Title: You Go? We Go!
Author: Alltheshrinks
Pairing: Dean/Sam, past past Lisa Braeden/Dean, Past Jessica Moore/Sam
Fandom: Supernatural/Backdraft
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: The Winchesters, Supernatural And Backdraft DO NOT BELONG TO ME.
Note: I hope you enjoy. Also -kudos are life and comments make me insanely happy. If you have questions or want to see something message me. My Twitter is All_the_Shrinks.
Note 2: I struggled to include any Angels in this fic because they don’t really have last names. Zachariah Adler was the name of Zachariah in It’s a Terrible Life and I have Lucifer the name of his vessel played by Mark Pellegrino (because that’s who I envisioned) and the last name Prince, for the Prince of Darkness as he’s sometimes known.
Note 3: Special thanks to @girlwiththedirtymind @PadacklesBitches @halfwit @Not_again50 and my dear frien Jenn for the beta
Summary: Firemen AU. Sam and Dean are firefighters. John died a hero, saving lives; Dean has already made a name for himself among the firemen ranks. What happens when Sam, who’s made a habit out of running, comes home to join the family business? He finds that things aren’t easy with a legend for a father and when you’re in love with your brother.

***

Chapter 1: Coming Home

Kansas City, Kansas 1991

Eight year old Sam Winchester struggles in his over sized turn out coat.

"You're doing it wrong!!!" The blonde haired, older Winchester brother states emphatically.

"Shut Up!" Sam's higher pitched voice rings out into the bowels of the fire station. He slaps the bigger boy's hands away and threads a belt through another buckle.

"You're doing it wrong!!" Twelve year old, Dean Winchester enunciates while the Velcro of the jacket strips loose and the grunts of the younger boy are drowned out by the chatter from the firemen gathering in the fire station's engine bay.

Suddenly, amongst the lights and chaos, Captain John Winchester effortlessly parts the sea of seasoned firefighters. He stops to listen to one of his men as Dean grabs Sam's elbow and jerks it hard.

"It doesn't go like this, Sammy." The nickname is condescending and rolls off the older boy's tongue.

"I don't want your help,". Sam jerks his small body, especially his elbow, past Dean's grip. His chin and nose raised defiantly.

Dean huffs. "Fine!" Punctuated the way only a pre teen boy with a baby brother can. He releases Sam, who rolls away until righting himself. "Do it your way. You'll burn up. See if I care.”

"Who is burning up?" John's voice cuts in. Gentle and commanding at the same time.

"Sammy. He won't listen to me. He never listens to anyone". Dean sounds sad and a little reluctant as he answers their father. Piercing green eyes glint in the sunlight and John Winchester wonders, not for the first time, how full brothers can be so different.

"Okay. Let me see." He motions his two boys forward. Dean strides out, tall and proud. Sam is just a little slower, a little more reluctant. Sam's boots, turned down twice and still appearing as hip waders. John hides a smirk.

"Sammy," John takes a knee and grasps his youngest's coat by the hem. He undoes and then redoes the jacket with a bright smile. "Dean's right, kiddo. Make sure these are fastened correctly. If they aren't, they could open. And if they open, you'll get burned..."

"And DIE!" Dean cuts in.

"You wouldn't let me die, right daddy?" Hazel eyes fill and Sam's bottom lip quivers as he looks into his father's eyes.

"No Sammy. We Winchesters are smarter than fire." He fastens Sam's coat and smiles brightly. "Let's have some lunch," he grabs both of his growing sons and turns he toward the stairwell.

"What's for lunch?" Dean smiles ruefully before adding "Fireman shit?"

John chokes back a grin. He knows Mary will skin him alive for this language. "Really, Deano? Where'd I raise you? A barn?"

Dean laughs and lets loose one of Mary Winchester's twinkling grins. "Nah. More like a firehouse". Dean winks at Sam and John feels completely outgunned with this kid.

Before he can even respond to the barb, the station's klaxons and alarms ring out. Followed by the lights flashing and his two way radio chirping. "Never fails..." a young fireman with the name tag "Singe-R" appears with a card. "How bad?" John asks reaching for he card.

"Bad enough," Bobby sighs.

"Sammy, want to go? See it up close?" Brown eyes focus on smaller hazel ones.

"But dad...," Dean's voice interrupts the sirens.

"How many times have you gone, Dean?" John's face never leaves Sam's. "Stay here. Give Sammy a chance. We'll be back soon." As If he needs to explain himself to his preteen son. To Sam, "How 'bout it, kid?"

Sam starts vibrating all over. Followed by jumping up and down in his father's arms. "Yes, yes, yes!" He intones while he's picked up and set inside the cab of an Engine. The rest of the company are scrambling for seats as Dean looks on with a frown. Sammy wiggles into position next to his father. He turns his head just barely enough to make eye contact with Dean. He sticks his tongue out as his brother crosses his arms and returns the gesture. It's so childish.

Out on the street, cars screech to a halt as the station rolls by. The truck they are in barely misses a civilian car as John turns to Sam. "Hit the button son!" He says as loud as possible. Suddenly the siren and horn rings out and lights begin to spin. They barrel farther into the city. "Hit the horn again. Keep hitting it. These cars need to be aware that we need by,". Sam tugs on the horn hard. Watching cars part as the truck whizzes by. Sam scoots back between Bobby and John. Amazed at the way the cars and pedestrians opening up like Moses parting the Red Sea.

Sam can smell the acrid smell of smoke as they draw closer to the blaze. It isn't burning out of control and even his young mind processes that it's really not a big deal. Still, even vigilant Captain Winchester turns to his youngest and says, "Stay here, Sam. We're short today, so watch the trucks for me?" Sam can only nod at his father.

After John rushes off in a flurry of orders and buckling of his own coat, Sam hops down from his perch. He barely hears the driver's warning of, "hang close, little Winchester". The smoke trailing above the apartment complex that they've stopped at has started to churn violently and take on an almost violent shape. Sam is enraptured by it as he watches John, Bobby and another fireman that he calls "Uncle Rufus"appear on a small terrace outside the 3rd floor. They are conversing animatedly and pointing towards another window, which is the fire escape over while Sam watches the fire grow red eyes and get angrier. He's scared.

The next thing Sam knows, his focus is pulled from the menacing smoke to his father jumping to the next balcony. His gloved fist breaks the glass and he enters the apartment without reproach. Sam stops breathing. He only starts again a minute later when his father's whole body breaks the remaining glass in the pane while carrying a dirty toddler. She's blacked and screaming but Sam's too far away to hear it. John lifts her across the railing to Rufus and catches his young son's eye. The smile is high voltage. Glinting eyes, crows feet and large white teeth. Sam returns it. His dad is a hero.

Sam is so caught up in his hero worship and awe that he misses John turning back into the blaze of the building. His dad is there, then gone just as quickly. Sam gasps as he notices the red eyes of the flame flickering towards him once more. Bobby and Rufus both seem oblivious as the sound reaches a fever pitch. Sam covers both ears as the creaking and breaking glass fill the air at an almost unbearable decibel. His dad and the younger firemen are just beyond the glass of another apartment when Sam's skin starts to pebble. The hair on his neck stands at attention and he tries to shout. A weak "Dad..." that isn't much more than a weak whisper escapes his throat. He tries again, but it's too weak and none of the firemen inside the building can hear.

The next thing Sam knows, his father is shoving Bobby out of the way as a flame comes from the floor above. The windows in the apartment complex start to blow one by one all up along the the structure. Shards of glass fall around him as his feet are frozen into the concrete beneath him. It's accompanied by wood chips and burning plastics, then finally an odd shaped object. It spins violently on the pavement before coming to a stop six inches in front of Sam's left foot. It's a fire helmet.

He hears Bobby's voice scream "Backup! God Damn it. Send some fucking back up!" Wetness is pouring out if the younger Fireman's eyes as he hurls orders all around him. The groaning made by the fire and glass of the neighboring buildings continues to break and Sam covers his ears. The heat and noise is too much and he takes a hard seat on the pavement.

The world moves in slow motion as Bobby and Rufus run towards him slower than should be humanly possible. Bobby covers the screaming boy with his body as the building explodes. Time stops.

Sam Winchester hears laughing. It's cruel and malicious and turns is stomach inside out and his heart to ice. When his vision finally clears and he looks away from Bobby Singer, his eyes land on the scorched fire helmet at his feet. It says Winchester. He ducks out of the man's clutches to pick it up just as a young photographer catches his smudged face on film.

 

**********

 

Sam's smudged face becomes a black and white cover of a LIFE magazine. It's sitting atop of a storage tote of books and nicknacks in the backseat of a Honda Accord. One that is stuck in downtown Kansas City. He's driven all the way from Miami, where "Winchester's Security Firm", "Winchester Custom Audio Equipment and Installation" and "Winchester Guided Everglades Tours" all failed to take off. Kansas is his home.

***********

Once inside the city, Sam stops at the small cemetery that his family rests in. The cool wind whips at his back as he reads the headstone over and over again. John E and Mary S Winchester. He can't believe they are both gone. Once, Sam would have never even questioned if he was alone. He always had his brother. But now, he and Dean are strangers at best.

 

************

 

In a pay by the hour motel, Sam adjusts his tie and wets his impossible hair to slick it back. He grimaces, smiles, then grimaces again. He's going to be sick.

 

************

 

Sam walks with his back straight, head high and shoulders back as he enters the academy. He follows the long corridor and proceeds to the door at the end of the hall. He takes a breath and knocks.

"Come in," comes the strong voice from behind the door and Sam pushes in.

The Chief is slouched behind his computer and signing documents as Sam enters. He doesn't look up and Sam knows that this is a test of character. He quiets all of his fidgeting and stands ramrod straight, waiting to be acknowledged.

Slowly, the short, thinning man glances up. He takes another glance, clears his throat and says, "Is this a joke?" His accent lingering over the esses and brown eyes pierce Sam's Hazel ones.

"With all due respect, Chief Crowley, if this was a joke, you'd be in stitches," Sam offers.

"Well, you are the one who bailed six years ago. Right before graduation. Think that would slip my mind?" Crowley states casually.

"I want back in, sir..."

Crowley looks Sam up and down for a few seconds, measuring his words, "Look Samuel, we all remember John. He was a hero. Larger than life. You were guaranteed to graduate and become one us back then. Dead Hero Father Rule. But YOU blew us off. YOU left. Why would we let you back in, now?"

"Sir, my test scores were off..." Sam begins.

"I. DON'T. CARE. They 'were' off the charts and you could 'have' been great. But you blew it". Crowley' voice has lot all of its softness as he enunciates each word carefully.

"I need back in, sir." Sam tries the respectful approach.

"Not up to me. Try next year..."

"NO!" Sam's palm slams on Crowley's desk. "If that were true, you would not be here now. You have to let me try- Dead Hero Father Rule, Sir!"

Crowley turns his pen over in his fingers. He cautions a glance up and sighs. "Even if you make it, you'll be on probation for nine months. That's not an easy job. If you don't love being a firemen, you won't make it. ".

Sam smiles, "Guess I'll see you Monday, sir. "

 

************

 

Sam stands in dress blues at attention. The rest of his class is riddled with nervous energy, Sam's at peace. He doesn't hear Crowley's speech or the cheers of his class.

"Though the world changes every day,
some things remain forever:
Courage, devotion, and honor in what
we do...

(silent beat)
Ladies and gentlemen, it is with
pleasure that I certify that Candidate
Class number 448, having successfully
completed all academy requirements,
are hereby graduated to the Kansas City, Fire Department. "

The candidates and the audience bursts into cheers. Sam stands slowly, he made it. But he's ever felt so far from fitting in.

 

************

 

The bass in the bar is thumping and Sam is feeling no pain. The brick style pub where his class has decided to celebrate has a fireman style hose adorning a keg and candidates are encouraged to "Put the fire out!" with the contraption. Someone's cat has been abandoned into a makeshift tree- right beside the corner dart boards- and in need of rescue. It's so ridiculous that Sam has a hearty laugh.

He's still wearing 3/4 of his dress blues. His cover and tie have become causalities and he can't even care. Shots are lined up that could possibly burn harder than the hottest flames, but ask Sam if he cares.

Suddenly outside a round of whistles and cheers sound as someone stands on an empty barstool. He's tall, dark and is named McCaffrey or McCandless? Sam can't remember. But what he's shouting has all of their attention.

"Station assignments. Hot off the presses..."

When it's all said and done, Brady holds out an envelope with "Winchester" on the outside. Sam shrugs and goes to shove it in his pocket.

"Aren't you even curious?" Brady asks, eyes the envelope. He and Sam had sort of bonded at the academy. As much as two older/abnormal candidates can. They aren't really friends, but Sam doesn't hate the other male.

"Station 15, right?" Sam down his whiskey and Brady tears into the letter.

"Holy Shit, I thought these were sealed?" Brady shakes his head.

"Lucky guess," Sam gives a megawatt smile and adds "plus a case of scotch to the Cap at assignments," he winks and Brady's mouth falls open.

"Why you shady, asshole. Wait... why 15?" He has his friend's undivided attention.

"They have a lot of fires. Promotions are quicker. The last few LTs came from 15... it's my future. 15 is it!" Sam grins like the Cheshire Cat and Brady can't even get upset.

Finally, Brady down his shot and says, "if you are bribing assignments, why not 17 with your bro and me?"

Sam looks into his empty shot glass.

 

************

 

Across town, a young successful man exits his BMW on the curb. He walks towards his brownstone townhouse, and up the steps to the door. He turns his key and goes to open the door... explosion.

 

************

 

Sam's tipsy. He's watching the pub fill with co-eds and they are trying on fire helmets of his classmates. No one gives him a second glance and he lets them dismiss him in the corner. Then the sirens sound and the pub empties into the street.

"That's my cousin's Company," Brady shouts over the melee and they spill outdoors along the sidewalk. The 5 blocks from the fire is eaten up and he recognizes Bobby, Rufus and several others from his dad's old station.

There's a body wedged into the windshield of a BMW and Sam chokes. This fire has its first vic. He fights back vomiting and turns toward Brady. "Well this asshole had his evening RUINED!" He looks slightly amused and slightly disgusted at the same time.

"What the fuck..." Brady is stuttering perplexed.

Sam nonchalantly supplies, "Backdraft". As he's turning away, the white uniform shirt of Firemen Royalty catches his eye. Until it's owner makes Sam and strides purposefully in his direction.

"Well, looky here. This is an amazing cosplay, Sammy. I almost thought you were a REAL fireman". Dean's green eyes sweep up and down in a manner that his brother has perfected over the years. He feels all the old emotions: Anger, jealousy, rage, and shame. Dean wasn't supposed to make him feel all of that again. He made his choice and Sam never had a horse in that race. A gangly, string bean of a social nightmare like Sam, stood a zero chance against head cheerleader/prom queen/baby mamma. He bailed. It was what he was good at.

"Thanks for coming to my graduation, Dean. You continue to be the big brother that others dream of having." Sam lets out before his filter can make it something nicer, more Sam.

"So, you're serious? A fireman?" Dean grabs his side and gives a full body laugh. He laughs for 3 minutes uninterrupted and then faces Sam. The intensity of that gaze strips Sam down. He's standing naked before the world and one Dean Winchester. He feels powerless. So Sam does the only thing he can. He closes his eyes.

He's brought back to the present by gloved hands smacking his face. Dean is 5 inches from his face and his body heat and breath causes Sam to gasp. Hazel eyes open to bright green and Dean chuckles.

"You, dirty? Ridiculous." A gloved hand pats Sam's cheeks as he looks his brother in the eye. "See ya round, LITTLE brother." He smears the ashes into Sam's face and turns away.

"Not likely," Sam retorts as he wipes his cheek.

Dean let's out another full body laugh. "See? That's where you are already wrong. Chief Crowley and I had a meeting last week." Sam's stomach drops. "I totally pulled the Dead Hero Father, missed my baby faced brother rule and got you transferred to 17. I mean, what the fuck, Sam? The other side of town? Not on my watch." Dean takes in his brother's speechless face, his lack of color and sends him a wink. "No Sammy. See, starting Monday? You are at 17. A case of scotch? Fucking pathetic." Dean cocks a hip into Sam's as he passes him. It sends his world into a tailspin. He gasps as his brother's bowed legs (barely distinguishable in bunker pants) stride away. He can't work this close to him again. He can't live this close to him again. Sam is utterly, completely screwed...

***

Chapter 2: The Family Business

Sam watches as Dean crosses the street, focusing on his men. Their conversation is drowned out by the sirens and rush of water flowing from the hoses. He's clearly giving orders and directing the other firefighters towards the blaze. It's a well orchestrated dance- man verses nature.

 

********

 

Across the street from the line of fire trucks, Bobby Singer stands close to a small flame and lights his cigar. He's dressed in a windbreaker and slacks that are tucked into a pair of firemen's boots. His gaze lands on the car that the victim was removed from. A shattered windshield is evidence of the force the explosion caused. Crushing the cigar under the heel of his boot, Singer crosses the street.

The creaking of the burned walls hiss and snap in the steamy air. Bobby shines his flashlight along the door jam and scorched baseboard.

"Dean, if you stare any longer, I'm going to charge admission" Bobby says to the young Lieutenant leaning in the doorway.

"Got a cause yet?"

"Are the glory boys actually interested in Investigation's work? I may have a stroke," Bobby regards him carefully.

"The glory boys just want to finish their report so they can go home," Dean replies. He's filthy, tired and Bobby can sympathize.

"They're going to have to wait a few days on this one." Bobby starts prying a wall socket loose and inspects it.

Dean strides out of the building and towards the fire engine. Sam watches his brother climb into the truck. He catches his eyes and both frown.

 

*******

 

The next morning, Sam stands next to a modest two story house. It's in a good part of Kansas City, with well kept lawns and even flower beds adorning the landscape. There's a little kid about 8 playing with a fire truck on the side walk.

"Hey, Ben. What's going on, little guy?" Ben looks up cautiously. "It's Uncle Sam," He makes faces and tries out funny voices. Ben drops his truck and runs into the house.

"MOM!" Ben's voice rings out into the yard. Sam is shocked. He stands up on the stoop as he hears his nephew's voice through the door. "There's a man outside on the sidewalk."

A petite brunette with the same coloring and smile as Ben opens the door. She's shocked for a moment, but recovers quickly. "Hello, Sam.”

"You look great, Lisa." He leans in for a tentative hug.

"You look like... Sam. Bout written you off. How long have you been in town?”

"Four months," her gasp at his admission is enough to cause his face to redden. "I know, I should have called, I've been busy. I joined the department."

"Oh Sam," the sadness creeps into her voice, "you two really know how to put each other through the paces."

Ben is peaking around Lisa's apron and Sam smiles, "So that's Ben? Wow, he's huge."

"That's what happens when you disappear for almost 6 years."

"Ben, come on and give me a hug. You forget your favorite uncle?" Sam kneels down and opens his arms.

"Dean told him you died in a hot tub accident," Lisa frowns and Ben runs out the back door.

"Well that's two things to strangle Dean for. Where is he?"

Lisa's frown deepens, big brown eyes tear filled. "Dean doesn't live here anymore, Sam. He's been gone almost as long as you have. He was emotionally gone long before."

"I'm so sorry, I had no idea..." Sam starts.

"Pick up a phone, occasionally." Lisa crosses her arms across her chest. Her displeasure evident.

 

*******

 

Sam stands in front of a run down cabin on the outskirts of town. Bachman-Turner-Overdrive's Roll On Down the Highway blares from shoddy speakers. He picks up the key from behind a potted plant and opens the door.

Memories flood his brain so quickly that it makes him dizzy. The summer he was 17 and Dean had brought him here for a "brothers' bonding trip". They'd spent the entire week in bed together. Sam afraid he was going to lose his brother like he had his father and Dean unable to ever say no to him. The world didn't exist beyond wet kisses and inexperienced hands.

Sam finally finds Dean on the enclosed back deck. A sander in one hand and a beer in the other. Dean's face is full of confusion as he sets the sander down. "I went to see Lisa..." Dean rolls his eyes and turns back to his work. "I thought this thing had burned down by now or rotted. Don't you worry about falling through the floor?"

Dean turns and faces his brother. He's covered in sawdust and unidentifiable dirt particles. Beer cans litter the railing along the deck and peeling paint leaves huge splotches of bare wood. "I love what you've done with the place." Sarcasm heavy in Sam's smirk.

"It's coming along... want a beer?" Dean opens the door to the mini fridge and tosses him a can of PBR. While he takes a sip, Sam notices gallon sized cans of solvent and extinguisher foam.

"Stealing shit from the station, now?"

"It's old stuff Turner gave me. The department was throwing it out anyway. It's good enough to use on this shack."

Sam winces at the busted speakers still playing BTO. "Bachman-Turner-Overdrive? Foreigner? Jethro Tull?" He flips through the remaining cassette tapes shaking his head. "Dude, cassettes? Oh my God, Dean, an actual working cassette deck?"

"What? You've never seen one? It works. It worked when we were kids." Dean yanks the cassettes out of his brother's hands and places them on the rack. "Why are you here?"

"Why did you mess with my station assignment? Is this really a little brother, big brother you broke my GI Joe and I'm still pissed game?"

"What is it with you? How do you find new ways to fuck everything up? That Scotch BS? Am I really supposed to buy that you came back because you suddenly felt heart strings tugging for the family business. You were bankrupt." Dean downs his beer and levels his gaze at Sam.

"You don't know me..."

"I know you, cold Sam. I know EVERYTHING about you. You were my world and you ran away. Repeatedly."

"What was I supposed to do? You broke my heart. You knocked a girl up and had the wedding and white picket fence. I couldn't take it anymore. I had to get out." Sam's eyes have glossed over with emotion and he stands to leave.

"Sammy, it was wrong. What we were doing was so wrong and dad was probably spinning in his grave. I was the big brother, I knew better. I had a promotion coming and dad would have wanted us to have normal lives. It hurt like hell, but we were ok. Ben adored you and you met Jessica. What the hell happened?" Dean's face is sincere and curious.

"I couldn't keep living a lie. I couldn't keep imagining that it was you every night when I went home to her. It wasn't fair. " The younger Winchester refuses to meet his sibling's eyes.

"I guess that runs in the family. After you bailed, I just couldn't feel anything. I shut down and decided that leaving Lisa and the kid was probably the best thing I could do. Ben reminds me so much of you and I just couldn't look at him..." Dean takes a tentative step towards Sam.

"Sammy, I really tried to do right by you. Dad was gone and mom became a shell of who she was. I joined the department, you always knew I would. We are legacies, man. But you know what we were doing was wrong. And you know how the department treats those things..." The older brother stops a safe distance away from Sam.

Sam sighs, "You know, I told myself a million times that I didn't want to be a fireman. Tradition and family legacy was all a bunch of bullshit. I know that I split, and I know how you felt..."

"Yeah, you know. You know what it felt like," the hurt in those green eyes is like a punch to the gut.

"I have to do this, Dean. I have to know."

Dean turns away from his brother and says over his shoulder, "I think you're going to find out, Sammy. Don't be late tomorrow."

