Pavlovian Dog

Pavlovian Dog
A Miracles/Supernatural Cross-over
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

Chapters: 1 of 1
Rating: Adult17+
Word Count: 6,251
Dates: Written July-August 2006
Summary: After having a strange dream about his role in the Apocalypse, Dean can't sleep, and can't stop thinking about Paul Callan. What he does about it proves that Dean Winchester may just be too much for Paul to handle. Dean/Paul.
Timeline: Happens after the Supernatural episode "The Benders" and before "Shadow," which moves the Miracles timeline up to 2006.
Warning: Contains spoilers for all of Miracles and Supernatural up to "The Benders." Graphic sexual situations between two men. Adult language. There's a little talk about the Christian religion that's not all favorable.
Betas: Thanks to Meredevachon, KaijaWest, and Heather L. for the excellent, helpful beta reads.
Author's Notes: Follows after "A Distant Voice in the Darkness." Additional notes will be at the end of the story.
Just wanted to say for the record that I love Bon Jovi - one of my favorite bands ever. But Dean would eat a band like that for breakfast. (Or so I thought, until the episode where he said that Bon Jovi rocks "on occasion." XD)
Fans of Mystery Science Theatre 3000 should be on the lookout for a reference. I couldn't resist.
Oh, and I know the graphic at the top of the page has Paul answering the wrong phone for illustrating this story, but whatcha gonna do? This was as close as I could get. ;)
Just wanted to thank my friend and RPG partner K-kitty again for introducing me to the joy and angst of empathy. ^_^

        Heading into the Apocalypse. Heading right fucking into the Apocalypse.

        Dean somehow knew he was dreaming. But it was one of those dreams. His dreams of Paul. He just knew this; he couldn't say how.

        Part of him, the part that was conscious of the fact that he was dreaming, just wanted to wake up. Wake up before he saw anything that he couldn't forget. Things that might be true. Things that he would have trouble telling Paul because they would hurt, because they were explosive. But it was like someone was holding his head on both sides, directing him where to look. Forceful hands. Dean could not fight their control.

        Walking down the street. Walking toward the Apocalypse. There were people around him; he could sense them, but could not turn his head to see them because of the controlling hands. They would not be there when this actual incident took place; the hands were only a device of the dream, to tell him LOOK HERE. Dean knew Sammy was there not because he was allowed to see him, but because he could feel him standing close by - Sammy was basically humming with power, like some kind of generator. He'd been practicing. He was ready.

        Dean felt his head forced down. The item he was carrying, what the hell was it? Could it really be what it looked like? It looked like a goddamn machine gun. A machine gun; where would he get such a thing? The hands, it felt like the fingers had sunk into Dean's temples, pushing on his eyes, and suddenly he could look closer, like supersight, like there was a zoom lens in his eyes. He was able to read an inscription along the barrel of the gun. 'Dean, Kill 'em all. Let God sort 'em out. Love, Brandy (Baby Bear).' Brandy was one of his cousins, on his dad's side. Dean had always called her Baby Bear, because she was the baby of the family.

        The directing hands pulled his head back up, so he was looking at the scene ahead of them. A man sat at one of the tables of a sidewalk café. Dean could not make out his face. Dark brown hair, dressed well, but Dean could not make out his face. The fingers were pushing on his eyes again, blurring out things they did not want him to see. Not time yet.

        The man?

        Paul's father.

        This scene?

        Danielle dreamed of it first.

        Who are we?

        Conduits. Protectors. Inner Circle. Outer Circle. They are all made from the same design. You will know them that way. They are precious, those that are left. You must protect them. That is your place in this.

        What is this scene?

        An attempt at a distraction. A deal.

        Dean's eyes were guided to one side, to see that a woman stood next to Paul's father. There was another person hovering close to the man, but Dean could not make this person out at all. His eyes were focused on the woman.

        "You... unimaginable... bastard..." said a voice to one side of Dean. He thought it sounded like Keel. Such venom. Such incredulous shock.

