Title: Light Up the Darkness.
Author:![]()
kickaboutheart
Recipient:![]()
vinylroad
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Dean/Jess/Sam
Summary: 86 days after the world ends, when angels and demons have put each other to rest, all that's left is to start rebuilding.
Author's Notes: Thanks to my awesome betas for all their help and brainstorming along the way. Warnings of wincesty vibes/implications through out.
86 days after the world ends, when angels and demons have put each other to rest, all that's left is to start rebuilding.
Somewhere between what's left of North Dakota and Iowa, Dean hears the first rumor about the girl with the golden hair.
He makes his way east, stopping in new settlements when he can. A hard day’s work for a full belly, but he still feels empty, can't seem to get the ache out. He feels older than he ever has, but the months pass, and everything around him changes, withers, but he remains – along with the half broken toys and debris that seem to follow him across the country.
*
The impala's been gone for a while now, months, maybe years, he's not really sure anymore. He gets by with the 4x4 he found abandoned outside of Minneapolis. It's a Ford, but these days Dean finds he's not too picky.
In Bangor, he asks about her, heads north, into the mountains, up towards Silver Lake.
*
She's working in her garden when he comes over the ridge, eyes looking over the small cabin and the vegetable garden next to it.
She rises as he moves closer, every step confirming that it was her, the last link he had to Sam.
"At last," is all she says, pulling him into her arms. He can feel her scars under his hands as he hugs her; the smooth ridges along her back and neck. She smells good, spicy and comforting.
"Jess…" Dean knows there is so much to say, but she shakes her head, slipping her arm around his.
"Just come in, let me get you something to drink."
The inside of the cabin is very much that of a healer’s, bottles and herbs on makeshift shelves, a pot of something simmering on the woodstove. For the first time in months, Dean realizes the ache is gone.
*
They don't talk much the first hour, and as much as there are questions that need to be answered, the comfortable silence between them is a relief. She washes his back and neck as he sits in her bathtub, singing quietly to herself, nails scratching lightly over his scalp. He feels guilty when he catches himself staring at the hollow between her breasts as she leans over him to wash away the dirt of the road from his shoulders.
"Sam's gone," he says finally, catching Jess' hand against his chest. She sighs, a soft smile on her lips as she pats her hand against his skin.
"Not gone," she says, "just not here. He'll find us when he's ready."
*
The days waiting for Sam are tedious to Dean. While Jess keeps busy in her garden or with the expecting mothers that make the trek up the ridge, Dean finds himself sitting at the table, rocking it back and forth when he notices the uneven legs.
"I'm going to make you a new table." Dean announces one night as Jess is trimming his hair with her shears.
"My table's fine, Dean." Jess laughs, reaching down to squeeze his shoulder at the disappointment in his face. "But if you wanted to…keep busy, you could put the tin on the roof. It's out behind the house."
She cuts the rest of his hair with a smile on her face, loves the feel of running her fingers through the short hairs now, and he looks more like the Dean she used to know, Sam’s Dean. She wishes she knew for sure if he would ever be that again.
*
Three days after the leaves turn, Jess delivers Mary Atkins’ baby.
Dean remembers to bring the bottle of whiskey that sits above the fridge and hands it to Mary's husband, who can't be much older than Dean himself.
"Thanks," he says, taking a large swig as Mary's cries echo along the ridge.
"She'll be alright," Dean says, nodding his head towards the house, "She's in good hands."
After it’s over, they head back to the ridge, hands clasped as they walk the familiar path. And there's something about it, the way Jess tucks her head against his neck, it feels like it makes sense.
He waits two and a half months before he asks her how she's alive, when he saw her burning on the ceiling, saw the soft, blank glaze of death sweep across her eyes.
"Weren't you in hell?'" she asks, annoyed. He can tell because she's putting more weight into her movements, slamming the fridge just a bit harder than normal.
"Sam…he got me out…made some deal…" He feels the guilt twitch against his bottom lip, bites down hard to quell it.
"Did you ever think that maybe you weren't the only part of that deal." Her eyes are glassy, and her eyelashes flutter, heavy and wet "That maybe this," she waves her hands around the room, "this was the deal…"
Dean understands then, that she feels it too. That guilt of every breath they take weighs heavy on them both. He pulls her in close, holds her tight to his chest as she cries, shaking sobs into the soft worn denim of his shirt.
