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A Miracles/Supernatural Cross-over Fanfic by Meredevachon Pairing: Dean Winchester/Paul Callan Rating: Adult (for some language and non-explicit smutty stuff - Dean's such a slut. I couldn't stop him from having some fun.) Word Count: OMG, wasn't this supposed to be a little off-the-cuff ficlet? ~4000 words Spoilers: Technically none that I'm aware of. This does follow Laurel's story Fate is an Engineer, but a) will certainly become AU for that storyline once Laurel writes her sequel, and b) has been written in such a way that reading this shouldn't spoil you for anything that happens in that story beyond the pairing (which you would learn reading the header for that fic as easily as this one, so no real surprises there). It's also not really necessary to have read that story to appreciate this one. I hope. Author's Notes: This story was written before the season finale aired. Written for Laurel's request of Dean/Paul and the prompt line: Sometimes people surprise you. I hope you like it, sweetie, and that I haven't completely ruined your favorite boy. Also for the  varietypack100 prompt #71: Broken.Disclaimer: I make no claim to own "Supernatural," "Miracles," or their respective characters and situations. This is done in fun and for love of the shows (and the characters in them). Summary: Turning left instead of right can make all the difference in the world sometimes, and sometimes fate makes that decision for you. Dean made his way through the streets of Boston on auto-pilot as he headed out of the city. What Sam had read from their Dad's journal was too much to handle. So in the spirit of Winchester men everywhere, Dean did the only thing he could. He ignored it. Just refused to think about it at all. His old friends, denial and repression, were comfortable in their own way, and he welcomed them now. So instead, he focused on the job at hand. He'd sounded confident in his and Sam's abilities, but truth be told, it wasn't the easiest hunt they'd ever been on. And he didn't really like the idea of Sam getting anywhere near that thing again. Ever. So planning strategies, mentally cataloging and organizing the weapons stash, and brainstorming responses to worst-case scenarios served as ample distraction from other less pleasant thought paths. "Dean!" He started to turn at Sam's shout of warning, but the movement was interrupted by a sudden impact. The Impala spun across the intersection, pushed by the oversized, luxury SUV now embedded in the driver's side door. They narrowly missed two other cars before coming to a stop against a light post. Dean woke to a familiar, yet unwelcome, sound. Several of them actually, especially when put together. The beep of a monitor; calls over a PA system, several paging various doctors; the barely perceptible hiss of oxygen, not to mention the stuffy, dry feeling of a cannula up the nose. There was no denying it; he was in the hospital. Again. And apparently on the good drugs, because he was feeling no pain and the world was all fuzzy looking. He struggled to sit up, only to have a strong but gentle hand press him back against the mattress. "Sam. He's awake." Dean knew that voice from somewhere. He just couldn't quite place where just yet. And the vague dark shape that stood above him by the bed wasn't clear enough to be any help figuring it out. Another dark shape came into view - if you could call it that - and loomed over the other. No mistaking that freakishly tall blob. It had to be Sammy. "Sammy?" Dean's voice sounded weak and far away even to his own ears, but that had to be the drugs, right? The giant blob moved closer, leaning over the bed. "Yeah, dude. It's me. Just take it easy now, all right? The doctor said you have one hell of a concussion, not to mention a couple of cracked ribs, a broken arm, and you're basically one giant bruise on top of it all. There's no rush here." "Can't stick around. You know that." "And you can't just walk out of the hospital two minutes after waking up when you've been going in and out of consciousness for the past couple of hours either. Richard Williams isn't going to just leave without at least talking with his doctors first. I mean it... Dick." About this time a nurse came in, and things got busy for a while with various medical personnel poking and prodding - and not in the fun way - testing reflexes, alertness and orientation, and making copious notes on Dean's chart. After they left, Dean turned back to his brother. "'Richard Williams'?" Dean giggled, then winced as he felt a twinge in his side of what would have been agony without the meds. "Why Sam, I think there might be hope for you yet." "It wasn't my idea. I had to work with the ID's we had on hand. So you're stuck with another of your so clever aliases." "What happened anyway?" "Ummm... you, uhhh... you don't remember?" "No. That would be why I'm asking you, College Boy. But whatever it was did this to me, I'm gonna hunt that sonuvabitch down." The threat probably would have been more impressive coming from someone who looked like he could hold his eyes open for more than thirty seconds at a time, but what are you going to do. "What's the last thing you do remember?" Dean's vision seemed to be clearing up a little bit, and if he wasn't mistaken it looked like Sam was trying to shrink down into himself the way he did when he had something to say. Something he knew Dean wasn't going to like. "Umm... uhh... leaving Paul's. I mean, you read that thing... that, you know... and then we headed out of town." "And after that?" Okay, no doubt about it. Sam was hiding something. But what? Did Dean get beat up by a ninety pound girl or