        And then the pain hit him. Not physical pain. An emotional wall being blown apart. That pain came from Paul. The empathic connection. Paul didn't mean to; the pain and fury just flowed from him like an erupting volcano. It was the woman. The sight of the woman did this to Paul. The shock and disbelief cascaded from him like a fountain.

        Like the fountain there, at the sidewalk café. The water flowing from the spigot was turning red. In the pool, the water began to bubble; it was boiling. Boiling with the effort of cooling Paul's rage.

        The directing hands shoved Dean's consciousness forward so he could see the woman close up. Her hair was dark. She was pretty. She was familiar. She was


        Dean partially sat up, finally ripping himself from the dream. He'd whispered this name harshly, though he had no idea who 'Theresa' was. For several moments, Dean stayed frozen like that, breathing hard, before sitting on the edge of the bed to think about what he'd just seen.

        "What's the matter?" Sam's sleepy voice said from the next bed, a voice from the dark.

        Speaking quietly, Dean replied, "I had a dream. Really disturbing."

        "What happened?"

        After a pause, he said, "I think it was another one of those real dreams about Paul."

        There was noise as Sam sat up quickly, reached over, and turned on the light. They both shielded their eyes and cringed from the sudden assault on their eyes, which were accustomed to the dark. Squinting, Sam said, "What? You haven't had one of those for years, as far as we know. You don't remember any others?"

        "No." Dean thought about it for a moment, making sure. "No. This is the first one I remember. It must be that damn letter we found. It triggered this." He fell silent again, thinking.

        Sam swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Well, what happened in the dream?"

        Dean's gaze remained far off as he related details of the dream. He seemed to be picturing it while he spoke of what he had seen. "This Apocalypse Keel talked about... we were there, helping him and Paul prevent it."

        Sam reeled back a little, blinking. "Wow. I could see us doing that, but still, wow."

        "We came upon a man sitting at a sidewalk café," Dean continued. "It was Paul's father."

        If Sam had reeled before... "Oh my God."


        "What did he look like?"

        Dean shook his head. "I don't know. There was this... this force directing what I could see; it wouldn't let me see his face. It sort of blurred my vision. Said it wasn't time yet."

        "You heard a voice?" Sam asked.

        "Yeah. There was some chick talking to me, answering my questions. That's how I found out it was Paul's father. I didn't recognize the voice." Dean rubbed his face with both hands.

        "What else happened?"

        "There was a woman standing there, next to the man. Something about her made everyone really mad. Paul absolutely freaked out. Seeing her hurt him... God, so bad. I don't know who she was, except her name was Theresa."

        Sam said, "Then what?"

        "Then I woke up."

        "Can you remember any other details?"

        Dean almost shrugged, but then said, "Oh, yeah. I had a machine gun."

        "Machine gun?!" exclaimed Sam.

        Nodding, Dean added, "Uhm hm. It was from Brandy. Had an inscription on it that said, 'Kill 'em all, let God sort 'em out,' like the Metallica album. And 'Love, Brandy.' I don't know where she'd get such a thing to give me, but... there it was."

        Sam couldn't help it; he started to chuckle heartily. "You know, a machine gun would suit you just fine, Dean. I could see that."

        "Can't say it wouldn't kick ass." Thinking about the dream a little longer, Dean remembered the fountain. "There was a fountain in front of the café, too. When Paul got mad, the water in it turned red, like blood. And it started to boil. I don't know how, but, Paul was doing it. It's all really bizarre." Dean paused, then stood up and reached for his jeans, which were laid across the back of a chair.

        Sam watched him with confusion. "Are you going somewhere?"

        "I can't sleep after this. I need a little time to think about it, wind myself back down. I'm going out to the car to sit and listen to music for a while." Dean thought the jeans and t-shirt he had already put on would be enough; he didn't bother putting on any shoes.

