#oncethrown writes

@daenw

@amirosebooks

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Bobby regards him for an uncomfortably long moment. But hell, everything about this is uncomfortable. Tom knows that Dean's time, energy and desire to deal with his sexuality have a low ceiling, and he can respect that. What with all the surviving emotional abuse, hunting monsters, and saving the world, Tom understands that Dean hasn't exactly had an opportunity to make it to a pride parade, or even indulge in a little bit of queer cinema binge.

But being okay with those things when he only interacts with Dean one on one, and trying to figure out how to respect Dean's privacy when he's just been abandoned in South Dakota while Dean and his brother go off to hunt a fucking horseman of the apocalypse while their Angel friend tries to hunt down actual, literal death, and is now trapped in a house with an old man who may have no idea how he and Dean know each other is… impossible.

Tom clears his throat, and Bobby sighs.

"Look, kid, how about I make this easy on you? I know.”

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Dean puts his shirt back on, makes sure that Tom has his current phone number, gives Tom his hotel room number, tells Tom that if his room suddenly gets cold, or if the lights start fritzing he needs to run to that room immediately.

Tom is quiet for a moment. "And if your brother answers the door, what am I supposed to tell him?"

"Tell him I know you and told you to go there."

Tom rubs at the heavy watch around his wrist. "You know that's not what I meant."

"I'll deal with whatever you tell him," Dean says with a sigh. "The important thing is that you're safe."

"But…you want me to lie," Tom finally says.

Dean sighs. He's on a case, he's trying to save people, these two worlds were never supposed to meet and he's spent too much time with Tom that should have been spent canvassing and researching.

"Yeah. I do," Dean sighs. "I just… The part of my life that you can be in is… small. And it's separate from this part of my life full of monsters and death. And I just… I know that I'm not going to make it to an old age full of omlettes and clearing snow and watching Scooby Doo. That's not the direction my life is going to go. I've made my peace with that  and it's… not worth pretending that it could if I just… faced things that it's easier not to face."

Tom watches him for a for moments. "What direction is your life going to go in, Dean?"

"I have to save the world," Dean tells him heavily. When he looks up, Tom's frozen face is just starting to twitch into a smile, but stops, freezes again, then starts to droop.

"I won't tell Sam anything."

And then, to Dean's absolute shock, Tom moves forward, and hugs him tight.

***

It takes them too long to work the case. Too long to find the magic barriers keeping the ghosts on the sixth floor, too long to make contact with the spirit of the most recently deceased.

And too long to figure out that the only creature who could keep that many spirits in one place is a reaper.

A distraught reaper trying to summon death, or god, or anyone who might listen to thousands of cries of pain.

But the only people who hear those cries are the Winchesters.

And by the time they do hear them, by the time they do figure out the plan, the only thing they have time to do is run.

There's no time for Dean to explain why he knows that everyone is going to be at the keystone speech for the conferences opening, he just runs, with Sam behind him, and they burst into the room screaming that there's a bomb.

That always works. People always panic. It's the one threat that always seems to get into that perfect crux of what people's worst fear is and what people will actually believe is happening.

Chairs topple as people shoot to their feet. They run for the doors.

Dean sees Tom in the middle of the crowd, and his already thrumming heart cranks up to a punishing, shrieking pace when Tom runs— not out the doors with the others, not toward the exit sign at the back of the room, but straight toward Dean.

The reaper appears between them, arms outstretched toward Tom, only moments away from moving his spirit from the land of the living into a hellish nightmare. Turning him from a sweet guy who laughs at easy jokes and watches cartoons with his nieces and nephews and kisses Dean like maybe he needs someone to be gentle with him sometimes into just another screaming spirit.

Dean hurtles forward, knowing there won't be time to stop him, but running all out.

And then he sees Castiel, materializing in the reaper's path. The sudden appearance throws Tom off, he slides to the left, falling and rolling. Dean runs to him, throws himself and Tom and hurls him back toward the grind just as he hears Cas's low growl "Close your eyes!"

Dean clenches his eyes shut and slams his hand over Tom's, waiting for the burn of heavenly light to subside.

When it does, Dean looks up. Cas is facing a reaper, who looks like some skinny young man, with tears streaming down his face.

"Where are they?" The reaper screams. "Lucifer rises. War and Famine and Pestilence ride over the land. Where is Death? Where is God? Who will stop this, Angel? Who will—" but he's cut off as Cas places his hand to the reaper's forehead, and the reaper burns, and falls, dead.

And then it's just Dean, holding tight to Tom, while Sam and Castiel turn to look at him.

Tom lets out a noise that Dean's heard before. A noise that's trying like hell not to be a sob, but can't stop itself. Suddenly, Sam and Cas watching him doesn't feel important. He cups his hand around the back of Tom's head. "You're okay," he whispers as Tom lets his head fall forward into Dean's shoulder. "You're okay."

Cas looks the way Cas always looks. Too inhuman for anything happening right now to register as odd. But Sam's brow is furrowed and his jaw is tense. He's, at best, suspicious.