 

*******

 

Sam doesn't sleep at all that night. Every time he closes his eyes he sees the hurt in Dean's eyes. The hurt that he has caused over the years and can't even begin to atone for. He longs for what they had.

They were always close. Especially after dad's death. Dean's girlfriends came and went. They were taken in by that beautiful face and panty dropping smile, plus the Class A's of KCFD didn't hurt. He was a hero and people gravitated towards him, but at the end of the day, he always came home to Sam.

Standing in front of his bathroom mirror, Sam straightens the collar of his uniform shirt. He looks presentable in his navy blues even if the dark circles under his eyes betray him. He can do this. He's going to do this.

One last look in the mirror and Sam is out the door and into his car. The ignition clicks and fails to turn over. He tries again before popping the hood. Looking underneath at the engine, he may as well be staring at the engine of a 747.

 

*******

 

Sam rounds the corner a block way from the station with his gear slung over his shoulder. He's jogged the mile and a half on foot and the cool air has done little to stop the sweat from clinging to his forehead and neck. Just as he slows, the whistle sounds and the large bay doors open. Fire engine 17 comes careening out with ladder number 46 right behind.

Dean's head is sticking out of the passenger side of the engine as it whizzes past. "You're too late, probie," he calls out with a devilish smirk. Brady waves at Sam from the ladder truck as it chases the engine.

"God damn it, Dean!" He sprints after the accelerating engine and just before he trips on the curb, an older fireman drags him on board. It's Rufus Turner.

"Aww, its Baby Winchester. How are you doing?" Rufus pinches his cheek.

The driver glances side ways at Rufus. "You know this hooligan?"

"Know him? I practically raised him. He never calls, doesn't write..." Rufus barks out.

"Sam, I'm Sam," He shouts out to the other fireman, over the noise of the stereo and sirens.

"I'm sorry," the driver replies. He guides the truck up next to a curb and sticks his nose out the window. Sniffing the air he begins to buckle up his turnout coat. A thick Cajun accent announces "Gentleman, looks like a barbecue".

 

*******

 

The smoke is pouring out of the windows of a five story factory. The driver from earlier, who Sam learns is named Benny Lafitte, shakes his head towards the blaze. "I hate when we have to go looking for it."

"Call in another alarm. We need back up," Dean tells Benny.

Sam watches his fellow firemen move with practiced ease. Unrolling hoses and preparing to enter the building. This is it. Deft fingers grab at the straps of his air tank and he hears Dean's voice grounding him, "You're doing it wrong." Green eyes meet Hazel and Dean adds, "Stay right beside me, Sam."

They crawl along the floor on hands and knees and up one set of stairs after another. Going more by feel than sight. Finally entering a large room that is totally ablaze.

The younger Winchester brother stares in wonder as the fire groans out overhead. It takes on almost human features as it taunts him. He's terrified and amazed at the same time.

"Wash it to the windows?" Rufus asks Dean. Readying the hose.

"No. We will take this son of a Bitch, head on," Dean defiantly raises his chin.

"Dean, it's gonna flash. We need to get behind it..." The older man's voice is softer. This isn't a firemen challenging his Lt, this is a concerned man talking to his dead friend's son.

Dean raises his head higher. "Listen to it. It won't flash. It's just going to steam on us. Go in high on the ceiling."

Water hits the ceiling at a break neck speed and suddenly the fire screams in anger and a thick wave of steam washes over them. Sam braces himself against the heat as he hears glass shatter and windows break. Dean whoops in victory. "I knew it, you bastard. Steam us" he yells gleefully into the blaze.

The flames are beaten back with the hose line and pieces of ceiling fall on top of the men. They've chased it to a corner where Dean finally looks at Sam. His face is covered in ash and sweat and Sam has never seen anyone more beautiful. His brother is glowing and is in his element. "You love it, probie?" He asks with a smirk.

"I'm in heaven, L-T," Sam responds with his own grin.

"Hook us up a stand pipe," Dean directs.

Sam runs back to tap into the building's plumbing. His hydrant wrench keeps slipping off the nut. He tries again and again. "Christ, how about today?" Dean yells. His voice carrying over the growling of the walls,"we are going to lose it."

Sam finally gets his lead hooked up and runs back to Dean's side.

 

******

 

From the outside, Brady and the ladder company come smashing through a window that's behind Dean and Sam. The wall shakes and moans and it feels like a 8.5 earthquake. Then the rushing sound of water being pumped into room. Dean speaks into his wireless clipped onto his collar. "Hey Bill, where's the back up?" He waits while the answer comes inside his earpiece. "God damn it. Dig in"

Chuck Shurley is the truck company's Lieutenant and he gives Dean a concerned glance as the crew hesitates. "I said, 'Dig in!'" The crew scrambles to the center of the room, overturning tables and chairs to use as barriers. Dean hauls Sam behind a flipped over desk. Their faces smashed together. Sam's face shield is the only thing preventing their lips from touching as the floor groans beneath them.

"You're going to love this..." as soon as the words leave Dean's mouth all four walls of factory windows explode into a hailstorm of glass. A piece of floor suddenly gives way and Garth Fitzgerald, a ladderman, falls through.

Flames flick up from the floor beneath the wirey fireman as his hands desperately grasp at the edges of the floor. Sam freezes as Lafitte shoves past him to grip the downed fireman's hands. Heat and sweat making their hands slippery as the two men struggle to retain their grip. At the last second, before Fitzgerald falls to his death, Dean lunges. It's a bad angle and the floor is creaking. Water and debris is raining down on them as the ladder company opens up all of the lines.

"Let me go," Garth's hands wiggle in his would be saviors hands as he tries to get them to loosen their grip.

Dean digs in and tightens his hold. They may all three die, but he's damned if he's letting Garth go. "You go, we go," the company's motto is grunted out as a burst of adrenaline has Dean dragging the man up and to safety.

Turner and the other linemen are continuing to pelt the fire with their hoses and the fire surges overhead, catching their coats on fire. Brady and the other ladder company turn their spray towards the men and soaking everything and everyone down before charging after the fire.

Sam sits up. His helmet is smoking and he's slightly dazed. He glances to his left and notices that the older Winchester is unaffected and already on his feet. He's leading the charge as the company battles the flames back to a corner.

"Dean! The battalion chief's on the radio. They think a civilian got left downstairs." Chuck Shurley, relays to Dean.

"Turner, you and Brady go downstairs and do a search." Rufus nods his head and the younger probationary fireman follows him out of the room. Sam is still shaking as Dean grabs him by his jacket and hauls him to his feet. "Don't you dare fall apart on me, now.”

Sam shrugs his brother's hands off and the blush on his face is more than the heat of the flames. "Clear the hose for me," the elder brother commands. Sam is walking to the hose line when he hears it.

"Help me," it's faint and weak sounding and no one else hears.

"I think I hear something," Sam starts to say, but no one is paying him any attention. He takes off down another staircase and the fire has all but dissipated in this end of the factory.

He's kneeling under a table in a room full of commercial sewing machines, with his flashlight on. It's empty. Just then the fire flashes from overhead and Sam takes a hard seat on his ass. It dances around him and it's frightening. Almost as if the fire recognizes him. He crab walks several paces away from the fire before turning to crawl on hands and knees. The smoke is too thick to make out anything as he feels his way for an exit.

He's almost to the door, when his hand lands on something solid. It's a body. "Oh God," he grabs at the body and hoists it over his shoulder. Smoke and flame forgotten as he bursts outside into the sunlight.

"I've got one. I got somebody," he rushes to the ambulance that's parked into the alley. Cameras flash in his face as he hands over his charge to the paramedics.

"Is she alive?" he asks the EMTs as they cease their efforts. One moves away and places his hand on Sam's shoulder.

"I'm afraid you were too late for this one" Sadness engulfs Sam as the paramedics begin belly laughing. It's a mannequin. He flushes a deep red and walks past Brady sitting with a real woman, taking oxygen through a proffered mask.

"Sorry 'bout the mannequin, man. I hear y'all were close," Benny's deep accent is laden with humor. Sam stomps off.

 

He holds in his stomach contents until he rounds the corner, out of sight of the company. He drops to his knees as ashes and singed materials mixed with bile erupts on the brick of an apartment building. After finally heaving the last bits of his breakfast, Sam notices a pair of nude colored pumps. He follows them up to a long trench coat and finally the familiar face of a blonde beauty.

"Jessica..." Sam speaks her name and wants to vomit again. "What... why are you here?"

Jessica Moore straightens her back and smooths the wrinkles from her expensive coat. "I could ask you the same thing. Playing fireman now? Isn't that your brother's gig?" The tightness of her brow increases and she continues, "I actually work for the city now."

Just then, hands grab at his lapels and roam his body for injuries. They are intrusive as ever and Jessica has walked away when Sam gets Dean to stop his search. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, just a little busy," he nods toward the substantial amount of vomit that he's left in the alleyway.

Dean let's him go and leans against the brick. Strong arms cross his body as he gives his brother a once over. "Y'know, you've got an awful short memory for direct orders. I told you to stay beside me..."

"Come on, Dean."

"You split the team up man. And what the hell with the standpipe? You'd think you and a hose had never been introduced before," Dean pushes off the wall.

"God damn it, Dean," Sam shouts at his retreating sibling. "I was doing it. I was up there, doing it."

Dean's shoulders tense as he stops and turns the full force of the Winchester temper at his brother. "I TOLD YOU TO STAY RIGHT FUCKING BESIDE ME!!" Their noses are nearly touching and Sam can smell Colgate shaving cream under the smell of charred cinderblocks, wood and sweat.

Sam's painfully hard in his pants and has never been more thankful for bunker pants in his life. "I was doing it. You don't know, man." Sams voice is softer, but still holds a hard edge.

"What you did?" Dean's laugh is humorless and condescending. "What you did was drop the ball, Probie. Get that right." Dean stands a fraction of an inch away. He's staring at Sam's mouth and the tension in the air is palpable.

"Hey, Dean," Chuck's voice comes from the end of the alley, "they're calling for you man." Sam closes his eyes as Dean turns and walks away. The moment is broken.

As Dean rounds the corner, he notices Jessica eyeing him warily. She's been there the entire time and Dean can't bring himself to care. She turns and walks away just as Sam notices her trailing behind a smartly dressed middle aged man.

 

******

 

Alderman Zachariah Adler, who is also Jessica's boss, is holding a press conference in front of the charred remains of the city's sewing factory. He addresses the reporters by first names, cracks jokes with a smile. It's all political and Jessica fits right in.

"Hey Sammy," Rufus shouts out a window, "we're still working up here."

"It's Sam," he says under his breath before picking up his helmet off the pavement and walking towards the fire escape.

 

*******

 

As soon as the walls are ripped apart and fire is down to a small flicker, cigarettes are handed out. "Was it good for you?" Someone says as the firemen pelt clods of ashes at each other. There's an easy sense of camaraderie shared between the men. With the danger passed and now the afterglow of the intense adrenaline high is waxing, Sam can breathe again. They've lived to fight another day.

"What the hell is going through the L-T's mind these days?" Benny blows out an breath of smoke and points his cigarette at Rufus. "Taking it on in the first room? It's happening too much lately. It could've flashed. It should have flashed."

"But it didn't. Guy knows," Rufus' smile is all teeth.

"Guy's lucky" Benny finishes as Rufus catches Sam's eye and smiles.

"Hey, Baby Winchester. The first one is the clincher. You did okay," Sam bows his head to hide the blush.

"Well, my Lieutenant may have something to say about that," he adds ruefully.

"You're working for the toughest LT on the job. Everyone screws up once in a while. I once saw Dean pick up a probie that he thought was moving too slow and throw him into a burning building. It's just bad luck that you're family."

"Hey Rufus," Sam starts, "when you're up there... in the fire... do you ever see..."

"Come on ladies, let's roll some hose," Dean bellows from across the room and Sam drops his eyes to the floor.

"Never mind," he tells the older man and focuses on the task at hand. Sam glances out the window just in time to see Jessica standing next to Investigator Singer's Red fire department sedan.

 

*******

 

Investigator Robert Singer strides purposefully towards the back of his car. "Singe" the Alderman addresses him by his old call sign.

"Alderman Adler," Bobby addresses him back. "I need to get into this trunk," he gestures for the other man to remove himself from said trunk. Adler moves and Bobby pops the latch. "Awful expensive shoes to be wearing to a fire ground, Alderman. But then again, I guess you haven't been to too many fires."

Jessica clears her throat. "I want to speak with you about the death of Alan Segrave. We still haven't gotten a report from your office".

"You'll get an answer as soon as I get an answer," Singer sighs.

"People are asking questions like how a prominent tax payer got stuffed through the windshield of his own car. And they are asking me," The politician's smarmy smile is anything but friendly.

Jessica interrupts, "Point is, Investigator, we are beginning to get the feeling that your office is dragging its feet to embarrass the Alderman because of his fire department reorganization..."

"You mean, his firehouse closing program, right?" Bobby's had enough of these two. Old injuries ache in the threatening rain clouds.

"We'd just be very disappointed if you were playing politics," Jessica answers.

"I care about this City and this department..." Adler begins as Bobby shuts the trunk of the car.

"I have a remarkably simple job, Mr Adler," Bobby steeples his fingers and counts to 10. "To decide if a fire is arson and if so, to stop the pain in the ass doing it. And to be perfectly honest, if my methodical investigative methods just happen to muck up the campaign of certain mayor wannabes, can't say I sleep any less peacefully." The aging Arson Investigator retreats back into the building.

"Too bad I can't just fire him," Adler says under his breath.

"Adler! Hey Adler!" The Lieutenant is leaning out an upstairs window. He balances on the window pane with the grace of a cat, then drops down onto the hose bed of engine truck. He bounces once and is then smiling right into Adler's face.

"We almost lost the whole company up there, buddy. Isn't any back up, since you closed up '33. And we," his arms gesturing at the other firemen that have taken notice of their little engagement, "really appreciate it. The guys and me. Honest. I know you got my vote for mayor..." Benny and Garth head for Dean with Sam hot on their heels.

"Look, Lieutenant Winchester, I'm on your side. If there's a problem, work with us and our task force. We will fix it..."

"Right. Your famous task force. Three guys have already died this year because of your famous 'task force'," Dean uses air quotes to punctuate the absurdity of the claim.

"Dean, come on brother," Benny grabs at his elbow.

Dean silences Benny's plea with an outstretched hand.

Adler leans in close. Just close enough for Dean and the three other firemen to make out the words being whispered in his ear. "You see that funny glow that's starting to blink in your eye, Lieutenant? That's your career dissipation light- and it just went into overdrive." His smile is sinister.

"If anybody's light is gonna blink, it's yours," Dean returns the smirk. The air is heavy and Sam looks on. Raw hatred flashes across Dean's face as Rufus pops in between the Alderman and the young lieutenant.

"You're in firemen land now, Adler. Do yourself a favor and walk away," the elder black man is calm, his voice even.

"So this is your city job?" Sam says to Jessica before she follows Adler into the black town car. Jessica just shrugs as the car pulls from the curb.

 

*******

 

It's late afternoon when the company pulls into the driveway of the station. A middle aged woman flashes them from her apartment across the street. Sam stares with his mouth gaping as Benny says, "That's Franny. She likes firemen!" He wags his eyebrows and the entire company laughs.

"Brady, fill out the alarm card. Sammy, clean the pipe poles, wipe down the ladders and hang some hose." Dean disappears into the fire station and Brady shrugs at Sam.

Sam has finished pulling out all the pike poles when a hairy ‘animal’ Sam thinks, begins growling at him. He tries to go into the station and it blocks his path. Snarling one fang at him in its advanced age.

"That's The Thing. You can't stay unless he likes you," Benny says. His sunglasses hiding the humor in his eyes.

"You guys have something against Dalmatians?" Sam wipes his face and glances across the street to where Franny is still watching and to The Thing and sighs.

 

*******

 

Inside just after dark, Sam slinks towards the locker room. He opens his locker and the mannequin has been placed inside and falls on top of him. She has her legs spread open and a note taped to her mouth. It reads ‘Take me Sam, you're my superman’.

He's the last in the shower and decides he doesn't want to talk to Brady, but low and behold in walks Dean and strides to the far right of the stalls. It's either listen to hero worship or pop a boner while watching his own flesh and blood scrub the fire from his body. Things would be so much easier if he didn't know exactly how those hands feel or how that body responds to being touched. Or how talented that mouth is, with or without words coming from it. Fuck it, he'll take his chances with Brady.

Sam hangs his towel and shower caddy up at the next shower head and tilts his head back. Brady is already watching Dean from across the way as the older Winchester hangs his head down between his shoulders and eyes closed. He's leaning against the tile, oblivious to his surroundings as the water pummels him from the ancient shower head. Sam clears his throat.

Brady looks quickly at Sam then back towards the lieutenant. Who looks as though he's fallen asleep in the shower. Brady says, "I wasn't... I mean I'm not..." but Sam just laughs and grabs the shampoo. He listens to Brady prattle on about how great Dean is and how he's going to be that great someday. "You know what he said to me? When we were in the thick of it? He said 'You never know till the moment the fire stares you down, if you're just going to do this job or be great at it.'"

Sam groans, "Aww man. He's using that line on you, now? You think he just made that little gem up?" He glances over Brady's head to where his brother has apparently woken to let the water trail down his body. "My old man used to use those words every other day.”

"I know your old man is a legend around here, but if he was half the man your brother is... it's not all hype," Brady cuts the water off and Sam is shocked by the truth in that statement.

"Ask him how he got bow legged," Sam laughs and grabs his own towel.

He's still laughing at his friend's stunned face, when he notices the fucking mannequin in his bunk. He's too tired to do anything but shove the thing out of the bed and climb in.

"Sammy, that's all kinds of fucked up. First of all, we never treat a lady like that. At least let the poor thing rest until morning." Dean is wearing a navy blue "Fighting 17th" t shirt and matching sweats. His hair is mostly dry, but the high and tight haircut makes it just long enough to stick up. He picks up the mannequin by the arm and lays her back on the bed.

Sam groans. His two bunk mates, one of which is Brady, haven't turned in for the night and he doesn't want them to see the fucking mannequin again. "Get that damned thing off me, Dean," he sleepily pushes it away. His sleep deprived body just wanting everyone to go away.

Dean giggles. "Now that, is the first time you've ever told me that.” He slips his arm around the dummy's shoulders and says in a conspiratorial voice, "Sammy never was one for sharing. 'Smostly my fault, I guess.” He sounds wistful.

He's about to say something else when Brady and Eddie Zeddmore come crashing into the room.

"Sorry, lieutenant, we didn't know you were in here," Brady flushes and Sam would find it adorable if a) he didn't feel the exact same way and b) his brain wasn't screaming MINE on a non stop loop.

"I was just showing Sam's lady friend the way out. And reminding him that all amorous activities are prohibited in the station. Unless command is invited to watch." Eddie and Brady laugh at the obvious joke and Sam shakes his head. "What's so funny probie? Dean's looking at Brady as he hands the doll off the Zeddmore. "You like to watch, right?" It's suddenly not so funny anymore and Dean exits the room. "Lights out in ten fellas," he bangs on the door jamb.

In the safety of his own room he chastises himself. He doesn't know what he was thinking going to see Sam. There's a small shrine with two burned helmets on either side of a framed picture. Captain John Winchester smiling at him with Sammy sitting on his hip and Dean on top of the fire engine. Not the new one, but the old antique that they kept out of tradition. One of Dean's first acts as Lieutenant was to move it to KC Fire Museum just across the state line.

"I'm sorry, Dad."

 

******

 

It's nearly 1 am and Dean is mostly asleep. He usually only gets 4 or 5 hours these days. With the alarms and the cut backs, he's woken up more nights from alarms then not. But an alarm isn't what wakes him tonight. His room is the closest to the pole room and just off from dispatch. His door stays cracked at all times and there's never any real reason to close it. Station like this? Privacy is an illusion.

Bare feet patter across the concrete and his bleary eyes land on Sam's face. He looks impossibly young for 28 and Dean blinks.

"Sammy, what is it? Something wrong?" He sits up ramrod straight. So used to being ready at the drop of the hat that he doesn't even notice the last visages of sleep disappearing as he throws the covers back.

"Nothing is wrong. I just wanted to know if maybe command wanted to watch. Or maybe even help..." Sam is smiling in that special way that he only does for Dean.

Dean nods towards the door. "Lock it.”

The full sized bed is barely big enough for Dean by himself and is way too small for the grown up Winchester men. Dean positions Sam as the little spoon and starts to whisper into Sam's ear. "There are about a thousand different reasons that this is a terrible idea. And right now, I can't list a single one. I want this, I want you. I've never not. I never wanted you to feel unloved and I'm sorry." His cheeks are wet as words tumble out of his mouth. "But just for tonight, can we be normal brothers? Not this fucked up competition that dad started the second you were born? Sammy, I'm proud of you. You did it. You're a Winchester after all. I'm going to ride the hell out of your ass, in more ways than one, but you’re a real boy now, Pinocchio."

Sam laughs. He's crying and hadn't even realized it until Dean's fingers wipe the tears away. "This is normally the part where you say something nice about me?"

"Yeah. Yeah okay. Congratulations on making Lieutenant, the youngest one in KCFD history. Congratulations on Ben, I don't think I ever told you..." Sam stops and turns to face his brother in the impossibly small space. "He's 8, Dean... Same age I was when dad..."

"Stop it. Stop it right there. Ben isn't going to ever know that feeling. Fire will never get me." Dean's voice isn't more than hushed whispers in the darkness.

"That's what dad used to say."

***

Chapter 3: A Fire We Can’t Put Out

Dean wakes at 0500 alone. The faint smell of his brother’s girly shampoo on his pillow is the only indication that last night had happened. Nothing in fact had happened except for Sam falling asleep while his brother had carded his fingers through his hair and whispered reassurances.

Dean gets up like he always does and goes downstairs to run on the treadmill in the gym. His morning run only made harder by breathing in the amount of ashes and soot he normally does on any given day.

 

*******

 

Sam enters the showers ahead of the rest of the station, but still encounters Brady in the locker room. “Hey, man. Where were you this am? I woke up at 3 to use the can and you weren’t in your bunk.”

“I couldn’t sleep. So I went down and ran some drills,” Sam says without even turning to the other probationary fireman. It’s really none of anyone’s business.

“Your brother isn’t going to drill us enough?” Brady looks on incredulously.

“For a normal fireman, yes. But I’ve got my sights set on that Silver Trumpet.”

“You’ve been a firemen for like 3 days. And now you want to be an L-T?”

“I’ve had this in my blood my whole life. I’m a legacy. Time I stopped running away.”

 

*******

 

Nine firemen are dressed in Class A’s, complete with peaked caps, standing in front of their riggs. Dean and Chuck both glance down the line and Dean nods at Chuck. “Alright, Company dismissed. See y’all at the Chiefs’ Ceremony tonight.”

Crowley has been interim Chief of the KCPD for over a year while Chief Pendergraft recovered from a heart attack. His health had taken a turn for the worse and his retirement and Crowley’s official promotion party is that evening.