        "Okay." A mischievous grin touched Sam's face. "You going to listen to some Bon Jovi?"

        As he picked up his car keys, Dean glared at his brother as if he was crazy. "Bon Jovi? No way. I don't listen to pussy rock."

        Sam hid a snicker. "But you were listening to power ballads all afternoon. I didn't think Bon Jovi could be that far off."

        Dean picked up a shirt draped across the end of his bed, quickly wadded it up, and threw it at Sam. "Eat me, man," he said in irritation, and exited the room with the sound of Sam's snickers following him.

        Dean walked across the parking lot about ten feet to the car, being careful not to step on anything sharp in his bare feet. Checking his watch, he noticed it was 12:33AM. The parking lot was dark and deserted, illuminated by some dim streetlights and a big neon hotel sign. Sam did have a point, though, Dean mused as he slid into the driver's seat of the Impala and switched on the radio/tape deck. He had been listening to power ballads ever since they left Boston. Dean just had to admit it - they reminded him of Paul. Love and sex, it was all tied up in Paul now. Dude, I must be slipping, Dean thought, selecting a Judas Priest tape. I just need to get laid by someone who wasn't almost a priest and doesn't leave behind the great smell of Brute.

        Despite his efforts, Dean's thoughts wandered back to Paul. He laid his head back on the seat, letting his legs sprawl open because it was comfortable, and imagined the things they had done to each other the last couple of nights. Within a few minutes, Dean realized he was well on his way to being hard as a rock. Shit, but he couldn't stop thinking about that soft, dark hair that smelled pleasantly of some cream rinse, the way it felt under his fingers as Paul's mouth worked between his legs. Dean slowly rubbed his crotch through his jeans with one hand, starting to pant, feeling the outline of his balls and hardening cock. He writhed on the seat, sometimes briefly closing his eyes. Paul's tongue, flicking the underside of his cock head... how badly he wanted to feel that right now. Dean let out a little moan.

        He'd given up a long time ago on trying to control his sex drive.

        After taking the time to scan the parking lot for people, and to make sure Sam wasn't going to follow him to the car, Dean got out his cell phone, opened it, and just stared at the list of numbers. He'd already added Paul. The parking lot was currently empty. With luck, it would stay that way. He didn't want any cops stumbling upon him. But should he call so late? Dean stroked between his open legs again and moaned.

        Fuck it.

        Paul answered on the third ring. "Dean? What's up?"

        Mmm, so good just to hear his voice again. Dean laid his head back, grinning like a fool. "You sound sleepy."

        "That's because I was asleep. You okay?"

        "Sorry I woke you. I was just in the mood to talk."

        "Alright." Rubbing his eyes, Paul asked, "Did you guys find a trail on the Mothman?"

        "Let's talk shop afterward," Dean nearly growled.

        "...Afterward?" Paul was innocently, adorably clueless.

        "Paul..." Dean tried to keep his hands off himself until he could make sure Paul understood the score. "You've got a camera phone, haven't you?"


        "Then wait a second." Dean pushed lightly on his crotch to better show the bulge in his pants, and took a picture with his phone. He sent this picture to Paul. "That's what you've done to me tonight."

        When Paul received it, his eyes went wide. He couldn't believe Dean had taken a photo like that, and wondered how much further he would go. "Oh... you've been thinking about..."

        Dean lightly sucked in a breath, hissing a little through his teeth. "I've been thinking about you all afternoon. And just now."

        "So you're..."

        Dean, chuckling, said, "Horny as hell, yeah."

        Paul swallowed hard, feeling a mixture of exhilaration and uncertainty. "Oh..."

        Dean chuckled again. The naïve thing Paul had going, it was so cute... and genuine. Dean knew it was not an act. He'd seen the act; Paul didn't even know what it was. "I can't stop thinking about you. You turn me on. You see that?"

        Paul looked at the picture Dean had sent him again. "Yeah, I see that."

        "You wanna know something? You had me listening to power ballads all day. Power ballads. What are you doing to me, you bitch? I have to see you."