something? "Nothing. I woke up here. Sam, what aren't you telling me? What happened?" "There was kind of an accident. Now before you get all upset, it could have been a lot worse. They didn't even have to use the Jaws of Life." "An acci- an accident? My car?!" The shout obviously wasn't a good idea as Dean moved to grab his head. Only he couldn't. One arm was in a cast to the elbow, and the other, the one with the IV, was strapped to a board at his side. "What. The hell. Happened. To my car?" "Dean, you really should try to stay calm. Getting all excited can't be good for you." Now that he was more awake and could see more clearly, Dean was finally able to place who had spoken when he first came to. Paul's face was pinched with worry as he hovered in the background, not wanting to come between the brothers, but also not wanting to be too far away if there was anything he could do. "Fuck calm. Something happened to my car, and I want to know what. Details, Sam. Now." "Some drunk idiot ran the light, plowed right into us. Into you specifically. Hit the driver's door smack on." Paul interrupted at this point. "But the accident was obviously his fault. He'd been drinking quite heavily it seems. And he has insurance, so all the medical bills and repairs to the car should be covered. You won't have to worry about a thing." "Repairs? How bad is it? Where's my car now?" Dean made as if to get up from the bed again, groaning as his head swam and hardly able to resist when Sam and Paul pressed him back down. "It's at the shop. They're supposed to start working on the repairs tomorrow, but it might take some time. Getting parts for a car like that isn't easy." It took Dean a little while to process all Sam was telling him, but when he did, the look on his face was part disbelief, part concern, and all Dean. "Saaaammmm..." "Yeah?" "You let them take the Impala to a garage? And just left it there?" "Yes, Dean," Sam had the put-upon little brother voice down pat. "I had to come to the hospital... with my unconscious brother. So I let the tow truck take the wrecked car. That way, hopefully by the time you're released, the car will be fixed too." "I know I didn't drop you on your head as a baby, so I don't know where the stupid comes from. Aren't you supposed to be the smart one? I mean, I got all the pretty." Dean thought the look he gave Paul when he said that was sly, but he was a little off his game. Besides, Sam already knew what he was seeing. "Wha-? Oh. Don't worry about that. I somehow managed to leave them the wrong key. I'll go by tomorrow to drop off the right one, and in the mean time they won't be able to get into the car. I swing by there tonight and clear out the trunk... the glove compartment... the hidey hole you think I don't know about..." "Oh. Well that's a little better then... I guess. And there are two hidey holes you don't know about, Mr. Smartypants." The hospital succeeded in holding on to Dean until late the next morning. Sam managed to convince the hospitalist he had medical training - and with all the patching up the Winchesters had to do on a regular basis, he had a whole lot more than most people - and would be able to care for Mr. Williams at home. There were a few nurses who probably would have been happier to see Dean leave sooner... and even more who would have wanted him to stay for a much longer period of observation, not necessarily from a medical perspective. Sam had been as good as his word, and when he and Paul got Dean situated on the sofa in Paul's apartment, he showed Dean the bags of equipment he'd pulled from the Impala before it could raise any unwanted questions or attention. Dean was also able to see the mottled purple of a bruise on Sam's cheek that he'd missed the night before. It looked like he hadn't come through the accident completely unscathed either. As usual, Dean saw that as a failure on his part, but he didn't say anything about it, keeping his guilt to himself. Paul had insisted the brothers stay with him while Dean recuperated and they waited on the car to be fixed. He had called Evie the night before, after leaving the hospital, to tell her he wouldn't be at SQ for at least the morning and why. Still it came as something of a shock to him when Alva knocked on the door of the apartment as he and Sam were fixing a simple lunch of soup and sandwiches for the three of them. "Is something the matter? Did something happen?" Paul had really hoped to spend some time getting Dean settled in, but if Keel needed him in the office, he'd be there. "No, no. Evie told me about what happened last night, and I just wanted to check on Mr. Winchester and his brother, see how they were doing." While there was truth to that statement, Alva had other reasons for dropping in on Paul and the Winchesters. He wanted to see if there was anything to Evie's theory about Dean which they had discussed the night before, and also see if he could get Sam alone to talk without interference from his big brother. Paul smiled. He was glad Keel seemed to be warming to Dean and Sam. It looked as though he was no longer worried about Dean stealing Paul away from SQ, and had decided to forge a stronger connection with the brothers. "We just got back from the hospital a few minutes ago, and we're just about to have some lunch. You're welcome to join us. It's nothing fancy, just sandwiches, but there's plenty to go around." They sat in the living room to eat so Dean didn't have to get up or move around any more than necessary. As they ate, they talked of this and that, sharing stories of cases Sodalitas Quaerito had investigated, monsters the Winchesters had hunted. Shop talk they couldn't exactly share with just anybody... at least