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Craving

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Summary: SPN Xover Twilight: Sam Winchester is sent to school at Forks and is prepared to be bored to death until he is fascinated by Dean Cullen. He knows something is “off” with the Cullen boy but can’t make himself care. Slash. Incest (Not really bros though)

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Supernatural > Non-BtVS/AtS Stories
Twilight > Non-BTVS/AtS Stories
(Past Donor)CasFR1817117,62535717,0794 Jan 0910 Mar 09Yes

Chapter One

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Lovely manip by mkitty3

Fandom: SPN X-Over Twilight
Title: Craving
Authors: Cas co-written with Fetish
Pairing: Vamp!Dean/Sam, John, the Cullen family (from Stephenie Meyer’s “Twilight”)
Rating/Warnings: NC 17; Slash; light vamp bloodplay (Sam and Dean are not brothers in this fic) but incest warning given per moderator request
Characters: The characters are not ours, we're just playin' with 'em
Teaser: He really shouldn't be breathing, but Dean couldn't help it. He inhaled Sam’s scent deeper, telling himself it made no difference. His entire body had already reacted to it and nothing... nothing could make him forget the heady sensations coursing through his veins, or the need rising... engulfing him

* * *


Sam stood outside next to his car, a 1967 Chevy Impala, black. It used to be his father's, but now, it was his. He still couldn't believe that his dad was pawning him off on some distant aunt he had never met before. He understood that his dad’s hunting trip was going to be a long one and that he wouldn't be able to let Sam attend school because he’d be on the constant move, but still, he didn't have to simply abandon him to this aunt whoever, did he?

John stepped out the motel room door and went to his truck, loading the last of his gear before turning to face Sam. He held out a large slip of paper, a computer print out of an address and directions. "I know you don't know Aunt Cathleen, but she's a good woman, and she'll take care of you while I'm gone."

"But, Dad, I don't..." Sam sighed and nodded. There was no point in arguing. When John Winchester made up his mind about something, he wasn't going to change it. No matter how much he argued, begged or pleaded. Looking down at the paper, Sam quirked a brow. "Washington state, Dad?" he asked before looking back at his Dad, "You're sending me to Washington state?" Guess he was saying goodbye to the sun too. Washington state was definitely not going to be as sunny as California was... or Kansas had been, or even South Dakota.

John nodded, “Aunt Cathleen lives in a small town called Forks."

Forks. Lovely. Sam tried not to roll his eyes. "Yeah," he mumbled, "Okay."

John nodded as he looked at Sam, "Drive safe, and call me when you get there. I won't be around to call a lot after that, but, I do wanna know you made it okay."

"Yeah, Dad. I will."

John nodded, then the two stood looking awkward for a few moments, before they hugged, neither was sure who initiated it, but it really didn't matter. It was quick, but they both knew they loved and cared about it other, no need for girly chick-flick moments to linger. John patted Sam on the back. "You'll be fine. You might even like it there."

Sam turned and started toward the Impala's driver side door. Yeah, sure he'd like it there. Probably about as much as he liked to be kicked in the balls, but, whatever.

**

Sam decided to take the scenic route to Forks, Washington. He'd always wanted to see the coast. Actually see it, without being set to hunt some supernatural whatever, so he drove along the coast to get there. Sure it added a good day to the driving, but it wasn't like he was in a real big hurry to get there anyway.

Soon enough, too soon really, Sam was pulling up into the driveway of the small house. "Oh great. So small there's no way I won't be bumping into Aunt Cathleen every freakin moment," he sighed as he turned off the car and opened the door. "If she pinches my cheeks, I swear to god I'm leaving." he muttered under his breath.

Even from the kitchen, Cathleen Wood's sharp ears heard the car pull up the drive. Wiping her hands on the dishtowel, and patting her steel gray hair pulled tightly into a bun, she all but marched to the front door and tugged it open. A few more steps, and she was at the edge of the porch, staring down the tall young man. "So you're John's boy. It took him long enough to tell me he had one," she said gruffly, almost as if she blamed the youth.

