Chasing Prince Charming
Chasing Prince Charming
Xander saw Dean before he’d even reached Dawn and decided that whoever’d been in on getting him here had excellent taste. They’d gone with 18th century highway robber, high boots and long leather trench coat and a holster for the gun on his hip. Xander’s own costume was almost as simple, black pants tucked into tall black boots and a white fluffy shirt. Pirates were awesome because he got to wear his eyepatch and
Of course, Xander was up and moving before Dean had spotted him because, where there was one Winchester brother, there was another, and Xander wasn’t about to have a fistfight in the middle of a bonfire. The ways to accidentally die were astronomical and Xander wasn’t going to risk it. He was going to clock Samuel Winchester but he was going to do it where neither of them could accidentally catch on fire or land on something sharp.
A hand reached out from beside a crypt as he passed and yanked and Xander was swinging before he could really see who it was.
“Christ,” Sam murmured, hand pressed to his bleeding mouth.
Then Xander pulled back and swung again, catching him right in the nose. If that meant that Sam couldn’t see the tears that started to well up or hear the harsh breathing, well, all the better.
And Xander ran because he hated to cry and he didn’t really want to get punched when he was already having trouble breathing.
Somebody tackled him from behind, long body allowing him to roll but getting him into some kind of hold that Xander just didn’t have the skill to break out of. And, goddess, but Sam looked horrible, blood smeared over his face and bags under his eyes.
The hands around his wrists flexed, then Sam closed his eyes and rolled his forehead against Xander’s before tucking his face into his neck and there were tears on his skin that weren’t Xander’s. Xander lay still for a moment, shocked, before gently pulling his wrists free and wrapping his arms around Sam, one hand coming up to run through thick hair. And words started, barely recognizable, “I’m Sorry,” and “Scared” and “Belong to so many people” and Xander carefully rolled them, letting his body rest on Sam’s as he pulled out a white hanky and started to mop at Sam’s face, tears and blood and tired hopelessness staining it.
Then he leaned down and kissed him, hot and heavy, because he’d been gone and he’d come back and Xander understood fear and running and never being able to run far enough. Sam clenched around him and it was like grappling with sexy stuff thrown in and a little rough, angry make up sex seemed to be appropriate.
He knew that Sam wasn’t a Happily Ever After kind of guy. Xander wasn’t, either, not really. And Xander didn’t really want Happily Ever After because forever was a long time and he eventually wanted some peace. But damned if he wasn’t taking every second of happy he could get.