not without running the risk of being thrown in the looneybin. By the time they were done eating, and the dishes had been dealt with, the conversation had pretty much been exhausted. An uncomfortable silence fell over the room. "I guess the coffee table will have to wait for another day." Alva gestured at the ruined table he and Paul had planned to repair after Sam and Dean left Boston. "Unless your guests don't mind you leaving them to their own devices for a few hours this afternoon, of course." Paul looked over at Dean, meeting his eyes for several seconds, before turning to Alva. "I... uhhh... I think it can wait a few more days, don't you?" "Of course, Paul. But why don't I go ahead and carry it over to the office so it will be there when we do get an opportunity to work on it? That way we won't have to worry about moving it later, and it won't be sitting here an unpleasant reminder in the mean time." "Sure. That sounds like a good idea. I'll help you get it downstairs. Just let me get -" "Let Sam help him." Dean had been fairly quiet all during lunch, and the others all turned to him in surprise when he interrupted Paul. "Dean, no. I couldn't ask Sam to do that. I'll just -" Dean had that stubborn and yet exasperated look Sam knew well. The look that said, Just do it my way and life will be a whole lot easier for everybody. He wondered where Dean was going with it this time, and quickly found out as Dean interrupted Paul yet again. "Your hands are still all beat up. You don't need to be carrying a heavy piece of furniture down a bunch of stairs. Sam can do it. Right, Sam?" Sam paused before answering. Was Dean offering Sam's help because he was genuinely worried about Paul's hands, or to get some time alone with Paul? A few days ago, Sam would have assumed the former without question; Dean's protective streak was a mile wide, and nobody knew that better than Sam. But Dean was also the type to take advantage of whatever moments he could steal away from prying eyes, and given what Sam had seen the other night, Dean wanting to be alone with Paul was just as likely under the circumstances. Finally deciding it was probably a little of both, Sam agreed to help Alva take the remnants of the coffee table down to his car. Eventually it was decided that Sam would go with Alva to the SQ headquarters to help unload the table as well. Besides, he still wanted to see the psychomantium, and this would be the perfect opportunity. Alva looked forward to getting a chance to talk with the younger Winchester. Rumor had it Samuel had started exhibiting some psychic abilities of his own, and that plus the events that had brought the brothers to Boston in the first place, made Alva quite curious as to what role Sam might play in the future. "Hey, Paul. Could you...?" Dean's voice trailed off as he motioned Paul closer to the couch. "Do you need something? What can I do?" Paul moved over to the couch and bent over so as to reach Dean more easily if necessary. "Come'ere, you." Hooking his cast around Paul's neck, Dean pulled him in for a deep kiss that left them both breathless. When they broke apart, Dean fell back onto the cushions with a barely suppressed grunt. Then with a smouldering grin, he added, "I thought they'd never get out of here." Paul just shook his head in disbelief. "Wait a minute. You did all of that just to get Sam out of the apartment? Why? It's not like we can do anything." Then it was Dean's turn for disbelief, and he tutted in fake concern. "What do you mean, we can't do anything? I'll have you know I have all kinds of things I plan on us doing. We have the whole apartment to ourselves, for probably a couple of hours if I know my brother. As long as none of your ghost pals show up, we should be good to go." "But you're hurt!" "Yeah. So it looks like I need lots of Paul's tender loving care." Paul really didn't want to do anything that might hurt Dean further; he'd looked so fragile lying in that hospital bed. Still he could feel his resolve weakening in the face of Dean's smutty glances and far from subtle innuendo. What was it about this man that he found so impossible to resist? Dean could tell Paul was torn, so didn't push. Taking Paul's hand in his good one, he tugged gently until Paul sat on the edge of the sofa next to him. Then he placed a soft kiss on the palm and each of the battered knuckles. Paul shifted, trying to find a position that kept him from putting too much weight on Dean while still being able to reach that lush mouth. It didn't work very well. There just wasn't enough room on the couch for them to get comfortable given Dean's injuries. "Come on." He stood and then helped Dean awkwardly to his feet. "You'll probably be more comfortable on the bed. I can prop some pillows up behind you so there won't be so much pressure on your ribs. Then maybe you'll get some of that sleep you told Sam you wanted." His voice stayed even, but Paul's eyes teased minxishly. Something told Dean it would be awhile before he got that nap. They shuffled slowly to the bedroom, Paul's arm around Dean's waist providing support even as Dean's hand slid lower. When they got there, Paul fussed over Dean, trying to make him comfortable, seeing if there was anything he needed or wanted. Dean had only one answer for that. Paul. In bed. With him. Right then would be good. So he pulled the other man down beside him. They weren't in any hurry, and Paul took his time exploring the golden body beside him, making note of all the bruises, cuts, and other injuries that hadn't been there just two nights before. He brushed his fingers tenderly across the tight bandages wrapped around Dean's chest to provide pressure and support to cracked