Dean catches Sam as he’s stowing his gear and asks, “Sammy, you need a ride?”

“Sure,” Sam smiles and follows Dean out to the Black Impala.

 

*******

 

The car rolls to a stop in front of Sam’s apartment building and he kills the engine. Sam grabs the door handle.

“So listen, I didn’t like waking up alone this morning,” Dean says without looking at Sam.

“Yeah?” Sam smiles, dimples show. “I didn’t like leaving before you were awake, either. But maybe coming to your room at the station wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done.”

“Clearly, the smartest thing you’ve ever done is me,” Dean looks at him and winks.

“Right,” Sam laughs and turns to face Dean. “I’m just saying, we should probably keep it out of the station.”

“Probably. I’ll see you tonight?” Dean starts to start the car and Sam puts a hand on his wrist.

“Or you could come up. For a beer or something.” Sam says tentatively.

 

*******

 

As soon as they cross the threshold of Sam’s small one bedroom apartment, Dean is shoving him back against the front door. His lips seal over his brother’s, tongue forcing its way in. Sam groans and his hands fist into Dean’s shirt, dragging their hips flush, his erection dragging against the older man’s.

They battle for control of the kiss. It’s wet and uncoordinated. Too much spit and teeth and Sam tastes copper on his tongue.

Dean jerks back and Sam makes a displeased noise, until he sees his brother drop to his knees, right there. He opens his belt and pants, dragging them along with Sam’s boxer’s down to free his hardened cock. He swallows him down immediately and Sam’s eyes roll back in his head.

“Jesus,” Sam can barely form coherent words as his brother’s throat opens and that suction is the hottest thing Sam’s ever felt. He opens his eyes and sees wide green eyes looking up under his lashes. There are tears from Dean’s gag reflex, but he hasn’t stopped taking Sam as far back as he can. Kiss swollen lips wrapped prettily around him and Sam nearly comes from the sight alone.
“Stop! Stop!” He yanks on Dean’s short hair, but his brother just moans around him and Sam can’t stop himself from coming.

Dean nearly chokes on the sheer amount that floods his mouth, but manages to swallow all of it with out making a mess. Sam’s softening dick slides from his mouth. Dean releases his grip on his brother’s hips and Sam’s legs give way beneath him and he slides down the door. He grabs Dean’s shirt collar and pulls him in to kiss him. He fumbles with with a belt buckle and Dean grabs his wrist.

“Not necessary,” Dean says into his mouth and Sam feels lower and the warm wet spot in front of his pants.

“Did you...?” Sam pulls back, big eyes staring at his sibling.

“Oh yeah. Like a teenager,” Dean confirms with a chuckle and moves to straddle Sam. They kiss slowly and sweetly still in the entranceway of the younger Winchester’s apartment until Dean groans and says, “Drying spunk is like superglue. I need to move.” However, he continues to press his mouth against Sam’s for several minutes.

He places a kiss on each of Sam’s cheeks and stands up. Strong arms help his brother to his feet and Sam says, “Want the nickel tour?”

Dean turns in the small space and says, “Sure.”

“Okay, this is the foyer,” He takes two steps forward with Dean’s hand clasped inside his own. “Living room, slash dining room, slash den,” drags Dean about 8 feet into the small open plan kitchen. There’s a very small breakfast table in front of the stove, fridge and sink. Three small wooden cabinets are arranged in the space next to the stove. “The Kitchen and breakfast nook,” Sam presents the appliances and barstool along the counter with a flourish that Vanna White would have been envious of. He does a 180 and points to the three doors along the other side of the apartment. “Closet slash panic room, 3/4 bathroom and the master bedroom.”

“I’ll take what’s behind door number two,” Dean announces and drags Sam behind him into the shoebox sized bathroom. It takes some maneuvering, but they both manage to shed their clothes and climb into the small shower stall.

They trade smiles and lazy kisses, while the too short shower head sprays them with what barely passes as water pressure. Dean washes his brother’s hair and says, “This is barely regulation, Sammy.”

“But it is, regulation...”Sam sighs at the feeling of dexterous fingers massaging his scalp.

“If I had to get a ruler out, it would be close,” Dean teases.

“Are we getting rulers out now? Want to know how much hose I’m carrying?” Sam smirks and Dean just rolls his eyes.

After the barely warm water washes the last of the suds from both of their bodies, Sam shuts the the water off and exits the shower handing Dean a towel. There isn’t even room to turn around between the small pedestal sink and shower. Sam steps outside the door so his brother can climb out of the shower. He ties a towel around his waist and says, “I’ll get you something to wear home.”

 

*******

 

Sam is digging through his small chest of drawers for some track pants and clean boxers for Dean, when he feels Dean’s arms around his waist. His brother’s arms are much bigger than he remembers. The years of carrying heavy equipment has turned the once lithe and lean frame of a young man into a heavily muscled solid adult. His waist is still tapered and narrow, but there is definition in his stomach where he was almost concave. Sam turns.

“I can’t quite get used to you like this.” Sam’s hands run down his brother’s stomach and settle on his hips.

“You’re not exactly how I remember, either,” Dean’s eyes roam the well toned chest and broad shoulders that Sam hadn’t quite filled out the last time they were close like this. “All knees and elbows, covered in peach fuzz. It’s going to take me awhile to get used to being the smaller brother.” His arms encircle Sam’s neck and he rises up on the balls of his feet to plant a kiss on his nose.

Sam pushes Dean the small distance to his mattress and climbs on top of him. “Do you have any idea what you do to me? What you’ve always done to me?” He makes quick work of Dean’s towel and then his own and they are finally completely skin to skin.

“I think I have some idea. This is the hottest place that I’ve ever been. And I’ve been in some hot places.” Dean’s hands settle on the globes of Sam’s ass, grinding their groins together in a white heat. “God, I want to fuck you. Make you come apart around me. Like no one else has ever done. Like no one else will ever do again.”

Sam moans against Dean’s lips. The smoke roughened voice, turning his insides on fire. “Only if I get to return the favor. It’s time we were equals in this. I was a kid and I had no idea what I was doing.” Sam intertwines his fingers with his brother’s and forces them to the mattress above Dean’s head, pinning the older Winchester to the bed. “Make you take whatever I give you.”

“I have a feeling that we’ve both learned a thing or two these years. I’m willing to find out, if you are.” Dean doesn’t struggle. He is easily a match for his brother in brute strength and more so in sheer stubbornness. He’s allowing himself to be manhandled and Sam’s on fire with that knowledge.

“What do you want?” Sam asks, loosening his grip and surrendering control. Instead of reversing their positions, Dean’s now free hands land on Sam’s face. His thumbs caressing cheek bones and his eyes searching.

“I want everything. I’m selfish. I want it all- as long as it’s with you,” Dean’s answer is a whisper. Just barely loud enough for Sam to hear over the rushing of blood in his ears. “Promise me that you won’t run and I’ll give you everything.”

Sam’s answer is rolling Dean in top of him. “I’m not running this time. Take whatever you want.”

Dean presses Sam into the mattress, his hands have lost all the gentleness and will likely leave bruises in their wake. One hand shoves roughly at Sam’s knee, forcing his legs open for Dean to rest in between and the other hooks under Sam’s arm- fingers clawing at his shoulder as Dean assaults his mouth. This isn’t the gentle big brother that taught Sam how to kiss, this is vicious and desperate; as if Dean is trying to devour him or crawl inside him, Sam’s unsure which. Dean forces Sam’s legs open further. One strong thigh under Sam’s own bent leg and exposes him in ways that he hasn’t felt in years and all he can do is grab at his brother. He doesn’t have any leverage with Dean pinning him in such a way and can’t even grab purchase on Dean’s hands.

Dean is rocking and rutting against Sam in an erratic rhythm that has his cock trapped between both men’s stomachs. There isn’t really enough friction to do anything but drive Sam crazy. He isn’t anywhere close, but he’s hard enough to cut glass. He’s losing patience quickly.

“Fuck, Dean. I want...I need...” Sam groans out in the small breaths that Dean is allowing him to take in between kisses. Dean sucks his tongue into his mouth and he can no longer form words. So Sam does the only thing he can. He wraps his free leg around his brother’s waist and squeezes. It forces the older man’s rock hard length against his own and provides sweet contact.

Dean moans on an exhale and reaches between their bodies to take Sam in his hand. His calloused fingers slipping over the sensitive underside while his thumb smears the wet precome around the slit. His own neglected dick leaking against Sam’s inner thigh.

“Jesus Dean, fuck me before you become the oldest Lieutenant in KCFD history!” Sam growls out, planting his foot of his free leg against the mattress, causing his brother’s dick to slide down his groin quick enough that he’s gasps.

“Still as impatient as ever, I see,” Dean teases. He relents and slides his body down towards the foot of the bed. His hot breath against Sam’s entrance. His tongue flattens to lap at the puckered hole and Sam bucks his hips up involuntarily. “Roll over, Sammy.”

Sam obeys and feels Dean’s fingers separating the cheeks of his ass. He blows on a sensitized area and Sam drives his cock into the mattress. Dean uses those strong arms to wrap around Sam’s thighs and preventing him from moving. “Calm down and let me do this,” Dean says, just before the tip of his tongue breaches the first ring of muscle and Sam nearly swallows his tongue. “Now stay still, or I will tie you to this bed.”

Dean lets go of Sam and then his spit slick index finger is circling the opening of Sam’s rim experimentally. “So fucking tight. How long has it been, Sammy? When was the last time you were fucked?”

“Nine years, ten months and twenty-ish odd days,” Sam breaths into the pillow.

His brother seems to consider that for a moment and then his tongue and finger both dip in and it burns slightly. Sam hisses a little and Dean says, “I don’t suppose you’ve got lube?”

“Nightstand,” is Sam’s answer and the mattress shifts and Dean goes to retrieve it. A beat or two and Sam hears the bottle open. Then cool, slick wetness and Dean pushes his finger in to the first knuckle. He moves it in and out a few times and then crooks it in a come hither motion and Sam clenches around him. “There we go.”

One finger becomes two and Dean alternates between brushing Sam’s prostate and scissoring his fingers in an antagonizing slow stretch.

It feels like hours, but could have only been a few minutes and Sam starts rocking back to meet the digits that are pumping in and out of him. His breathing has become pants and Dean pulls them all the way out only to replace them with three. Sam’s groaning and starts babbling incoherently when Dean’s tongue slides along with three fingers inside of him.

His hole flutters as Dean withdraws and Sam hears plastic ripping and the lube opening again. He turns over and says, “I want it like this,” and settles on his back. “I need to see you.”

Dean can’t keep the smile from pulling at his lips as he leans down to kiss Sam’s mouth. He draws back and says “Ready?”

Sam laughs and says, “I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life.”

Dean shoves Sam’s knees back onto the mattress and lines himself up. “Let me in, baby,” is the only warning Sam gets and Dean slides all the way inside with one fluid thrust. His gasp has Dean stopping and saying, “You okay?”

All Sam can do is nod and thrust against his brother’s hips. Dean leans down to press his lips to Sam’s again, before pulling almost all the way out and slamming back in.

On the third such stroke, Sam’s arching off the bed to meet the older Winchester’s hips in a slapping of skin. Dean grabs one long leg and places it over his shoulder like a rolled up fire hose. That’s all it takes to change the angle enough that he’s nailing Sam’s prostate on every thrust.

The reflexive clenching of Sam’s sphincter muscle is enough to illicit a filthy barrage of expletives from Dean’s mouth as his vision momentarily clouds. The tight, velvet heat feels like the closest thing to Heaven that Dean will ever get.

His climax is building and there’s no way that he’s going to come first. He speeds up the pistoning of his hips and reaches down with a still lube slicked hand and strokes Sam in time with the rhythm of his cock. Three quick, slippery strokes and Sam cries out. Thick ropes of warm, whiteness spills over Dean’s hand and up Sam’s stomach.

The orgasm cause’s Sam’s channel to contract in a vise like grip and it sends Dean spiraling down quickly off of his own pleasure precipice. He moans loudly from somewhere deep in his chest as the condom is filled with murky colored semen.

“Jesus Christ,” Sam murmurs against Dean’s shoulder as his brother’s strength gives way and he falls atop of the younger man.

“So eloquent,” Dean replies. His eyes are fluttering as he grabs the condom and pulls out.

Sam moans, “Says the heavy ass with the vocabulary of a Neanderthal.”

Dean drops the sticky latex into the waste basket by the bed and nuzzles Sam’s hair. “M’tired.” He settles his weight on his left hip next to his brother and draws the covers up.

 

*******

 

Three hours later, Sam wakes to his right side tingling. His arm and leg have that pins and needles feeling, while his neck and torso are covered in sweat. His sleepy eyes turn and catch a shock of damp light brown hair.

His brother is in the prone position, but has managed to curl around Sam’s body. His face is relaxed and slack with sleep; he looks at least a decade younger than he should.

“Dean,” Sam kisses his temple and gives his brother a small shake. “Dean?”

Dean stirs and then a huge smile comes over his face. “Time’s it?” The heels of both hands coming up to rubs at his half mast eye lids.

“‘Round four,” Sam answers as he turns his head to see his alarm clock. “We’ve got ‘bout two hours until the Chiefs’ party.”

“Do we hafta go? Wanna stay here,” Dean burrows his nose and chin into Sam’s neck and settles in closer.

“I don’t want to go. But I think we should. You will be missed, at the very least.” Sam’s sleep drunk mind is trying to reason why he should go.

“Captains list comes out tonight,” Dean rolls over and blinks at the ceiling. “I’m not on it. But I should be there.”

“How do you know you aren’t on it? Those are sealed.” Sam licks his lips, knowing a case of scotch, nor five will get those names released.

Dean turns his head and stares at his brother. “I just know, Sammy.”

 

*******

 

Several kisses later, Dean is straightening the track pants and t-shirt that Sam handed him and pulling on his shoes.

They wrap around each other at the front entrance of Sam’s small apartment.

One peck, two. “Go shower, Gigantor.”
Dean teases, while pulling back.

“Go home,” Sam counters, chasing his lips.

Once Dean breaks away, Sam closes the door a falls against it. He’s tired and completely fucked out, but makes his way to the small 3/4 bath to wash away the evidence of the afternoon’s activities.

 

******

 

Dean enters the restaurant that is hosting tonight’s events and immediately sees Lisa and her new husband seated in a booth on the right. They’ve been married 2 years and it’s not a surprise to him anymore. To tell the God’s honest truth, it’s a relief. He walks up to the bar and says, “Can I get a shot of Jameson. Make it a double.” The bartender glances at him and the slight nod lets him know that he’s been heard.

 

*******

 

The night has been quiet. Gifts, congratulations, and well wishes have been bestowed on all parties concerned. Dean has had at least a dozen drinks, which he never does anymore. He spends even his off duty hours fighting fires due to the cutbacks and can’t afford to get wasted.

He sees Lisa and Jackson (15’s dispatch officer and her new husband) dancing to his right; With Sam and Jessica Moore slow dancing against the wall to his left. He downs a drink and asks for another.

 

*******

 

“Sam, Mr Adler would like to talk to you,” Jessica says into Sam’s ear as he tries to keep from turning towards his tipsy brother, seated at the bar.

“What about?” Sam asks. He’s not really concerned with anything Jess or the city has to say.

“He’d like to offer you a job.”

A group of firemen have gathered at the opposite end of the bar from Dean. Sam hears cheers and back slaps as Benny pats Chuck Shurley on the back. “Captains list, Brother!” He drawls out and Chuck’s blush and smile can’t be hidden.

Sam’s eyes meet Dean’s and he looks away. Dean’s been in the department longer than Chuck. Of course Dean is younger, but not in fireman’s years.

“Have you seen this bullshit,” Sam hears Brady’s voice sing out over the light music that the DJ is playing. “Hey Dean!”

Sam lets go of Jessica and makes his way to the throng of the other fireman gathered against the wall.

“...Probationary Fireman Samuel Winchester pulled Elena Rodriguez, a Kansas City Seamstress, from the burning building on Monday, authorities at the scene say. She had nearly succumbed to smoke inhalation and the young hero broke off from the main group to rescue her. Winchester, pictured left, was the subject of another fatal fire in 1991. His father died...” Sam grabs the magazine and sees himself pictured with the mannequin from earlier in the week. He groans.

“Well, I think that if anyone in the department gets in the papers, union bylaws state that they owe their colleagues drinks. Especially if it’s bullshit. I’ll have a double! On the hero!!” Dean gestures towards the waiter passing him and places his order.

“That was very heroic of you, Sam.” Zachariah Adler says as he sidles up to Sam. “You and your family are very heroic indeed.”

“I think there’s been some kind of mistake, Alderman...” Sam starts to say.

“No need to be humble, Sam. It was a great deed. One that seems to run in your family. The Fighting 17th and the Winchesters are synonymous.” The older politician wraps an arm around Sam’s shoulders. “I have a proposition for you, actually.”

“With all due respect, Sir. I have a job.” Sam shrugs out of the man’s grasp.

“Inspector Singer is investigating a high profile arson case and he could use a younger pair of eyes on. This is exactly the type of thing the citizens of KC would want a man of your caliber helping with.” Adler’s smile is too fake for Sam.

“My caliber?” Sam smiles into his drink.

“You come from a long line of heroes. The Winchesters. Brave, heroic, selfless...”

“We have a habit of dying young...” Sam glances at his brother. Barely into his 30s, he has haunted eyes and a knee that swells during the rain; a man that gets winded while racing towards exits and coughs more productively than Doc Holiday at the OK Coral.

“Not every job with the department comes with a tombstone, Samuel.”
Adler smiles.

Sam downs his drink and looks at Jessica and her boss. “It’s Sam and I have a job. Besides, The Engine runs in my family”.

 

*******

 

Dean doesn’t want to acknowledge that Jessica and the Alderman are both pawing at Sam. They are in public and he’s not supposed to care. He settles onto his barstool as someone else takes the one to his left.

“Your brother’s a dumbass,” he hears a chuckle then glances over to see Jackson sitting next to him. “I mean, how fucking stupid do you have to be to rescue a mannequin...” he’s got the magazine in his hands and is cackling, loudly.

“What did you say?” Dean turns to give him a murderous glare.

“I just... no offense... he pulled a dummy out of a fire. I mean, what kind of idiot does it...”

Dean lashes out with a right hook and knocks the man off the stool. “Shut the fuck up,” he swings again and splits the lip of other fireman.

“You’re crazy, both of you...” Jackson lands a fist against Dean’s jaw as Lafitte and Shurley rush towards the melee.

Sam hears the commotion and leaves his two would-be employers’ sides and grabs his nearly drunk brother by the waist. “That’s enough.” He whispers into Dean’s ear as he carries a thrashing 180 lb Lieutenant towards the exit.

“What is wrong with you?” Sam sets Dean down on the curb outside the exit while 17 continues to duke it out with 15. Jessica is shaking her head as she and the Alderman watch Benny and Rufus gain control of the younger, drunker firemen.

Dean tries to shoulder his way back into the building.

“Dean!” Sam grabs him again and forces his brother to take a hard seat on the sidewalk. “Why are you trying to pummel Lisa’s date? You left her!”

Dean forces the palms of his hands into his eyes and fights back tears. “Had nothing to do with her. He called you a dumbass. Said only an idiot would save a mannequin...”

Sam starts laughing. It’s barely a chuckle at first, then a full on belly laugh. Dean blinks at his brother. “He’s right. I rescued a God damned dummy.” Sam folds over on his side and begins to laugh in earnest. “I’m the defender of dressing and sex dolls everywhere.”

Dean joins in when it finally hits him and before long, they both are in tears. Sam wraps his arms around Dean and says, “Shit. That cut needs to be looked at,” nodding at the split lip his sibling is sporting.

“Okay.” Dean tries to get up and giggles again. Finally, the combined effort gets both Winchesters to their feet and Sam hails a cab. He gives the driver his address and helps his wobbly brother inside.

***

Chapter 4: Sibling Rivalry

After the cab pulls up outside Sam’s apartment and the fare is handled, the younger Winchester brother sets about helping a disheveled and slightly drunk Dean up the stairs. It’s an exercise in sheer strength and patience, as Dean is decidedly handsy and easily distracted when inebriated.

“Dean, come on. Just a couple of more steps.“ Sam says with more affection than is strictly necessary.

“Good, ‘cuz I need a drink,” Dean hiccups out.

“Um, no. The last thing you need is more alcohol. What the hell were you doing? Trying to die of alcohol poisoning.” Sam eyes his brother. Glassy eyes and a pink flush, combined with an impossibly adorable smile, give Dean the appearance of a carefree toddler.

“Wasn’t tryin’ to do anything. I was thirsty,” the lazy lilt of his words and dropping of letters, lends credence to the decreased sobriety of his sibling.

“Well, if you’re thirsty, I’ve got water. Or better yet, coffee.” Sam is finally able to steer Dean to the entrance of his apartment. Pulling out keys, he takes his hands off his charge.

Dean crowds in on Sam from behind while he fights with the deadbolt. “Gonna return the favor?”

“What?” Sam’s mind is a million miles away when he finally remembers that his brother is talking about the blow job that happened up against this very door just hours before. “How about you let me open the door, drink some water and sober up a little and I’ll do whatever you want.”

Dean seems to consider this as he backs away from the younger man. The tumblers in the lock finally line up and Sam pushes the door open. Dean is still standing on the stoop when Sam grabs his wrist and yanks him inside.

Sam runs a tumbler full of water and retrieves two aspirin from the kitchen cabinet before guiding Dean towards the bedroom.

“Ya know...Rufus and Benny... they don’t get it,” Dean slurs out between sips of the water. “It’s not the promotion...or dad. I’m not my goddamned old man. Fire’s not gonna get me. “

Sam takes the glass and sets it on the nightstand, “I don’t give a fuck about being Captain, it’s just...” Dean turns his head toward Sam. He looks young and broken in the faint light coming from the small bedside lamp. “Those guys, they just don’t trust me, anymore.”

“You trust me, right Sammy?” Dean pulls his brother down nearly on top of him. Crashes their lips together in a sloppy, uncoordinated kiss. Sam lets him for a moment before pushing his brother down on the bedside.

“With my life,” Sam answers as he removes Dean’s suit jacket with no help from Dean’s flailing limbs. The knot on his neck tie is loosened enough to slip the offending article over his brother’s head and Sam kneels to untie Dean’s dress shoes.

“I like where this is going,” Dean says. It’s three parts silly and one part lewd and Sam laughs in spite of himself. “‘So funny, Probie?”

“Okay, Casanova. Lie down,” Dean goes without argument and settles on Sam’s pillow. The room is silent and Sam removes his clothing. When he’s left in just a t-shirt and boxers, he looks over at his older brother. He scoots him over enough to crawl on to the mattress.

“You’re such a pain in my ass,” Dean says with his eyes still closed. “You’ve always been a pain in my ass.”

“Yeah, well that goes both ways.” Sam pulls the blankets up over himself and his brother and settles back against the pillows.

“They don’t know what I hear. They don’t know what it tells me,” Dean curls around his brother and his breathing deepens.

