Mercy

Chapter V

/

"To go beside you is where I want to be."

- Bonfires, Blue Foundation

/

What happened last night?

That was the second foremost thought in my head as I looked around the motel room.

Why is there a miniature demolition crew destroying my brain?

That was the first. I supposed the two questions were connected somehow. I just didn't remember how.

"Sam," I said aloud, trying to calm myself down as I sat on the double bed in the middle of the room. The white sheets were twisted around me, my legs entangled in them. "Try to remember. What did you do last night?"

I really did try, but my mind kept coming up blank. It was like someone had stuck a vacuum in my ear and sucked out my memory of the entire night. All I could recall was arriving at the club with Ash, Jo, and Dean, taking a few shots, and then... Nothing. Not until I awoke a few minutes ago in an empty motel room, staring across the space at myself in the dresser mirror.

Damn, I looked like crap. I felt like crap too.

As I tried to ignore the brain splattering headache pounding in my skull, I realized I was parched. Temporarily abandoning my hopeless search for my memories of last night, I disentangled myself from the bed sheets and walked over to the washroom. I moved like an old man, any fast movement making the pain in my head increase tenfold. I pushed open the wooden door and flicked on the light, immediately hunching over the sink and gulping down mouthfuls of water. I felt the liquid go down, leaving a faint chill in my chest. When I'd finally had my fill I splashed a bit of water on my face and turned the tap off, raising my head to see close up what last night had done to my face. A yellow sticky note was plastered to the glass.

Sammy,

Money on dresser. Call a taxi. Have fun feeling like crap.

Dean

I stared at the words for a while, rereading them a few times to make sure they really formed the sentences I thought I saw. And the names. Dean had been here. He had called me Sammy. That sparked a memory from last night and suddenly I was recalling most of it.

Fuck. I'd been drunk. And then I'd been high. And then I'd... Done more than a few stupid things.

A mixture of emotions suddenly attacked me, the predominant ones being embarrassment and horror at what I had done. Had I really called a group of Hells Angels cavemen? Had I really almost had sex with a complete stranger in the back room of a club? Had I really kissed Dean? Wait, what? That hadn't happened, had it? No, no, no. That definitely hadn't happened. I was straight. I wouldn't kiss a guy. Even if I was high and out of my mind, I wouldn't-

"Fuck," I said as I stared at the yellow post-it note. "What the fuck?"

Though my memories were still hazy, those I was currently in the process of rediscovering were not doing much for my hangover. I traced the events of the night, recalling most of what had happened up until me and Dean had left the alleyway. Then I was suddenly in a room with a bed and a dresser and a television in the corner. The motel room...

/

"Why are we here?" I asked as I touched the wall of the motel room. The white paint was flaking, and I suddenly withdrew my hand. "The walls have bad dandruff."

"Because you can't cause trouble here," Dean said as he took off his jacket and sat down on a corner of the bed. "I have some place to be and you need to sleep off the drugs and alcohol. You're going to feel like crap in the morning."

I swayed in the entranceway for a moment before walking over to the window across the small space. Dean followed me with his eyes, probably waiting for me to trip and fall flat on my face. But I kept my feet, even as the room swayed from side to side like a swing, because I had to make sure it was safe. I pulled the drapes back an inch, peeking out at the city. "What if he knows I'm here?" I asked in a low voice.

"Who?" I knew Dean was asking only to amuse me. He probably thought I was still speaking about the robots, but they were back at the club. Their laser beams couldn't reach us here. Wherever here was.

"My stepfather," I told him, my eyes glued to a shadow walking down the street outside. I let out a sigh of relief as its owner entered a door and disappeared. "What if he sends someone else after me?"

"Sam, please don't start with the paranoia," Dean groaned. "I really cannot deal with a high and paranoid Sam right now."

"But he could be sending someone right now," I protested. A warning bell went off in my head, but I ignored it, swatting at my face like the sound was a swarm of flies around my head. "Like on the train. He could send someone to kill me again."

"Kill you?" There was an edge to Dean's voice now. "Sam, look at me."

I turned my head. Dean looked serious as he sat on the edge of the bed and pronounced his next words slowly and carefully. "Sam, did you jump from the train? Or did someone push you off of it?"

I paused for a moment, thinking. I remembered that I wasn't supposed to tell him the truth about that day, but I couldn't recall the reason why. "I jumped."

Dean sighed. "So you did want to kill yourself."

"No, no, no," I protested, shaking my head from side to side. "I wanted to live, Dean. Why else would I jump?" I laughed, throwing my head back. The movement almost made me lose my balance and I caught the windowsill behind me to steady myself.

"People who throw themselves from trains are either suicidal or crazy," Dean said, turning his head away like he was done with the conversation.

"Untrue," I claimed. "I'm neither." As I sat on the window ledge the curtains brushed against my back, and for a moment I swore I was underwater and leaning against a forest of seaweed.

