ruin the moment.

"We ha-have to get back…" Dean gasped out of the kiss, feeling warm absolutely everywhere, "Sam will start…to wonder."

Sasha was so close to him, pressing into him the way Dean remembered from way back in Minnesota when they were both drunk and Sasha had first called Dean out for having feelings he wouldn't face.

It was strange having to look up into the eyes of the person you had just kissed. Dean hadn't experienced that since middle school when his almost girlfriend, more like make-out buddy, Tara Castello, shot up two inches in a weekend.

Strange, yes, Dean thought, but not bad. Nothing about this felt anywhere near bad. But it was still scary. "Slow," Dean said, pushing on Sasha's chest lightly, "I still need slow. I'm not ready to wave you into home plate just yet, okay, cowboy?"

Sasha let out a chuckle and nodded, as out of breath as Dean was. "Yeah. Slow."

They took a few more minutes to catch their breaths before heading up the stair to their room. Every step Dean took reminded him of all the sore places on his body after sparring. Hell, that wasn't sparring, that was a fight. A fight with a frickin' incubus. Dean ached.

Just as Dean reached for the door to their room, he let out a telling hiss and unconsciously started rubbing at the shoulder Sasha jerked when he whipped Dean around into that close hold.

"Fuck," Dean cursed out through clenched teeth.

"I knew I'd hurt you," came Sasha's close voice, all concerned and bordering on self-loathing the way Dean absolutely hated.

"I'm fine," Dean grumbled, throwing open the door, "Don't make a big deal over it."

"Big deal over what?" Sam said from the bed, just now closing his laptop as he looked over at Dean. He noticed the way Dean was holding his shoulder immediately. "What did you do?"

Great. Now there were two of them to fuss over this. "It's—"

"Dean wanted to spar," Sasha said before Dean could finish, "I told him I couldn't hold back very much, but…" Sasha shrugged.

Sam's eyes looked wide with worry and he was off the bed in a second. "Dean, what is wrong with you? You don't spar with our good friend the incubus for fun. I'm sure you went easy on him, Sasha," Sam turned to the redhead then, his tone entirely different when he was speaking to Sasha, "So don't worry about it. Sometimes Dean doesn'tthink."

"I'm fine," Dean growled, glaring at his brother. He released his shoulder and started to finish packing. So his shoulder hurt, and his fists ached, and his groin was still a little sore. Funny how Dean hadn't really noticed all that until after they left the workout room. "Let's get some lunch and get gone."

"I'm really sorry," Sasha said, coming up behind Dean to place a hand on his shoulder. This time Dean did flinch, and he looked back at Sasha with wide hinting eyes. Not in front of Sam. "You did ask for it," Sasha responded, lowering his hand but still giving Dean an equally frustrated look since he had, after all, simply touched him.

Sasha smirked at his own words, and now that Sam had been placated enough to realize Dean was in no way seriously injured, he allowed himself to laugh at Dean's expense too.

Sometimes Dean forgot why he actually enjoyed spending all of his time with these two jerks. One might be his brother and the other his…something else, but there had to be some kind of supernatural reason too. Had to be.

Getting to Pennsylvania took an entire week since they ended up stopping in Napoleon, North Dakota to banish a hell beast, almost drove right through a demonic Cold Spot in some backwoods of Wisconsin and had to cleanse the earth, and then had to salt and burn the bones of the very angry ghost of a hippy that attacked anyone caught listening to modern music. Wonders never ceased.

The ghost had actually taken a liking to Dean, but that didn't mean they were going to let him keep messing with people. Sasha and Sam found the remains while Dean kept the ghost busy with talk of Led Zeppelin, and then the hippy was off to the other side. If an 'other side' even existed, one that wasn't the hell Dean knew of with demons in it he loathed.

Throughout that entire week they still all stayed in one room, usually with the option to bring in an extra cot, though a few more times Dean had to crawl in with Sam, which was much more awkward when Sammy wasn't drugged up and still. Normally, he kicked in his sleep, though apparently Dean snored so at least they were even.

Sasha and Dean didn't get more than a few spare minutes alone, but whenever they were, Sasha was always trying to steal another kiss, like he couldn't get enough of Dean's lips or something. Even when Sam was around Dean noticed how much more Sasha touched him. Not in any sexual way, just simple touches. His shoulder, a hand on his knee when they were talking, an arm thrown around his neck. Sasha did similar things to Sam, just being a touchy kind of guy, so Dean didn't think Sam noticed. But Dean noticed, he noticed how when Sasha touched him those touches lasted just the smallest bit longer and were usually accompanied by a too sweet smile. Dean thought the smile looked like it was always saying silly things like thank you.

