
Word Count: 178,000
Genre: Wincest
Characters/Pairing: Sam/Dean, various OFCs
Fic Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Slash/wincest, dark, angst, amnesia, mental institution, unsubstantiated group and art therapy techniques, laundry, oatmeal, and true love with schmoop mixed in.
Summary: The morning after Sam rescues Dean from the djinn, Sam and Dean go back to the warehouse to take care of the bodies of both the victims and of the djinn. But instead of what should be a simple clean-up job, Sam and Dean are sucked into a nightmare world brought about by the djinn’s last dying act of revenge. (Takes place directly after What Is and What Should Never Be.) What do you do when you wake up in a mental institution and you think your brother is dead?
( Art, Fanmix, Chapter Links, Author's Notes )
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Here are the websites I went to for research:
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Read this only after you read the story, for you will be spoiled.
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It's the story of Sam and Dean and John, as if the YED had been defeated in the cabin by Sam's powers. And then Sam and Dean fall in love. Not sappy. This writer has a grasp of how love goes when you're a Winchester. I liked reading how it developed, and the kissing was fantastic.
http://thenyxie.livejournal.com/467803.html?style=mine#cutid1
Rating: PG
Warnings: Wincest
Word Count: 24,500
Summary: It is three or so days since Dean made his deal with the crossroads demon. As angry as he might be, Sam still loves his brother and decides that they need to take a break from hunting, so he plans one. Dean, on the other hand, thinks they are on their way to hunt a chubacapra down and has no idea where they are really going. This only works because Sam controls the maps and Dean is on auto-pilot.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, because if I did, this story would be true.
*****
Dean had both hands on the wheel as he guided the Impala over Wolf Creek Pass, some distance out of Durango, Colorado, and wondered, as he listened to the Eagles on the radio, what colitas was and if he’d know if he chanced to smell it on some dark, desert highway. Which this most certainly was not. It was a mountain highway, with mostly well-placed passing lanes, and plenty of markings about grades and recommended use of brakes, and the slightly whacky looking runaway truck lanes, which didn’t look like they’d be of use to anyone, let alone a rampant 18-wheeler. The sun was well set, with the high-altitude darkness coming on at an alarming rate. He looked over at Sam, who was buried in his map, but who didn’t quite need a flashlight yet. He wanted to ask, what is colitas, do you know, but then didn’t. He should know. It was in an Eagles song from the seventies, and probably had to do with something illegal. That or a plant commonly found in California. He didn’t know; didn’t want to broadcast his ignorance. So he drove on, he and Sam, in silence.
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