Sam eyed the old woman before him, before he dropped his gaze, "Yeah, he never really mentioned you either." He shifted his weight nervously, glancing over his shoulder at the car, then looking back at this woman who was apparently his aunt. "Uh, I only have one bag. Should I... I mean, do I have a place to put my stuff?"

"Well I didn't invite you here to have you set up house on the porch, did I? Get your gear," she nodded. "Place is bigger than it looks. Hurry up, this drizzle is going to turn into a downpour." Pushing the door open wider, she watched him. John's boy. Other than his coloring, he didn't look a bit like her nephew.

Sam popped the trunk of the Impala, careful to stand where the woman wouldn't see all the hunting gear he had stashed inside. Amulets, tools, guns, bags of rock salt, and other useful items filled the trunk, but his bag lay on top, so it wasn't as though he needed to dig around.

Grabbing the bag, Sam closed the trunk and walked back toward the door, glancing up at the gray sky. Yeah, the sun was a definite goner. Damn it. With a sigh he walked up onto the porch, and remembering his manners, stopped by his aunt. "Uh, thanks... for letting me stay," he told her, making sure to leave off the part he added in his head, 'even if I would rather shoot off my foot.'

She didn't blame him for his reluctance, and had to give him a few points for politeness. Teens these days... Giving him a nod, she lead him inside the little parlor. To the right, she showed him where the sitting room was, with a nice sized television and a big basket with her knitting wools and needles. The wooden floors squeaked slightly as they walked down the hallway and she pointed out the kitchen with an old fashioned woodburning stove right next to a modern one, that she hardly used. "I'll have dinner for you, but I get out of the house far too early to be cooking your breakfasts."

Sighing slightly, she showed him the rest of the downstairs, including her bedroom, a spare room and a bathroom. "I told you it's bigger than you thought," she almost smirked. The house was narrow, but seemed to go on forever depth-wise. "You can choose between this room and," she nodded at the stairs. "The room upstairs has its own bathroom, but if you go up there, mind your head. Its got slanted ceilings and wasn't built with giants in mind." It gave her a strange satisfaction to see her grandnephew was tall, but she had a point about the ceilings.

Sam glanced toward the stairs, half wondering if they would hold his weight. "Is it okay if I check it out up there?" he asked, nodding toward the steps. "If it works out, it would give us both more privacy." At her return nod, he put a foot on the first step and slowly lowering his weight on it. The wood creaked, but it held his weight fine. With a sigh of relief, he hurried up the remaining stairs.

Stepping up to the door of the bedroom on the upstairs floor, Sam let his gaze flicker about the room. It wasn't much. There was a single bed, two small windows, and a small desk next to the window, with a chair that looked like it might collapse on him if he sat in it. Walking in, Sam ducked his head slightly, looking up toward the ceiling, then straightened when he saw that he wasn't going to knock himself out. Pushing the neighboring door open he found a small bathroom. Toilet, sink and clawfoot tub. He frowned slightly, not thrilled that there was no shower stall, but then again, it was better then sharing the downstairs one with his aunt.

Yeah, this would work. It wasn't great by any means, and these lacy curtains would have to go, but he could fix the room up in no time to his liking. Sam tossed his bag down on the bed, then turned to make his way back down the stairs, a small smile on his face. "Found my room!" he called out half way down the stairs.

"Good." There was a twinkle in her dark eyes as she looked at him. "The curtains..." she didn't say awful..."were a gift from your mother. Her first and last attempt at sewing."

Sam had bounded down the stairs and was now stood in front of her as she spoke of his mother. His head hung down, smile falling from his face. "Oh." it was all he could think of to say. Well, he couldn't take them down now. He sighed softly as he followed her and slumped into a chair at the dining room table without bothering to pull it out.

Well, maybe he could just... cover the curtains... a bit. "When, uh, when was mom... here?"