        For several seconds, Paul wasn't sure he'd be able to speak. "I... I haven't stopped thinking about you, either."

        "We'll be heading back to Boston in the morning. Sammy got a headache, so I didn't want to make him ride back today. He needs some rest. But when I get back to Boston, I want my hands on you again. Do you want the same thing?" Dean asked, writhing lightly as his hard-on got a bit stiffer.

        "I, um... Dean... yeah, I do." Paul couldn't believe he was saying this. His mouth had gone dry. What was he doing? Part of him thought he should end this before it went further, that it was unnatural, but was that him talking or the church? Paul couldn't help himself. He craved this. He craved Dean Winchester. "I haven't been able to think about much else."

        "Good. Then take me a nice, pretty picture."

        Paul jerked in his skin. "Like the one you took?"

        "Yeah. Just show me what you're wearing."

        Paul's eyes rolled up, but he licked his lips, pulled out all of his resolve, and held the phone above his chest, aimed down his body. He took a picture of himself in his t-shirt and pajama pants.

        When he received it, Dean chuckled affectionately. "Ooh-woo, look at those cute jammies. Those have got to come off soon."

        Paul blushed furiously. "Dean, where are you?"

        "In my car, in the parking lot of the hotel."

        "Sam's back in the room?"

        "Yeah. I'm keeping an eye out for 'im." Just because it had been brought up, Dean checked to make sure Sam was still in the room. He saw no sign of his brother.

        "You really intend to... for us to... you want... phone sex?" Paul asked, biting his lower lip.

        Dean grinned again at how inexperienced and repressed Paul could be. Damn, but he was a blast to corrupt, little by little. "If you'll have me."

        "Of course, but... I don't know if I can send... pictures like that."

        Dean's smile spread wide across his face. "I promise I won't save 'em. But you don't have to send anything else if you're not comfortable with it. Just let me have all the fun."

        Paul's face felt hot with embarrassment and excitement. He dialed the lamp by his bed down so the light was dimmer, creating more atmosphere. "Okay."

        A-ha, so Paul was up for this. He certainly wasn't protesting. "Alright, baby... you just listen for a minute." Dean kept the phone on his shoulder while he began to rub his crotch with both hands, sometimes slowly, sometimes a little faster. This brought soft moans from him as he nursed his hard-on, making it stiffer. Dean moved his butt around on the seat, thrusting upward just a little, toward his hands. "Mmmmmm..." he moaned right into the phone. "I think it's time I start stripping now. I'm going to picture you taking off my shirt while I do it. You want to picture it, too?"

        Like the moaning hadn't been enough, now Paul was picturing Dean in the car, touching himself, stripping himself one piece of clothing at a time. He knew Dean was moving around; he could hear his body sliding across the leather of the seat. Paul was starting to get hard too, just listening to Dean aroused like that. "Yeah, very much. What were you doing just now?"

        "Stroking myself through my jeans." Yes! Paul was getting into it! Dean laid his hand over his dick, squeezed, and took a picture with his phone to send to Paul. "See?"

        Not able to hold it in, Paul let out a little moan when he saw the photo. "I... see."

        "Are you getting excited?" Dean asked.

        Paul, his breath catching, replied, "Yes. You sound so... I mean, I like..."

        Dean knew the saucy side of Paul would come out as they got more into this. Right now, he was faced with something new, something he probably had never done before. Dean had to make him more comfortable. "You like the way I sound."

        "Uh huh," Paul breathed.

        "Then I'll make some more noise. I'm going to take my shirt off now, so you can touch my chest." Dean pulled his shirt off over his head, put one hand on his chest, and held the phone out to take a picture of his face and part of his torso, so Paul could see his heated eyes and half naked body. He knew his face looked flushed and aroused, something Paul would enjoy seeing. Dean sent him the photo. "It's you touching me. This is how I look when you do it."

