Fic: Picking Up (3/?)
Oct. 19th, 2006 06:14 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
serafina20Title Picking Up
Author![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
serafina20
Fandom SPN
Pairing Dean/OFC
Rating Mature
Summary Dean and Rachel search for Sam.
Series Captured Soul, Kitsune, Another Kind of Trap, and The Greater Good.
Women were weird. No. Scratch that. *Rachel* was weird. Women were easy. He'd lived with women. Well, sorta. Done the whole morning thing with Cassie several times. She had it down pat. Twenty minute shower, twenty minutes on her hair, a little longer on make-up. Clothes were carefully considered before being pulled on and, bam! There she was, beautiful and perfect, the whole package Dean had gone to bed with the night before.
Rachel? Rachel was like living with... Sam. It took her ten minutes to drag herself out of bed. If you talked to her before she showered, all you got was a glare. Inevitably, there were lines all over her face from pressing against the sheets all night. She took a fifteen minute shower and came out with wet hair. She didn't even blow-dry it, just combed out the tangles and let it hang. And make-up? Not so much. Sometimes, but only if she'd had coffee first *and* they were going somewhere others might see her. So, every day at the hospital, but only once at Bobby's. At the hotel?
Dean was waiting to see.
She'd just finished showering and had come out of the bathroom in her jeans and bra. Dean had been watching a movie on free HBO, but this was much more interesting. Her bra was blue and her breasts sort of swelled over the cups in a way that piqued Dean's interest, which almost felt... weird. Since Dad died, he hadn't really been interested in anything sexual. Kissing her didn't count. That was comfort and distraction and... just nice. But sex? He was just glad that she wasn't pushing.
Of course, this was the first time they'd really been alone since Dad died.
Rachel's bag was at the foot of the bed. She unzipped it and dug through her clothes. Her boobs bounced as she did.
Dean slid on his stomach to the end of the bed. "Hey," he said.
She looked up. "Hey," Rachel replied slowly, clearly confused since they'd already done morning greetings.
He pulled his upper body off the bed, towards her. Kissed her.
Rachel made a sort of surprised sound in her throat, but kissed him back. When he put hooked his finger under her bra strap and tugged, she even crawled closer, onto her duffle bag, and put her arms around him.
"Up here," he whispered into her mouth. He put his hands around her waist and hauled her onto the bed.
She hesitated, pulling back against his hands. He was about to ask what was wrong when she relented and allowed herself to be pulled to him. As soon as her knees hit the mattress, Dean rolled her onto her back. Pinned her to the bed.
Her mouth was warm. Minty. Her skin had this kind of sweet, clean smell, which made sense since she'd just gotten out of the shower. Her hair smelled like the same shampoo that Mandy King had used back at Plains Burrow High School in Wisconsin. She'd driven Dean up the wall sophomore year, showing up to school every day with that smell.
It drove him crazy now. When he kissed her neck, the smell surrounded him. Seeped into him.
Dean slipped his hand underneath Rachel's back. Unhooked her bra.
"Dean," Rachel gasped, tearing her mouth from his. She was panting, hands moving restlessly over Dean's back, nails catching on his tee shirt. She tugged at his shirt, pulling it up towards his head.
He whispered something back--he didn't know what. Nonsense, really. Just words. Slipped her bra straps down her arms. Raised his body just enough so he wasn't pressed against her and pulled her bra off.
Her breasts were gorgeous. Small enough to fit in his hands, big enough to be interesting.
"Jesus Christ," Rachel whimpered when Dean took one of her nipples in his mouth. Then, when he flicked his tongue over it, "Oh God. Jesus. Oh..."
"Didn't know you were religious."
She smacked him on the head. "Shut *up*." Then, when Dean sucked on her nipple again, her fingers tightened in his hair. "Dean. Oh, God. I ... Dean!"
He slid his hand down her stomach. Undid the button to her jeans.
"Dean," she said breathlessly in his ear. "I don't know if this is such a good idea." She hooked her leg around his.
"Name one good reason." He pushed her jeans over her hips. Kissed down from her breasts, over her stomach. "Just tell me, and I'll stop." He would. Really.