"A long time ago." She thought back to a time when her nephew and his wife had considered making Forks their home. "About twenty two, twenty three years ago. They stayed with me for a while." Knowing how secretive John was, she didn't go on to tell the youth that his mother had been pregnant and that she'd miscarried. That had been the last she'd seen of the young couple, although John contacted her once every decade. "Would you like some tea or coffee, or milk?"

Sam pressed his lips together as he hung his head thinking about his mother and father in this small house. He shrugged, "Um, milk...please." after a moment, he could hear his Dad in his head telling him to get off his keester and go get it himself. With a huff, Sam pulled to his feet. "I can get it. Just, uh, where are the glasses?"

From the dining room, she pointed to a cabinet in the kitchen. "There's also a cake on the counter, help yourself." For the second time since Sam had appeared at her doorstep, she was relieved John had brought him up right. As Sam moved around the kitchen, she told him about the town. The main street where all the restaurants and businesses were, which weren't many. The location of his school, which was impossible to miss, and a little bit of the town's history.

When he returned, she continued. "I work in the coroner's office in the next town over. Have been there for over thirty years now. I leave early and get out early, but most days I have things like bridge club and knitting club, so I don't get home until after seven or so. Are you studious?" Her eyes narrowed, "your father said you are." She wasn't keen on having to get after a teenager about homework at her age but was up to it if necessary.

Sam smiled at her, "I got straight A's at the last school I went to." he shrugged, "Kind of a geek, I guess," he told her as he sat down with his glass of milk and piece of cake. Belatedly he stood up quickly, eyes wide, "Oh, I'm sorry, did you want something? I kinda forgot, I'm a little nervous.” As he talked he was waving his arm back toward the kitchen only to knock his plate of cake onto the floor. "And accident prone, apparently," he muttered as the plate clattered against the hard wood. Sam grimaced and quickly knelt to clean it up. "Sorry, Aunt, uh, Cathleen," he mumbled, shaking his head at himself.

"Great aunt," she corrected, telling him where the dust bin was in the kitchen. "There aren't any spills this floor hasn't see, but just you keep away from my crystal figurines collection in the living room." Pushing up from her chair, she walked past him into the kitchen. "You don't have to keep me company, or anything. Dinner will be ready in an hour and half."

Sam nodded. Once he had the mess cleaned, he grabbed his glass, drinking down the milk before taking it to the sink. "I'll go unpack a bit." he mumbled, before walking from the room.

* * *

The sky over Forks was angry and dark. The rain falling in sheets hardly slowed Dean Cullen's progress down the mountain, his Lamborghini taking the curves at deadly speeds until he reached the main street, where he slowed enough that if he was cited for driving fast, they wouldn't throw away the key. That thought amused him.

Timing it just right so he'd never have to stop, he went through a green light, made a u-turn into the high school parking lot, and a sharp turn into his spot. Only his quick reflexes in slamming on the brakes stopped him from crashing right into a big boat of a car that was trying to take his spot. "Sonova bitch," he grit out, opening his door and stepping out in a fluid motion. The impact had been light, but he wanted to check for damage. Then there was the human idiot driver to check on, maybe he'd scared himself to death.


Sam had tried to hold off going to school as long as he could that morning, rummaging around, moving his bed closer to one of the windows so that if the sun ever made an appearance it would shine on his feet in the morning and not his face. Eventually, he’d resigned himself to the fact he couldn't hold off the inevitable any longer and left the house, hurrying to the Impala through the downpour. Pulling into the school grounds he found almost every space in the lot filled, save for one... unless he wanted to have to trudge through the rain for nearly a half mile. Not likely. He wasn't sure why everyone seemed to simply ignore the spot, but he sure as hell wasn't going to. It was up front, on pavement and not the mud hell, and it was wide open.

Pulling the Impala around he stated to pull into the empty space when out of no where, as though it had been dropped from the sky in this torrential downpour, came a sports car pulling in at the same time. He hadn't even seen the damn thing until he felt the slight jolt from the car striking his own. Ah, hell. Dad was gonna kill him if the car was wrecked.