Dean had never courted a girl, and he hadn't done the dating thing since high school. For him it was usually a brief meeting at some bar and then home to the girl's place or back to his hotel room for mindless sex. Dean liked that arrangement. But this was so different. He couldn't even go beyond kissing Sasha without having to remind the incubus that they were supposed be moving slow.

The plus side to everything was that since they hadn't separated into more than one room, Sasha and Dean really couldn't do much more than steal kisses anyway, and Sam never got the chance to probe Dean for information. Sam's gauging looks became more frequent but he never said anything, probably for Sasha's sake. Dean knew that would change when Sasha left for the week, but he didn't want to think about it. At least, not until it was suddenly upon them.

The black dog sightings around Troy, Pennsylvania had turned out to be a rapid black lab that just happened to show up around the same time as a few inconvenient deaths. Dean tried to remind himself that it was good when something wasn't supernatural, but he still felt disappointed. Shortly after that they had driven the hour it took to get to Williamsport, the nearest larger Greyhound Station, and dropped Sasha off for his trip to Seattle. They would be picking him up in New York City the day of his birthday, where Dean had told Sam they would be spending the week.

"Why New York?" Sam asked as they drove away from the station, having already seen Sasha off, "You hate New York, remember?"

Indeed, Dean did, if only for the insane traffic. "I know. But it will give us a chance to catch up with our good friends, Manfred and Detective McBain. And…a few other things I found out."

Sam eyed Dean across the car. "What things?"

Dean grinned, pulling onto Highway 15. He didn't reply.

"Why do I get the feeling I'm going to hate you after this?" Sam grumbled.

Dean let out a long laugh. "Trust me, Sammy," he said, "Just trust me."

It had taken Dean weeks to track the place down, but he knew it had to exist. His father couldn't have just thrown away every family memory, or many of the things he collected from hunts. Somewhere there had to be a storage place filled with the Winchester legacy, and Dean was determined to find it.

He had been sneaking calls ever since he and Sasha hunted alone those few days, and finally, it had paid off. That was how Dean knew they were destined for New York, and no amount of road rage would keep him from getting what he wanted.

"I can't believe Dad never told us about this place," Sam said, a little angry but obviously more curious as they broke the lock on the door and snuck inside. Technically it wasn't B&E. They had called the owner and confirmed that they were Edgar Cayce's sons and had come to collect his things after his death. Since that alias belonged to their actual father, they didn't feel like they were lying. Of course that didn't mean they had a key.

Dean could believe it, since there were so many things John never told them, but he just shrugged. "Hang on," he said, holding Sam back before his brother could enter too far, "Take a closer look, Cagney, or were you looking to get shot again so soon?" Dean gestured down to the tripwire Sam had almost walked through and then pointed to the gun positioned nearby.

"Yep, this place is definitely Dad's," Sam said, stepping over the wire carefully, "Think there's anything else?"

"Let's hope not." The last thing they needed was to get injured or killed on account of their dad's own traps.

They spent a few minutes browsing around, admiring the things John had saved over the years, mainly hexed boxes and dangerous items from hunts, but also trophies and projects from when Dean and Sam were in school. Dean took a special kind of pleasure in discovering his first sawed-off.

After a few minutes, Dean spotted what he had been looking for.

"So other than memory lane," Sam started in, not noticing that Dean was very quickly moving to the back of the storage closet, "Why are we here exactly?"

The case looked dusty, but at least it was still in a case. Dean ran a hand over the black material and glanced back at Sam with a grin. "This," he said, "We're here for this." Dean picked it up by the handle, removing it from its place against the wall, and set it down on the floor as Sam came closer. Dean unhooked the latches and threw the cover back, met by a very old and familiar sight.

"A guitar?" Sam said skeptically.

"Dad's guitar," Dean clarified, running fingers along the smooth wood now just as he had the case. He looked up and caught Sam's eyes that were filled with curious confusion. "I want to give it to Sasha."

Sam had discovered just as Dean did that Sasha sang and played guitar sometimes to make quick cash, and he also knew that Sasha currently didn't have a guitar with him.

At first he looked hesitant towards Dean's suggestion, unsure, but after a moment of staring down into the case and looking at the acoustic he didn't remember the way Dean did, Sam started nodding.

"Yeah…I think he'll love it," Sam said, "I can't believe I never knew Dad played."

"I barely remember it," Dean admitted, "Fragments, ya know? Mom singing. Dad playing. You were so young. I was so young. But I think Dad played all the time. Up until that night. I have this one memory," Dean started, staring down at the guitar so looking into Sam's puppy eyes wouldn't undo him too much as he spoke, "Dad's playing, sitting on the couch or something, and I'm right beside him. Dad had Mom come over to stand in front of him, and she's way pregnant, like ready to pop with you, right? And Dad, he's…he's singing and playing right to you. I wish I could remember what song it was…"

The feel of Sam's eyes on Dean was heavier than any comforting hand. Dean thought he would probably implode though if Sam ever stopped being the sentimental one.