She kisses him first, the dry press of lips against damp cheeks. He slides his hand up along her neck; fingers brushing softly against the smooth tender skin and she breathes open and heavy against his mouth, allowing his tongue in, letting him taste her. Somewhere deep down, Dean swears he can taste Sam too.
Her mouth trails down his chin, the coarse hair of his beard pricking her lips, makes them tingle as she finds the dip of his collarbone. It's sweet with day old sweat and she sucks fervently on his skin, swirling her tongue around and over.
He palms her breasts as he backs her towards the bed, the one that they've been sharing oh so platonically until this moment. Her nipples are hard against his hands and she arcs when he plucks them through her t-shirt, hips canting involuntarily.
She's anxious and mewling on the bed as she watches him undress, her fingers dipping just under the waistband of her black cotton panties as he lets his jeans and boxers fall to the ground. He grabs her ankle then, pulling her down to the end of bed. He kisses the curve of her instep, the hollow of her ankle, lets the smooth of his lips and the roughness of his beard tease her as he moves farther up her leg, tongue reaching out to slide along the crease of her thigh.
She lifts her hips and the panties slide off in his hands, soft, blonde curls hiding her cunt, but he knows how wet she is, can almost taste her in the air.
He kisses the long, jagged scar below her navel, pushing her hands away as she tries to stop him. "It's part of you," he says, "don't hide from me." Her hand moves from her belly, sliding over his cheek and up into his hair. It's long now, and she can just twist her fingers into it, just like with Sam.
He parts her open with his thumbs, dipping his head to slide his tongue along her cunt, feeling her wetness coat his mouth. She is sweet and salty and he dives in, tongue licking over her clit, one of his hands covering her belly, holding her down. Her hand guides him, pushing him where she wants it, needs it, the most.
She comes quickly, fingers twisting into his hair as she bucks, with long small moans from the back of her throat. It's been so long since she felt Sam's touch, felt anyone's touch.
He wipes his face against the flannel sheet before crawling up to meet her, kisses her deep and wide, letting her taste the sweetness for herself.
Jess drags her fingers along his chest, long thin fingers wrapping around his cock, slow strokes as he nuzzles his face in her neck. She can feel the pressure of his mouth against her skin, knows that he's marking her.
"Please Jess," he begs, a husky whisper in her ear. "I need it, need you, want to be inside you so fucking badly." She runs her thumb over the head, can feel the stickiness of his precome against her hip.
She doesn't speak, only slides her leg under him, thighs wide as he rolls on top of her. She guides him closer, teases him with the slickness of her cunt until he grabs her hands, thin wrists under his palms as he pushes in. Her gasp is loud and full, and he's in so deep, but not deep enough, she needs more, wants to feel it in the very centre of her core.
"Like this," she says, lifting her leg, calve curling around his neck. He holds it tight as he thrusts, a staccato of moves until they find their rhythm.
"Is this how he did it?" Dean grunts, the fingers of one hand holding tight to her wrists, the other against her leg. "Is this how Sam fucked you?"
She whimpers in a nod, and Dean's mouth is on hers now, his teeth pull at her bottom lip, tongue searching wide. "Harder," she gasps, breasts heaving as she breathes deep, “like he wanted to disappear inside me."
Dean can feel it now, the pressure, and the familiar ache becoming stronger and stronger. Jess is thrusting up against him, her hips coming up to meet his, and then its hot white behind his eyes, and he feels every muscle in his body flexing as he comes, still buried deep inside of her.
They sleep nestled against each other that night, the bed seeming wider and larger than it had before, the worn quilt pulled up around Dean's shoulders.
"Do you really think he'll come back?" Dean asks, the air of the cabin quiet now, except for the occasional burst of wind outside that whips around the cabin. Jess doesn't speak but they both know the uncertainty of the answer.
*
It snows the week before Thanksgiving, surrounding the small cabin in a blanket of white. The days are short now, the sun setting earlier and earlier each day, giving way to longer, darker nights.
"Maybe we should leave." Dean says one night, his fingers playing along the plain of her belly, the rough pads of his fingers sweeping over smooth skin.
"We'll be fine," Jess says, turning to kiss him. "Besides, we have enough food and water to last us the whole season." Dean knows she's right, but there's a feeling stirring in him, a restlessness that he's felt before. He misses the road, misses the long drives from one state to another. Since that first night they had slept together, something about their dynamic had changed – as though the closer they seemed to get the larger the space between them seemed to grow, a space that felt large enough for another person to occupy.
The first time it happens he's lying in bed watching her get dressed. His mind wanders, imagining how she would look with her belly full and round, her breasts heavy with new weight.