With a muttered curse under his breath, Sam reached for the door handle and slid from behind the wheel. Turning to face whatever idiot it was that had hit his car, Sam narrowed his eyes.

Having already confirmed there was no damage to his vehicle, Dean straightened. About to tell the stranger, who had to be the new kid at school, that this spot was taken, he found the words stuck in his throat. The driver of the other car was tall, dark, lanky, and had the face of some of the angels the old masters used to paint. But that wasn't what struck Dean. It was the boy's scent. There was barely any wind, and they were a car apart, but he felt like he was sucker punched by a need... a craving so terrible, so sharp, he was sure he couldn't control it. His eyes went dark... black... he clenched his fists and willed the newcomer to get the fuck away.

When the guy pulled up from looking at the car’s bumpers, then looked at him, Sam's eyes widened slightly. The guy was... beautiful. There was no other word for it. He was beautiful. Dark short blond hair, pale skin, and his eyes... were they... black? The look on the guys face, Sam figured he must have messed up his expensive car on the Impala's bumper.

Sam licked his lips, glancing at the other kids who had stopped to watch, he wasn't sure if they expected there to be a fight or just what the deal was, but they were all watching with their mouths hanging open. With a sigh, Sam walked to the end of the Impala, his eyes on the other guy as he moved. Finally, he tore his gaze away and looked down to find that there wasn't even a scratch... on either car. What the hell was the guy’s problem then? He was glaring at Sam like he'd just committed a cardinal sin. "Uh, look, sorry, about the car," Sam stammered, glancing around nervously. He didn't need to get into a fight the first day of school, so he had apologized... even though he didn't exactly think this was his fault. Besides, no matter how tough this guy was, he didn't have the training Sam did. It wouldn't be a fair fight.

He really shouldn't be breathing, but Dean couldn't help it. He inhaled the scent deeper, telling himself it made no difference. His entire body had reacted to it already and nothing... nothing could make him forget the heady sensations coursing through his veins, or the need rising... engulfing him. He bared his teeth, imagining how soft the boy's throat would be, how sweet his blood, how exciting his moans would sound in his ears.

Dean blinked. "Stay out of this spot," he forced out, staggering backward and getting into the car. Without bothering to turn the car around, he drove backwards, all the way out into the street, tires squealing against the wet pavement.

Sam blinked. Stay out of this spot, he says.... Sam huffed and shook his head as he turned and started to walk back toward the still open driver side door, pausing there, He looked in the direction the Lamborghini had taken sped off. Well, he looked beautiful anyway, even if he was a jerk.

Sliding behind the wheel, Sam put the car in reverse and slowly backed up, pulling around toward the other open spaces farther away, muttering under his breath as he drove. Parking the Impala, Sam grabbed his backpack and headed out into the rain. Maybe he'd luck out and get pneumonia and die. Nah, he couldn't get that lucky.

* * *

For two days, Dean stayed away from school. He’d spoken with Carlisle, his dad for all purposes, and he'd phoned his brother Edward who was now in Alaska. Edward had gone though something similar very recently. Having seen everything Edward experience and the dangers he'd put both his human girlfriend, Bella, and their own family through, Dean was fully prepared not to make the same mistakes. Sure, they all loved Bella now, she was like family... and dinner if they weren't careful. She made Edward happy, there was that as well. But she spelled d-a-n-g-e-r, and that was the bottom line.

Thinking he had his cravings under control after having gone on a long hunt with Emmet, Dean was back at school. When he'd arrived a few hours ago, he'd almost been willing to bet a certain car from the dark ages would have taken his spot, but he'd been wrong. Good, maybe the human had some sense.

Then he'd thought maybe he'd be spared seeing more of the new kid, maybe they wouldn't be in the same classes. And yeah, he knew his name, but not thinking it ... not personalizing it... helped a bit.

In third period, English, he'd gone to the back of the room and slumped down in his chair, flipping his textbook open. Dammit. He didn't have to look up. The now familiar tension filled him, made him grit his teeth as he tried to concentrate on the words swimming in front of his eyes instead of on that intoxicating scent.