Sam stares into the darkness. It’s a long time before sleep comes.

 

*******

 

Two days later, the alarm comes across the boards for an accident on the highway. A large truck has jackknifed and sent its cargo, 5,000 baby chicks, spilling out over the blacktop. There aren’t any injuries, but it’s just a matter of time before the swerving motorists or the distraction of the Yellow Sea of poultry, causes one.

Kids from the neighborhood are grabbing at the chicks and crawling all over Engine 17 as the company tries, unsuccessfully, to round up the birds.

“Knock it off, “ Dean yells at a group currently sliding off the back of the truck. He’s hiding his smile behind a grumpy facade. It’s hard for the kids to take him seriously when he has baby chickens stuffed in the pockets of his turn out coat and at least half a dozen inside his upside-down helmet.

“It’s nice to see somethings never change,” Rufus breaks Sam out his reverie.

Sam raises his eyebrows at the man who has become a surrogate father to both of the Winchester boys. “Like what?”

“Your brother being a chick magnet and you unable to look away,” Rufus turns his gaze away from Dean and his eyes bore into the younger man. “Don’t you think he has enough on his plate, Sam?”

“What do mean?” Sam keeps his voice even. There’s no way Rufus knows. He’s just fishing.

“Whatever is happening between you two, rivalry or something different, it’s a distraction. Distracted firemen die, Sam. I’d rather not bury anymore Winchesters.” He slaps Sam’s shoulder, hands him the baby chick in his hands and crosses the median to take the bags that Brady hands him.

“I got everything you wanted,” Brady says as he surrenders plastic carry out bags from a local supermarket chain.

 

*******

 

The afternoon finds the company crammed into a nearby house just off the highway from the site of the accident. Sam stands alone outside watching a boy about Ben’s age playing with a fire truck. He’s able to ascertain that this is a deceased fireman’s family.

Sam comes into the kitchen to help Brady load fresh produce into the refrigerator of the small outdated room. Dean is fixing the hinges on the back storm door as Rufus fits rubber gaskets on a leaky faucet.

“Can I do anything to help?” A petite blonde of around thirty asks Dean as he tests the door by opening and shutting it.

“Nah,” he responds with sadness in his voice, “think we are about done.”

The woman, Mary Beth, takes in Dean’s white uniform shirt. “Found someone to iron these for you, again?”

Dean rubs a hand over the creases in his shirt. “Um, yeah. Goodman’s Dry Cleaning.” Mary Beth bursts into tears when her eyes land on the KCFD patch that is sewn onto the sleeve.

“I’m sorry,” she sniffles as Dean pulls her into a hug. “I just miss him. I miss him so much.”

“It’s ok. Shhhh...” Dean lets her cry on his shoulder. Rufus’ eyes meet Sam’s from across the room.

 

*******

 

The sun is setting outside while Benny and several of the other fireman play touch football with the boy from the sidewalk and the little girl who is barely four. Dean sits on the steps, winded and with his knee aching.

“You okay?” Rufus offers him a cigarette. Dean declines.

“I’m fine. It’s just... you know,” Dean looks at Rufus and a silent understanding passes between them.

“It’s this fucking job,” Rufus takes a drag from his cigarette and blows the smoke out his nose. “I mean, it’s one thing to bite it by going the extra yard, but to die because there wasn’t any back up? That’s bullshit!”

“Yeah, it’s bullshit.” Dean answers quietly. “So what? Fuck Adler. Fuck them all. We don’t go into fires for them. You know that. Christ, you taught me that.”

Rufus regards the lieutenant for a few beats and nods in agreement.

“Did you know Walker pretty well?” Dean asks. He nods at the house.

“Yeah,” Rufus confirms.

“He was kind of an asshole, wasn’t he?” Dean catches Rufus’ eye and the older man smiles.

“Biggest in two battalions.”

Dean returns the smile, “We’re gonna be ok.”

 

*******

 

The brothers settle into the day to day of the station. Sam is tasked with washing the trucks and rolling up hoses while the veteran firemen watch soap operas and critique his and Brady’s cooking skills.

Dean wakes the pair up at daylight to clean the bathrooms or to go on runs across town. Even without fires to fight, Sam often turns in with sore, achy muscles and a tired body.

Off days are spent helping Dean work on the cabin. There’s an ease to them that never seems present inside the station. Banter accompanies blinding smiles and soft touches that more often than not end in a sweat covered, tangling of limbs.

One such morning begins as normally as any other. Dean drives them after their shift ends, windows of the Impala down and classic rock blaring from the speakers.

They stop at a nearby diner for a breakfast of pancakes and bacon before picking up supplies for whatever DIY project Dean has planned.

 

*******

 

Dean’s faded paint covered blue jeans have holes all over from years of washings, wear and tear. The t-shirt is at least a size too small and stretches across the muscles of his upper body. Sam can’t look away. Whatever Dean is talking about is lost as heat and desire course through his brother’s veins.

“Hey, Sasquatch, I’m talking to you.” Dean waves a hand in front of his face. “You’ve put 5 coats of paint over that same section of wall.” Sam drops his roller and picks his brother up in a fireman carry.

Dean protests and laughs all the way to the bedroom. Sam throws him on the mattress and climbs on top.

“Sam, we aren’t even halfway done. What are you doing?” Dean raises his eyebrows as his shirt is pulled over his head and he’s forced back down on the bed.

“What does it feel like?” Sam doesn’t even wait for a response before he’s kissing the older man. His tongue delving deep to brush across molars and the soft palate of Dean’s mouth. His moans swallowed up with Sam only breaking the contact to remove his own shirt.

Sam leaves a trail of kisses down his brother’s muscled chest, stopping only to suck and bite at the dusky colored nipples that pebble under his touch. Dean is groaning and grabbing at the sheet underneath his hands, trying to force his body to relax.

Hot, open mouthed licks descend lower and lower until Sam sucks a mark right below his navel, only to then stick his tongue into the indented scar. “Jesus Christ,” Dean growls as his body involuntarily bucks up.

Sam finally removes his mouth long enough to strip Dean the rest of the way before licking his way up and down Dean’s engorged dick. He’s hard and leaking and it’s the most beautiful thing Sam’s ever seen.

Dean releases his grip on the sheet to grab at Sam’s head. One hand tangled in brown hair and the other caressing Sam’s cheek while he takes him into his mouth. Dean gasps and tries thrust up, but strong forearms hold him down and Sam laughs.

“Who is the impatient one, now?” Sam asks as he looks up from under dark eyelashes. His lust blown eyes a stormy blue green in the mid morning sun. He opens his throat and takes his brother all the way back.

“Shit,” is all the older Winchester can get out before his eyes nearly roll back in his head. Sam rolls his balls between fingers before releasing Dean’s cock to suck one in his mouth, then the other. Moving further back still, until his tongue presses into Dean’s hole. He pumps his tongue in and out until his brother is a whining, writhing mess above him.

Sam grabs the lube from the nightstand and pops the cap. “Dean?” Green eyes open and all Sam sees is want and love. “Can I?”

His answer is a shy smile and an almost imperceptible nod from his brother. Sam doesn’t waste anytime lubing his fingers up and breaching the ring of muscles. Dean clinches tightly and hisses at the burn.

“Relax,” Sam says against his thigh before taking Dean’s softening erection back into his mouth. He sucks on the head, while adding another finger along with the first and Dean doesn’t know which way he wants to thrust. When Sam rubs against that small bundle of nerves inside, Dean clinches again. Soon, he’s rocking back onto Sam’s fingers to white hot pleasure, only to move up into a delicious wet heat.

Sam has the third finger in and is scissoring them slowly when his brother yanks on his hair. “Stop, I don’t want to come like this,” Dean pants out. Sam withdraws his fingers and moves to grab a condom and ridding himself of his pants and boxers.

“How do you want me?” Dean asks as Sam rolls the latex down. He lubes himself up and look his brother up and down.

“Anyway I can have you,” comes out before Sam can stop it and his brother is chuckling. It’s the truth, no matter how cheesy of a line.

Sam rolls Dean over on his side and moves behind him. One leg bent up and positioned over Sam’s leg. Sam can kiss his brother like this, but it’s easier for him to take Sam’s substantial size.

Sam kisses the skin right under Dean’s ear and pushes in. He knows from the noises his brother is making that it’s been way too long and it hurts. Sam stills and takes Dean’s now soft cock in his hand and begins stroking. He can feel the muscles around him relaxing as his brother hardens again. This position also allows Dean to control the pace.

By the time Dean is backing up to Sam, he’s rock hard again. Sam pulls out and shoves back in with short, well aimed thrusts. His hand stroking back, just as he drives his hips forward. It overloads Dean with pleasure as sensitive nerves are massaged in both directions.

There’s a litany of nonsensical words and obscenities falling from the oldest sibling’s lips in between off angle kisses. The closer he gets to the brink, the more it’s just a sharing of breaths. One of Dean’s hands is grasping at Sam’s ass, pulling him in harder on every thrust. Short, blunt fingernails leaves half moon divots on Sam’s hip, as skin slaps together again and again.

They both are close and Sam corkscrews his hand on the upstroke, right where the shaft of Dean’s cock meets the head. That sensitive pressure point causes Dean’s abdominal muscles to turn nearly inside out as his orgasm hits him like a freight train, whiting out his vision, while painting the sheets and Sam’s hand with it.

Sam pulls him up on shaky hands and knees so he can drive into him the half dozen times it takes for him reach the finish line. Colors explode behind Sam’s eyes and pleasure uncoils from his spine when he finally comes.

Sam pulls out slowly and lets go. Dean falls face first onto the bed, his labored breathing slowing.

By the time Sam gets rid of the condom and returns with a wet wash cloth, Dean is curled up on the opposite side of the wet spot, snoring softly. All Sam can do is cover the puddle with the flat sheet and pull his brother into his arms. He covers them both with the blanket and is soon asleep himself.

Sam wakes up with the mid afternoon sun streaming through the dirty, outdated windows. He slips on his boxers and finds his brother in the next room, cleaning up the paint cans and rollers from the finished room.

“How long was I asleep?” Sam scratches his head and takes in the walls that are now finished.

“A couple of hours. I woke up a victim of a very large octopus and barely escaped.” Dean looks slightly rumpled, but otherwise content.

They shower separately, this bathroom is smaller than his apartment, then take beers and fishing poles down to the shore. It’s quiet, but comfortably so. Sam can’t help but feel uneasy. Like the other shoe is waiting to drop.

 

*******

 

The company has gathered just a block over from the station, where the whole block has been turned into a training facility for 17. In one corner stands a 5 story concrete building, just wide enough for a stairwell and a room on each level.

Twenty yards away, Rufus, Brady and Sam stand next to a pile of rolled hoses.

Dean holds a stop watch in his hand. “Go!” He shouts and Brady picks up a 50 pound hose, throws it over his shoulder and runs with Rufus to the entrance of the building. There’s a fixed standpipe that Rufus ties into as Brady takes the other end and runs it inside and up a flight of stairs.

“Go!” Dean says again and Sam picks up another hose and starts up the stairs. It slips off of his shoulder and he tucks it under his arm without breaking stride.

“That isn't a football, probie. Get it on your shoulder!” Dean yells over the cheers and shouts of the rest of the company.

Sam runs up the two flights to meet Brady and connects his end. Brady runs down for another roll as Sam takes his connected hose up two more flights. He connects the end and runs back down, passing Brady on the stairs.

“Having fun, fireman?” Sam teases. Brady just laughs and flips Sam the bird.

Sweat is pouring off of Sam as he sprints down two more flights and across the twenty yards to grab another roll. “You’re not breaking any records, Sam!” Dean admonishes him from the sidelines.

Sam picks up another roll under his arm. Dean has had enough and grabs his own roll of hose. “Get it up! Like this!” Dean throws it over his shoulder and runs after Sam.

They come to the doorway and in stead of stopping, Dean follows Sam in and runs along side him up the stairs. Without a word spoken it's become a race between them.

Sam’s face explodes in sweat. His heart pounds as they go up flight after flight. The hose rolls weigh 100 pounds, but feel like a thousand.

They are neck and neck all the way; grunting, their throats burning, only one flight from the roof and Dean stumbles. His knee gives out causing him to scrape the entire length of his shin against the sharp metal of the stairs. Sam pauses, but Dean’s already back on his feet.

“Run, God damn you!” Dean shouts out as he lunges at his suddenly stationary brother.

Sam does, with Dean already gaining on him and getting ready to pass him when they burst, gasping, out onto the roof. Sam is the "winner" by a nose.

Dean drops his hose roll, grabs a hold of Sam’s collar in both hands and shoved him into the brick wall. Sam is bracing himself for the fist that he thinks is coming when Dean smashes his lips against the younger man’s. It’s fast and hard and has no finesse to it.

Dean stops his assault with his mouth and steps back, “Roll the hose!” He turns back toward the door to the roof.

“By myself? Are you kidding me?” Sam looks over the edge of the roof to see that Rufus, Brady and the other fireman retreating into the station.

“You heard me,” Dean takes another step towards the door. His pant leg is torn and soaked through with blood and is throbbing. The fading adrenaline causing his arthritic knee to seize up.

“What the hell? Was it the stairs? I’ll let you win next time.” Sam shakes his head.

“You got a problem with drilling, Probie?” Dean is back in Sam’s face.

“No, Lieutenant. I don’t have a problem with drilling. But let’s just have one drill. Not a drill for me and a different drill for the company.”

“I’m not going to let you out of doing your fucking job just because of this, “ Dean levels his brother with a stare. “It doesn’t give you a free pass to fuck this up just because we are sleeping together. Now roll the fucking hose!”

“I’m not going to give up, Dean. No matter how hard you push me, I’m doing this!” Sam shouts back.

It’s a tense stare down that’s suddenly interrupted by the stations klaxons. “Well, thank God for fires.”

 

*******

 

There’s a woman screaming at the firemen already at the scene when Dean jumps down from the engine. It’s a dilapidated apartment complex in the rough part of the city.

Sam is right behind his brother as a woman turns and grabs Dean’s arm. “My baby is still up there,” she screams hysterically as one of the EMT’s tries to give her an oxygen mask.

One of the Ladder Captains named Henriksen says, “Hang on, Winchester. There’s a hose line coming.”

Dean doesn’t even pause as he enters the building. Smoke and flames are pouring out of the windows and Sam stops. The fire is dancing up the side of the building in an almost graceful rhythm as Sam tightens his hold on the axe he’s carrying and follows his brother inside.

Hot on Dean’s heals, the pair just clear the flight of steps as fire rolls over them; the heat knocking them on their asses.

Sam stumbles to stand as his brother bounds up with strength and agility that he shouldn’t possess. Axe in his hands, he hoists the probationary fireman the rest of the way to his feet, his earlier injury invisible.

“Don't take that kind of shit from it! Don't let it know you're scared! Come on!” Dean shouts over his shoulder as he sprints up the next flight of steps and starts hammering at the boards next to the front door of a unit.

The fire suddenly swells out towards the battering axe just to retreat further into the room and then slam a door shut behind. Sam scrambled up the steps and watches in rapt fascination as the door seems to breathe in and out. The smoke that is slithering under the door looks alive and menacing and Sam audibly gasps.

There’s a deep dark pit growing in his stomach and Sam can feel the panic rising in his chest.

“Ready?” Dean has sweat pouring down into his face as he moves into position to take down the door.

From inside the room, there’s a snarling growl and scratches that are more akin to a wild animal than fire. “Christ. Let’s wait for hose team.” Sam places a hand to Dean’s wrist, momentarily stilling the hammering of his axe.

“Listen to it, Sam. Jump when I say and it won’t get us.” His words are punctuated by the iron against metal of the door lock being pummeled and then Dean is kicking the door all the way in.

A wall of fire rolls out past them and then back washes in.

“Now!” Dean shouts out, picks up the door, and using it as a shield charges the fire. Sam tries to follow but the fire is swelling up and cutting him off. He hesitates. It's that goddamn flame

It bucks, suddenly and Sam drops to his knees, groaning in pain. Rufus and Benny are ascending the stairs, they wash everything in the room down. The smokes billows angrily across the ceiling and hot steam is poured out in retaliation.

The crackling of flames and smell of singed materials is syphoned out of the room and the smoldering heat is enough to cause the paint to curl up and drip off the walls. Nothing could live through that.

As Sam watches on, the angry smoke cloud dissolved into a shape. Dean’s protective clothing is steaming as he steps out of the raging inferno like a fucking gladiator, clutching a screaming infant in one arm.

 

*******

 

The fire has been beaten back and the company has gathered along the row of trucks, signing reports and waiting to be given the go ahead to leave. Coffee and stories pour out freely and Sam segregates himself on the back bumper of an empty truck.

Benny walks past on his way to the rest of the firemen and says, “They think she’s going to be okay.”

Sam’s lost inside his head when Dean sits down next to him. “You okay?” His brother tugs him close in a gesture that’s familia.

“I waited, I would have fucking waited,” Sam is staring at his boots, looking younger than a grown man has a right to.

“That's not what it's about, Sam. The point is there was a kid in there. And what if there'd been two? I went in because that's what I do. It's my way.” Dean looks over at his brother. “It's dad's way. It isn't everybody's way.”

Sam shakes his brother’s arm off, “Dad's way? Where did he tell you that? In a fucking seance?”

“You said you wanted to know something, Sam. What did you learn today?” Dean looks disappointed. His insides are battling between keeping his brother safe and keeping him close.

Sam stands and picks up his helmet, “You know, I guess you were right. You’re the best. You win. “ He hands his brother the helmet.

“Typical. I was dumb enough to believe that this time was different. That maybe you’d grown up and stopped running.” Dean is fighting back the tears that are threatened to fall.

“Why is it always either or with us? I’m just one fucking disappointment after another to you. Why aren’t you ever on my side?” Sam is close to tears himself.

Dean closes his eyes against his brother’s fading footsteps.

 

*******

 

Sam tosses and turns in his bed the whole night and watches the sun come up to turn the inky blackness of his bedroom to yellow with the dawn. He showers, shaves and then sits down at the small kitchen table to take his phone out. The thick card stock of the paper is rough against his finger tips as he dials the number.

Jessica picks up on the third ring, “Jessica Moore,” voice pleasant, but professional.

“Jess,” Sam says quickly, before he loses his nerve. “I've been thinking about what you said the other night... If the offer's still on the table, I'd like to talk about it.”

“Okay. I'll arrange things with your assignment captain,” Jessica says from the other end of the line. “Zack is a good man, Sam.”

Sam hangs up the phone and stares at it. Then he throws it against the wall.

***

Chapter 5: Blown Out of Proportion

Dean drives past the townhouse that is still roped off as a crime scene. It’s the same one that’s backdraft exploded and sent Alan Seagrave through the windshield of his car and causing his death.

He parks in the alley behind, walks up to the building and rips loose a piece of plywood that is covering a blown out window; then he ducks inside the skeletal remains of a dead man‘s home.

It’s silent and dark inside. The walls have been ripped to shreds and every surface is blackened and scorched. He creeps back to where Investigator Singer was pulling the baseboards loose the night the fire happened. His flashlight searching the walls and floor.

 

*******

 

Across town, Sam walks up to one of oldest firehouses in the city. It’s one of the last ones standing that hasn’t been remodeled and the way it’s looking, it won’t be. Sam doublechecks the address in his hand and sees he’s in the right place.

Directed by the crew inside, he makes his way around to the back. This is where the Arson Squad has converted the back offices to their headquarters.

He finds Investigator Singer’s office and sees the man up close for the first time in twenty years, sitting behind his desk. His hair is a little thinner, a little grayer, but other than that he’s practically the same. There’s a young man standing in front of him wearing ill-fitting Class A’s of one of KC’s stations and practically shaking.

“So, stop me if I get this wrong,” Sam can hear Singer addressing the kid in front of him, “the fire is almost out, and you’re upstairs on the unburned floor, checking for heat. You’ve been told by your Battalion Chief, your Captain, by me, not to do anything up there until ordered.” The kid is red and Sam can see the sweat starting to break out across his neck. “Then that itch starts. That Glory Boy Flash. Hey, I’m a hero. And heroes don’t just 'stand around' ." The volume of Singer’s voice is increasing as he air-quotes the last sentence. “So, on your own, you decided to punch out a window?”

The Inspector rises to his feet and the volume of his voice makes Sam flinch as he belts out, “Was that before or after you noticed that you were standing in a lake of gasoline?”

Sam’s sure that the boy is near tears and the older man continues to berate him. “You could've crisped half your company with that little stunt, but more importantly you wrecked the physical evidence I use to prove it's arson. You've made my day longer, Probie. Go home and think about that!”

Once the probationary fireman escapes the office, at the fastest pace possible that isn’t a full-on run, Singer turns his angry gaze towards Sam. Who is now just outside the door.

“Um, I’m Sam. Sam Winchester, your new assistant?” He schools his face and keeps his voice even. He’s supposed to be here.

“You’re John’s Boy. I work alone.” The older man turns and leaves Sam standing in the doorway as he steps behind a partition and begins changing his shirt. There are burns on the man’s stomach and the one arm that Sam can see. He turns and sees Sam staring. “Are you still here?”

Sam takes a breath and steels himself, “Get used to me, Inspector, I’m not going anywhere.”

Singer gives him a once over and replies, “Then go find a corner. I don’t want or need you in my way.”

Sam bristles at the brush off, “Let’s get one thing straight, I was assigned to this office by the city.”

“Look, I knew your father. He was a hell of a fireman. I know your brother, he’s one of the bravest, albeit most impulsive, men to ever do this job. All I know of you, is you were a snot nosed kid who couldn’t hack it then; It appears you couldn’t hack it this time around, either.“ Singer starts putting on his coat, “You won’t get any slack around here. Adler sent you, so I have to accept that. But you’re on my turf now. Step out of line and I don’t care who knows you or who your daddy or brother is, I’ll swing the hammer. You think you’re the first one they’ve sent?”

Before Sam can answer, the senior fireman is glancing at his watch and grabbing a paper grocery bag out of a desk drawer. “Where are you going?” Sam nods at the bag.

“Pest Control,” is all he says.

 

*******

 

Sam tags along with Bobby as they drive outside the city to neighboring Fort Leavenworth. The prison looms from the highway against the overcast sky.

Once inside, security badges are clipped on both men after the Investigator produces IDs and signs forms. Sam is still in the dark as to why they are here.

A uniformed guard leads both men through a security check point and a locked room. The single occupant is a sandy haired, tall man that is handcuffed. Both hands are bandaged, and his intense eyes are staring off into space.

When the door closes, those eyes focus on the newcomers. The man’s smile is almost gleeful when he sees Bobby. “Singe,” he cheerily addresses the older man by his long-forgotten department nickname.

“How you doing, Nick? Staying comfortable?” The older man’s response is less enthusiastic.

“I didn’t think you’d make it,” only a fraction of his earlier glee is subdued.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, pal.”

Nick’s eyes land on Sam and looks him over before asking, “Who’s this?”

“He works for me,” Bobby admits.

“Ooh, is he a fireman? I like firemen!” An icy shiver runs up Sam’s spine from the creepy way this inmate is gazing at him.