"Whatever, Sam." Dean looked at me, but I couldn't quite read the expression on his face. He looked mostly irritated. "You sleep here for the night. I've got to go take care of something."

I wanted to ask him what he had to 'take care of' but I was feeling kind of offended. "If there was a gun pointed at your head, I think you would have jumped too," I mumbled as I turned back to the window. A group of teenage girls were walking down the street now. I waved to them but they didn't notice me.

Silence stretched and filled the room for a minute, but then Dean's voice spoke up, the edge in his words sharper than before. "Who was pointing the gun at your head, Sam?"

"Bobby," I said in a small voice, leaning the side of my head against the window pane. "He used to tell me corny jokes. I liked him." I let the drapes close again and turned around. The lighting in the room was horrible, a single bulb shining from the small entranceway, but I could still see the look on Dean's face. It was pity. "Fuck you, Dean," I spat suddenly. I was angry at that look on his face. "You think you can look at me like that because everyone I liked is either dead or trying to kill me? Stop looking at me like that!" I felt tears brim in my eyes.

"Sam, calm down."

"Why?" I shouted. "Someone tried to kill me, Dean!"

"I know, Sammy. I know now."

"How many times do I have to tell you?" I asked as I stumbled to where he was sitting, bending down so that I looked firmly into his eyes. "I don't like being called Sammy." I wanted my words to be taken seriously, but they were a bit slurred. That made me scowl.

Dean met my eyes. "You never told me that."

I let out a huff, about to retaliate with full force, but then a wave of dizziness washed over me. I reached a hand out, trying to steady myself before I tipped over. My hand grabbed Dean's thigh and suddenly I noticed how close we were. Our eyes were still locked, and our noses were just a few inches from each other. I had leaned in to enunciate each of my words so that Dean would understand my hatred for the nickname 'Sammy', and now we were so close I could feel his warm breath on my skin when he spoke.

Before I realized what I was doing, I had closed the space between us, meeting soft lips. As soon as we touched my first instinct was to draw back again. Somewhere inside of my mind I registered that I was kissing a dude, but my body was flooding the rest of my brain with pleasure. I had instinctively reached one hand up to stop from toppling forward, and now my palm was placed on Dean's chest. I felt his hard muscles; his heart thudding strongly through the thin cloth. A tingling heat coursed through my body and I felt myself shiver against his warmth.

But Dean wasn't into this. His body had gone rigid as soon as our lips had met, and I realized that this wasn't a kiss. It was me being an intoxicated jackass. I drew back sharply, about to apologize profusely and drown in my own embarrassment, but then I felt a hand grip the back of my head and push me forward again.

Our kiss deepened as our lips were crushed together. Now Dean's body was all action. He kept our lips from parting as he slowly stood up and turned me around. The back of my legs were digging into the edge of the bed as he pushed his body forward, causing me to lose my balance and fall back onto the bed. I didn't mind the scratchiness of the covers as I shuffled back. My mind was too occupied by Dean's other hand, which had slipped beneath my shirt and was now sliding up my abdomen as he balanced on his hand and knees above me.

I felt like I should stop for a moment and think things through, but as our mouths met again I had the sudden urge to taste him. Slipping my tongue between my teeth, I met the other man's lips. They tasted like cherries. Jo's cherry chapstick. Pushing past the barrier, my tongue entered his mouth where a new flavour was found. This one was purely Dean, and I knew I'd never taste anything so delicious, even if I were to live for a hundred years.

Dean suddenly broke away, kneeling on the bed as he pulled his shirt over his head. I watched in the dimness as his chiselled torso was revealed. The lighting of the room caused the several scars on his chest to stand out, and I reached up a hand to trace one with my fingers. The scar was a silver line in the light, stretching from the bottom of Dean's left collar bone to the middle of his chest. I supposed it was directly above his heart, and I wondered how he had gotten it. As I ran my fingertips across his chest I left goose bumps on his skin. My eyes drifted downward and I looked at the bulge in his pants. He was as hard as I was, and suddenly I wanted him inside of me. The urge hit me quickly, and for a fraction of a second I felt fear. What am I doing?

A hand grabbed my own and I lifted my eyes. The gold flecks were barely visible in the darkness. Dean's eyes had darkened and I could hear the rhythm of the man's breathing change as he stared down at me. Each breath became louder, deeper, and I noticed for the first time that night that Dean wasn't exactly sober either. Then suddenly he was pressing his lips against mine again, parting them with his tongue, and my thoughts scattered.

His body moved against mine, and then my shirt was gone and I could feel every inch of his skin against my own. I couldn't stop from moaning as his lips slid against my jawline. That's when I realized something was different. Different from when the woman at the club had done the same thing, because I couldn't control myself now. I wanted to believe it was the drugs which were making his touch almost unbearable, but I knew it wasn't. It was Dean.