        Paul held the phone with one hand and rubbed his chest through his shirt with the other. Things were getting really heated. The picture drove him wild with desire for Dean. "Mm, God... I wish you were here right now."

        "Oh, no one wants that more than me, Paul. But this will have to suffice. Now..." Dean wet his lips, making sure Paul could hear it. "...what's next? You want me to undo my pants?"

        Sucking in a harsh breath, Paul enthusiastically agreed. "Allow me."

        That got Dean laughing huskily. "Okay. It's your hand. I'm going to close my eyes and imagine that it's your long, slender fingers undoing the button... pulling down my zipper..." Dean held the phone next to his fly as he unfastened it, so Paul could hear the zipper going down.

        The sound made him writhe on his bed. The need was becoming so urgent now. Paul tentatively reached out with the empathic connection to feel Dean for one brief second. His raw sexual excitement made heat shoot up and down Paul's body, arousing him much faster. Paul moaned a little louder than he meant to as blood rushed into his member so forcefully that he shook hard, all over.

        Dean put the phone back to his ear, holding it between his shoulder and his head. "Now your hand is pushing down the waistband of my jeans and underwear." He did as he said with his own hands, working down one side, then the other, until he was naked down to his knees. Dean's breath came quicker, heavier. He panted with anticipation. One hand went back to the phone, because he knew he'd want to take a picture soon, and the other he used to rub the base of his cock, stroking his balls too. "Mmmm, yeah..." Dean breathed out, and moaned softly.

        Instead of asking, Paul reached out and dipped in; Dean had to be stroking himself - he doubted anything else would produce so much pleasure and enjoyment. Paul made an overwhelmed, strangled noise, and moaned, "Dean, shit!"

        Dean knew what had caused that reaction. It had been just like that afternoon, when he felt Paul in the car with him. Paul had just done it again - he'd used his empathy to touch Dean, which had feedbacked so that Dean could feel Paul's essence with him now. The feeling was fleeting, but Dean wished he could reach out and grab it, keep it there with him, shove it down in his lap and fuck it 'til it screamed his name. But Paul just had cried out Dean's name over the phone, and that would have to be enough tonight. "Where you goin', baby? Come back here. I like feeling you with me," Dean panted down low. He tried to do what Paul was doing, reach out through the empathic connection and feel Paul, but he got nothing. "I can't reach out and get you like you can do to me. That's because I'm not empathic?"

        "Yeah." Paul wasn't sure he should do it again; the two dips into Dean's mind that he'd already taken had him painfully hard now. "I have to send it to you, if you want to feel my emotions. That's how the connection works."

        "Ooh, I'm so jealous; you get twice the happy lap if you want it." Dean wrapped his fingers around his cock and resumed stroking himself, slowly at first. He let out a long, delicious, breathy moan.

        "It's not always such a good thing. I think if I feel you again, I'll finish too fast." Despite what he'd just said, Paul couldn't help it. He empathically touched Dean's pleasure center again. Hissing and biting his bottom lip, Paul rubbed the quivering lump between his legs through his pajamas.

        Dean moaned loudly in reaction to that feeling of Paul being right in front of him. "Goddamn, Paul, I want to fuck you so bad!" They were both heading quickly over the edge. "You want me inside you? Hm?"

        "Yes!" Giving in to his urges, Paul pushed his shirt up and his pants down and started to rub himself all over, his hand finally settling around his cock and beginning to stroke. "Dean... Dean..."

        He knew what Paul was doing. That hard breathing and moaning was unmistakable. Dean's own hand fisted himself harder and faster. "Uhh, Paul... look what you do to me." He held the phone over his crotch and took a picture of his hand in motion.

        Paul stared at that photo while bringing himself closer to orgasm. There were so many things he wanted to do to Dean in reaction to that sexy picture. "Oh God, Dean... I want that in my mouth."

        Snickering deeply, Dean replied, "I bet you do. I bet you could think of a bunch of wonderful places to put it. Mmmmm..." He leaned his head back on the seat and just breathed and moaned and bucked up into his hand.