ribs. Each slight to the body he'd already come to cherish was acknowledged with eyes and fingers as he opened up his empathic abilities to sense them in a way unique to him. Dean cupped his good hand under Paul's chin, bringing him up for another kiss that grew and deepened, and spawned even more kisses. They stayed like that for a long time, making out like high schoolers, just enjoying the feel and taste of each other. Eventually the feel of lips and tongues and hands became more demanding, as desire became more urgent, more immediate, and Dean leaned back to look Paul straight in the eyes. "So, do you think you can manage to finish giving me a blowjob this time? Not that I'm complaining or anything. I've liked what distracted you from them before too, but you know... one of these days..." Paul cut him off with a deep kiss, tongues wrestling and subduing. "Maybe if you'd be quiet, you'd find out. Do you think you could do that? Stay quiet, I mean?" His voice dropped to a whisper, low and throaty, rasping along Dean's ear. He knew what sort of an effect that had. "How long could you stay silent, my mouth around you, licking and sucking, all warm and wet?" Dean muffled a moan with his hand, and pushed down on Paul's shoulder with his cast. He knew it wouldn't last, but damned if he wasn't going to try to keep quiet for as long as possible. "This is amazing! You and Paul really built this?" Sam turned his focus and powers of analysis to the psychomantium, taking in all the details of its construction, committing to memory the things he might need later. Alva smiled, amused by the excitement and enthusiasm in the young man's eyes. "Yes, we did. Would you like to try it for yourself?" "Could I?" The grin spreading across Sam's face lit up the room, then faded. "I probably shouldn't. At least not right now. Dean'll want to try it out too; I should probably wait for him." Alva correctly assumed Sam meant his brother would be angry if Sam were to try anything that might possibly be dangerous without his big brother around to protect him. He remembered the vehemence with which Dean had spoken for Sam when Alva wanted to interview him. In fact, thinking back on the elder's previous behavior, it was more than a little surprising that Sam had been allowed to come with Alva sans chaperone at all. Just how far would young Samuel go without his brother? "Your brother is more than welcome to visit himself once he's recovered. I'm sure he wouldn't mind you spending some time in here now. After all, didn't he say something about building a portable psychomantium? Surely what you could learn here would only help you when it comes time to make one of your own. And it was his idea that you come see it today." Sam chose his next words carefully. "Yeah, but I think Dean really just wanted to go to bed, and didn't want to admit it. He's stubborn like that sometimes. Doesn't want to admit any kind of weakness or need. Not just around you; he does it to me too. Keeps things to himself when he shouldn't." It still hurt that Dean hadn't trusted Sam enough to tell him about Paul, and Sam wondered if Paul had shared that aspect of his life with his friends. Alva had interviewed enough people through the years to know when someone was saying more than it appeared on the surface, and he believed that to be the case with Sam. "I have noticed a tendency for him to keep some of his thoughts to himself... others, though, he has no trouble sharing. You know him better than anyone else, I would expect." "Yeah, well maybe. Or maybe I don't know him as well as I thought. He wears all these masks. I guess we both do. We have to to do what we do. But sometimes people surprise you. Even the ones you're closest to." A couple of weeks passed before the Impala was road-worthy again. Sam spent at least part of every day doing research at the library or SQ, trying to time his absences from the apartment with occasions when Paul would be there. Ostensibly that was so Dean wouldn't overdo and further injure himself, although Sam was almost afraid the opposite might be true. He deliberately didn't mention the fact that Dean was coping with his convalescence and forced inactivity better than usual. As they finally got on the road, Dean insisting on being behind the wheel, Sam thought once more about confronting his brother. He knew he must have stared a little too long when Dean pulled to the side of the road. "What?" "What what?" "Dude, I know I'm hot and all, but you're starting to freak me out. You got something to say, either spit it out or forget about it." "Nah... it's nothing. I just wanted to make sure you felt up to leaving. I mean, we could probably stay a little longer if you wanted to. Dad hasn't sent us any jobs, and you're still not a hundred percent, so we'd probably be sticking to easier hunts for awhile anyway." "Keel offer you a job or something? You wanting to settle down in Beantown?" "What? No. I just thought..." "You know me Sammy, I can't stay in one place for too long. Gotta hit the road." "But we'll be coming back?" Sam hoped that maybe if he played dumb, Dean would let something slip and they could actually talk. Slim hope, he knew, but worth a try. "He did, didn't he? That sonuvabitch! I oughta turn this car around and beat him into the ground." "He didn't offer me a job... exactly. He does have some amazing resources though. Did you know he has a huge file on apocalyptic omens: fire, blood, weather patterns, everything. We gotta come back, man." Dean slid his sunglasses back into place, and pulled back into traffic. When he spoke it was softer than before. "Yeah, Sam. We'll come back. Someday." Back to Miracles Stories or Back to Brokeback Mothman |