Fic: What Seems Possible

[chasingtides]

Title: What Seems Possible
Rating: PG
Pairing: Smith & Wesson
Prompt: smallcaps: After they smoke the ghost, they go back to Smith's apartment to ~clean up~. There is flirty banter and adrenaline and Wesson snapping Smith's suspenders just to be a dick. As tame or as pornographic as you feel inclined!
Word Count: ~1400
Summary: After leaving the Sandover building, Sam and Dean aren't done with the ghost - or each other.
Notes: Prequel to Nothing Half So Pleasant. Written for smallcaps because she made me adorable macros. I hope this offering is equal to the adorable macros.

Wesson rolled his shoulders, stretching his muscles impressively. He began to toss Dean's original Tinguely from hand to hand like it was a bean bag, driving a fission of tension down Dean's already stiff back, and had the balls to wink at Dean.

Dean snatched the sculpture out of his hands and reverently placed it back on its pedestal on the steel and glass shelving unit. "Just... chill," Dean told him tightly. He rubbed at his arching neck and debated leaving Wesson alone in his living room to get hisreheat-able organic cotton and wheat hull wrap from the cupboard.

"Whatever," Wesson replied, pacing around the confines of the room like a caged tiger. "That was awesome. We totally wasted that motherfucker."

Dean raised an eyebrow, but made the executive decision, given the growing ache between his shoulder blades, that he needed that wheat hull wrap and probably a warm mug of lemon juice and barley water. He didn't say anything as Wesson followed him into his sleek, polished, steel and granite kitchen. Dean watched his Fair Trade ceramic mug and the wrap spin around in the microwave while Sam continued to talk about the awesomeness of the night.

Dean didn't even realise he was at the end of his rope until Wesson playfully snapped Dean's suspenders against his already pained shoulders. He didn't even say anything, just made a low, angry noise in the back of his throat like his dad used to when he and Jo were being particularly horrible.

Wesson obviously took the hint, though, and took a step back as Dean retrieved his items from the microwave. "What's your problem?" he asked, eying Dean warily. "We killed the ghost. We saved the company. We're awesome. We're like the Ghostfacers!"

Taking a calming sip of his barley water, Dean arranged the warm wrap over his shoulders. "I, at least, didn't miss the fact that you came upstairs covered in blood. Or the body by the elevator. I haven't forgotten that we broke into our office building and that we're probably on the security feed defacing property and with a dead body. I can see the serious side of this situation."

Wesson froze. "You think I don't know this is serious?"

Dean just leveled him with a heavy stare and talked back to his living room. "I'm not the one acting like a jock at the homecoming dance."

"My life is pretty damn serious, Mr Smith," Wesson snarled, his fists clenched at his sides. "I can't even get into contact with Madison to get her to ship my stuff here, not that I'll have a place to put it, since my roommate's in the process of getting us evicted from our shitty apartment and he's the only other person in town I know who hasn't killed himself, expect you and my landlord. And between you and me, my landlord's rage issues make me just a little nervous."

Dean deflated a little in the face of his friend's anger. "You know I told you you can crash here while you're looking for a new place. I grew up with the whole extended family in Grandpa's old farmhouse. Living alone is still pretty creepy. You're not going to end up on the street or something stupid - or facing your landlord's wrath when you don't have a place to stay - but we need to deal with what happened tonight. Beyond losing our jobs, I don't want either of us up on murder charges."

Sam frowned. "Asa'd have killed me if he heard me offer this, but seeing me up on murder charges... If you let me use your computer, I could probably wipe thesecurity feed. I heard it's been blanking out during the suicides so I could probably make it look similar to that."

"Asa?" Dean asked, already moving to turn on his laptop.

"My dad," Sam explained, seating himself in front of Dean's computer. "Foster dad, really, but better than any other dad I ever had. Put up with me and Jake and even took Lily in besides. He threatened to string up her girlfriends if they hurt her, same as he would've if they'd been boys."

Relaxing in the rush-bottomed chair beside Sam, Dean took another long sip of the barley water. "Lily? Is she your sister? Should I try to keep her away from Jo?"

Sam frowned and didn't look up from the laptop screen. "She died last year. Hit and run accident. Cops said they figure it was a drunk driver."

"Oh." Dean put his mug down on a coaster. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

Sam looked up from the screen briefly, his eyes large and apologetic. "Sorry. Overshare again, I know. Madison always told me I was a mess after last spring. Lily and Asa died and Jake went MIA..." He shrugged expressively. "I shouldn't be unloading on you like this. I should be fixing this problem, not telling you my life story."

"No, it's okay," Dean told him, reaching a hand out to grip Sam's in what he hoped was manly reassurance. "I don't know what I'd do if I lost Jo or Bobby."

"Why don't you go get me a beer or something?" Sam asked, eying their hands. "I can finish this pretty soon."

Dean went back to the kitchen, leaving his mostly empty mug with Sam. He knew Sam couldn't imagine trying his detox diet, but Dean had plenty to drink in the condo, even if he'd dropped all carbs. It only took a minute of shuffling through the cabinet over the ceramic cook top to find the tin of kava and cinnamon. He mixed it thoroughly while he waited for the water to heat and then took a few deep, soothing breaths of the sweet steam as he brewed the herbs in his traditional blue-and-white pot before pouring two steaming mugs.

Sam was already stretched out on his sofa, on top of the green LL Bean blanket he'd used the previous night, when Dean returned to the living room with their infusions. Dean handed him his mug and then sat down by Sam's feet.

"What are you looking so smug about?"

"We barely showed up on the feed at all," Sam told him, taking a deep draught of his kava. "Angelic intervention or something. Anyway, I didn't have to do much at all, but there shouldn't be a problem, at least not from witnesses and not from the security feed."

Tension Dean didn't know he had dissipated from his muscles. He lolled his head back against the edge of his sofa and enjoyed the warmth of his mug against his palms. He was a little surprised when Sam stretched his legs and pushed his stocking feet into Dean's lap. He couldn't deny that he'd been flirting with Sam - or that he hadn't had something else in mind when he'd originally offered Sam crash space when Sam told him about his crazy drug-dealer roommate - but he'd quickly assumed that Sam was either totally dense or impossibly straight.

"Thanks," Sam said, the tendrils of steam curling around his suddenly tired looking face.

Dean dared, at last, to rest a hand on Sam's ankle, rubbing at the curve of the bone with his thumb. "For what? You're the one who covered our tracks."

"Thanks for listening to me," Sam clarified. "For not caring that I overshare and that I'm kind of a weird freak who was stalking you because I was seeing you in my dreams. I know I can be a bit of a creep sometimes."

Dean deliberately put his mug of kava on the low, glass-topped coffee table. He knew he was risking a lot - propositioning the only guy he knew in Dayton, propositioning an employee - but something in his gut told him it was worth the risk. "A freak?" he asked in his best bedroom voice. "I don't think you've shown me that."

A slow grin spread across Sam's face as he watched Dean with hooded eyes. He took Dean's hand and pulled him toward his bedroom. "God, I thought you'd never ask."

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