It gets him so hard that he lays in bed for an hour after she gets up, stroking himself, thinking of how much he wants it – wants to make her like that.
*
Sam shows up two weeks after the first snowfall. Dean is out back, chopping firewood, the constant dull bang of the axe against the wood so monotonous that Jess barely hears the knock at the door. Pulling a sweater over her shoulders she opens the door and he's there, filling up her doorway.
She cries, silent, happy tears as she runs her fingers over his face, presses her nose against the crook of his neck, the memories of a lifetime ago flooding over her.
"I missed you," she says; as his mouth finds hers, long slow kisses like he knows she loves, the way his tongue licks along hers. "Dean's here." Sam steps back, and Jess’ heart squeezes when she sees the relief washing over him, his eyes flickering skyward in silent thanks.
"He's really here?" She nods, laughing and crying at the same time as he pulls her back into his arms, his face pressed against the side of her head.
They don't talk while they wait for Dean to come in, just sit at the table, Jess' hands stroking his.
"Jess, I think we really-" Dean stops dead in the doorway when he sees his brother, and Sam stands, moving towards him. Dropping the bin of wood on the floor with a loud bang Dean wraps his arms around Sam, holding him tight against his chest.
Jess watches the two of them, arms wrapped around one another, heads bent and touching. Somewhere she knows that maybe she should be jealous, that the bond they have, this never ending love that's deeper than anything else, that she'll never have that with Sam or with Dean alone. It's only with both of them could she ever feel a part of what they share.
*
The first day Dean and Sam waste the hours talking about the time they've been apart, the people they’ve known who died, the people who survived. Jess doesn't mind sitting back, watching them, because she knows that they need this.
"How did you get out of your deal?" Dean asks finally, taking a long swig of his coffee.
"I didn't." The two words seem to ring out and Jess drops her own mug, swearing under her breath as it breaks.
"What?" Dean's face has turned ashen grey and Jess can tell he's either going to start crying or he's going to punch Sam in the face.
"I didn't get out of my deal," Sam says, looking between the two of them. "I don't need too, Turns out-"
"Don't need to?" Dean stands, looking at his brother incredulously. "What the hell were you thinking, Sammy?"
"Jesus, Dean, listen to me for a second!" Sam says, standing to meet his brother. The two men glare at each other, eyes dark and tight. "I didn't make the deal with the crossroads demon. Look, Dean, let's just say that hell isn't the only place recruiting souls these days."
Jess can tell that Dean wants to ask more questions, but Sam's moved on to another topic, and Jess glances over at Dean, shaking her head, telling him that for now, they just need to let it go and be grateful they even have him at all.
*
It's late when the lantern at the table has almost burnt out, and as Jess heads towards the bed, she realizes that Dean won't be sleeping next to her for the first time in almost eight months.
"Are you okay, Jess?" Sam asks, as she stands halfway between where the table is, and the enclosed wall that the bed is tucked behind.
"Yeah…I just…I'm just tired." She gives Dean a soft smile, slipping past the curtain and into the bedroom.
Sam looks back at his brother and nods. "She thinks I don't know."
"It just happened, Sammy, I'm sorry…I never…" Dean begins but Sam stops him, a warm palm against his arm.
"I know how much she means to you, it's exactly what she means to me." It's Dean's turn to nod, though he always imagined that this conversation would be louder and a lot more physically painful. "Just like she knows how much I mean to you."
They're both silent for a moment, starring at each other, until Dean shakes his head, looking down at the table.
"Where do we go from here, Sammy? I'm not going to fight you for her, but fuck Sam, I…"
"Let's just go to bed, Dean." Sam says, standing, stretching his arms over his head. "Are you coming?" Dean thinks for a moment, watching his brother standing in the dimly lit glow of the small cabin, and then he follows.
*
Jess has a few candles lit on the bedside table, but it’s still quite dark in the room when Sam and Dean strip down to their boxers, climbing under the quilts on either side of her.
"Sam…" she breathes, her fingers finding his, "I never…"
He silences her with his mouth, a soft full kiss that says more than he ever needs to.
They continue to kiss, Sam's mouth making its way down along her neck when she feels the soft, familiar, scratch of Dean's beard against her arm, peppering her shoulder with his lips. She can feel his fingers running softly against the scars along her back, gentle strokes that seem to make Jess' whole body feel as though it might melt right into the bed.