“You like everybody, Nick.” Bobby answers.

Nick focuses on the ID badge that Sam is wearing. His eyes light up in a disturbing fashion as he exclaims, “Sam Winchester. Oh, this really is a treat, Singe. Little Sammy Winchester- lost a dad to the demon, right?”

Sam pales. “Do I know you?”

“You don’t know him,” Bobby assures.

“I know you,” Nick’s voice all but sings out.

Sam’s face turns dark, “What the hell are you talking about, my...”

“Knock it off! Now!” The Investigator silences the younger man with a threatening gesture of his hand.

“Why don’t you tell him about me?” The bound prisoner giddily offers.

Singer sighs, “Nick here likes telephones. Used to tape wooden matches to the bell striker and wrap it in cotton. Came up with a whole little thing there, didn't you Nick? When you got bored, what did you do? You just started making calls... mostly day care centers and retirement homes, wasn't it?”

“Did he tell you how we finally met?”

“No one cares, Nick...” Bobby starts.

“Oh, but it's a good story, Singe. You're depriving our famous young friend here...

Suddenly the guard opens the door and young man in a cheap suit calls out, “Nick Prince.”

The guard drags Nick to his feet and the five men start down the hallway. “It was on State Street, right? Just your basic warehouse torch for the owner. Cakewalk. But the demon turned on me.

“Ol' Singe here, he shows up and the whole place is going like hell. My hair, my hands?” Nick touches bandaged hands to his hair to revel burn scars that his bangs cover. “He could've just let the demon take me; But Singe? He's a good egg, so he tries to pull me out. Guess he didn't notice the tub of phosphorous next to me...“ The smile that’s delivered is sinister. “Notice you're still a little shy about rolling your sleeves up, Singe. Show him your stomach yet?”

 

*******

 

The room at the end of the hallway is a large interview room. Sam and Bobby take seats on the sidelines as Nick is seated in front of the parole board.

A distinguished looking man at the head of the table addresses the others, “All right, the parole board has received Mr. Prince’s fitness report, his ID-44, endorsement from his section warden... Dr. Norris?”

A middle aged, red haired lady shuffles her papers and speaks into the microphone in front of her. “As supervising psychiatrist, I would describe Mr. Prince's progress as remarkable. Taking into account his disability and the twelve years already served, I recommend parole.”

“Mr. Prince, do you regret your crimes?” The same gentlemen asks.

Nick appears sad and thoughtful, “Yes. I understand now the pain I caused.”

“If released, will you commit these crimes again?”

“I won’t,” his answer seems genuine.

“Do you consider yourself ready for society?” The board’s head asks.

“Yes,” The arsonist’s single word answer is confident and concise.

Singer slowly approaches the seat where prisoner is seated. “Sure Nick? You're ready alright.”

“Yes,” it’s said with less control this time.

“Excuse me, Mr. Singer.” The head of the parole board says. His tone full of exasperated surprise.

“Excuse me,” the aging Investigator nods once at the board then turns back to Nick. “What do you do with little girls?”

Nick’s face is tortured, and he tries to hold his features in check as Bobby opens the paper bag and takes out the charred remains of a child’s doll. He tosses it onto the arsonist’s lap.

“What do you do with them, Nick? Huh?” He flicks open his Zippo lighter and passes the flame in front of the charge’s face.

Nick is suddenly mesmerized by the flickering fire that is inches from his face. A wicked smile slowly covers his face, “Burn them.”

“And old ladies?” Singe asks.

“Burn them,” Nick’s answer is louder.

“And the world? What do you want to do to the whole world?” The Investigator can’t keep disdain out of his voice.

Nick doesn’t seem to notice or at least doesn’t care. His eyes glitter as his smile widens. “Burn it all!”

There’s a throat cleared from among the board members. They all look back and forth from each other to the two men in the front, surprise mingling with horror.

“See you next year, Nick. Gotta go.” Bobby closes his lighter and strides out of the room. He leaves the doll with the prisoner and Sam is wearing a shocked look on his face as he scrambles out of his seat behind his boss.

 

*******

 

Back in Kansas City, a middle-aged man opens the door to a building that is clearly under construction. The “Danger” signs are paired with those that read “Construction” and “Theater Closed for Renovations”.

The man has a roll of blueprints under one arm as he digs in the pockets of his stylish, tweed jacket for keys. The keys are pulled out just as he stops in front of a door that proclaims “David Benton, Private.”

Just as he gets the key to the lock, they slip out of his hand and fall to the ground. He bends to retrieve them and misses the tendrils of smoke that quickly snake back under the door. He smells the smoke but shrugs it off and finds the appropriate key.

Seconds later, when he finally disengages the lock and pushes the door in, it explodes outward in a roaring fireball.

 

*******

 

It’s approaching sundown at the theatre and the KCFD’s available engine companies have finally gotten the blaze knocked down, when Sam and Singer arrive.

“Hey kid, c’mere,” Bobby waves the younger fireman over to the trunk of the car as he exits the vehicle. “At least make yourself useful,” he says as he hands him several cases of equipment.

With both hands loaded down, Sam follows the Investigator inside the theater.

From the other side of the huge auditorium, Sam can see the crews still at work. He isn’t surprised to see 17 among the first responders, but it still hits him like physical blow when he locks eyes with Dean.

Another company’s LT walks up to Bobby and begins filling him in on the details of their current alarm call.

“We were lucky with this one. Could've taken out the whole complex, but the explosion blew out most of the flame. Good for us. Not so good for him.” He gestures at a blackened, warped door with contorted legs sticking out from under.

“Turn this over,” the older man commands as he crouches down next to it.

Sam complies; the sight causes him to inhale sharply, cover his mouth and nose at the sight and smell. Benton’s keys still dangle from the keyhole, but that’s the only normal thing about the scene. The door was blown with such a force that it and Benton’s body appear fused together.

The Investigator is unaffected by the sight. He pulls a pocketknife out and scrapes a patch of sticky goo that is stuck to the door. He puts the sample in a glass vial that he seals and deposits in his shirt pocket.

Singer then stands and makes his way into the office space. Sam follows. “What do you want me to...” The older man holds out a hand to silence the younger one.

“Shhhh,” is the only response he gets.

After waiting an entire minute, Sam speaks again, “What are you listening to?” Bobby doesn’t answer.

The Investigator’s eyes are tracking along the scorched walls and he speaks softly into them, “You sneaky little son of a bitch. Playing hide and seek. Come on, tell me what I want to know.”

He scratches at some soot and then pulls out a hand-held voice recorder. The voice that comes is precise and clear, “Heavy smoke stains observed in entry room. Demarcation line high. Fire never got hot enough here to cook soot off. It started somewhere else.”

He walks further back into the office and glances around, “Less soot here. More heat.” They finally enter the back room and he says, “And very little soot here.” He turns to the younger man, “Get that couch out of the way.” Sam pulls it aside to show that the lower third of the wall is completely untouched by soot.

Bobby’s voice is a whisper as his thoughts fall from his lips. “So, you were happy here. Warm and cozy and in no hurry.” He clicks the recorder on and speaks again, “Soot high, clean unburned wall low, indicates slow burn in thermal balance.”

Clicking the off button, he once again turns to Sam, “Find me some glass.”

“Glass?” The confusion makes its way into his question.

“Do we have a language barrier here? Glass.”

Sam searches around and finds some on the sill of a blown-out window. He hands it over to Bobby and the older fireman turns it over in his hand before raising the recorder. “Glass found in ignition room is in small, thin pieces, indicating explosion. Lack of discoloration indicates a long, slow burn. Explosion must've come after a slow burn.”

He pauses the device yet again, thoughts becoming verbal as he considers the implications of the evidence. “You little tease. What were you up to you little bastard, huh? What made you that mad?” He scratches his graying temple, “Or scared?”

Sam is turning over what he knows of fire and its behavior when Singer comes to his conclusion and documents it on tape, “It started in this room. Took its time, hung out. But the air ran out. It couldn't breathe. So, it was snuffed. But it wasn't dead. It still had all that trapped heat, lying low, waiting for some sucker to open the door and give it that one gulp of air...”

“Another backdraft,” Sam finishes.

Singer is unbothered by the interruption and turns to a section of the wall where the plaster is severely damaged. He scrapes more with his knife, “Finish coat burned away. Severe sprawling of rough coat.” His eyes follow the wall down to a melted wall socket. “That’s the point of ignition. Dig that out,” he says over his shoulder in Sam’s direction.

Sam carefully takes a small axe out and chops around the wall outlet. Once the small rectangle is free, Bobby peels the melted face plate back and examines the wires. The copper tip is melted and he leans in and sniffs the plug.

To the recorder, “Temperature in this room was about 2000 degrees, but copper wire in outlet is melted, which requires 5000 degrees. An accidental short in the plug could have created a spark of 7000 degrees, hot enough to melt the wire and start a fire...”

“No, it couldn’t,” Sam shakes his head and Singer turns the device off. He turns and looks Sam in the eyes. His expression is clear that is unimpressed with the young Winchester.

Sam recovers quickly and adds, “I mean you'd be right -with normal wire. But that's gauge ten in that plug, the industrial stuff. Who knows why they put it in here, but it won't melt at less than 12,000 degrees. And no natural spark short of lightning gets that hot.”

Singer still doesn’t speak but his eyes beg further explanation, to which Sam blurts out, “In another life I was in high-end electronics.”

The Investigator places the plug in a plastic bag and speaks a final sentence into the recorder, “Have outlet analyzed for any traces of flammable accelerants.” Then he turns and walk out of the room.

“You’re welcome,” Sam says to the empty room.

 

*******

 

Sam follows behind his new boss back into the larger part of theater. The walls are still hissing and the low sizzling sounds of a too hot surface encountering cool damp air, is nearly drowned out in the crunching and tromping of boots.

Flashlight beams dance off walls and broken glass tinkles, as Sam is able to make out a few of the shapes of his former engine company, making their way through the ruins of drywall.

Brady passes within arm's length of Sam and he addresses the man, “Hey, Brady.”

All heads turn towards the voice and goosebumps break out of Sam as the stares are less than friendly. “Sam,” Brady says in a cool monotone.

Bobby stops and says, “Check the walls for burn patterns,” before he walks off into another room.

Sam looks at the walls and the endless burn patterns in the vast theater. “So, you surviving without me?” His question is directed casually at Brady.

Brady all but sneers at Sam, “Well, there’s no replacement because of your boss’ cuts, if that’s what you mean. If someone else goes out on injury, we’re screwed.“

Sam takes in one wall and the huge puddle that separates it from him, just as Benny comes up and takes in his appearance. “I like the tie. Nah, I love it.”

Sam is undeterred and says, “Hey, Lafitte, scrape down that wall for me, huh? I would myself, but the tie and all. You know.”

Benny stares at him for a beat before stepping into the muck and pulling a section of the wall free. He drops it on the ground right in front of Sam.

Benny catches Ed’s eye and the latter man clears his throat. “Um, Sam? If you are looking for some smoke patterns, there’s some good ones over here.”

“Where?” The younger man inquires and walks towards Ed.

Benny answers, “Little to the right... further... further... Right behind there. Hey, could you hand me that pike pole?” Gesturing towards a pike pole leaning against the wall.

Sam pulls it aside. The pole had been supporting a small, sagging piece of ceiling that instantly collapses, dumping twenty gallons of murky, putrid black water all over Sam’s civvys. Nobody laughs. “Sorry,” Benny says, “maybe that wasn’t it after all.”

Dean comes around the corner and takes in the state of his brother and the pole in his hand. What has happened is pretty clear to the older Winchester.

“That’s about enough, fellas. Alright?” Dean says to the men.

“See you around, Sam.” Garth says as the men leave the room the brothers and Rufus are occupying.

“What the hell's the matter with you, huh? You're stepping in the shit again. You could've done it. You don't want this.” Rufus gestures at the suit and tie that Sam has on. “Wake up, Kid.”

Sam’s face heats up as Rufus’ frustration leaks out in his words. He turns in a huff and the brothers are alone.

Dean hands Sam a towel, “Here, dry yourself off.” Sam snatches it away and continues to glare at his sibling. “Look, you’re kind of making yourself fair game.”

“Thanks for the insight,” Sam turns away from his brother.

“Sammy, look...” Dean’s voice softens.

“Leave me alone,” anger and shame are burning through the younger brother and he takes another step away.

“Sammy, wait,” Sam doesn’t stop, so Dean calls out behind him. “Bobby’s okay. I don't get half the shit he's talking about, but then everybody says the same thing about me. Who the hell knows?”

 

*******

 

Lisa is sitting at the kitchen table when she hears a strange sound. It’s coming from the roof. She ascends the stairs and looks out one of the windows to see Dean hammering a shingle back in place.

“Dean! What are you doing?” She yells out over the pounding.

“Fixing my roof,” Dean replies without even looking up.

“It’s not your roof anymore.” Lisa crosses her arms.

“That’s not what the monthly checks say,” Dean tosses the hammer down and finally looks up. “Where’s Ben?”

“He has guitar lessons.”

“Yeah? How’s he doing?” Dean asks. He’s genuinely curious about his son.

Lisa sighs, sadly. “He’s going to be a fireman...”

“Give it up, you can’t fight it. Believe me, my mom tried,” Dean offers.

“You have to stop showing up like this,” Lisa gently says.

Dean studies his ex-wife’s face, “I just wanted to, I don't know, not exactly apologize for the other night, especially since I don't remember much of it...”

“You remember,” she says matter-of-factly.

“Yeah. I just thought I should say, I don't know, something...” Dean searches for the words. “Sorry I hit Jackson.”

“No, you aren’t.” Lisa smiles.

“No, I’m really not. Does he treat you okay?” His own smile fading, leaving his face emotionless.

“Okay,” she nods. It’s honest.

“I treated you better,” It’s almost a question coming from normally confident older Winchester brother.

“You treated me like shit,” she answers, but her smile is back. “Want some coffee?”

“Nah,” Dean scratches the back of his neck. It’s a telltale sign that he anxious about something. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Dean, what’s the matter?” He only stares at her. “Come on, you only beat up the roof when something is on your mind.” Again, silence. “How’s Sam doing?”

“He’s out,” Dean finally speaks.

“I know he’s out, but how is he doing?” Lisa probes.

“I treated him better than any other probie I ever had. He probably hates my guts, but I did the best thing for him. I made him finally look in the mirror.” The words tumble out of Dean’s mouth before he can stop them.

“Oh Dean, that's what this is really about, isn't it? You always have to be right.” Brown eyes challenge green ones.

“Hey, I’m the first one to admit when I’m wrong,” his voice raising higher than necessary.

“And when was the last time?” Her voice rising to match his.

“In a fire? Never!” Dean closes his eyes for a moment then continues, “He’s my brother. I, I love him, you know?”

“I’m aware,” Lisa whispers softly.

“He was going to get himself killed. Maybe not today, maybe not in a year, but it would've happened. And I couldn't, I just couldn't...” tears are filling his eyes and looks towards the sky to stave them off.

“You know, I don’t even remember what normal is anymore when it comes to that kid. I should have at least some idea, some memory. But I don’t.“ Before Lisa can respond, Dean is hopping off the low rooftop onto the driveway. “See you around, Lisa.”

All she can do is watch him walk up the deserted street.

 

*******

 

Sam and Singer arrive at the city morgue and are led by a lab technician to the autopsy area. Two charred remains from seemingly unrelated backdrafts are laid out on tables and covered loosely with plastic.

“So, David Benton and Alan Seagrave.” The technician pulls the plastic off to reveal two charred bodies. Sam looks away to the containers on the wall of the sterile room. His stomach violently churning and his throat trying to keep the rising bile at bay.

“... Both deaths due to close encounters with stationary objects; office door for Mr. Benton, and an ‘09 BMW for Mr. Seagrave. No non-relevant traumas. No significant blood toxicology. Attitude of both trajectories consistent with explosions. They ran the residue you scraped from both crispers' front doors. It's a combination of plumber's putty and rayophene gum. Burns almost completely away when you light it,” the coroner’s employee’s technical voice is interrupted.

“Putty?” Singer says, yanking Sam’s eyes back to the bodies in front of them. “On both doors?”

“There's something else kinda interesting," the tech lifts Benton's charred shoulder. Underneath, some of his clothes that have melted and co-mingled with his flesh.

“See this?” A credit card has been fried right into Benton's skin about where his back pocket should have been. “Guess he didn't leave home without it.” the corner’s employee erupts in a honking laugh, then switches instantly back to a business tone.

“Anyway, down here, take a look,” he reaches down further.

“Winchester, hold this.” Bobby says to Sam.

“I don’t think that is in my contract,” the younger fireman says, shying away from contact.

“I just rewrote your contract. Come here!” Singer states. His tone brooking no argument.

Sam reluctantly pulls the body up off the table with as little contact as possible.

“Jesus Christ, he isn't gonna try to sell you insurance, lift him.” The technician says to Sam with a roll of his eyes. Sam gathers the body up and lifts higher. He’s fighting to not toss his cookies.
“See that patch of shirt? We wondered about the discoloration so he ran a spectro. On a lucky shot we picked up some traces of Trychticholorate. Nobody around here had ever heard of it.”

“Trychticholorate? Alright, it's an absorption catalyst in toxic waste accidents. It's pretty rare, they stopped making it a couple'a years ago.” The aging Investigator says.

“Probably got in Benton's clothes in a gas state from the fire.” The tech shrugs.

“What the hell was it doing in the fire?” Singer says to no one in particular.

All of a sudden, the corpse opens its eyes and lets out a sigh. Sam drops the body back on the slab.

“I asked you to hold him, not feel him up,” Bobby says with more irritation than is necessary.

 

*******

 

Back in the Arson Expert’s KCFD sedan, Singer drops an open Chemical Fire textbook in Sam’s lap. “Read,” Sam shakes off the chills he still has from the corpse and looks at it.

“Trychtichlorate is a binary structured,” he begins at the top of the page.

“Go down to the bottom, under heat properties,” Bobby tells him.

“During heat episodes of 2000 Kelvin or higher, Trych breaks down and dissipates. Will consume magnesium".

“Ever burn magnesium? It gets so hot that it takes water molecules and BAMM!” He punctuates the sentence with a clapping of his hands. It startles the already jumpy man. “Son of a bitch tears 'em apart just to eat the oxygen. Wouldn't take much at all to melt ten gauge wire. Problem's burnt magnesium leaves a powder trace, unless you could find something that would eat its residue.”

A light bulb goes off in Sam’s head, “Trychtichlorate. Then Alder can announce Seagrave was a murder.”

Singer looks Sam in the eyes. “Look, it isn't proof, okay? Someone may have put the chemical in the outlet, but we found it as a vapor in Benton's clothes.”

“And the putty around the door?” Sam asks.

“Even if it was used to seal the air off, that doesn't explain why someone would go to the trouble of a backdraft. A gun's a helluva lot easier,” the older fireman reasons.

“But the right guess on this is arson,” Sam states.

“I don’t guess,” Bobby is matter of fact.

“Some people say you don't do much of anything when it comes to this case.” Sam counters.

“I don't work for them, either.”

 

*******

 

Sam is sitting at his newly appointed desk in the Arson Headquarters. He’s using paperclips to build a sculpture of... of what, he isn’t sure, when his phone rings.

“Arson,” he answers.

Jessica replies, “Straightest answer your department's given me all week.” She’s calling from her office, where’s she’s signing documents brought to her by other employees of Adler’s office and approving campaign posters. “How’s it going?”

“Boss and I are up to about three words an hour.” Sam jokes.

“Green committed to a thousand,” Sam hears Jessica say to someone else on her end. Then to Sam, “There's another fund-raising party tonight. Zach would really like you to come.”

“I don't know, I'm kinda swamped here,” He tosses a paper airplane.

“I could use a date,” She tries.

“Jess, I don’t know...” Sam doesn’t even want to entertain the idea of being with anyone other than his brother.

Jess sighs over the line, “I’m not asking you to marry me. Just show up with me. Save me from having to accept drinks and then dance with losers.”

“Why would you want to bring the biggest one ever as your date?” Sam laughs.

“Well, I AM a masochist. Besides, it’s the devil you know.” Jessica’s tone is light.

“Well maybe I can fit it in...” Sam says just before Singer yells from the other room.

“Winchester! Come here!”

“I’ll call you back,” Sam says as he hangs up the phone and quickly walks back into the lab.

Singer is crouched down by a trash can that’s lid has been sealed shut. He tamps a piece of putty on the rim and backs away.

“Take the lid off,” he instructs Sam. Sam eyes him warily. “Go ahead. Take it off.”

Sam walks up and rips the lid off. Instantly a tongue of flame shoots straight up past his head and blows out. “Christ!” He says. Singer is grinning like a kid.

“That's it! Oh, that son of a bitch, he's different, goddamn it! You see what this tells us, huh? Our killer doesn't love fire!” Bobby says.

“Huh?” Sam asks. It doesn’t make sense.

Bobby is animated for the first time since Sam’s being working for him “I got it after we talked to Nick. Torches? Want to fry the whole goddamn world. But the fires that killed those guys never really burned up much. The burns were all lit in outlets surrounded by double firebreaks in the walls. And he made his burns backdrafts.”

“But he killed these guys.” Sam says, sadly.

“But he could have killed everybody there. The firebreaks kept it from spreading in the wall. The backdraft blew out the flame. That's it. That's the reason.” Singer is excited.

“What reason?” Sam is still trying to wrap his head around Bobby’s Logic.

“Why backdrafts. Whoever fried Seagrave and Benton went to a helluva lot of trouble to make sure they died by fire, but also made sure the fire blew itself out.” The older man answers.

Sam is starting to see the correlation, “That's why the sealant on the doors. So, what have we got, a torch with a conscience?”

Bobby shakes his head. He’s deadly serious when he replies, “No, we have a stone cold killer trying to make a point.”

A couple of minutes pass as Sam processes all the information. He finally speaks, “Are you going public with this?”

“No. Do that and I guarantee you'll scare him off. I don't want him running away.”

 

*******

 

Sam enters the yacht that is docked on the Missouri River. The skyline is impressive against the dusk of the sky. There are prominent and attractive people all dressed in their finest. He sees Jessica standing next to Adler along a railing, the man’s hand rests on the small of her back.

Jessica notices Sam and detaches herself from Adler’s side. She walks across the room to where Sam is standing. “Hey,” he says with a smile. “So, are you dating your boss?”

She huffs a little and then, “If you weren't at least the 300th person to ask me that, I'd probably be pissed. Boy, you sure know it's a man's world sometimes.”

“Sorry,” Sam really is. “Are you dating anyone?”

“That’s not really any of your business,” Jessica admonishes him.

“You did invite me here,” Sam is more curious that jealous, if he’s honest with himself.

“No, Zach did.” She smiles at his confused face. “But maybe I am glad you came.”

Just then, Adler and his entourage appear next to them. “Mr. Winchester,” he says with a hand out.

Sam takes it, “Nice boat.”