Dean rubs his hand over the short hair at the back of Tom's neck. "You're okay," he says again.

@daenw

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"You looked like you could use something hot," Tom says, saluting Dean with the thermos.

The easy joke comes to Dean's mind but dies on his lips. He accepts the thermos with a smile, and leans into Tom a little when Tom wraps his arm around Dean's waist.

"What you've been up to out here all morning?"

Dean unscrews the lid of the coffee thermos and takes a sip. "I'm not sure yet."

Tom, used to Dean's silence, rubs his palm over Dean's hip and waits for him to keep going.

"It just didn't feel right to keep ignoring her, and this morning I suddenly felt bad about leaving her out here alone for so long. I don't know. I'm cleaning anything corrosive out of the wheel wells and off the undercarriage. Maybe some baking soda inside so she doesn't get stuffy. I'm gonna make sure all the fluids are clean and full up too. Organize the trunk, pack the ammo up more safely. I can't believe I haven't wrapped the tail pipe and the air vents to keep animals from getting in her. Damn lucky I didn't find a squirrel anywhere when I popped the hood."

"The car's a she?" Tom asks gently.

@amirosebooks

@daenw

Whole Story on AO3

They're at a upscale steak house, tucked into a quiet, high-backed booth with velvet seats, looking down at menus without prices and having a bottle of wine delivered to the table by a guy whose entire job is to bring the wine before a question occurs to Dean that should have occurred to him much sooner.

"Wait, are you rich?"

Tom looks sheepish. "I'm comfortable."

Dean laughs. "That's what rich people say." He taps the menu "There's fillet mignon on here. And foie gras. I don't even know what foie gras is."

"So order some," Tom said.

“What do you even do? I've never asked you. Cause… I did not want to tell you what I did."

Tom squeezes his eye closed and bites his lip. "Shit. I don't want to tell you now."

"Why?" Dean asks as their bottle of wine comes out and the guy fucking pours it for them. Their actual waiter comes out right afterward and Tom orders roasted bone marrow for himself before Dean decides he is going to try the foie gras. Tom grins widely at Dean as the waiter walks away.

"You just ordered goose liver mousse."

Dean pulls a face. Tom laughs and assures him that it's good.

"Alright," Dean says, sticking out his tongue. "Well. I'm going to order a really expensive steak then."

"Be my guest."

"Also you have to tell me what you do."

Tom sighs. "I'm a real estate developer."

"A real estate developer? Why didn't you want to tell me that?"

Tom shrugs and grabs his wine glass. "Everyone already hates real estate developers… and then you're a ghost hunter and I have a Scooby Doo villain's job."

Dean laughs out loud and is still chuckling when his block of goose liver mush shows up.

***

It takes half a bottle of wine, a small plate of roasted bone marrow, a dry aged New York Strip steak, half arosemary panna cotta, a nice scotch, a full explanation of how an EMT meter works and a detailed description of just how little EMT Dean's meter was picking up after the thing with Castiel and the Reaper to convince Tom that the hotel is ghost free now, and they can go back.

All Tom has to do to convince Dean to make out with him in the back of the cab is lean in.

Dean's still surprised at himself for how much of the truth he told Tom over dinner. He didn't tell him everything; there's just no reason a civilian needs to know that the Angel's don't seem to be able to find God and that there's a very good chance an ancient demon will release Lucifer from hell so they can get the apocalypse rocking and rolling. And someone as nervous about spooky things as Tom is doesn't need to know every grotesque detail of monster hunting. Dean tries to focus on some of his and Sam's stupider adventures. The town where everyone's wish came true. Sam getting wailed on by a god in the form of Paris Hilton.

He likes the way Tom looks at him when he talks about having saved someone.

And he likes the way Tom looks at him as they slip into Tom's hotel room, eyes wide and cheeks flush. Laughing and pulling Dean after him until they both topple onto the couch, already pulling each other out of their clothes. Dean is surprised at how slowly they undress each other, after all, it's been so long. But Tom has always been like this with him. Deliberate. Careful.

Savoring him like he's something special.

"Should we move this to the bedroom?" Dean asks as he slips his hand into Tom's underwear.

"I had another idea," Tom murmurs.

"Okay," Dean replies.  It's the last word either of them speak until Dean is straddled over Tom's body, lowering himself onto Tom's cock.  

"Slow as you need, baby," Tom whispers, his hand steady at the small of Dean's back.

Dean just nods, and grips the couch cushions a little bit harder as he lets his body sink down achingly slow, letting his body remember how this feels. Tom's head drops back against the couch and he looks up at Dean with a dazed, goofy smile.

"What do you want?" Dean asks.

"Wanna watch you feel good," Tom answers.

Dean pauses. All the times they've done this he's felt good. He's just been pretty passive through the feeling. It's not like he doesn't know how to do that, it's more the shock at being asked to. Tom seems to notice this, he props himself up on his elbows as much as he can. "Kiss me," he demands.