Sam's moved down now, his face nuzzling into her breasts as Jess turns her head to find Dean's mouth, hot and waiting for her. While Sam's kisses are long and slow, like he's trying to savor every second of it, Dean's are harder, more demanding, like he wants to make her forget about anything other than the fact that he's kissing her.
She gasps a little sigh against his mouth as Sam's lips brush over one of her nipples, his palm cupping her breast as he suckles her nipple into his mouth, tongue swirling around the hardened peak, pressing it between the flat of his tongue and the roof of his mouth.
"God, you love that don't you, Jess," Dean says, as he nibbles along her jaw, up to her ear lobe. "Does it make you nice and wet?" Dean's hand is already reaching down under the quilt, his palm sliding over her backside, and then it’s tight, slick heat as he slips two fingers in.
Sam continues his descent, kissing his way down her chest, along her abdomen, flicking his tongue over her navel until his face is there, hot breath against her thighs.
"Hold her leg up," he says to Dean, catching his brother's eye. Jess whimpers as Dean slips his fingers out, his palm cupping around her thigh and holding it, watching as the first lick of Sam's tongue makes Jess squirm in his hands.
Sam's mouth moves against her cunt, his tongue lapping and curling around her clit, until he sucks the bud into his mouth, flicking his tongue against it in such a way that Jess feels she might just break right there into a million little pieces.
In the dark Sam reaches for Dean's hand pulling it away from Jess' thigh, letting her leg rest against his face as he brings Dean's hand back to her heat, and Dean goes from there, the long slow push into her cunt as Sam continues to lap and flick her clit in his mouth.
It won't take long, Dean knows, can feel her already tightening around his fingers as he pumps them in and out of her. Often the warm soft wet of Sam's tongue slips against his fingers, and he pushes deeper, makes her moan louder and longer as they work in tandem to bring her over the edge.
Jess comes with a sob, her fingers finding their way into Sam's hair, pressing his head against her as Dean feels her contracting around his fingers.
She’s still shaking when she climbs onto Sam’s lap, thighs sliding tight against his hips as she buries herself down onto him, Sam’s eyes squeezing shut as he fills her, feels the tight familiarity of her around him. It’s then that Dean moves behind Jess, hands sliding around her and cupping one of her breasts, thumb and forefinger pinching the rosy peaks.
It takes them awhile, the three of them, to find a rhythm, Jess rocking herself on Sam’s lap, pushing back against Dean, his hand wrapped around his cock, stroking slowly against her ass.
“That’s it Jess,” Dean whispers, his lips pressed against her ear. “You want this so bad don’t you? Do you want Sam to touch you? Do you want that?” Jess nods in a whimper, and Sam moves his hand to her belly, his palm stretching out as his thumb slips between her lips, pressing down against her clit.
Dean loves to watch Jess, and Sam, the way they move together, the way they move with him. When Jess turns her head to kiss him it almost surprises him but he kisses her hard, dipping his tongue deep into her mouth as she tenses around Sam, pulling him over the edge with her. Sam’s grip on Jess’ hips tightens and Jess flings her arm out to grab Dean as Sam fucks up into her, a groan past his lips as he comes.
Jess leans down to kiss him, peppering his face with soft, tiny pecks, as Dean rubs his hand along the tops of Sam’s thigh, comforting and reassuring until Sam’s hand finds his, fingers entwining and Dean’s grip on his cock tightens, and he feels the familiar tightening of his body, coming in spurts against Jess’s back and over his hand.
The candles have long since burned out and they fall back clumsily on the bed, legs and arms staying where they fall. Dean turns his head and presses a kiss into Jess’s hair, his foot rubbing against Sam’s calve as he pulls the quilt over them, trying not to think of how he’ll have to get up to make a fire in a few hours.
*
It’s easier than Dean thought it would be to settle into a routine, now that Sam is back. They eat breakfast, the three of them chatting over steaming bowl of porridge and black coffee, and then Dean and Sam head outside, to mark out the spot for the house Dean wants to build.
“What happened, Sammy?” Dean asks one day, as they stand in the middle of the newly cleared brush.
“I was ready to give in, Dean, make a deal, sell my soul for you, for Jess,” Sam wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. “Something happened, I started to get one of my visions, you know, like from before, then it was like white hot light surrounding me and I must have passed out. When I woke up, half the world was gone.”
Dean knows that they can’t go back to the way the world was before, that there will always be things to hunt, people to save, and that for them, he and Sam, the only way to go from here is forward, each day trying to light up the darkness.