“It isn’t mine,” Adler admits. Then he shouts at the photographer, “let’s get a pic.” Adler swings around and puts his arm cheesily around Sam’s shoulder. Another staffer slaps an ADLER FOR MAYOR sticker to Sam's lapel. Jessica rolls her eyes to Sam.

“I'm sorry,” she offers right before the flashbulb goes off.

“Larry!” Adler removes his arm and shouts at a man just coming onto the yacht. “What does he do again?” He whispers to Jessica under his breath.

Just like that Jessica is whisked away at the would-be mayor’s side.

Sam turns back to glance at the city. The wind is blowing his hair around his face; he can make out the distinct sound of a siren on the breeze. Something in the pit of his stomach tightens.

 

*******

 

“So, how’s the job?” Jessica breaks him out of his reverie after several minutes.

“Okay,” he answers quietly.

“Boy, Singer is as slow as a snail,” she huffs out at his seemingly indifference to the situation.

“No, he's more of a dinosaur. Guy's not a dummy, though. He's juggling a lot of balls on this one.” He’s getting defensive and doesn’t know why. He’s thought the same thing at least 5 times this week.

“Yeah, but it doesn't take Albert Einstein just to figure out if these guys were killed by accidents or not,” Jess defends.

“Jesus, give him a break. There isn't enough proof yet to go public. Sure, we found some chemical shit we think somebody dumped in the plugs to torch 'em, and we've maybe figured out why backdrafts, but you can't rush this stuff. Not 'till it's locked.” Sam’s hackles are rising.

“But Singer’s probably going to come around to arson. Right?” Jess’ voice is softer.

“In a dinosaur kinda way, yeah...” Sam agrees. BAMM! Both of them look up sharply. A woman drunk out of her mind has tipped over in her chair. She laughs, her fellow tablemates laugh, everybody laughs.

“Save me!” She dramatically drags Sam to the bar.

 

*******

 

After several drinks and a couple of dances to the beat of the swing band that is playing, Jess threads her fingers through Sam’s and walks him back ashore. They take her car back to HQ and she shuts the ignition off.

“Any alcohol in there?” She asks with a hopeful smile that hits Sam like a sucker punch.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Sam says.

“Come on Sam. It’s full of sleeping fireman, you really afraid to give me the tour?” Her voice is teasing and Sam can’t find a good reason to say no.

Once inside, Jess’s eyes fly over all of the old architecture. “This is one of the oldest fire stations in the city. Lotta tradition locked up in here. What do you think?” Sam says, leading her around.

“Homey,” she nods.

“See that trap door up there?” Sam points up to the ceiling above a tanker. “That used to lead to the hay loft when they had horse-drawn engines. It was pretty different then, but kinda the same, y'know?”

“Do you miss it?” Sam is silent at her question. “It just seems like you do.”

Sam sighs, pushes his hair off his forehead. “When I came back, I knew more than anything else that I wanted to be a fireman.”

Jessica takes ahold of his bicep, “Then why’d you quit?”

Sam finally looks at her. “I wanted to be a good one."

Jess leans in and smashes her lips against his. He lets it continue for 5 seconds before pushing her away. “Jess, I just can’t.”

“Sam, why did you agree to come tonight?” She isn’t upset, just concerned.

“I’m not the person you think I am. I thought maybe I could fake it, but I can’t.” He seems on the verge of tears.

“I think I should go,” she removes her hand from his arm.

“Yeah, probably a good idea.” He agrees.

Sam watches her leave out the back entrance of the station.

 

*******

 

In a high rise across town, 17 is the first on the scene. Dean leads several firefighters into the lobby of the burning building.

A security guard meets them with a panicked look on his face, “Where is it?” Dean asks calmly.

“I don’t know. Alarm’s going off on three different floors,” the guard answers.

“Wonderful,” he says as they make their way into the elevator. Dean inserts his key to take them up to the lowest floor. There’s terrible elevator music playing an old folk song.

“How do we know if the floor is going to be on fire?” Brady questions.

Dean smiles a little evilly, “If the doors open and it’s hot? Don’t get out.”

The elevator is cramped with the men in the turnout gear, hose rolls and other equipment. The doors finally open to reveal no flames, but a lot of smoke. It’s almost impossible to see anything and Dean is the first one out.

“It’s this way,” Dean waves over his shoulder and turns down the hall. He doesn’t see the small flame whizz by on a nearby wall.

Benny attaches the hose line to the building’s standpipe and readies it. “These high-rise gigs give me the creeps.”

“Let's wait for a back-up, Dean. We're early on this one, it hasn't even broken out yet. We're one short as it is with Sam gone,” Rufus is the voice of reason.

But Dean isn’t having it. He turns in Brady’s direction. “Want to learn something?”

“Yes, sir.” Brady is eager and Dean waves him to the front.

“Rufus, you and Garth go check the other side.” Dean tells the older fireman.

Rufus doesn’t move. “It isn’t safe, Dean. Don’t go splitting us up. Not with this one.”

“What the hell's the matter with you? You always check the other side. I haven't got time for bullshit right now, okay? We got a job here.” Dean has had just about enough.

“Let me take the lead, Dean.” Rufus’ requests.

“Goddamn it, Turner!” Dean is seeing red by now. “Just do your fucking job!”

Rufus backs down. Face going still and eyes hardening. There’s a loud CRACK and everyone turns to look. It’s nothing. There’s an inhuman giggle up ahead of them and Dean smiles.

“Oh, you're so very sly, but so am I,” Dean singsongs out. “Listen to it, you can tell when a wall cracks which way it's gonna jump. You can hear the doors breathe if they're hot.”

Brady looks on confused. Dean isn’t making sense. Dean moves close to a side door and runs his hand down the jam, feels for heat. Then he steps back, takes a deep breath, and crashes the door down with one axe blow. He concentrates on the sound of the fire above him, then abruptly turns and crashes down another door.

Dean and Brady creep down a hallway, “Lotta smoke, but it isn't rolling. That means it's hiding, staying sleepy, one of these doors.”

Dean breathes in a ten count, then says to himself, “Easy, no hurry. You're not going anywhere.” He knocks down another door and sticks his head in to check.

Brady readies his axe before his door, gathers his courage as Dean comes out of the room he was checking. He sees Brady lifting his axe. “Did you check that door for heat?”

Brady is already drawing back to swing. “Brady!” Dean shouts. He sees the flame and smoke flicker out around the door before it’s sucked back inside. “Brady!” He takes off just as Brady’s axe hits home against the door and a whine behind it builds and roars and howls. Brady slams his shoulder up against door just as it explodes outward, hurdling him up against a wall in the hallway.

For a single second he’s okay. Then time slows down as flames shoot out the doorway. Benny opens up the hose
line while he’s yelling with horror as the flames curl around Brady.

“Oh God, Oh God no!” Rufus screams. Brady’s mask and helmet, along with his face are melting. The shrieking of the probationary fireman can be heard clearly among groans of the fire.

Benny directs all of the spray towards the demon just as Dean catches Brady and rolls with him on the wall. The water dousing both men, only then is the fire out.

The wounded animal rolls back into the room as Dean tries to help Brady. He incoherently whimpers as Dean helps him slide down the wall; his face and mask are melted together in a way that Dean can’t tell where one starts and the other ends.

Benny looks into the room where the fire came from and sees a burned corpse lying between two doors.

Rufus falls to his knees on the other side of Brady and sobs brokenly like it’s the end of the world, hell it might be.

 

*******

 

Sam is lying on his side in his bunk when the stations klaxons go off. He rushes into dispatch just to catch sight of Singer on the phone. He makes eye contact and holds it while whoever on the other line talks.

“I understand,” a long pause, then “Will do.” He hangs up the receiver and strides toward Sam.

“What is it?” Sam can see the turmoil in his boss’ face as he approaches him.

“There was a four-alarm fire down town,” The aging fireman looks conflicted as he wrings his hands. “Seventeen responded and there was accident.”

Sam’s throat falls to his stomach. The room starts spinning and he reaches out to steady himself. “Is it...” he can’t even finish the sentence. “Who is it?”

Bobby shakes his head, “I don’t know, Sam. BC isn’t releasing the names of injured yet. I just know that a fireman from 17 was taken to Grossman.”

“We need to get downtown,” Sam rushes to grab his coat.

“And do what Sam? You can’t go charging into a burning building just to see who’s hurt,” Bobby says.

“The hell I can’t!” Sam grabs the keys off the hook next to dispatch and races to Singer’s sedan.

Bobby stops him. “If you’re bound and determined, I’ll drive.” He holds his hand out for the keys.

***

Chapter 6: Sins of the Father

Sam and Singer arrive at the scene just as the fire is down to a small flicker. The scene is maudlin, as the firemen just outside are painfully aware that one of their own has been hurt.

Sam exits the car and takes off at a run, there’s a fireman standing away from the rest with his back turned to the sea of media and emergency personnel. His helmet is in his hand and just his silhouette is visible. Something inside Sam snaps. “Dean! Dean!”

Sam slows as his brother looks up at him, broken, with tears streaming down his soot covered face. He’s wrecked and Sam takes him into his arms and just holds him while his sibling sobs into shoulder.

 

*******

 

It’s nearly dawn when Sam and Dean make it to the Grossman Burn Center across the line into Missouri. Ed, Benny, Garth and Rufus are all sitting in a quiet waiting room, still smudged and filthy from the fire.

Rufus shoulders his way past Sam and wordlessly drags Dean just outside under the Emergency Room neon sign. The double doors close and their shouting match begins immediately.

“Why couldn’t you wait for back up, Dean?” Rufus shouts at the top of his lungs.

“What fucking back up?” Dean screams back, his tear streaked face red and threatening.

“You just had to take on another fire bare handed, didn’t you?” Rufus grabs ahold of Dean’s ruined white shirt and drags him close to him. “Had to be this larger than life hero. This great myth. Ever stop to think you’re trying to emulate a dead man?”

“I had that fire. He didn’t listen...” Dean starts.

“He didn't listen? He was a fucking candidate!” Rufus pulls Dean up on the balls of his feet, their faces inches apart as he continues to berate the younger man. “He was your responsibility. He shouldn't have been there in the first place! I told you, YOU didn’t listen. You burned him, Dean!”

“Fuck you!” Dean shoves out of Rufus’ clutches and turns to walk away. The older fireman grabs at his shoulder and Dean spins around with a right hook that connects with Rufus’ jaw, causing him to stumble. Rufus recovers and charges into Dean, forcing his back into the brick exterior of the building.

Sam and Benny burst out the doors to restrain the two fighting men, with Sam having to grab Dean in a chokehold to get his arms to stop flailing. “Cool it, Lieutenant!”

 

*******

 

Once Sam has talked to the other fireman, making them promise to call him with any news, he leads his bleeding brother to his apartment to shower and rest. Dean exits the bathroom looking all of 5 years old.

Sam approaches him carefully, like one would a caged animal. Dean’s eyes are bloodshot and red rimmed, his bottom lip quivering like he could burst out into tears any second. He falls into Sam’s embrace.

Sam all but carries him the few feet to the bedroom and places him on the mattress. The window shade is drawn and the room only has dim, yellow light getting through. He can barely make out the anguished face Dean is wearing.

He sits on the side of the bed, running long fingers through his brother’s short hair. Dean’s eyes close and Sam thinks he’s sleeping until he hears, “I keep thinking, what if that was you? What if I let that happen to you? Every time I close my eyes, I see the fire melting Brady's face mask and the inhuman screams? I’ll never forget.” He sniffles in the darkness, “Turner was right, I burned him.”

“What?” Sam is angry now, “You listen to me, YOU didn’t burn him. Whoever set that fire burned Brady. It’s on them.”

“I’m a fireman, Sammy. I save people. It’s all I have. I was a shitty husband, I’m a terrible father and,” Dean sobs quietly; his voice cracking. “Don’t get me started on what kind of brother I am. Take away the job and what do I have left?”

Sam doesn’t have an answer. He keeps stroking his brother’s face until his sobs have quietened and are replaced by gentle snores.

Once he’s sleeping soundly, Sam slips out the door, he’s gonna find the bastard responsible for this.

 

*******

Sam has just sat down at his desk when Singer strides in and slaps a newspaper down on it. The headline is bold FIRE DEPT SAYS ITS MURDER. Singer’s voice is even as he says “Goes on about how the break was made through the discovery of ‘chemical traces’ and a ‘behavioral link’. Oh and Adler is quoted saying the chief investigator is closing in on the torch and expects an arrest ‘any time’.” Sam's eyes wince closed. “Get your stuff and get out!”

 

*******

Sam bursts into Adler’s office as Jessica is pouring coffee. She takes in his harried appearance. “Sam? What’s wrong, Sam?”

“You told Adler about our arson lead. It's all over the fucking news,” Sam hisses out.

“I didn't know it was a secret. There aren't supposed to be secrets between the city and its investigators,” She says while continuing to add sugar to the cup.

“Bullshit! You knew what I told you wasn't ready for the papers,” he barks out.

“Will you please keep your voice down, there are people...” She glances around at the stares they are drawing.

“You could have scared the son of a bitch off. We may never bust him now. All for a couple of political points.” He’s seething and she shrinks a little.

“I was doing my job,” her voice is even, controlled.

Sam grabs her arm and says, “And just how far were you willing to go for your job?”

She jerks her arm out of his grasp, “Let me ask you something, do you really think Zach had you assigned to arson because of your firefighting skills? Who the hell are you kidding? I was there, remember? I saw you and your brother...”

“You leave Dean out of this!” Sam’s voice is rising again and he can’t help it.

“Oh yeah, he's the real fireman. Who are you? Just another probie working for Adler...”

“I work for the city,” Sam interrupts.

“You knew what we were asking you to do. Don't suddenly pull out a conscience now. The fit isn't right,” Her tone is sharp.

Adler appears in the doorway. He looks haggard, as if he hasn't slept. There's something haunted in his eyes.

“Mr. Winchester, keeping busy?” He sounds defeated.

Sam gives the politician a once over. “Yeah. In fact, I just dropped off a letter to the Star explaining how yesterday's arson announcement was a fabrication by your office. They loved it. And you know what? You were right, my family background in firefighting gave it weight.”

Jessica gasps, “Oh Sam,” but Sam is shoving past Adler and walking out the door.

 

*******

 

Sam walks into Brady’s hospital room, where Dean is sitting, silently, looking hollow-eyed. Brady is unrecognizable in the bed, there are thick gauze and tubes covering the young fireman. The respirator hisses, an EKG beeps and Sam feels his eyes tear up.

“He's gonna live. Maybe not much else, but he's gonna live,” Dean gets to his feet and exits the room.

 

*******

 

Bobby Singer is getting out of his car at the Arson HQ when a black limousine pulls up to the curb. The door opens and he sees Adler, who is disheveled, unshaven, and fidgety. A man who hasn't slept and had a few drinks before the one he's pouring now. He offers one to Singer, “I usually like to have breakfast first.”

“When are you going to catch the prick that's doing this, Bobby?” Adler says into his drink.

“Bobby?” The Investigator asks with raised eyebrows.

“Don’t you have any leads at all?” The Alderman pushes on.

“No Zach, I don’t.” Is Bobby’s response and a look of fear crosses the other man’s face.

Bobby sighs, “We still haven't found a connection between the victims.”

“Open your damn eyes!” Adler slams his free hand down on the empty seat. “Seagrave, Benton and now Holcomb, who was fried in a goddamn high-rise!”

“Holcomb? I wasn’t aware the name of the third victim had been released,” Singer says.

Adler just stares straight ahead.

They pull up outside the Arson HQ, having just driven around the block. Bobby opens the door and gets out. “Is there a connection, Alderman?”

Adler’s answer is less than forthcoming, “Just catch the son of a bitch.” With that the door closes and the car speeds away.

Once inside the office, Singer is surprised to see Sam sitting behind the desk, shuffling through files.

“The hell are you doing here?”

“I'm finished with Adler. I'll do whatever you want me to do. I just want to help catch the guy that burned Brady. You gotta give me another shot.” Sam’s answer is genuine and Bobby looks him in the eyes.

 

*******

 

Inside the burned high rise, Bobby pops the molding from around the door frame of Holcomb’s office. The same white powder from all the other fires is present. “I thought Ol’ Zach was acting a little strange. He was right,” Bobby rubs the powder between his fingers.

“Another Backdraft?” Sam supplies.

Bobby moves to the spot where the body of Holcomb was found. “The backdraft was set somewhere in there. It fried Holcomb when he opened the inner door. But the outer door held and waited for Brady. So find me the fire.”

Sam walks into the inner office and starts searching, probing for the ignition point. There’s something he’s missing and he stands with a huff.

“You're thinking too much of the building and not enough of the ghost,” Bobby says and pulls a small flask out of his jacket. He pours the substance on the floor and then lights a match. “In a word, Sam, what’s this job all about?”

Sam considers, “Fire.”

“It's a living thing, Sam. It breathes, it eats, and it hates.” The fire has moved up a wall and is chewing at a corner. “The only way to beat it is to think like it. To know that this flame will spread this way across the floor, not because of the physics of flammable liquids or heat convection, but because it wants to.

Some guys on this job, fire owns them. It makes them fight on its level. But the only way to truly kill it is to love it a little, just like Nick.”

The flame flickers and bends itself toward Sam, reaches out to him. Singer hits the fire extinguisher and it’s gone in an instant. The genie forced back into its bottle.

“What the hell are you guys doing here,” a woman says from the doorway.

“We’re with the fire department, ma’am.” Bobby says.

“Well color me stupid, I always thought the fire dept. put out fires.” She gives them both a once over.

“You work here?” Bobby inquires.

“Till yesterday. What do you think the odds are that my bonus and severance pay check survived this?” She asks.

Sam shakes his head, “Somewhere between zero and no way.”

“Shit. What a mess,” the woman sighs.

“You really seem broken up about Mr. Holcomb,” Bobby observes.

“Jeff Holcomb?” She lets out a mirthless laugh. “The Darth Vader of tax accountants? He was a sleezeball. Hopefully a sleezeball that carried some insurance.”

“Go talk to the building’s owner,” Sam replies.

“He WAS the building’s owner,” she says.

Sam’s confused, “Our book lists the owner as Dekom Trust.”

The lady turns to gape at him like he is the dumbest person on the planet. “Don’t Investigators come in adult size?”

 

*******

 

The next morning, Dean is laying sprawled out on his bed at the station, his hands are pressed into his eyes as Benny says through the crack in the door, “Singer’s here to see you.”

“I’m busy,” Dean answers without removing his hands.

“He just wants...” Benny begins.

“I said I was busy, God damn it.” Dean barks out in the direction of the door.

Bobby enters the room anyway. He takes in the condition of the Lieutenant and the half empty bottle of bourbon, which he picks up and pours out, before sitting on the edge of the bed.

Dean finally removes his hands and his face is wet, “What? They don’t knock on your planet?”

Bobby’s voice is gentle, “I still haven’t gotten your fire report, Dean. On Brady.”

The pain is evident when Dean says, “I’m working on it.”

“I deal with this stuff every day, but a fireman? You never get used to it.” Bobby pauses, “What happened up there, son? He was a candidate. Did he pay attention? Was he listening?”

Dean looks him in the eyes, then “He wasn’t listening to the right things.”

“What do you listen to, Dean?” Bobby wonders.

“You don't know, nobody knows.” His answer is just a whisper.

Bobby’s face gets grave as he says, “I might.”

There’s anger and maybe for the first time ever, Bobby sees fear come across Dean’s face. “It knows us. This one knows us.”

The silence hangs heavy between the Lieutenant and the Investigator; Bobby finally breaks it. “I need that report, Lieutenant Winchester.”

Dean sits up on the bed and grabs Bobby’s notebook from his lap. In large, angry scrawl, he starts writing. “Brady went to a fire and now he doesn’t have a face!” He enunciates every syllable, stands up and flings it at the older man. Then he storms out of the room.

 

*******

Sam is knee deep in dusty files in the Kansas City Archives. Hard copies are kept here and though computer files are easier to access, they are also easier to manipulate.

High up, lost among its rows, Sam is going through rack after rack of dog-eared record books as Singer enters down below.

“Hey boss, Dekom Trust is owned by Pan Kansas, which is majority controlled by Lakeside Dynamics... which is a division of Heart of America Ventures... who's partners are... drumroll please...Alan Seagrave, David Benton, and Jeffrey Holcomb.”

Bobby looks up at Sam, “Son of a bitch. They knew each other.”

 

*******

Down the street at the Hall of Records, Sam is searching through the vast number of computer files, when he finally finds what he’s looking for.

“So Seagrave and Holcomb were accountants,” He tells the older man.

“And Benton, cops figured he laundered money for the mob before getting into real estate. They weren't very high on Seagrave, either.” Bobby scratches his head.

“So, nice bunch of guys,” Sam grimaces.

“Who are all wearing candles for faces,” Bobby pauses and considers, “Adler is up to his ass in this somehow. Guy can barely hold a drink in his hand, he's so scared.” He looks directly at Sam. “We need to get a look at his files.”

 

*******

 

The shoreline along the river is peaceful and serene at nearly dusk. The skyscrapers glow and twinkle in the background and Jessica sits on a park bench watching an elderly, lone fisherman try to capture dinner.

“Hi,” she says as the tall figure approaching her comes into view.

“Hi,” Sam answers and sits next to her.

“Are we still talking?” She says icily.

Sam looks up from beneath his bangs. He looks incredibly boyish and a little sheepish. “Look, I'm sorry about the other day, but Adler knows something about the guys that were murdered. I want to know why he keeps that hidden.”

“I don't know anything about it,” Jessica answers.

“You could check, it’d be in his files.”

Jessica’s eyes widen, “Do you know what you’re asking me to do?”

Sam nods, “Yeah, I know.”

“You know, four years ago I was working in a bakery. Two years ago I was bringing Zach coffee and he didn't even know my name. I run that office now. Zach believed in me and I believe in him. You want me to just throw that away?” She’s trembling now.

“Your boss is lying, Jessica,” is all that Sam says.

 

*******

 

Sam is returning home late from walking next to the river. If Jessica won’t help him with the case, then they may or may not be able to prove Adler’s involvement. If that happens, another crooked politician will get into office and more firemen will die. Sam can’t let that happen. As he leaves the stairwell, he see someone leaning against his door at the end of the hall. Upon closer examination, it’s Dean.

The closer he gets to the door, he sees that his brother is curled in on himself and looks small, broken. “Dean?” No response. “Dean!” Sam says a little louder. Dean raises his head and opens his eyes.

“Sorry, Sammy. I couldn’t sleep,” he says wearily.

“You look like you were doing a pretty good job of it,” Sam smiles and holds out a hand. The older Winchester brother grabs it and pulls himself up. “Come on, lets get you inside,” Sam says as he unlocks the door.

They both take seats on Sam’s thrift store couch, “You gonna tell me what’s wrong?” Sam asks.

“It used to be, when I was a kid, what meant most to me about this job was there were no ifs. Life and death, right and wrong. When someone called the fire department, we came. Those guys don't know how much I love them.” Dean pauses to wipe the tears that are pooling in his eyes. “You don't leave people hanging, cause that's what it's all about. It's loyalty. It's you go, we go. Cause without that, it's the end of families, it's the end of the fire department, and when the fire department stops coming? That's the end of the fucking world.