"Oh, God," she said. Sobbed, more like. But she just pushed his head down, urging him over the soft swell of her belly. Down the sensitive skin under her navel. Over the elastic of her panties, kissing down the fabric until he could press his face against her mound and...
Her phone rang.
"Ignore it," Dean groaned. His hooked his fingers under the elastic.
"What about Sam?"
Ah, fuck.
He raised his face. "Rachel," he said, ready to forget Sammy and Dad and everything for just fifteen Goddamn minutes--maybe more... probably less--when Rachel pushed him off and launched herself at the phone.
"Hello?" She sounded completely out of breath and totally aroused. Looked it too, face all pink and dewy, pupils dilated, skin flushed. "Hey, Nathan. What.... He what? But you said he was in Charleston." She frowned. "Ohio. He's coming back west?" Her face twisted. She rubbed it and sighed. "Yeah, okay. Anything on the voice mail?" She shook her head. "Well, keep working on it, okay? Thanks. I appreciate it." She closed the phone.
"Sam's in Ohio?" Dean said. He sat up, crossed his legs.
Rachel nodded. Felt around for her bra and pulled it on. "Nathan said that he used a credit card in Chillicothe, Ohio about an hour ago. When he called the motel that Sam was at, they said he left this morning about six."
Dean checked the time; it was nearly ten. They'd gotten a late start after getting in late the night before. "What the hell is he doing?"
Rachel shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe he doesn't know. He's just... going." She reached over the side of the bed; when she sat back up, she had a tee shirt in her hand. "I don't think Sam is thinking rationally, you know? None of us are. Just, like, you know." She put the tee shirt on. When her head reappeared, her eyes were crimson and filled with tears. "This whole thing has us totally fucked up. I don't even..." Her lower lip trembled. "Dean, I need to tell you something."
No way. No way was he going to sit and talk about their feelings or whatever. Or, worse, have her tell him that she was leaving. Nuh-uh.
He got off the bed. "Look, Sam's got a head start on us. We should leave now. Get a move on catching up with him. We'll get breakfast on the way."
"Dean..."
He grabbed his bag, zipped it up. Turned the television off. "We ain't got all day." He grabbed the keys and slipped them in his pocket. "I'll go check out. Meet me in the lobby." Then, before she could say anything else, he left.
Bad enough walking around feeling like there was a hole inside him. Now he had to walk around with a half-hard on, too.
God. His life fucking sucked.
* * *
Sam sighed and took another drink of his coffee. He had no idea what he was doing. Yesterday, everything in him was telling him to head East. East, towards, Sarah, towards the ocean, towards Rachel's family. No particular reason or thought, he was just compelled to go.
Then, this morning, it was all go back. West. North. Wherever. But go back.
And now, he was sitting. In a diner in Hamilton, Ohio. No clue of where he was going or what he was doing. He was just moving.
He pulled a cell phone from his pocket. One of his dad's, but he didn't even care anymore. When he did call someone--which was rare--he just used whichever he grabbed first.
He flipped the phone open and dialed into the voice mail. When it asked him for the code, he tried 1246. The number meant nothing to him, but it was scribbled all over Dad's journal.
To his surprise, it worked.
The first message was from Rachel. "Hey, Sam. It's me. Call me. I'm not kidding. Call."
Second message. "Dude. It's me again. Call. Me."
Third message. "I'm going to let Dean kill you."
Fourth. "Screw that. I'm going to kill you. Fucking call me already."
He erased them all, then went into his dad's saved messages.
"John, it's Jim. Give me a call when you get this message."
"Hi, John. It's Bobby. Stumbled across some information I thought you'd appreciate. Give me a call."
"John, it's Ellen -- again. Look, don't be stubborn. You know I can help you. Call me."
Sam blinked. Played the message again. And then again.
"Huh." When the voice mail gave the number, Sam wrote it down and shut the phone down. Then he pulled out his computer and logged on. When the wireless popped up, he ran a search on the number and came up with an address in Wisconsin.
Okay, then. He had a location.
Author
serafina20Fandom SPN
Pairing Dean/OFC
Rating Mature
Summary Dean and Rachel search for Sam.