Dean closed up the case, planning to have Manfred tune it for him when they got back to his place. Dean hadn't wanted to ask to stay there again at first, afraid Manfred would invite them out to hear his band again. Bad classic metal covers were just not something Dean could stomach. But then Dean had remembered Manfred's incredible coffee, and he—well Sam, since Dean still refused to drive in the city—eventually started turning down Manfred's street. They spent the first few hours talking about Ash.

"Hey, look at this," Sam said, just as they were passing a shelf on their way out the door, "Can you believe it? I think they're home videos."

That made Dean stop in his tracks. He knew their dad had never taken any video of them while living the hunter life. So if video did exist, it would have to be of when their Mom was still alive. Dean bent down by Sam and stared at the row of tapes.

"Dean's First Birthday," Sam read off one of the titles, "And this one, Baby Sammy Comes Home from the Hospital. God, do you think they'd still work?"

"These are ancient even for VHS, Sammy," Dean said, "I don't know."

But Sam had to try, he said, and while Dean carried out the guitar, Sam took an armful of home movies. They left the rest, knowing there wouldn't be any place in their lives for old school work and awards. Their dad's storage place would keep it all safe if there was ever a day one of them had a real life and a garage to store it in. But that didn't seem too likely.

Manfred was gone when they got back, which wasn't all that unusual. Dean started cleaning the guitar, toying a little at tuning though he didn't really know if he'd get it right. Just before leaving the storage closet, Sam had remembered that Manfred didn't own a TV, at least not one that worked, though he did have a VCR still for some unknown reason. Sam took the chance of grabbing the old TV hidden back by where the guitar had been and prayed it would work.

He spent a good hour hooking everything up, and didn't doubt that Manfred might have a comment or two for him about hauling in a TV, but Sam was determined to watch the Winchester early years.

Dean grumbled about not getting to listen to Manfred's amazing music collection while Sam got things situated, but really, he was just as curious when Sam popped in the first tape. Sam chose one labeled 'Sammy, One Month' and pressed play. The images jumped and the volume was too loud at first, but after Sam adjusted the sound and the tracking, the inside of Sam's old nursery came into view.

Needless to say, Dean put the guitar down.

"Look how young Dad looks," Sam said, seeing their dad's face up real close to the camera for a moment as he set it up to get a view of the whole room, "And Mom…God, she looks just like she did when we…saw her."

Saw her ghost, Dean filled in, but he left Sam's word there. "Yeah," he said, "And look at little chubby Sammy. Aren't you just so cute," he said in his best mocking baby voice.

"Look who's talking," Sam grinned, as the little form of four-year-old Dean came running into the room right into John's legs.

'Daddy, daddy, please!' called Dean's little voice on the tape, 'Wanna hold Sammy!' He was jumping up and down and pawing at John's stomach.

'Oh, let's let him, John,' Mary said, patting a place beside her in the rocking chair she was in. She had Sam in her arms and the baby blinked tiredly though he was still awake.

'Please, please!' Dean pleaded at John's legs again.

And there it was, that large smile they had seen in John's senior picture from Bobby, though neither of them could ever really remember seeing it in life. 'Okay, Dean. Up there by Mom,' John said, hoisting Dean up into the rocking chair, 'You gotta hold him real good now,' he said as Mary passed the little bundle of Sam into Dean's lap.

The way baby Sam looked so big in little Dean's arms was adorable, and yet it made Dean think instead of how big a responsibility had just been placed in his lap. He never minded, never would, but Sam had grown up even bigger and the responsibility grew with him.

Dean missed whatever happened next on the tape, thinking too hard and staring over at the large as life Sam next to him, who was watching with the sweetest smile. What finally drew Dean back to the TV screen was the gentle plucking of notes on a guitar and the simple but pretty voice of his mother singing.

'Hush now baby don't you cry…' Mary sang.

Dean felt his throat close up as the lullaby began. He stared at the screen then, watching as John played the very guitar that was in the room with them, Mary sitting in the rocking chair singing with Dean squished beside her, and little baby Sammy held clumsily in Dean's tiny arms.

"I'm glad we're giving the guitar to Sasha," Sam said suddenly, and his voice sounded too loud against the backdrop of those memories.

Dean turned to his brother and smiled. "Me too."

"You think he'll play for us?" Sam asked.

There was no way Dean could have repressed the grin that slid onto his face after that. "I think we can do better than that."

tbc...

A/N: Ack, I'm posting too fast! Yes, there is such a thing, but this chapter just poured out if me. Good? Sasha and Dean keep taking over, but I am back on track. Things just get crazier from here on. I'm so exited. This arc is my favorite by far. Thanks again all, you're the best support ever!

Crim