Author:
kickaboutheartRecipient:
vinylroadRating: NC-17
Pairing: Dean/Jess/Sam
Summary: 86 days after the world ends, when angels and demons have put each other to rest, all that's left is to start rebuilding.
Author's Notes: Thanks to my awesome betas for all their help and brainstorming along the way. Warnings of wincesty vibes/implications through out.
86 days after the world ends, when angels and demons have put each other to rest, all that's left is to start rebuilding.
Somewhere between what's left of North Dakota and Iowa, Dean hears the first rumor about the girl with the golden hair.
He makes his way east, stopping in new settlements when he can. A hard day’s work for a full belly, but he still feels empty, can't seem to get the ache out. He feels older than he ever has, but the months pass, and everything around him changes, withers, but he remains – along with the half broken toys and debris that seem to follow him across the country.
*
The impala's been gone for a while now, months, maybe years, he's not really sure anymore. He gets by with the 4x4 he found abandoned outside of Minneapolis. It's a Ford, but these days Dean finds he's not too picky.
In Bangor, he asks about her, heads north, into the mountains, up towards Silver Lake.
*
She's working in her garden when he comes over the ridge, eyes looking over the small cabin and the vegetable garden next to it.
She rises as he moves closer, every step confirming that it was her, the last link he had to Sam.
"At last," is all she says, pulling him into her arms. He can feel her scars under his hands as he hugs her; the smooth ridges along her back and neck. She smells good, spicy and comforting.
"Jess…" Dean knows there is so much to say, but she shakes her head, slipping her arm around his.
"Just come in, let me get you something to drink."
The inside of the cabin is very much that of a healer’s, bottles and herbs on makeshift shelves, a pot of something simmering on the woodstove. For the first time in months, Dean realizes the ache is gone.
*
They don't talk much the first hour, and as much as there are questions that need to be answered, the comfortable silence between them is a relief. She washes his back and neck as he sits in her bathtub, singing quietly to herself, nails scratching lightly over his scalp. He feels guilty when he catches himself staring at the hollow between her breasts as she leans over him to wash away the dirt of the road from his shoulders.
"Sam's gone," he says finally, catching Jess' hand against his chest. She sighs, a soft smile on her lips as she pats her hand against his skin.
"Not gone," she says, "just not here. He'll find us when he's ready."
*
The days waiting for Sam are tedious to Dean. While Jess keeps busy in her garden or with the expecting mothers that make the trek up the ridge, Dean finds himself sitting at the table, rocking it back and forth when he notices the uneven legs.
"I'm going to make you a new table." Dean announces one night as Jess is trimming his hair with her shears.
"My table's fine, Dean." Jess laughs, reaching down to squeeze his shoulder at the disappointment in his face. "But if you wanted to…keep busy, you could put the tin on the roof. It's out behind the house."
She cuts the rest of his hair with a smile on her face, loves the feel of running her fingers through the short hairs now, and he looks more like the Dean she used to know, Sam’s Dean. She wishes she knew for sure if he would ever be that again.
*
Three days after the leaves turn, Jess delivers Mary Atkins’ baby.
Dean remembers to bring the bottle of whiskey that sits above the fridge and hands it to Mary's husband, who can't be much older than Dean himself.
"Thanks," he says, taking a large swig as Mary's cries echo along the ridge.
"She'll be alright," Dean says, nodding his head towards the house, "She's in good hands."
After it’s over, they head back to the ridge, hands clasped as they walk the familiar path. And there's something about it, the way Jess tucks her head against his neck, it feels like it makes sense.
He waits two and a half months before he asks her how she's alive, when he saw her burning on the ceiling, saw the soft, blank glaze of death sweep across her eyes.
"Weren't you in hell?'" she asks, annoyed. He can tell because she's putting more weight into her movements, slamming the fridge just a bit harder than normal.
"Sam…he got me out…made some deal…" He feels the guilt twitch against his bottom lip, bites down hard to quell it.
"Did you ever think that maybe you weren't the only part of that deal." Her eyes are glassy, and her eyelashes flutter, heavy and wet "That maybe this," she waves her hands around the room, "this was the deal…"
Dean understands then, that she feels it too. That guilt of every breath they take weighs heavy on them both. He pulls her in close, holds her tight to his chest as she cries, shaking sobs into the soft worn denim of his shirt.