Series Captured Soul, Kitsune, Another Kind of Trap, and The Greater Good.
Women were weird. No. Scratch that. *Rachel* was weird. Women were easy. He'd lived with women. Well, sorta. Done the whole morning thing with Cassie several times. She had it down pat. Twenty minute shower, twenty minutes on her hair, a little longer on make-up. Clothes were carefully considered before being pulled on and, bam! There she was, beautiful and perfect, the whole package Dean had gone to bed with the night before.
Rachel? Rachel was like living with... Sam. It took her ten minutes to drag herself out of bed. If you talked to her before she showered, all you got was a glare. Inevitably, there were lines all over her face from pressing against the sheets all night. She took a fifteen minute shower and came out with wet hair. She didn't even blow-dry it, just combed out the tangles and let it hang. And make-up? Not so much. Sometimes, but only if she'd had coffee first *and* they were going somewhere others might see her. So, every day at the hospital, but only once at Bobby's. At the hotel?
Dean was waiting to see.
She'd just finished showering and had come out of the bathroom in her jeans and bra. Dean had been watching a movie on free HBO, but this was much more interesting. Her bra was blue and her breasts sort of swelled over the cups in a way that piqued Dean's interest, which almost felt... weird. Since Dad died, he hadn't really been interested in anything sexual. Kissing her didn't count. That was comfort and distraction and... just nice. But sex? He was just glad that she wasn't pushing.
Of course, this was the first time they'd really been alone since Dad died.
Rachel's bag was at the foot of the bed. She unzipped it and dug through her clothes. Her boobs bounced as she did.
Dean slid on his stomach to the end of the bed. "Hey," he said.
She looked up. "Hey," Rachel replied slowly, clearly confused since they'd already done morning greetings.
He pulled his upper body off the bed, towards her. Kissed her.
Rachel made a sort of surprised sound in her throat, but kissed him back. When he put hooked his finger under her bra strap and tugged, she even crawled closer, onto her duffle bag, and put her arms around him.
"Up here," he whispered into her mouth. He put his hands around her waist and hauled her onto the bed.
She hesitated, pulling back against his hands. He was about to ask what was wrong when she relented and allowed herself to be pulled to him. As soon as her knees hit the mattress, Dean rolled her onto her back. Pinned her to the bed.
Her mouth was warm. Minty. Her skin had this kind of sweet, clean smell, which made sense since she'd just gotten out of the shower. Her hair smelled like the same shampoo that Mandy King had used back at Plains Burrow High School in Wisconsin. She'd driven Dean up the wall sophomore year, showing up to school every day with that smell.
It drove him crazy now. When he kissed her neck, the smell surrounded him. Seeped into him.
Dean slipped his hand underneath Rachel's back. Unhooked her bra.
"Dean," Rachel gasped, tearing her mouth from his. She was panting, hands moving restlessly over Dean's back, nails catching on his tee shirt. She tugged at his shirt, pulling it up towards his head.
He whispered something back--he didn't know what. Nonsense, really. Just words. Slipped her bra straps down her arms. Raised his body just enough so he wasn't pressed against her and pulled her bra off.
Her breasts were gorgeous. Small enough to fit in his hands, big enough to be interesting.
"Jesus Christ," Rachel whimpered when Dean took one of her nipples in his mouth. Then, when he flicked his tongue over it, "Oh God. Jesus. Oh..."
"Didn't know you were religious."
She smacked him on the head. "Shut *up*." Then, when Dean sucked on her nipple again, her fingers tightened in his hair. "Dean. Oh, God. I ... Dean!"
He slid his hand down her stomach. Undid the button to her jeans.
"Dean," she said breathlessly in his ear. "I don't know if this is such a good idea." She hooked her leg around his.
"Name one good reason." He pushed her jeans over her hips. Kissed down from her breasts, over her stomach. "Just tell me, and I'll stop." He would. Really.
"Oh, God," she said. Sobbed, more like. But she just pushed his head down, urging him over the soft swell of her belly. Down the sensitive skin under her navel. Over the elastic of her panties, kissing down the fabric until he could press his face against her mound and...
Her phone rang.
"Ignore it," Dean groaned. His hooked his fingers under the elastic.