Dean falls forward eagerly to oblige, gasping at the feeling of Tom's cock being driven even further into his body just by the little change. He move into the kiss again, rocking his hips down, finding an angle that's good, finding a pace that's good, bracing himself against the back of the couch and letting himself go. He moves without caring what it looks like, or how he sounds, conscience only of Tom's hands on him, and his moaned assurances and the feeling of him moving inside Dean until Dean comes like he's been struck by lightning. His orgasm rips through his whole body, and he's still panting and shivering as Tom pulls away, and starts to rearrange his willing limbs until he's back on the couch, knees still on the cushions, hands still braced against the back of the couch, with Tom sliding into him from behind.

"So good, Dean," Tom pants into ear before starting to kiss his neck and across his shoulders, spilling praise across Dean's skin. "So fucking good. God, you're beautiful, fuck, you're so beautiful."

Tom doesn't last long, Dean didn't expect him to. He comes with a growl, and only takes a moment to recover before pulling out, pulling Dean to his feet and leading him back to the bedroom, tossing the condom on the nightstand like an afterthought before yanking the covers back. They both slide underneath the heavy hotel duvet,Tom pulling Dean into a kiss before turning in his arms.

Deans asleep moments after Tom turns out the lights.

They do keep in touch, though it's not really a regular thing. Tom will text Dean to blow off steam about a guy at work. Dean will text Tom about some nerdy thing Sam just did.

On a particularly exciting night, Tom texts Dean while he’s alone in the car after picking up dinner.

"What are you wearing?"

Dean pulls over on the next dark stretch of road and Replies “well now it's nothing.”

Sam gripes when Dean gets back half an hour later than promised with cold food, but it was worth it.

Dean assumes, in the stretches when he doesn't hear from Tom, that he’s dating. Or that Dean isn't the only itinerant bad boy Tom “keeps in touch” with.

Sometimes, when he and Sam are driving far enough west, or the beds in the motel are particularly awful, Dean catches himself fantasizing about what it might be like to have those precious weekends in a home with Tom be more than they are.

He pictures himself in the kitchen, or at the grill in the backyard. Curled up on the couch under the loft, coaxing Tom through a horror movie.

He doesn't let it get past that. It's too ridiculous. He and Sam have to stop the yellow eyed demon. They’ll probably die doing it. And even if they don't, What the hell would Dean even say?

“Thanks for saving the world with me, Sammy. I’m gonna move to Oregon, don't ask why, and see you never.”

No.

Besides. Things with Tom aren't even like that. They text once a month. They had sex a handful of times over a handful of years, they were briefly friends in school.

No.

So they hunt. And they drive.

***

A couple months pass between Dean selling his soul and the next time Tom texts him. It’s not a deep or meaningful text. It’s about a silly work thing. Tom just wants some one totally impartial to agree with him that his boss is being an asshole about something.

Dean stares down at the text and for a moment, considers deleting Tom from his contacts all together. Tom is a good person. He’s sweet and caring and makes good omelettes and was afraid of Scooby Doo villains as a child and he would never sell his soul. He’s not marked down for a room in Hell.

And it's not like they’re in love or anything. Dean’s doesn't entertain any illusions about that. They have a casual thing. It's warm and caring, and it's important to Dean, but it’s still casual.

Dean doesn’t delete the contact. But he also takes a day to reply.

Dean only gets a couple more messages from Tom before his contract runs up, and a Hell Hound chases him down.

***

It takes a lot of time, and a few cuts and splashes of holy water before Bobby believes that it’s really Dean. In the flesh. It’s a little easier to convince him that they’ve gotta go see Sam right away. Bobby gives Dean back the few things of Dean’s that he has in the house. His necklace, his jacket. As they are about to leave, Bobby heads back into the house for something he forgot and reemerges with a charger and Dean’s cell phone.

“Thanks, Bobby,” Dean says, taking both from him and shoving them into his jacket pocket.

“You uh…” Bobby starts, then clears his throat. “You may want to let a fella by the name of Tom know that you’re alright.”

Dean goes cold. “What? A dead man doesn’t have any privacy?” He snaps.

“I didn’t mean to snoop. I kept the phone live in case… hell, I don’t know. We were a little desperate for leads. He sent you a couple messages.”

Dean flips open the phone. Sure enough, Tom’s one of the most recent people to text. When he opens their messages the first one is an innocuous message about watching Scooby Doo with his nephew, from before Dean became Hell Hound chow, a message from two months ago that makes it very very clear exactly how Dean and Tom know each other, and then, from about a month ago, a quick message just expressing the hope that Dean is happy and okay. Not to mention few months of easy flirting… and one instance of sexting.

“We… can talk about that,” Bobby says. “We don’t have to.”

Dean clears his throat and jams the phone back in his pocket. “Does Sam know?”

“No.”

“Then this is all the talking about this we’re ever going to do. Talking about this ends right here.”

Bobby just nods.