        "Want you so bad," Paul said, almost whining with the anticipation of seeing Dean again. They stroked themselves in time with each other, matching each other's rhythm, though they didn't know it.

        "You want me inside you," said Dean.

        "Yeah," Paul answered.

        "You want me to fuck you."

        "Yes!" Paul cried. He was close, so very close.

        Dean rimmed his cock head with his finger, stimulating the best spot; he would not be able to be so coherent in a few moments, so he took advantage of the few seconds he had left before 'orgasm brain' took over. "You dirty little minx, when I get you alone, I'm going to fuck you so hard you'll beg me for mercy. Then I'll suck you off and swallow it all down." His breath was harsh and loud. "You will be mine, Paul; no one else will be enough for you."

        "Mercy!" Paul moaned teasingly.

        "I show you no mercy 'til you blow me too. I own your sweet ass 'til then, baby." Stroking harder. "I want you to cum. Now. Cum for Dean."

        Stroking faster. "Almost there..."

        "No, you cum now. You cum when I tell you. Feed off me," Dean growled.

        Paul instantly did as Dean wanted; he flew to Dean over the empathic connection and yanked a large sample of Dean's pleasure back into his own mind. Dean felt Paul there - he thrust up into the phantom sensation and cried, "Grrrrraaa, PAULLLL!" as he came. Cum splattered on the window and across the steering wheel; a second stream got his hand before he could aim it to go all over his chest. Dean always found that hot, even if it was messy.

        The double dose of pleasure made Paul scream almost incoherently. "Shhhhfuck! Dean! Oh God! Deeeean!" His cock spasmed hard enough to hurt before exploding all over his bed and hand.

        Dean loved the sound of Paul breathing like that, and the things he said. He almost joked about that being right, that Dean was his god, but thought better of it; that'd just offend Paul. They both just breathed to calm down, not saying anything for at least fifteen seconds.

        "That'll hold you for the night, huh?" Dean finally said with a snicker.

        "Oh yeah," Paul chuckled.

        "Bet you never expected this to be the end of your day."

        Paul laughed again. "No. Most pleasant way to end it I've ever experienced. Every time my phone rings, I'm going to start salivating like one of Pavlov's dogs."

        "Or maybe you'll just get hard instead." Dean chuckled darkly. "Cum on command. Ring ring, ring ring."

        "You are such a wicked mother, Dean Winchester."

        "You know you love it." Dean took one last picture of himself, getting as much of his chest and face in the frame as possible. "How do you like this one?"

        Paul liked it more than he was completely comfortable with; he longed to be there, to lick all the cum off Dean's chest. What was happening to him? "You look really sexy. You make me want to do such bad things," he chuckled.

        "Send me a picture," Dean coaxed.

        A little nervously, Paul asked, "Of what? You want to see my face?"

        "No, not this time." Dean grinned guiltily. "I want to see your fingers on your dick."

        "No way," laughed Paul.

        "Come on, Paul. Please? I promise I won't save it. Just give me a little taste."

        Paul considered it, rolled his eyes, and sighed. "Okay. But you can't save it." He did as Dean asked, took the picture, and sent it to him.

        Dean grinned mischievously when he saw it. "I'm gonna dream about this picture while I'm getting back to sleep tonight. You and your fuckin' sweet body on mine."

        Taking another look at the photo he'd just sent, Paul put a hand over his eyes, shocked at his own boldness. He suddenly asked, "Dean, what are we doing?"

        There was a pause. "Uh, it's commonly called talking on the phone?"

        "No, Dean... what are we doing?"

        It dawned on him what Paul meant. "The casual sex thing... it isn't something you do much."


        "You usually only have sex within a committed relationship."

        "There's some truth in that," Paul confirmed.