"What about Sam?"
Ah, fuck.
He raised his face. "Rachel," he said, ready to forget Sammy and Dad and everything for just fifteen Goddamn minutes--maybe more... probably less--when Rachel pushed him off and launched herself at the phone.
"Hello?" She sounded completely out of breath and totally aroused. Looked it too, face all pink and dewy, pupils dilated, skin flushed. "Hey, Nathan. What.... He what? But you said he was in Charleston." She frowned. "Ohio. He's coming back west?" Her face twisted. She rubbed it and sighed. "Yeah, okay. Anything on the voice mail?" She shook her head. "Well, keep working on it, okay? Thanks. I appreciate it." She closed the phone.
"Sam's in Ohio?" Dean said. He sat up, crossed his legs.
Rachel nodded. Felt around for her bra and pulled it on. "Nathan said that he used a credit card in Chillicothe, Ohio about an hour ago. When he called the motel that Sam was at, they said he left this morning about six."
Dean checked the time; it was nearly ten. They'd gotten a late start after getting in late the night before. "What the hell is he doing?"
Rachel shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe he doesn't know. He's just... going." She reached over the side of the bed; when she sat back up, she had a tee shirt in her hand. "I don't think Sam is thinking rationally, you know? None of us are. Just, like, you know." She put the tee shirt on. When her head reappeared, her eyes were crimson and filled with tears. "This whole thing has us totally fucked up. I don't even..." Her lower lip trembled. "Dean, I need to tell you something."
No way. No way was he going to sit and talk about their feelings or whatever. Or, worse, have her tell him that she was leaving. Nuh-uh.
He got off the bed. "Look, Sam's got a head start on us. We should leave now. Get a move on catching up with him. We'll get breakfast on the way."
"Dean..."
He grabbed his bag, zipped it up. Turned the television off. "We ain't got all day." He grabbed the keys and slipped them in his pocket. "I'll go check out. Meet me in the lobby." Then, before she could say anything else, he left.
Bad enough walking around feeling like there was a hole inside him. Now he had to walk around with a half-hard on, too.
God. His life fucking sucked.
* * *
Sam sighed and took another drink of his coffee. He had no idea what he was doing. Yesterday, everything in him was telling him to head East. East, towards, Sarah, towards the ocean, towards Rachel's family. No particular reason or thought, he was just compelled to go.
Then, this morning, it was all go back. West. North. Wherever. But go back.
And now, he was sitting. In a diner in Hamilton, Ohio. No clue of where he was going or what he was doing. He was just moving.
He pulled a cell phone from his pocket. One of his dad's, but he didn't even care anymore. When he did call someone--which was rare--he just used whichever he grabbed first.
He flipped the phone open and dialed into the voice mail. When it asked him for the code, he tried 1246. The number meant nothing to him, but it was scribbled all over Dad's journal.
To his surprise, it worked.
The first message was from Rachel. "Hey, Sam. It's me. Call me. I'm not kidding. Call."
Second message. "Dude. It's me again. Call. Me."
Third message. "I'm going to let Dean kill you."
Fourth. "Screw that. I'm going to kill you. Fucking call me already."
He erased them all, then went into his dad's saved messages.
"John, it's Jim. Give me a call when you get this message."
"Hi, John. It's Bobby. Stumbled across some information I thought you'd appreciate. Give me a call."
"John, it's Ellen -- again. Look, don't be stubborn. You know I can help you. Call me."
Sam blinked. Played the message again. And then again.
"Huh." When the voice mail gave the number, Sam wrote it down and shut the phone down. Then he pulled out his computer and logged on. When the wireless popped up, he ran a search on the number and came up with an address in Wisconsin.
Okay, then. He had a location.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-10-19 02:00 pm (UTC)I think Sam needs several smacks. See, this is what happens when he's without Dean. Boys.
Thanks for the update. Gives me a thrill every time you do :o) *wonders if 1246 means anything*
no subject
Date: 2006-10-19 02:07 pm (UTC)what a great perk to my morning.
thank you!!!
no subject
Date: 2006-10-20 04:56 pm (UTC)I think that generally summarizes my feelings toward this chapter. ;)