Sam walked in, glancing at one of the guys and the girl he'd met and flashing them one of his dimple-filled smiles, before his gaze settled totally on the person in the seat right beside his seat. Oh shit.

With a sigh, Sam made his way back to his seat and slid into it, making sure to keep his eyes forward as much as possible, though as he leaned his head slightly and through his long bangs stole a glance or two at the guy next to him. Dean Cullen. Sam had asked Tom, Stacy and Mike what his name was after they had met and began talking about the school and who was cool and who wasn't.

Feeling the weight of the new kid's gaze, Dean met it for only a second, a warning clear in his eyes and in the unfriendly sneer he mustered. Stay away from me. He leaned as far to the other side of his desk as possible, ignoring him again.

Jesus! What the hell was this guys problem? Sam frowned, looking quickly away from him. Noticing how far away the guy was leaning, Sam tried to smell himself without looking like he was smelling himself. No. Wasn't him. Tommy Boy, deodorant and soap. Nothing bad there. Sam huffed and tried to concentrate on what the teacher was saying and not the guy beside him, who kept drawing his attention despite himself.

The next half hour crawled by excruciatingly slowly. Dean thought he was about to go out of his mind. He'd never been so fucking aware of anyone in his life. Not a soul. Without looking, he could sense every breath the boy took. Hear every sigh. Know that half of them were directed to him. Hearing his pencil scribbling across paper, he could imagine those long fingers closed around the the pencil, the pressure... and why the hell that should make him feel so unbalanced was beyond him.

Thirty more minutes. He could survive them. Then he could rejoin his own kind in the cafeteria, his brothers and sisters would ground him.

Twenty eight more minutes.

The boy moved suddenly, bending over to get something out of his bag pack. Fuck His scent struck Dean so hard, he had to grip the edge of his desk. His pale fingers grew even whiter at the knuckles as he internally started to count, and to consider running out of class.

Sam searched through his backpack, frowning. Where the hell was the damn book? He knew he had it with him at the house last night... SHIT! He'd left it on the damn nightstand. Oh hell... now what was he going to do? Sam slowly started to straighten and glanced around for someone nearby to share with. Damn it. With a sigh, he looked at the guy who apparently thought he had cooties, though he had thought they'd outgrown such behavior years ago, and licked his lips slowly, trying to think of how to ask.

"Uh, dude," Sam whispered, "I left my book at home... can I, uh, can I share with you?"

The sharp no at the tip of Dean’s tongue died a fiery death as he felt the teacher's gaze on them. This was his worst nightmare. He gave a barely perceptible nod, his grip on the desk tightening as the guy dragged his desk close. Too close. Dean pulled his arm away just as the two desks touched.

One glance into those hazel eyes and Dean had to use every shred of his control. Maybe the guy saw something of what he was feeling, because now he was swallowing, and drawing Dean's attention to his throat. A hundred times worse... this was a hundred times worse. Practically shoving the book toward the guy, Dean pulled as far away as he could without half his ass hanging off his chair.

Sam glanced at the guy, their eyes meeting for only a split second, but it still made the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He tore his gaze away, just in time to find the teacher giving him 'that look'.

"Maybe you could read the next three paragraphs for us, Sam," she said.

Sam stiffled a groan as he looked down at the book that was all but shoved at him. Great. He had to read while sitting next to the town’s next serial killer. Perfect.

With a sigh, Sam tried to focus his attention on the book and started reading. If he just kept reading, maybe all thoughts of this guy would vanish, maybe he'd get drawn into the story like he usually did when he read, maybe... yeah, right. And maybe he'd win the lottery and move to California where the sun lived and beautiful guys with black eyes and the palest skin possible weren't glaring at him for breathing.

At first the boy spoke in a low voice, but it got stronger as he read the passage. Was it possible to be drawn to someone's voice and cadence? Did it have to do with his blood, his scent? Or was this something different? It was as if Dean felt every word of the melancholy poem stabbing him deep in the heart. The boy didn't stumble over the words, didn't seem to feel self conscious, and his facial expressions... Dean hadn't been able to keep from stealing a glance or two... made it clear he understood the layered meanings behind the words. There went Dean's hope that the guy was as dumb as a rock.