“I'm sorry I came, Sam. It's just... it's just there's nobody I can talk to, no one understands except you. At least I thought you did. I miss you, I miss us.”

Sam isn’t sure of much during this moment, but he knows what his heart is telling him. He’s on his feet in a flash and pulls Dean off the couch. Wrapping his arms around him and breathing in the scent of safe and home.

There’s a trail of shed clothes all the way to the bedroom by the time they make it there, mouths fused together in an almost desperate way. Sam falls against the mattress with Dean on top of him, legs and hands tangled together.

Dean didn’t think he’d ever get to have Sam again this way and he is damn sure going to take his time. He kisses his eyelids and the tip of his nose before nibbling on one ear lobe; then licking around the shell of his ear before moving on to the other side. Open mouth kisses are placed down Sam’s jawline and throat before Dean moves on to nip at his collarbones and the hollow space in between.

Sam is groaning as his nerve endings are tingling with sensation at the amount of attention that’s being paid to his body.

Dean continues the entire length of Sam’s left arm, kitten licks and playful bites down his bicep, just to circle his tongue around his elbow. His forearm get caressed by the gentle pressure of pillow soft lips, before Dean sucks each digit of Sam's hand into his mouth and biting at the pads.

By the time the right arm has been given the exact same treatment, Sam is a wiggly mess. So when Dean rolls a nipple between his teeth, Sam arches up off the bed.

Dean proceeds down his abs and the V where his brother’s perfect Adonis belt meets his groin, before bypassing Sam’s dripping erection to lavish attention on the strong muscles of his thighs.

The farther down Dean’s mouth goes, the more impatient Sam is becoming. Soft pecks to the back of Sam’s ticklish knees and he starts spasming with laughter. Dean is relentless, though and works his tongue down calves and kisses each toe before saying, “Turn over, Sammy.”

Sam rolls over on his stomach and at least in this position, there’s welcome pressure on his painfully hard cock. That is until Dean starts his unyielding ascent up Sam’s legs.

By the time Dean is placing tender pecks on Sam’s neck, the younger Winchester is ready to throw his brother down and fuck him into oblivion.

Dean’s chest is flush against Sam’s back and his own thick hard-on is wedged in the cleft of Sam’s ass. The sweat of their bodies making it slide up and down when Dean rocks his hips. He slips down between Sam’s legs to swirl his tongue around that puckered hole. Sam’s pleas for mercy are goading him on.

Making his tongue into a velvet spear, he dips it in past the first ring of muscle, pumps in and out until Sam is seeing stars behind his eyes.

Dean withdraws his tongue, much to his brother’s displeasure, and rolls Sam onto his back. Then mouths are pressed together in a searing kiss, Dean aggressively plundering and swallowing down moans.

Sam’s hands grab at Dean’s ass and he forces the older man closer to him, bodies pressed together in a sinful mess of limbs and sweat. The younger sibling wraps one hand around both erections and begins stroking slowly, with just enough pressure to take the edge off.

Dean’s hand blindly reaches for the nightstand drawer and the lube within. He finds the bottle and reaches around to breach his own opening with two fingers, while Sam’s free hand snakes around his brother’s back, ring finger slipping through the excess lube to sink inside along with Dean’s.

Dean pulls his mouth away to take a deep breath and rests their foreheads together. He’s whimpering against Sam’s cheek as probing digits rub his prostate in an unwavering assault.

“I’m ready, God, I’m ready,” Dean’s voice is sex rough and broken. He’s reaching for the condoms and lube while Sam withdraws his fingers and sits back against the headboard.

Dean rolls the condom on his sibling and pours on an excessive amount of lube. Sam watches in rapt fascination, as Dean sinks down, one painfully slow inch at a time.

Sam bottoms out and holds his brother close for what feels like an eternity. He’s too afraid to move, because Dean’s burning up inside and so tight that he’s afraid he will shoot his load right then.

Dean braces his hands on the iron headboard and lifts his hips up to gradually drop back down, impaling himself on Sam’s length. Again and again until Sam is kneading the cheeks of Dean’s ass, feet flat on the bed to drive up into the older fireman. Their bodies colliding in a sinful and erratic rhythm.

Dean’s head is tilted back in ecstasy, eyes closed and incisors tearing at his supple lower lip. It takes Sam’s breath away, his heart clinching for the love he has for this man.

Dean is barreling towards the finish line at the speed of light and it only takes Sam grabbing ahold of his weeping dick to send him soaring over the edge. His warm come erupting over Sam’s fist and lower stomach.

The force of Dean’s orgasm, combined with the way “Sammy,” spills from his mouth shoves Sam hurtling over the cliff behind him.

Sam gathers his boneless, wrung out brother in his arms and kisses him soundly. It is soft and sweet and everything that their coupling minutes prior, wasn’t.

 

*******

 

Sam wakes up alone. He showers, shaves and then notices the note taped to the front door. ‘I had an errand to run this morning, so I let you sleep. Call me later? -Dean’ Sam smiles and tucks the note in his pocket.

 

*******

 

It’s 8am and Jessica walks into Adler’s office. His chair is turned out facing the window and he’s deep in his head.

“Latest polls came in, Zach.” She says gently, holding a stack of files out to him. “Zach?” Finally the chair turns, revealing a haunted man, dark circles under his eyes, and days worth of stubble. Polls are far from his mind.

“Jesus Christ, Zach.” She gasps at his appearance. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, leave me alone,” is his answer. Only then does she notice the fire department’s files on the murders open on his desk.

“We’ve come a long way, Zach. And now you're sneaking around this office, leaking things to the papers behind my back.” Jessica states. “Is there something you're not telling me about these deaths?”

“No,” The Alderman says, eyes emotionless and empty. He spins his chair away from her again.

She stands there for a moment before heading to the filing cabinet.

 

*******

 

Sam is running late returning from the station. It’s already dusk and he wants to go inside and call his brother. There’s a figure standing in the shadows waiting for him. The closer he gets, he realizes it’s Jessica. “Jess?”

She silently hands him a Manila envelope. He turns it over in his hands, “What’s this?”

“Just take it,” she sounds tired or maybe just resigned.

Sam nods, “I’m sorry.”

Jessica laughs, but there is no humor there. “That’s a stupid thing to say, Sam.”

“You’re right,” he agrees.

“Goodbye Sam,” it’s said with a hint of finality. Then she turns and walks down the street towards her car.

 

*******

 

Sam approaches Singer at his desk, where he’s looking at reports that Sam gave him two days ago. “This is the copy of Adler’s manning report that was released. Everybody on this job knows it's bullshit but we could never argue with the numbers. They're all airtight.”

“Airtight?” Sam asks, before dumping three more folders on the Investigator’s desk. “I've got three different drafts of the same report, with different numbers that're all over the place. Looks like they were just making it up as they went along.”

Bobby grabs the files, “Did a little check on the consulting firm that wrote the report. They did exactly one job- Adler’s manpower study. It's not even really a company. No employees, no directors, just a PO Box.”

“Then who wrote the report?” Sam inquires.

Bobby shakes his head. “It had to be someone who knows numbers. Some kind of fancy accountant. But what's the connection?”

Sam pulls out a photograph of Adler and the other three, posing on a fishing boat ‘1990. Time of their lives’.

“Why did he go through this trouble to cut firehouses?” Bobby scratches his chin  

“When a firehouse closes, Adler converts it into a community center.” Sam answers.

“Well that’s sweet,” Bobby says.

“Lakeside Dynamics, remember them? They get all the expensive construction work. I'm telling you, this is a total scam. These guys were making a fortune.”

“I think it's time Mr. Adler and us had a little heart to heart talk.” The older man stands and Sam follows him out to the car.

 

*******

 

The red arson sedan pulls up to wealthy home. Bobby and Sam walk up and knock on the door, it creaks open, already ajar. They push the door open slowly, it’s dark and enter quietly.

“Hello? Adler?” Singer’s calls out into the main part of the house. No answer. They split up and take different hallways,

Sam hears a hiss first in the darkened corridor, then he sees the flash of an electrical socket, it’s cobalt blue from the super heated copper wiring. Then the room is flashing blinding lights and shadows, like a strobe light has been turned on. It disorients him and then there’s a figure completely in black who shoves at Sam. Sam pushes back and the figure backs into the wall socket.

A gloved right hook swings out and connects with Sam’s jaw. It knocks him to his knees, but he doesn’t lose consciousness.

Bobby races into the room and slams into figure. They struggle and Bobby forces his opponent over a gas space heater, snapping the connection off. The black clad individual hits the Investigator with a one, two that allows the mystery man to break free and escape through the door.

HISS, Bobby climbs to his feet as fire eats at the wall. A baby backdraft wagging its tail. He grabs Sam and hauls him outside by his armpits. Another HISS, the ruptured space heater pumps gas furiously and Bobby sees it through the door. He also sees a bedroom door ajar on the other side of the house. There’s a couch in view with an unmoving body laying on it.

Bobby takes off as fast as his aging legs will carry him, throws open the door and sees that it’s Adler- unconscious. He grabs the politician and drags him outside next to Sam.

The gas makes a whooshing noise that signals its ignition and a split second later, the windows and doors explode outward in a howling fireball. It knocks Bobby off his feet out on the walkway.

Sam shakes the cobwebs clean from his head and looks around.

“Um, kid? I’ve got kind of a problem,” Bobby calls out and Sam gets up a little unsteadily. The older man is laying in the grass at an odd angle, which turns out to be because a piece of wrought iron fencing had blown through his shoulder.

 

*******

 

Bobby lays against the pillows of an emergency room triage bed. “Well, I guess you can say it’s Arson, now,” he tells Sam through clenched teeth.

“How are you feeling?” Sam asks.

The only response is an annoyed grumble from Bobby.

“Did you pull me out?”

Another grunt, but then, “Yep.”

”Did I say ‘Thank you’ ?”

Bobby just looks at him  

Sam thinks for a second before saying, “Just wondering.”

“I hate hospitals,” Bobby looks at the younger Winchester brother. “You’re so...useless!” He suddenly kicks the bed frame in anger. He kicks it over and over with frustration till something finally snaps off.

Sam sits quietly and lets him work out his frustration.

After a few minutes have passed and the Investigator calms down, Sam asks, “So, what do you want me to do now?”

Bobby sighs and scrubs his hand across his face. “I've been lying here hours just thinking. We're close.” He pauses a couple of beats before continuing. “We're not looking in the right place, Sam. This one knows us and we're not looking in the right place.”

 

*******

 

Sam sits patiently in the empty interview room at Leavenworth. The clock ticking on the wall is the only sound besides the nervous fluttering of his heart in his ears.

Finally the door opens and in strides Nick, accompanied by a guard.

Nick’s smile is blinding when he sees it’s Sam, “Well, Mr. Life magazine. Come all this way just to say hi?”

Sam hands the arsonist the stack of murder files and says, “I'm close, but I can't get who it is.”

Nick regards the younger man for a moment. “So you came to me?” His smile is even brighter than before, if that’s possible. “This is going to be an interesting afternoon after all.”

 

*******

 

A couple of hours have passed with Sam sitting patiently, watching the torch read the files throughly. He takes in the crime scene photographs, the charred bodies and the chemical trace reports with the professionalism of a seasoned Arson Investigator. Finally, he leans back in his chair and looks Sam in the eyes.

He clears his throat and speaks, “Okay, here's the deal. I'll tell you a story, you tell me one. Fair?”

“Who’s doing this?” Sam blurts out.

“Your first question should be who isn't. It isn't a spark, Sam. Not enough damage. And an insurance pro? Where's the profit margin?”

“Then who...?” Sam starts.

Prince tsks, “No, no. Thats not how this works. It’s your turn. Tell me a story.”

“I don’t know any stories,” is Sam’s reply.

“Sure you do,” Nick drops on the table a dog-eared copy of that 1991 LIFE magazine with Sam on the cover. “Famous story even. Straight burn. Just an engine and truck first on the scene. What did you feel, Sam, when you first got there?”

“What?” Sam doesn’t understand the question.

“You gotta tell a story too, Sam. It's fair. C'mon, don't think too hard,” the inmate probes.

Sam sighs and thinks back to that day, “I... I thought it was great. I loved it. It was nothing to these guys... medium deal.”

Nick nods, “Right. Light smoke, low roll. Couple a civilians hollering, medium deal. So young fireman Turner and Captain Winchester, they head up stairs, get out on the fire escape, Winchester does the ballsy jump across... what were you feeling, Sam?” Sam is silent, “C'mon, you promised. Be honest.” Sam just stares straight ahead. “Okay. Guard!”

Sam’s voice breaks, “I wanted to be him. Right then, I wanted to be him more than anything.”

Nick is pleased with his answer, “Very good, Sam. About your report here. The way to a torch's heart is through his tools. That's how you know him. It's the way he talks to the fire. And to you if you listen.”

“The outlets,” Sam says.

Another head shake, “That’s a Probie answer. You’re smarter than that, Sam.”

“Trychticholorate.”

“Good. So, our two heroes, Turner and Winchester, they go back inside. Only there's another fire in there nobody sees. And it took your dad, didn't it Sam? Did you see him burn?”

In a flash, Sam suddenly reaches across and grabs Nick by the collar. “Who the fuck is doing this?”

Nick presses on, “After it took your dad... the fire... did it look at you Sam? Did it talk to you?” Sam’s terror is evident on his face and Nick smiles. “You see, our world's aren't so different, Sam.”

Sam let’s go of the arsonist’s collar. “Who's doing this?”

Nick’s grin is sinister, “Think, Sam. Who doesn't love fire, but knows it better than anyone else? Who's around trychticholorate 24 hours a day?”

Sam feels his insides turn to ice. His heart is hammering hard in his chest and he buries his head in his hands. “Christ...”

“Not such a long trip after all, is it Sam?”

 

*******

 

Sam tears out of the prison as fast as possible, he breaks, what he’s sure is a record number of traffic laws on his way to river. He stumbles up the steps to the cabin and bangs on the door. No one is there. Grabbing the key from it’s hiding spot, he throws the door open and hits the light switch.

There are beer bottles on the table next to a stack of fire reports. Parts of the place are covered in protective plastic to keep the sawdust and paint away. In the far corner, closest to the back porch, Sam sees a stack of fire department chemicals. He digs past the solvent, stripping agents and pulls out a small canister of specialty chemicals. The ingredient list is on the back and at the very bottom is Trychticholorate. Sam flings the canister back onto floor.

Sam feels like he’s going to be sick, “Goddamn it, Dean.”

There are footsteps and Dean opens the cabin door cautiously, looking inside. He sees Sam and a megawatt smile crosses his face. He backs Sam up to the back door and kisses him. “What are you doing here? I thought Bobby was holding you hostage?” He’s still up in Sam’s space and Sam is fighting to keep it together.

“I just stopped by to see you. Say hi.” Sam’s voice is even and he has no idea how he’s not shaking.

“Just to say hi?” The implication is clear and Sam can’t keep from trembling in his brother’s arms.

“I...I have something I have to do?” Sam’s answer is flimsy and his voice cracks.

Dean takes a step away from him and studies his siblings face. “What? What is it you have to do?” Sam can’t answer. “Look at you. Look at your face. All the things you must be thinking. Man, you must really hate my guts. Well, you know what? It's okay.” Dean is crestfallen and glassy-eyed.

“Dean, maybe we can talk about this another time...” Sam finally gets out.

“Okay, so you don't like me. You don't like everything I've done. What, because I wasn't such a genius the way I raised you? Jesus Christ, dad was gone, what was I supposed to do?” Tears are coming unbidden now, “You tell me, what the fuck was I supposed to do?!” Dean kicks over a saw horse and the makeshift table collapses in a loud crash.

Sam aches for his brother, but he has to see this through, “Dean, it’s ok...”

“I tried, you know?” The older brother interrupts. “I don’t have all the answers, but goddamn it, I've got some. Look, you're gonna do what you have to, and maybe I shouldn't have gotten in the way. I'm your brother, not your father. Go on. You gotta go somewhere? Go...”

Sam turns to leave and stops, “I saw it.”

Dean turns towards Sam, “Saw what?”

“When dad died, I saw another fire...”

“Everybody did.”

“No, I saw it before it got them. I tried to yell, but... He asked me to look out for him. And I didn't do it. I let him die.” Sam’s vision is blurred with unshed tears.

Dean wipes his own eyes on his sleeve, “Jesus, you been carrying that around for twenty years? For christ's sake, you were eight years old! You think he could have heard you in there?”

“I hate him so much sometimes, Dean. You don't know how hard it was for me to put that uniform on...”

“Maybe I do,” Dean sighs, “Aw hell, Sam. What a fucking mess.” Dean wipes away the rest of the wetness from his face, “People can change, Sam.”

Sam looks from his brother to the stack of chemicals a few feet away and says, “Sometimes when you’re looking right at them.”

Dean’s eyes search Sam’s and he sees the fear and horror in the younger man’s eyes.

After a painfully long silence, Sam asks, “Oh God, Dean. What is going on with you?”

Dean turns away, “I don’t know, Sam. I don’t know...”

***

Chapter 7: We Didn’t Start This Fire

Sam enters Firehouse 17 and takes the stairs two at a time. The locker room is seemingly empty, so he creeps in and down to Dean’s locker and breaks the lock off as quietly as he can. He digs around the hodgepodge of Biofreeze containers, elastic body wraps and an economy size bottle of aspirin. Nothing incriminating or out of place.

A noise sounds from the shower area of the room and Sam presses himself against the wall out of sight. Rufus is leaving the showers and has paused with his back turned to the mirrors just visible from the next room.

The older fireman has a towel at his waist and one slung over his shoulder as he lathers up shaving foam to shave. When he goes to make that first pass with the disposable razor, the towel slips down and Sam can see an angry burn that is clearly the imprint of an electric outlet.

Sam’s world tips on its axis. There is an icy chill going up his spine and a rock in the pit of his stomach. He’s trying to catch his breath when Rufus turns and walks through the archway into the locker room. He sees Sam and they trade intense stares.

Before Sam can open his mouth, the station’s klaxons and emergency lights spring to life. The hustling firemen can be heard out in the hall and Rufus moves swiftly past him.

It takes Sam several minutes to pull himself together and once he does, he’s running down the hall amongst the rest of his former company.

The younger Winchester slides down to the apparatus room and frantically looks for Dean. He’s nowhere to be found, but finally Sam sees his sibling standing outside.

He’s completely winded when he rushes to the Lieutenant, “Dean, wait a minute. I gotta talk to you. It's Rufus, he's...”

“What are you doing here, Sam?” Dean is fastening last minute buckles and equipment onto his person.

Sam grabs his brother by the shoulders, forcing him to look up, “I saw the burn! I put it there! Jesus Christ, Dean, he's been killing people.”

Dean nods and resumes the task at hand, “I know.”

Sam’s shock is evident, “How do you know?”

Dean finally stops and looks the probationary fireman in the eyes, “I knew when you came looking for the chemicals. Looking for me.”

Sam is still wary of Dean’s answer, “What were they doing there?”

“They were for the fucking cabin, Sam.” Dean’s volume increases.

Benny sticks his head out the back door and says, “Dean? We gotta roll.”

“I’ll be there,” Dean answers, waving his hand.

“They’re waiting, man,” Benny says impatiently.

“I'll be there, goddamn it!” Anger and frustration lacing his tone. Benny goes back inside with a huff. “Anything else?”

“What are we going to do about this?” Sam questions.

“I’ll handle it,” Dean turns to go.

Sam grabs one of his sibling’s biceps. “We have to go to Singer with this, Dean.”

Green eyes find hazel ones and Dean responds, “I'm his Lt. He's my responsibility. I'll handle it. Me.“

Dean turns and walks toward the station. Sam's eyes go to a window just above it. There, watching him, watching the whole exchange between brothers, is Rufus. Rufus stares at Sam a beat, frown clearly visible on his face, then finally disappears as Sam hears the cough of Diesel engines.

“Damnit, Dean,” Sam takes off as fast as he can inside the station.

It's too late. Rufus climbs aboard right before the engine company pulls out and whistles down the street. The ladder truck is just easing onto the drive. Sam hesitates only an instant, then runs to the equipment racks, yanks his helmet, coat, and boots off the rack and jumps onto the truck as it takes off in pursuit.

*******

As Engine 17 howls down the avenue, Dean turns around and stares at Rufus sitting behind him. The glimmer of understanding passes between both firemen.

 

*******

The laddermen look confused seeing Sam sitting among them. Before anyone can voice a concern, a car cuts the truck company off. The driver slams on the brakes, causing the ladder truck to skid horribly. The back fishtails, the wheels jump the curb, before bashing a mailbox, and then the whole rig rolls onto its side and drags to a stop. It's tangled confusion in the rear cab. The firemen are unhurt but piled atop one another. Sam slides his way out from under them and looks down the street where plumes of smoke rise six blocks away. He starts running.

Flames and smoke pour from a massive industrial warehouse along the river as an out of breath Sam, runs up. He searches frantically through the maze of arriving engine companies, looking for number 17. It’s there, but nobody's around. Sam stops a passing captain.

“Where are they? Where's 17?” He pants out.

The Captain looks at him for a second before answering, “On the roof.”

Sam looks up at the smoke and whirling firestorm four stories above him, feels the bile of fear in his throat and the desperation. He steels himself before strapping on an air tank.

Sam, now fully suited up, ascends the everlasting rungs of an extended aerial ladder.

Tongues of flame rocket skyward through damaged craters. Black clouds drift murderously, the asphalt of the roof bubbles and hisses as the roof itself groans like a drugged-up dinosaur, reminding Sam the whole thing could go any minute and him with it.

Trudging alone across an alien, spongy surface, Sam’s eyes scan the area for his company. It's nearly impossible to tell anyone apart, identities hidden behind helmets and masks. Suddenly, a cloud of smoke clears and there's two firemen near the edge, "17" on their helmets.

The helmets tilt up and Dean and Rufus are facing each other; Rufus cradles an axe.

Dean shouts out, “Sam?”

Sam rushes to Dean’s side, but Rufus tightens his hold on the axe, and now all the cards are on the table. A hissing black cloud drifts through, making them appear to be only three people on earth.

Rufus’ eyes are tear filled as he shouts over the noise of the fire and higher altitude, “Come on, Dean. Listen to me...”

Dean doesn’t even let him finish his thought, “What the fuck were you thinking, huh? Burning people? You're a fireman!” The hurt in the Lieutenant’s eyes is almost a physical blow.

“They were killing firemen, man. When the old lady got moved into Adler’s office, she brought me home the files. They were my friends, I had to do it. I had to do it for the department,” the older man reasons.

Sam is angry and heartbroken, “Did you do it for Brady?”

Rufus’ emotions bubble up to the surface, “That was an accident! I never meant for anyone but Holcomb to get hurt. God damnit, why did you have to charge in there so fucking early? Why didn't you listen to me?!”

Dean and Sam are backed up against the roof’s edge, sixty feet above the ground floor. Way down below, a fireboat has begun pumping a massive stream at the side of the building.