Hands were at my belt now, tearing the material of my jeans loose and pulling them down to my knees. I didn't know if they were my own hands or Dean's, but I really didn't care. Soft lips were tracing a path down my body, and each caress was like a smouldering ember. Heat spread through my body and my breathing quickened.

Dean's mouth had reached my boxer line, his fingers beginning to pull the flimsy material away from my body. But then the fear was back, and this time it was stronger than before. The bubble wrap surrounding my brain was beginning to pop, and I suddenly realized the true extent of what was happening. "Wait," I breathed, panic unexpectedly rising in me as I stopped his hands. "I don't... I..." I fumbled over my words, but whether it was because of the drugs and alcohol or my own nervousness, I did not know.

Dean raised his head and stared at me with heavy eyes. He immediately sensed my change of mood, his expression transforming as realization donned on him. "This is your first time," he stated rather than asked. "Have you at least... I mean... with a girl? Other than that chick at the club?"

I felt embarrassment replace panic and was suddenly thankful for the darkness. Otherwise, Dean may have noticed that my cheeks were burning bright red. But I didn't need to say anything for Dean to understand. "You're a complete virgin?" he enquired, his eyes widening.

"I'm only seventeen," I quickly said, feeling like I needed to defend myself. "It's not that out of the ordinary."

"Woah, wait." Dean straightened up on the bed. "Seventeen? Isn't that too young for me to... you know?"

"You don't even know how old you are," I protested, propping myself up on my elbows.

"Maybe not, but I'm pretty damn sure I'm older than you, kid."

Now annoyance was the predominant emotion I felt. "Don't call me kid."

"Why? That's what you are. You're fucking seventeen."

"I'll be eighteen next month, if that makes you feel better," I mumbled, but I already knew the moment had passed. This wasn't going to happen, and I couldn't tell if I was disappointed or happy about it. Maybe a mixture of both.

Dean scoffed. "Next month? I gotta wait till you're legal now?"

"You're the one who's making a big deal of this."

"Well sorry if I don't want to go to jail, Sam."

"Whatever," I said as I sat up, pushing him to the side, and pulled my jeans back up. The effects of the drug and alcohol were beginning to wear off and I was feeling dizzy. The bed spun around me as I fumbled in the dark for my shirt.

"Shit. You're wasted," Dean said, pointing out the obvious.

"So are you," I barked back, finally finding my shirt strewn across the headboard. As I pulled it over my head I heard Dean let out a sigh.

"That's not what I meant, Sam. I shouldn't have... I shouldn't have taken advantage. This is my fault. I'm sorry."

The apology infuriated me even more and I quickly scurried off the bed, almost losing my footing as the floor tilted beneath me. Somehow I made my way to the door, but before I opened it I spun around. "How do you know you're not a virgin too, huh?"

Dean looked at me from atop the bed with a peculiar expression. "Because I'm not."

"How do you know?" I pressed, trying hard to focus as a feeling of nausea swept through my body. "You can't remember anything."

"Maybe not, but I know I'm not a virgin."

"How?" I asked again, anger propelling me on.

Dean paused for a moment before replying, "Because I'm confident that I can make you moan and writhe and cum all night long if given the chance. That kind of confidence doesn't belong to a virgin."

I was silent. I honestly didn't know how to respond to that kind of conviction. Dean certainly didn't seem like a virgin. Besides, he was clearly older than me. Probably by three years at least. He must have a lot more experience when it came to this type of stuff, and that realization made me even more embarrassed. "I've got to go," I said lamely. As I placed my hand on the doorknob Dean called after me.

"Sam, where are you going to go? It's 3 o'clock in the morning and you're still high."

"I'm sober now," I lied. The truth was, the room was still spinning around me, and I had the suspicion that it was only getting faster.

"Liar," Dean said. "You can take the bed, all right? I've got somewhere to be anyway."

I weighed my options, the ability to reason having somewhat returned to me. I could either stalk out of here with no plan and end up getting lost, mugged, or worse, or I could sleep here and pray I didn't wake up with too bad of a hangover. Option two was looking like the lesser of two evils at the moment.

"Where are you going?" I asked as I turned around, letting my hand drop from the doorknob. "Back to the club and your blonde friend? I bet she's legal."

"Sam, we both would have regretted it in the morning," Dean announced, ignoring the bitter tone in my voice. "You're well beyond intoxicated, and I'm not exactly in the greatest position here either."

"Whatever," I mumbled, shuffling my feet on the floor. He was right. What the fuck were we doing? My mind was a mess right now, and although I realized that, it didn't make it any tidier.

He sighed. "Go to bed, Sam. I'll see you in a few days."

I shrugged, suddenly too tired to argue. I felt like I was going to throw up if I didn't lie down soon. As Dean stood up and slipped his shirt back on, I allowed myself to flop on the bed. I didn't say good bye and he didn't offer any words up himself, but as I finally allowed drunken sleep to overtake me I swore he pulled a blanket over me.

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To Be Continued.