She kisses him first, the dry press of lips against damp cheeks. He slides his hand up along her neck; fingers brushing softly against the smooth tender skin and she breathes open and heavy against his mouth, allowing his tongue in, letting him taste her. Somewhere deep down, Dean swears he can taste Sam too.
Her mouth trails down his chin, the coarse hair of his beard pricking her lips, makes them tingle as she finds the dip of his collarbone. It's sweet with day old sweat and she sucks fervently on his skin, swirling her tongue around and over.
He palms her breasts as he backs her towards the bed, the one that they've been sharing oh so platonically until this moment. Her nipples are hard against his hands and she arcs when he plucks them through her t-shirt, hips canting involuntarily.
She's anxious and mewling on the bed as she watches him undress, her fingers dipping just under the waistband of her black cotton panties as he lets his jeans and boxers fall to the ground. He grabs her ankle then, pulling her down to the end of bed. He kisses the curve of her instep, the hollow of her ankle, lets the smooth of his lips and the roughness of his beard tease her as he moves farther up her leg, tongue reaching out to slide along the crease of her thigh.
She lifts her hips and the panties slide off in his hands, soft, blonde curls hiding her cunt, but he knows how wet she is, can almost taste her in the air.
He kisses the long, jagged scar below her navel, pushing her hands away as she tries to stop him. "It's part of you," he says, "don't hide from me." Her hand moves from her belly, sliding over his cheek and up into his hair. It's long now, and she can just twist her fingers into it, just like with Sam.
He parts her open with his thumbs, dipping his head to slide his tongue along her cunt, feeling her wetness coat his mouth. She is sweet and salty and he dives in, tongue licking over her clit, one of his hands covering her belly, holding her down. Her hand guides him, pushing him where she wants it, needs it, the most.
She comes quickly, fingers twisting into his hair as she bucks, with long small moans from the back of her throat. It's been so long since she felt Sam's touch, felt anyone's touch.
He wipes his face against the flannel sheet before crawling up to meet her, kisses her deep and wide, letting her taste the sweetness for herself.
Jess drags her fingers along his chest, long thin fingers wrapping around his cock, slow strokes as he nuzzles his face in her neck. She can feel the pressure of his mouth against her skin, knows that he's marking her.
"Please Jess," he begs, a husky whisper in her ear. "I need it, need you, want to be inside you so fucking badly." She runs her thumb over the head, can feel the stickiness of his precome against her hip.
She doesn't speak, only slides her leg under him, thighs wide as he rolls on top of her. She guides him closer, teases him with the slickness of her cunt until he grabs her hands, thin wrists under his palms as he pushes in. Her gasp is loud and full, and he's in so deep, but not deep enough, she needs more, wants to feel it in the very centre of her core.
"Like this," she says, lifting her leg, calve curling around his neck. He holds it tight as he thrusts, a staccato of moves until they find their rhythm.
"Is this how he did it?" Dean grunts, the fingers of one hand holding tight to her wrists, the other against her leg. "Is this how Sam fucked you?"
She whimpers in a nod, and Dean's mouth is on hers now, his teeth pull at her bottom lip, tongue searching wide. "Harder," she gasps, breasts heaving as she breathes deep, “like he wanted to disappear inside me."
Dean can feel it now, the pressure, and the familiar ache becoming stronger and stronger. Jess is thrusting up against him, her hips coming up to meet his, and then its hot white behind his eyes, and he feels every muscle in his body flexing as he comes, still buried deep inside of her.
They sleep nestled against each other that night, the bed seeming wider and larger than it had before, the worn quilt pulled up around Dean's shoulders.
"Do you really think he'll come back?" Dean asks, the air of the cabin quiet now, except for the occasional burst of wind outside that whips around the cabin. Jess doesn't speak but they both know the uncertainty of the answer.
*
It snows the week before Thanksgiving, surrounding the small cabin in a blanket of white. The days are short now, the sun setting earlier and earlier each day, giving way to longer, darker nights.
"Maybe we should leave." Dean says one night, his fingers playing along the plain of her belly, the rough pads of his fingers sweeping over smooth skin.
"We'll be fine," Jess says, turning to kiss him. "Besides, we have enough food and water to last us the whole season." Dean knows she's right, but there's a feeling stirring in him, a restlessness that he's felt before. He misses the road, misses the long drives from one state to another. Since that first night they had slept together, something about their dynamic had changed – as though the closer they seemed to get the larger the space between them seemed to grow, a space that felt large enough for another person to occupy.
The first time it happens he's lying in bed watching her get dressed. His mind wanders, imagining how she would look with her belly full and round, her breasts heavy with new weight.