        "I'm not sure what label to put on what we're doing, if you need one..." Dean sighed; he didn't like having to label his actions. "...but we're enjoying ourselves. And it's not like you're a piece of meat to me. We've established... a connection. A literal connection. You care what happens to me, and I care what happens to you. Can that be enough for you for now?"

        For now. Did that mean there was more to come? Paul laid his head on his pillow, just thinking. Did he want there to be more to come? He wished he could be sure. "I've never had anything this... much... with a guy before."

        "Paul, it's okay. You can call it serious. 'Anything this serious.'"

        That made him go quiet again. "I'm just not sure... what to make of it all. I don't know how I've ever rationalized this in line with... my..."

        He didn't have to say it; Dean knew what the problem was. "God despises the sin, not the sinner, right?"

        Paul closed his eyes and breathed in deep. "Yes. Right."

        Dean had never had any idea how Christians lived with all that guilt, all the things that you weren't supposed to do that you couldn't avoid doing. "Then you get your mother's rosary and you do your Hail Marys and whatever else the Father tells you to do, and you're good." He put a casual shrug into his tone.

        Paul didn't know how Dean did it, living so free. He still had a lot to learn about Dean Winchester. "I guess."

        "Don't worry about it. Let's just go with the flow." Dean glanced around the parking lot and started to pull up his pants with one hand. No sense in getting caught now.

        Silent for several more seconds, Paul tried to lighten up for Dean's sake. Dean probably didn't know anymore about what they had here than he did. "So... power ballads, huh?"

        "Yeah. I hardly ever break out that tape," Dean laughed.

        "Stuff like - " Paul started to sing. "So now I come to you, with open arms..." He cracked a couple of the notes; Paul wasn't a horrible singer, but he had never been encouraged to join the choir, either.

        Dean, on the other hand... "No, no, more like - " He began to sing in a lilting voice that was quite good. "Hold me darlin', touch me now. Let the feelings, free tonight. Love is on the way, I can see it in your eyes. Let's give it one more try tonight, baby..."

        At first, Paul was speechless. "Dean... you can sing."

        Dean scoffed. "Oh please. I sound like somebody who got thrown off American Idol. Simon hated me."

        "No. No, Dean - you're really good."

        Giving in, he accepted the compliment. "Well... maybe I didn't get thrown off the show immediately. Maybe I made it into the top ten."

        Paul could hear the joking grin in Dean's tone. "You and Kelly Clarkson, neck and neck."

        Dean just chuckled, shaking his head.

        "Hey, it could have been worse. You could have been stuck on that really sappy song by that group, Stryper. Some of the kids at the orphanage like that song. 'Honestly'? I like a good inspirational tune as much as the next guy, but the way that woman sings it..."

        After a pause, Dean snickered in the back of his throat. "Paul, Stryper's led by a man."

        "What? You're kidding!"


        "What is he, castrated?" Paul asked with sincere disbelief.

        Dean leaned to one side to laugh. He figured as long as he was going that way, he'd get into the glove compartment and retrieve some napkins to clean up with. "Stop it, you're killin' me. Besides, I don't listen to Stryper. They're a pussy Christia... uhhh... wussy band."

        Now it was Paul's turn to laugh. "I heard that."

        "Sorry. I don't really go for the religious bands. But I bet you love wussy bands, don't you Paula?" Dean teased.

        "Oh no, that's you. Deanne."


        "Nuh uh, I'd be Theresa. Get it right," said Paul with another laugh.

        Dean paused, stunned to hear that name again. He swallowed, trying to think of a casual way to play this off. "Theresa? That sounds nothing like Paul. Why do you like that name?"

        "My mother was named Theresa."

        Speechless, Dean's mind screamed that he had to say something, and soon, or his behavior would alarm Paul. But he'd just said the woman in Dean's dream was his mother! He couldn't tell Paul about this; this was major fucking stuff! Dean had to figure out what it meant before he could tell Paul about that part of it. Otherwise, Paul would just worry himself into an ulcer or some shit like that over something he could not control. Who could possibly know what the dream meant at this stage? "Huh. My mom's name was Mary. Together, they make a nun."