When he stopped reading, Dean reached for the book and felt the boy's warm breath on the back of his hand. This time when he looked at him, there was a new hunger in the depths of his eyes.

As their gazes clashed, Sam's eyes widen slightly before he quickly turned his head away, frowning as he tried to think of everything he had learned from his father. This wasn't right. This wasn't right. The thought, kept echoing through his head. He was sure, positive that Dean Cullen had black eyes... now he suddenly had brilliant green/gold!? No way he put in contacts sitting there in class while Sam had been reading. No way. Sam glanced back toward the guy, swallowing hard. "How - how'd you do that?" he whispered.

If he swallowed one more time... A muscle pulsed in Dean's jaw. "Do what," he answered tightly. Four minutes. He could last four minutes.

Sam narrowed his eyes at the guy. "Your eyes. I know they were black a second ago."

Shit. He was observant too. Dean masked his thoughts even as he tried again, unsuccessfully, to read the guy's mind. Dammit. Narrowing his own eyes, Dean answered. "Yours were brown a moment ago, now they're practically green. It's the lighting." His tone was meant to make the guy feel like a fool.

Then the bell rang, and Dean disappeared with his book and bag, leaving temptation behind him. That... that had been pure torture.

Sam huffed as he watched Dean Cullen walk from the room. "They're called hazel, asshole and they don't change from black to greenish gold," he mumbled under his breath reaching down for his book bag. No one’s eyes did that. At least no one human.

* * *

Sam sat in the lunchroom surrounded by his new friends, Tom, Stacy and Mike, laughing and having a pretty good time talking about the newspaper article that Mike was writing about the local Reservation.

Stacy was leaning with her hands on Sam's shoulder as she stuck her tongue out at Tom for calling her a bitch about.... Sam wasn't sure just what.. about that time, his attention was totally on the Cullen family as they walked into the cafeteria.

Mike, nudged him, but Sam only made a small sound in his throat keeping his eyes trained on Dean Culle. He didn't even hear Stacy groan as she pulled away from him to sit down in the chair beside him.
"Give it up, dude. He's not your type." Tom told him, glancing at Mike and Stacy.
Sam nodded, "Yeah, yeah," Sam muttered, not really listening to them.
"Look, Sam. We all know what you said about not limiting yourself on who you are going to love and all, but dude, the Cullens are off limits." Stacy told him. She’d never have pegged him to be bisexual until they’d all had that discussion where he said gender shouldn’t matter.
Sam only nodded slowly.

The first thing they did was stake their claim to the table in the corner of the room. No one ever sat there but his family. Dean felt Emmet watching him and knew it was because he was also watching him. Not saying a thing, he sat down next to Alice who was looking directly at the boy.

He's cute. I think he's crushing.

Hearing Alice's thoughts, Dean answered. "Only because he's got a death wish."

Is that what he's thinking about? A death wish?

Dean cursed and gave her a hard look. She knew how frustrating he found it that he couldn't read the guy's thoughts.

That was when Jasper got up to go get a tray of food, and the others filed out behind him. As Alice passed Dean, she asked, "what about Stacy. What is she thinking?" When Dean's expression turned impossibly harder, she had her answer. "It's gonna happen," she foretold, leaving him behind to go straight to the drinks station.

Everything Alice saw was subject to change. Nothing was written in stone. At least that was what Dean told himself as he started to fill his tray with foods he wasn't about to eat. He turned his head slightly, and met hazel eyes staring intently at him as if trying to figure him out.

Sam stiffened slightly and swallowed hard, quickly looking away toward Stacy who's ass was now in his face as she leaned over the table to whisper something to Mike.
Using that as an excuse to look back over at Dean again, he licked his lips. "Uh, maybe I'll go get a salad," he mumbled pulling from his chair and walking toward the Cullens.