It gets him so hard that he lays in bed for an hour after she gets up, stroking himself, thinking of how much he wants it – wants to make her like that.
*
Sam shows up two weeks after the first snowfall. Dean is out back, chopping firewood, the constant dull bang of the axe against the wood so monotonous that Jess barely hears the knock at the door. Pulling a sweater over her shoulders she opens the door and he's there, filling up her doorway.
She cries, silent, happy tears as she runs her fingers over his face, presses her nose against the crook of his neck, the memories of a lifetime ago flooding over her.
"I missed you," she says; as his mouth finds hers, long slow kisses like he knows she loves, the way his tongue licks along hers. "Dean's here." Sam steps back, and Jess’ heart squeezes when she sees the relief washing over him, his eyes flickering skyward in silent thanks.
"He's really here?" She nods, laughing and crying at the same time as he pulls her back into his arms, his face pressed against the side of her head.
They don't talk while they wait for Dean to come in, just sit at the table, Jess' hands stroking his.
"Jess, I think we really-" Dean stops dead in the doorway when he sees his brother, and Sam stands, moving towards him. Dropping the bin of wood on the floor with a loud bang Dean wraps his arms around Sam, holding him tight against his chest.
Jess watches the two of them, arms wrapped around one another, heads bent and touching. Somewhere she knows that maybe she should be jealous, that the bond they have, this never ending love that's deeper than anything else, that she'll never have that with Sam or with Dean alone. It's only with both of them could she ever feel a part of what they share.
*
The first day Dean and Sam waste the hours talking about the time they've been apart, the people they’ve known who died, the people who survived. Jess doesn't mind sitting back, watching them, because she knows that they need this.
"How did you get out of your deal?" Dean asks finally, taking a long swig of his coffee.
"I didn't." The two words seem to ring out and Jess drops her own mug, swearing under her breath as it breaks.
"What?" Dean's face has turned ashen grey and Jess can tell he's either going to start crying or he's going to punch Sam in the face.
"I didn't get out of my deal," Sam says, looking between the two of them. "I don't need too, Turns out-"
"Don't need to?" Dean stands, looking at his brother incredulously. "What the hell were you thinking, Sammy?"
"Jesus, Dean, listen to me for a second!" Sam says, standing to meet his brother. The two men glare at each other, eyes dark and tight. "I didn't make the deal with the crossroads demon. Look, Dean, let's just say that hell isn't the only place recruiting souls these days."
Jess can tell that Dean wants to ask more questions, but Sam's moved on to another topic, and Jess glances over at Dean, shaking her head, telling him that for now, they just need to let it go and be grateful they even have him at all.
*
It's late when the lantern at the table has almost burnt out, and as Jess heads towards the bed, she realizes that Dean won't be sleeping next to her for the first time in almost eight months.
"Are you okay, Jess?" Sam asks, as she stands halfway between where the table is, and the enclosed wall that the bed is tucked behind.
"Yeah…I just…I'm just tired." She gives Dean a soft smile, slipping past the curtain and into the bedroom.
Sam looks back at his brother and nods. "She thinks I don't know."
"It just happened, Sammy, I'm sorry…I never…" Dean begins but Sam stops him, a warm palm against his arm.
"I know how much she means to you, it's exactly what she means to me." It's Dean's turn to nod, though he always imagined that this conversation would be louder and a lot more physically painful. "Just like she knows how much I mean to you."
They're both silent for a moment, starring at each other, until Dean shakes his head, looking down at the table.
"Where do we go from here, Sammy? I'm not going to fight you for her, but fuck Sam, I…"
"Let's just go to bed, Dean." Sam says, standing, stretching his arms over his head. "Are you coming?" Dean thinks for a moment, watching his brother standing in the dimly lit glow of the small cabin, and then he follows.
*
Jess has a few candles lit on the bedside table, but it’s still quite dark in the room when Sam and Dean strip down to their boxers, climbing under the quilts on either side of her.
"Sam…" she breathes, her fingers finding his, "I never…"
He silences her with his mouth, a soft full kiss that says more than he ever needs to.
They continue to kiss, Sam's mouth making its way down along her neck when she feels the soft, familiar, scratch of Dean's beard against her arm, peppering her shoulder with his lips. She can feel his fingers running softly against the scars along her back, gentle strokes that seem to make Jess' whole body feel as though it might melt right into the bed.