“I have to finish this,” Rufus is adamant.

“Rufus, please.” Sam’s sad face is on display. “Please Uncle Rufus, come down.”

The older fireman is stubborn, he’s not listening to their pleas. “Shut up! Your dad would fucking puke if he saw how you've shit on his department...”

“Knock it off!” Dean is screaming at the top of his lungs. Moisture is collecting in his eyes.

Rufus begs his surrogate son, “You can't let him turn you against your friends, man.”

“Dean, he killed people. He burned Brady!” Sam has moved from melancholy straight into rage.

Rufus is ignoring the younger Winchester, “You know what Adler would do to the department if this got out?”

Sam is yelling over the roaring of the demon and over Rufus, “This is such bullshit!”

Sam may as well be invisible, “What he would do to your dad's department? You gotta let me finish it.”

And there's a horrible glimmer of confusion on Dean’s face. “You're his Lt., Dean.” Sam presses. “Are you gonna handle it?” Sam can’t even believe that he’s having to ask. “Are you, Dean?”

“SHUT UP!” The Lieutenant just needs a moment of silence from both firemen.

Rufus ignores Dean’s pleas and persists on. “What do you want me to do, Dean? Talk to me. What am I supposed to do?”

Dean pauses and scrubs his hand across his face. He’s overloaded and his circuits are fried. He picks the only option that he’s a hundred percent sure of: Stopping the building from burning down. “There's a fire. We've got a job here. Let's get on with it.”

The rest of the crews, 17 included, are totally oblivious to what's happening past the rolling smoke on the other side.

Benny and Ed feel the roof go suddenly spongy under their feet.“Shit! It's going! Clear the roof! Now!” Benny orders.

Everyone drops their equipment and makes a break for the edges.

Rufus and the Winchesters react as the roof howls, groans and huge splits begin racing along it, like a spiderweb. Pieces fall through leaving large gaping cavities in the weathered surface. All at once it goes; the center section drops, accompanied by rolling waves of screeching steel. The hole spreads outward, consuming everything in its path.

Rufus shoves Dean into Sam, knocking them both off-kilter, and runs for his life as the hole races for them, swallowing up the roof and its contents.

“Jesus Christ, Sam, run! Run goddamn it!” And Sam full-out books it for the edge. Dean reaches one corner, Sam desperately heads for another.

At the last instant, as the howling flames surges up to his ankles, Sam leaps off the roof. He falls half a story before crashing onto an outside fire escape. Demonic flames have cut off the fire escape two floors below, so Sam climbs down as far as possible, crawls onto a ledge, kicks out a window, steps through, and falls two stories of black emptiness before he crashes into a pool of water at the bottom. He's in a freight elevator shaft, thrashing madly, drowning. Huge walls of water are gushing down through an upper doorway and cascading down like monsoon rain. The fireboat close by is relentlessly flooding the warehouse.

The weight of his equipment is pulling Sam underwater. He struggles against the insane swirls and the sheets of water still pouring down, Sam unhooks his air tank. He leans back, tries to float on the rising column of water; however his turnout coat catches on something and jerks him underwater. He thrashes wildly, battling against water before he finally tears the coat off. The building groans and creaks, urgently. Flaming chunks of plaster crash down around Sam, forcing him to take refuge underwater.

The entire structure is coming apart. Ten feet above, one of the falling chunks smacks a gas main, splitting, then igniting it. A white-hot jet of flame shoots from one side of the shaft to the other and Sam’s floating right up into the flames. He tries to flatten himself out, to keep everything but his nose below water, but he's still moving up. The heat’s becoming so intense his face flares and he's ducking under water now, trying to stay alive, trying to decide whether to drown or burn.

There's a crash and suddenly another door on the shaft is tearing open. There's a glint of an axe and a flashlight. It's Dean. Sam has about two seconds left. In that time Dean sees the shut-off for the gas line mounted on the opposite wall. It's unreachable, a good twelve feet across a horizontal curtain of flame. Before Sam can even assimilate that, Dean has already jumped. It’s a crazy leap over the fire. He smacks the opposite wall, hits the shut-off, and falls, crashing into the pool beside Sam.

Dean presses his lips hard to Sam’s, “You crazy son of a bitch, why couldn't you stay behind a desk where you belong?”

"You never know till the fire stares you down if you're gonna be...” Sam smirks.

Dean cuts him off, “Oh shut up, huh?” He frowns and tries to move, “I think I broke my goddamn arm...”

Sam grabs at his sibling and helps him stay above water. The level continues to rise, bringing them finally even with an open doorway they scramble through. It leads to a stairwell that's become a raging torrent of water spilling down it. There is no way they will make it. They push through to the next doorway and out into warehouse.

There are hundreds of 55-gallon drums of chemicals filling the place. The fire has invaded the room by cracks it has made in the walls and the drums begin exploding. Roman candle fountains of glittering flames are shooting upward.

Sam helps Dean as they snake their way past sweating drums, pressure valves hissing madly with desperation. They duck low, round a corner and Sam walks straight into an axe handle. It hits him in the throat and sends him stumbling onto the flat of his back, gasping for air.

Sam’s assailant is Rufus and Dean jumps on him, tackling him to the edge of a metal catwalk that extends outward over the floor. “You stupid son of a bitch! What the fuck are you doing?” Dean’s shouts can barely be heard over the growling building and rushing of water.

Rufus struggles against the older Winchester brother, he sobs uncontrollably. “Dean, I...”

“Let it go! Goddamn it let it go!” Deans pulls at the axe handle and Rufus finally lets go.

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry...” Sobs are still pouring out of the older fireman.

Sam has gotten to his feet and almost to where the other two men are. That’s when a chemical drum from below explodes, the shock wave buckling the platform and dropping it several feet before it holds.

Sam is cut-off and hit with massive section of debris, while Dean and Rufus are both flung across the platform and through the shattered railing.

Dean grabs a piece of broken, dangling strut and hangs on with one hand. In his other hand is Rufus, hanging below him, his grip loosening.

“Dean!” Sam is struggling to get out from under the debris. The railing Dean's hanging onto is slick, his hand slipping along it. But he won't let go of Rufus. His eyes bore into his surrogate father's with absolute conviction.

“You go? We go!” He grits out as towering bursts of flame from below have begun to ignite Rufus' pant leg. He's starting to burn. But Dean won't let go. Won't let go even as the flames crawl up Rufus' back. Dean’s hand is slipping and Sam can’t get to them.

Rufus unsnaps the strap holding his protective glove on his hand and then slides right out of Dean’s grip.

“NO!” Both Winchesters shout out. Anguish filling both of them with grief. Sam is racing past the debris to get to his brother when the hand of Dean’s good arm starts to slip. His eyes lock with Sam’s just before he falls. “DEAN!!!” Sam dives on to the catwalk but is too late.

There's another narrow catwalk half-way down. Dean hits it with a sickening crunch.

There's an exposed I-beam running from the ruined platform out over the catwalk. Sam climbs up onto it, balances across over the fire below and jumps down to the catwalk where his brother lies, battered but still alive. He cradles his barely conscious brother’s face in his hands. “You’re going to be just fine,” he soothes.

Sam looks down and across the factory floor. There, coming through the doorway, is Chuck and Benny with a hose line.

“Hey! Over here!” Sam frantically waves his arms at the men. They start for him when another drum explodes. It flattens them and launches their hose line into a crazy, thrashing arc. The flame has cut them off from the hose.

Dean sees the look in his brother’s eyes and quietly says, “Sammy, wait for another hose line.” But Sam is already standing up and looking for a path to the hose. Dean grabs at his sibling’s coat and says, “Wait for the goddamn hose team!”

Sam’s already on the outside of the railing, he moves to a vertical support beam and slides down to the factory floor. He's heading for the hose line when wham, the fire cuts him off. Not just any fire. That same one from so many years ago. It’s swells around him and launches itself full speed, as if to say, ‘Don’t fuck with me today, kid. Not in the mood.’

Benny has lost his helmet and it's lying near the flames spinning slowly upside down, just like his father's. Sam stands there, paralyzed, as the fire laughs at him. He feels like the same little boy. Scared shitless to do anything. “No! No more!” Sam steels himself against the fear.

There's a pathetic little wall extinguisher mounted on the pole. Sam lifts it, approaches the fire. You can practically hear the flames laugh at him. Sam suddenly turns and slams the neck of the extinguisher against the pole, breaking it off before heaving the canister, into the flames where it explodes a cloud of extinguisher powder that stuns the flames just long enough for Sam to dash through and to the hose. The fire shakes off the powder, rises up to kill, just as Sam spins and hits it with the stream.

It’s like a howling train wreck as the two grapple with each other; Benny and Chuck have an opening, and they're dashing for the catwalk ladder up to Dean because the fire doesn't care, it only has eyes for Sam now.

Dean sees Sam tackle the monster, and his eyes fill with tears and pride that his brother is taking it head on. The Demon is pushing Sam, pushing him with the fury of a frightened street bully, but Sam won't give, not even an inch. He shoves back with everything he has until the fire's back's broken and it's whimpering and dying.

Chuck and Benny have climbed up to Dean now, pulling him away. “That's my brother! That's my brother goddamn it,” His voice is raw from the smoke inhalation and he hurts everywhere, but he’s never been more proud of anyone in his life.

Station 15’s hose team comes in and Sam hands his off. “My brother...I’ve got to go,” the fireman nods and Sam takes off in a dead run.

Sam rushes up to the ambulance just as they are loading Dean on board. “You are such a pain in my ass,” Dean smiles weakly at his brother. Sam grabs his hand and tries to stay out of the EMTs’ way. “Please, don’t tell them about Rufus. It’ll hurt the department.”

Sam’s eyes are wet and he squeezes Dean’s hand. “I won’t. I’m sorry, I’m sorry I thought...”

The machines in the ambulance begin going crazy. “Shit, give him some lidocaine, now.” One of the EMT’s yells as the EKG monitor shrieks.

“His pressure's fading, push some adrenalin.” They shove Sam back as the ambulance barrels through the night, sirens and lights going nuts.

Dean’s eyes roll back in his head and he starts to seize. “Give him some Lorazepam, now.”

“Don’t you die on me, Dean!” Sam is near hysterics as the ambulance rolls to a stop outside the hospital and the emergency room personnel rushes to take an unconscious Dean inside.

They rush him into surgery and all Sam can do is sit and wait. He’s covered in soot, ashes and sweat. The tepid coffee and sad smile a nurse offers him does little to comfort him.

*******

A silent, quiet street absolutely empty of traffic. Then, through Kansas City’s downtown area, a fire engine slowly creeps. It's emergency lights are on but not the siren. This engine isn't in a hurry today. Behind comes another fire engine, then another. Ten in all, creeping slowly along. Behind the engines now walk firemen in their dress blues, dozens of them. Walking silently in step behind a coffin loaded in the rear of Engine 17. Benny drives as Sam, Garth, and the men of ladder company 46, walk behind. The silent procession passes under extended aerial ladders crossed like dress swords. People stop and remove their hats and bow their heads.

At the cemetery, Dean is standing beside Bobby in his dress blues. His arm is in a sling, fingers just visible from the cast. One crutch is under his good arm, a black eye and bruised cheek mar his face. His white peaked hat pulled low over his eyes to hide the cut on his forehead.

The casket is unloaded by Sam and the rest of 17. It is draped in the red, white and blue of the Kansas City flag, a battered fire helmet on top.

Sam wades through the sea of people to stand next to his brother. Sally, Rufus’ wife, is being comforted by a teenage boy. Sam swallows down the bile in his throat. Even after everything Rufus did, he still feels sad.

Bobby, who is still bandaged himself, begins to speak out over the sea of mourners. “In the Fire Department the alarm code 3-3-5 signifies that the company has returned home to quarters. We will now ring out that code to welcome home Rufus Turner.” With a small hammer he rings out 3-3-5 on the bell. The honor guard folds the flag covering Rufus’ casket and hands it to Sally, who holds it to her heart.

The funeral attendees break apart and Sam helps his brother to the passenger side of the Impala.

Bobby stops him before he gets behind the wheel. “Another man burns for his city? Is that how this is going to read?”

Sam glances at his brother, whose head is titled back against the seat, eyes closed. “Like it never happened...”

Bobby nods and starts for his car, then turns around, “Want to help me with something?”

*******

An elevator door opens and Sam and Bobby walk down the hall to Adler’s office. The Alderman's there, giving a press conference from his desk.

“Mr. Adler, how ya doing?” Bobby perches on the edge of the desk.

“I’m a little busy right now, Investigator.” Adler looks slightly confused and a little upset.

“This'll only take a minute. There's two cops outside that want to ask you about this...” Bobby drops the manning report on the desk. “This is just a guess of course, but I think they're gonna want to know why you secretly paid David Benton, Jeffrey Holcomb and Alan Seagrave to create a phony manpower study.” He looks at the members of the press, “You guys'll wait, right?” The room explodes with questions.

Sam leans close to the politician’s ear and says, “See that glow flashing in the corner of your eye? That's your career dissipation light. And it just went into high gear.” He shoves past the melee and into the hallway. He catches the Arson Investigator’s eye and both smile- just a little.

Sam turns to walk away when Bobby calls out, “Don't keep looking over your shoulder for the ghost. It's gone now.” They share a look and then Bobby’s gone.

*******

Sam uses his key card to open the hotel room where his brother is staying, courtesy of the KCPD, as Sam’s apartment has too many stairs and Dean’s cabin is too far away to make his therapy appointments.

Dean is still dressed in his dress blues and is laying on the bed. His cover is on the nightstand, but the rest of his uniform is intact. He’s pale and bruised, but otherwise okay. The leap into the elevator shaft snapped his radius and the fall from the catwalk broke 3 ribs, dislocated his already jacked up knee, and caused internal bleeding.

Sam smiles fondly at his sleeping sibling and begins unbuttoning his jacket, careful not to jostle Dean’s broken arm.

“If you wanted me naked, all you had to do was ask,” Dean’s eyes open and a smirk pulls up the corners of his mouth.

Sam laughs and continues to undo the buttons. After he’s removed both of their clothes and shoes and replaced them with a T-shirt and running shorts, he settles next to his brother on the bed.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I didn’t trust you and that I ever thought you had anything to do with...” Sam’s crying. He has cried more in the last week since the warehouse fire than he has in his whole life. “I’m sorry for all the times I ran away from you.”

Dean is glassy eyed, too. “Sam, it’s okay. In your shoes I would have thought it was me, too. And I pushed you away as many times as you ran. Can we just start over? You and me against the world?”

Sam presses his mouth gently to Dean’s. It’s chaste and quick. “Deal.” Sam settles back on his side of the bed and continues, “Since I’m out of a job and you’re out of commission for another six to eight weeks, we have plenty of time to get sick of each other.”

“There is a spot open on 17’s Engine. But I hear their Lieutenant is a hard ass.” Dean remarks.

Another laugh from the younger Winchester brother, “Really? Because I heard their Lieutenant was a hero. Bravest fireman on the job.”

“You forgot handsome. Too bad he’s taken.” Dean settles into Sam’s side.

“That is too bad,” Sam closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep.

***

Chapter 8: Epilogue

Kansas City, Kansas 2022

The fire that tore through a downtown office building had been particularly brutal and Lieutenant Sam Winchester is soaking wet. He was caught in the basement rescuing one 22-year-old Mindy McCarthy, whose earbuds had drowned out the sound of the fire alarm.

The building’s sprinkler system and the barrage from the hose team had rapidly flooded the basement. He had found poor Mindy on her tip-toes on a filing cabinet, up to her neck in freezing water.

Using just his hose line as an anchor, he guided the near hypothermic and hysterical girl to the emergency stairs and up to the Paramedics waiting at the top.

*******

He checks in with the EMTs who are rushing her to the hospital for shock and minor injuries, who assure Sam that she should be fine.

He spots Dean on the radio leaned up against 17’s SUV. His helmet is on the hood and his turnout coat is unbuckled, but he’s still covered in ashes and soot from the fire.

Sam catches his eye and Dean smiles, glad to see his brother has made it through another fire, more or less intact. He holds up a finger and finishes his conversation with whom Sam suspects is the Chief.

“Sammy, you alright?” Dean takes in his blue lips and soaking wet clothing.

“Yeah, just a little swim,” Sam removes his soaked turnout coat and grabs a towel. It’s an early spring morning and he’s lucky that the temperatures were not any lower.

Dean starts the truck and cranks the heater up, motioning his brother inside.

“I’m really okay, Dean,” Sam waves his brother off.

“I’m not asking, Lieutenant.” Dean says, once again motioning his brother inside.

“Yes sir, Captain.” Sam begrudgingly says and sheds his bunker pants to slip inside the already warming vehicle.

It’s another 20 minutes before reports are signed and 17 is allowed to leave. By the time they reach the firehouse, their 24 hour shift is over.

Sam is the first into the shower and uses the hot water to warm himself up before waiting on Dean to finish with his reports so they can leave.

Both brothers were given commendations for bravery after the warehouse fire; when Dean made the Captains list, 4 years later, Sam was finally promoted to Lieutenant. Which was a position that he fought hard for after returning to 17.

*******

Dean drives them in the Impala to the cabin that was totally restored over a period of 5 years. It was secluded and quiet and where they chose to spend their time off duty.

Dean wordlessly drags his brother into their bedroom and begins stripping the younger man’s clothing, while kissing every patch of skin that is revealed in the removal of clothes. Sam manages to rid Dean of his T-shirt and undoes the buckle of his belt before falling onto the mattress, with Dean’s tongue plundering his mouth.

The kisses get desperate, all teeth and spit and biting lips. Dean’s hands forcing Sam’s onto the mattress while he straddles his hips to keep him from moving. He sucks skin into his mouth from Sam’s nipples down to his abs before swallowing Sam’s painfully hard erection in his mouth. The suction and hollowing of his cheeks cause Sam to shout out, “Oh fuck.”

Sam is right on the edge when Dean produces a bottle of lube and coats his fingers. One finger breaches his opening and then Dean’s tongue has joined the onslaught on Sam’s hole and is forcing it in as far as he can. In and out and in and out and before long Sam can barely stay conscious. Dean adds a finger into the entrance and immediately massages his prostate. Sam is a writhing mess and can’t help the pleas falling from his mouth. Once a third finger is added and Dean begins trying to suck his brain out through his dick, Sam demands to be fucked.

“I want you to ride me Sam, hard and fast.” The look in Dean’s eyes are wild and unrestrained, pupils blown to nearly black. He rolls his brother on top and allows Sam to discard his boxers and jeans, before lubing his neglected but rock hard length up.

Sam eases himself down slowly, painful inch, by inch. Dean’s feet are planted on the mattress and he thrusts up, causing himself to bottom out. The rhythm is brutal, Sam’s body is bouncing as quickly as he can, his head thrown back in ecstasy. Dean’s hands are gripping his brother’s hips and there’s no doubt that he will leave finger shaped bruises.

The sinful slapping of skin meeting and pornographic moans fill the room along with smells of sweat and sex.

Both men are covered in sweat, hair soaking wet. Dean’s mouth has formed a perfect “o” shape and Sam is worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

Both are so close. The adrenaline after a bad fire, not to mention having to keep their hands to themselves while on duty, only adds to the passionate, lust filled fucking that tends to happen in these instances. It’s not the lazy, gently lovemaking that happens mornings that they wake up with nothing to do, but sleepily worship each others’ bodies.

Dean wraps a still slippery hand around Sam’s cock and strokes as fast as he can, until Sam lets out a gurgle from his throat and his seed spills from him like an erupting volcano, up his abs and chest. The tightening of his sphincter muscle clamping down on Dean’s swollen shaft rips his own orgasm from him and he comes with a shout.

Sam disengages himself from Dean’s body and falls down on his side of the bed, curling around his brother, eyes already half mast and fluttering.

“You can’t go to sleep, the ceremony is today,” Dean reminds Sam.

“I know, I wouldn’t miss it.” Sam says fondly.

*******

Dean lets his brother doze for twenty minutes, before dragging him into the bathroom. It was one of the first things that the cabin received during the remodel- a bathroom and shower big enough for two.

Once inside the shower, Dean can’t keep his hands off Sam. The years of fighting fires and heavy equipment have turned his already built brother into a Greek God. Muscles upon muscles and that golden skin that he’d inherited from John make it impossible for him to not touch him.

Even before they’d gotten fully wet, Sam finds himself bent over in the shower with his hands braced on the tile, with Dean behind him, fingers interlocking. His chest completely fused to Sam’s back while he thrusts into him under the spray of the shower.

It takes a little longer than the first round, but the filthy litany of words being whispered in Sam’s ear, causes him fall over the edge much quicker than he’d like to admit. Just a few more thrusts and Dean is following him over the edge.

Both soap up as quickly as possible and exit the shower to shave. There are a few minutes of a battle over the mirror at the sink, that is reminiscent of the their teenage years, but they settle down enough to shave and brush their teeth before dressing in their dress blues.

Dean checks his appearance and straightens Sam’s tie, before admiring the way he’s filling out his uniform.

“Dean, if you don’t stop looking at me like that, we won’t make it.” Sam says with a smirk. He had been no less guilty of giving Dean heated glances when he was sure his brother was not looking.

“Alright, let’s go,” Dean twirls his keys in his hand and exits the cabin.

*******

While Dean is content to take a seat with the rest of the audience, he and Sam are ushered to the front of the honor guard. The white covers of KCPD’s command ranks making them stick out in the sea of common blues. Only the Academy Personnel and Chief Crowley wear covers that match their own.

The ceremony starts just as formally as both Winchesters remember, with the names of this year’s deceased firemen and a moment of silence. Crowley recites the Fire Departments long standing mottos, with the oath given to all the candidates.

The names are announced at the end as each Candidate walks across to receive his or her certificate as well their KCPD department pin. When Benjamin Winchester’s name is announced, the brothers let out ear splitting whistles and whoops as Ben turns five shades of red.

*******

Punch and cake are dispersed as Ben’s candidate friends rush to be introduced to the two legends that have shown up at a simple graduation. They shake hands and assure the young firemen that more times than not, being a good fireman is learning from your superiors, listening and doing what you’re told- even if it sounds lame or unimportant.

Lisa and Jackson shake hands with the brothers and Ben leaves with several friends to celebrate.

*******

Monday morning rolls around and the alarm call goes out a couple hours after their shift begins. Sam has piled into the shot gun position of Engine 17 and Dean follows behind in the Department’s SUV.

It’s an apartment building blaze and Ben tumbles out of the truck, unable to make shaking hands fasten the buckles and belts of his protective gear. Sam approaches the young man with a smile that is much friendlier than he remembered receiving.

“You’re doing it wrong,” he says softly. “Take a deep breath,” Sam refastens his gear and straightens the straps of his air tank. “You’ve got this, just stay with me, okay?”

An affirmative nod is given and Dean watches from the sidelines with a slight smile and tears in his eyes. His eyes meet his sibling’s and he nods slightly. It’s a thank you, of sorts. Ben is in the best hands possible.

***

Next story in series - Welcome To Middle Age.

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