It irked him. The fact that the boy had looked away to stare at Stacy's behind. Yeah he knew any red blooded human male would have done the same, but he also knew she'd done it on purpose, just to draw his attention.

The look of displeasure was still on his face when the guy came into the line, right next to him. Next to him! "Did you have a question?" he asked, looking directly at him.

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, are those tomatoes fresh?" What the heck was up with this guy? No, he didn't have a question. He was just.. Sam huffed and shook his head, reached for some fruit instead. "Look, I don't know why you don't like me," Sam began, both hands tightening on his tray. "I told you I was sorry about your car, it wasn't even dented. I don't know what the hell your problem with me is," he turned to face Dean then, hands leaving the tray as he turned. "Guess I'm slow, why don't you spell it out for me!"

"I don't dislike you," Dean eventually said, unable to truthfully tell him he didn't have a problem with him. He had a problem, a big one. "And the tomatoes aren't fresh. I'll bet they've been sitting around the kitchen for weeks. That one there... bet there's a worm in it," he said, pointing at a cherry tomato, before moving away as the guy moved along with him.

Didn't dislike.... Sam glanced at the cherry tomato and back at Dean, confusion and anger clear on his face. "And just how the hell do you know that!? What, are you Superman now? Can you see through me?" Sam stepped out slightly from the line, opening his arms wide for Dean to see through him. Noticing that they had attracted everyone’s attention, he lowered his arms. "And if you don't dislike me, then what the hell is it!?" Sam asked him, just as Stacy slid in between them, pressing her hands to Sam's chest.
"Sam," she said, glancing over her shoulder at Dean, and giving him an apologetic look before looking back at Sam, "Maybe you ought to step outside. Calm down a little?" she suggested.

Sam glanced down at her before looking back up at Dean, "I'm fine." he told her through clenched teeth.

"You should listen to her." It killed him to say it, when he knew that the next thing Stacy was going to tell the boy was that they should go listen to a CD in her car. "And forget the warning. Knock yourself out, eat the fuckin' tomato." Giving them his back, Dean walked up to the cashier and pulled his wallet out, waiting for her to finish ringing up the student on her other side.
"Unbe-freakin'-lievable." Sam muttered as he glanced back down at Stacy who was tugging on him trying to get him to walk out with her. "Fine." he told her, glaring daggers at Dean as he walked past, putting an arm around Stacy's shoulders.

Seeing the deep scowl on her brother's ordinarily expressionless face, Alice put her hand over his. You could change this.

He shook his head. "It's better this way."

Rosalie nodded. "He's right. One mistake is enough."

Emmet looked at her, then at Dean. I don't think Edward made a mistake. He took a difficult path, but it was the better one.

Dean gave no indication he'd heard Emmet's thoughts as he ripped the bun on his tray to shreds. Somewhere in the cafeteria, a girl shrieked about finding a worm in her food. Too bad tall, dark and addicting wasn't around to hear it.

* * *

It was only eight at night, but Dean saw Emmet and Rosalie exchange heated looks. He tried not to read their minds, but failed. It was a relief when they left the living room.

Carlisle's voice drew his attention. He tried to listen, to stay interested as his father talked about the classical movie they were watching on the big flat screen in their ultra modern house in the boonies.

His mind wandered. Kept wandering, thinking on the deepest, most serious eyes he'd ever seen. Unafraid. Full of life, and of emotions. Just the thought made him crave things. Things beyond the obvious. Things that he'd never experienced. Turning his head slightly, he saw Carlisle put his hand over Esme's, and almost flinched at the familiar sight.

Wordlessly, he shot up and headed up the stairs, ignoring his mother's call.

"Let him go, Esme. He has to find his own way," Carlisle told her, drawing her close. They both worried about Dean. It had been a relief when Edward found a mate, difficult as it was seeing as she was human. As for Dean... it was still unclear whether it was this new boy's blood that he craved, or something more.

(A/N: First time writing in Twilight setting/fandom. Please let us know what you think of it)
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