        Paul had a hearty laugh over that. "I think we actually had a Sister Mary Theresa at the orphanage. We might've had two." His voice shook with his chuckles.

        Dean, breathing a sigh of relief, was already trying to decide how much he was going to tell him.

        They decided they would talk about the Mothman when Dean got back to Boston, and said their goodbyes. Dean made sure he cleaned up the car really well, then headed back to the hotel room. Sam had fallen asleep again.

        The first thing he did was turn on the light and kick the side of Sam's bed. "Wake up, bro."

        Sam grumbled, shielding his eyes. "Whaaaat?" he nearly whined.

        "I just talked to Paul. My dream was bothering me, so I called him." He paused. "Theresa is his mother."

        Sam sat up with a jerk. "Whoa."

        "Exactly. So, we gotta talk."

        "What about?"

        Looking very serious, Dean answered, "About you keeping your mouth shut and letting me decide what Paul's ready to hear and what I should keep to myself for now."

        Lying in his bed, having wiped off on his sheets and fixed his pajamas, Paul gazed up at the ceiling with conflicting thoughts moving heavily through his mind. He'd have to wash these sheets in the morning... how could he keep doing this with Dean? Did he think a thing like that could just go on forever? ...Time to buy a new loaf of bread. Maybe some garlic bread would be good with the pasta he bought on Monday... What happened when the Mothman thing was over? Would Dean leave Boston? Would Paul ever see him again then? Why couldn't he stop wanting this man? Lust for Jason always ended when he got his thoughts together. What was different about Dean? ...Should probably get some milk too.

        After an hour of this, Paul finally admitted to himself that he needed someone to talk to. He needed help sorting this out. Keel, no way. Evie, no. Neither of them knew about this even being a possibility. His sex life just wasn't something he discussed with them. Besides, Evie would probably fling Dean across the state if she knew he'd "corrupted" innocent little Paul. Sometimes he really hated how she mothered him, like he was a little boy. But that was just Evie.

        Of all the people he could consider, Paul knew there was only one person he could confide in about something like this. Only one person who knew about the other men, who hadn't judged him harshly, who had somehow understood. Someone he could watch trashy talk shows with, because she got a kick out of them too. Someone who'd never teased him about Little House on the Prairie being his favorite TV show.

        Well, not much.

        One of his few true friends: Georgia.

        That being settled, Paul fell asleep with a relieved smile on his face.

        Dean's night was not so restful.

Pavlovian Dog (c) 2006 Demented Stuff/The Pleasure of the People
Miracles (c) 2003 Spyglass Entertainment & Touchstone Television
Supernatural (c) 2005 Kripke Enterprises, Wonderland, & Warner Brothers/The CW Television

Journey "Open Arms" (c) 1981 CBS Inc
Saigon Kick "Love is on the Way" (c) 1992 Third Stone Records

Additional Notes: I've got this whole family worked out for a brother of John's. To Sam and Dean, he'd be Uncle Rob. This particular made-up brother moved to Texas and had a family, raising them there. I named the youngest girl Brandy because I wanted something that evoked the South. I grew up in Texas. Throughout school, I knew about four Brandys over the years, and those were just the ones I knew about. It's a very Southern name. I'm sure some will consider it a bimbo name, but that's not exactly what it evokes for me. Although, the character is a little slutty. XD
Jensen Ackles is a fairly good singer. Because of this, in my wildest fangirly dreams, Dean will one day sing on Supernatural. I don't mean that he starts a singing career like the Brady children. Just that he'd do something like that one episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer where Giles was caught singing at a club. I want Dean to be able to sing too! But he just doesn't acknowledge that he can do it much because he's Dean. Dean, belting one out at a club over a few beers? HOT.

Comment on this story on LiveJournal
Comment on this story by e-mail

Back to Miracles Stories or
Back to Brokeback Mothman