Sam's moved down now, his face nuzzling into her breasts as Jess turns her head to find Dean's mouth, hot and waiting for her. While Sam's kisses are long and slow, like he's trying to savor every second of it, Dean's are harder, more demanding, like he wants to make her forget about anything other than the fact that he's kissing her.
She gasps a little sigh against his mouth as Sam's lips brush over one of her nipples, his palm cupping her breast as he suckles her nipple into his mouth, tongue swirling around the hardened peak, pressing it between the flat of his tongue and the roof of his mouth.
"God, you love that don't you, Jess," Dean says, as he nibbles along her jaw, up to her ear lobe. "Does it make you nice and wet?" Dean's hand is already reaching down under the quilt, his palm sliding over her backside, and then it’s tight, slick heat as he slips two fingers in.
Sam continues his descent, kissing his way down her chest, along her abdomen, flicking his tongue over her navel until his face is there, hot breath against her thighs.
"Hold her leg up," he says to Dean, catching his brother's eye. Jess whimpers as Dean slips his fingers out, his palm cupping around her thigh and holding it, watching as the first lick of Sam's tongue makes Jess squirm in his hands.
Sam's mouth moves against her cunt, his tongue lapping and curling around her clit, until he sucks the bud into his mouth, flicking his tongue against it in such a way that Jess feels she might just break right there into a million little pieces.
In the dark Sam reaches for Dean's hand pulling it away from Jess' thigh, letting her leg rest against his face as he brings Dean's hand back to her heat, and Dean goes from there, the long slow push into her cunt as Sam continues to lap and flick her clit in his mouth.
It won't take long, Dean knows, can feel her already tightening around his fingers as he pumps them in and out of her. Often the warm soft wet of Sam's tongue slips against his fingers, and he pushes deeper, makes her moan louder and longer as they work in tandem to bring her over the edge.
Jess comes with a sob, her fingers finding their way into Sam's hair, pressing his head against her as Dean feels her contracting around his fingers.
She’s still shaking when she climbs onto Sam’s lap, thighs sliding tight against his hips as she buries herself down onto him, Sam’s eyes squeezing shut as he fills her, feels the tight familiarity of her around him. It’s then that Dean moves behind Jess, hands sliding around her and cupping one of her breasts, thumb and forefinger pinching the rosy peaks.
It takes them awhile, the three of them, to find a rhythm, Jess rocking herself on Sam’s lap, pushing back against Dean, his hand wrapped around his cock, stroking slowly against her ass.
“That’s it Jess,” Dean whispers, his lips pressed against her ear. “You want this so bad don’t you? Do you want Sam to touch you? Do you want that?” Jess nods in a whimper, and Sam moves his hand to her belly, his palm stretching out as his thumb slips between her lips, pressing down against her clit.
Dean loves to watch Jess, and Sam, the way they move together, the way they move with him. When Jess turns her head to kiss him it almost surprises him but he kisses her hard, dipping his tongue deep into her mouth as she tenses around Sam, pulling him over the edge with her. Sam’s grip on Jess’ hips tightens and Jess flings her arm out to grab Dean as Sam fucks up into her, a groan past his lips as he comes.
Jess leans down to kiss him, peppering his face with soft, tiny pecks, as Dean rubs his hand along the tops of Sam’s thigh, comforting and reassuring until Sam’s hand finds his, fingers entwining and Dean’s grip on his cock tightens, and he feels the familiar tightening of his body, coming in spurts against Jess’s back and over his hand.
The candles have long since burned out and they fall back clumsily on the bed, legs and arms staying where they fall. Dean turns his head and presses a kiss into Jess’s hair, his foot rubbing against Sam’s calve as he pulls the quilt over them, trying not to think of how he’ll have to get up to make a fire in a few hours.
*
It’s easier than Dean thought it would be to settle into a routine, now that Sam is back. They eat breakfast, the three of them chatting over steaming bowl of porridge and black coffee, and then Dean and Sam head outside, to mark out the spot for the house Dean wants to build.
“What happened, Sammy?” Dean asks one day, as they stand in the middle of the newly cleared brush.
“I was ready to give in, Dean, make a deal, sell my soul for you, for Jess,” Sam wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. “Something happened, I started to get one of my visions, you know, like from before, then it was like white hot light surrounding me and I must have passed out. When I woke up, half the world was gone.”
Dean knows that they can’t go back to the way the world was before, that there will always be things to hunt, people to save, and that for them, he and Sam, the only way to go from here is forward, each day trying to light up the darkness.