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Craving Strawberry Surprise	By : roguebitch Category: Supernatural > Crossovers Views: 1273 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural and make no money from this story. I likewise don't own Bleach and make no money from this story.

Chapter List
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This story will make NO sense if you don't read "No Conscience, One Motive". Seriously, go back and read that first. I'll wait.
Done? Okay. This is what happens when Sam and Ichigo email one another for 2 years. The fic is completely finished, and it is making its way through my writing group. So far I have 4 chapters to post. Only 36 more to go!
The title comes from running my working title through Translation Party.
**
Prologue
In the dream, you are walking with someone in a companionable silence. The trees are autumn bonfires, covered in brilliant scarlet leaves, some of which are drifting like sparks in the lemon-yellow sunlight. They dance down the cool breezes in random spins and loops and are soft and yielding under your feet as you shuffle through them.
"But it's summer where I am," you say to the person next to you.
He reaches out, slender fingers catching a falling leaf. It looks like a crimson snowflake. He hands it to you. It is chill and springy between your fingers, and a bit crisp, like the breeze. You smile at him, and he smirks back, the sardonic look barely obscuring the vulnerability beneath.
The dream fades and you’re left with an image of a mop of spiky orange hair and perceptive golden brown eyes.

Chapter 1:

Sam woke up slowly, not willing to fully let go of the dream. He rubbed his fingers together, still feeling the silken cool of the scarlet leaf.
His cock was as hard as it had ever been and he was ashamed of himself. He wanted to reach down and jerk himself off with the feel of the leaf and the image of that slight angular face still fresh in his mind. He gripped the edges of the mattress to forestall the slightest movement in that direction before it even started.
Ichigo was 17 years old and, by Sam’s waking ethical standards, off limits. Sam had never touched him, and wouldn’t even if they were geographically proximate. But his stupid subconscious and his stupid subconscious body remained beyond his control. He looked down at his morning wood, tenting out the front of his pajama pants, and sighed.
Sam heaved himself out of bed and into the motel shower, where he stripped and then stood stoically under a pathetic trickle of tepid water thinking about quadratic equations and the chemical components of rocket fuel. He ranked his knives according to their potential utility in horror movies. He soaped up and rinsed down very carefully.
It took until the water was ice cold for Sam to more or less regain his composure.
Dean was still asleep, so Sam dressed and grabbed his laptop bag. He kicked the end of his brother’s bed.
“I’m going out,” he said. Dean grumbled and rolled over.
He’d seen a few cafes advertising free wifi on their way into town, so he headed to the one closest to the motel. He bought a vanilla latte (triple espresso, because it was still early, too early for anything but cafes and 24-hour diners to be open) and fired up his laptop.
The first emails between Sam and Ichigo had been infrequent, one- or two-line memos from Rukia through Ichigo asking whether Sam was having any more prophetic dreams about Hollows. He wasn’t. Over time, as Sam had less to ask Ichigo about Hollows, he found they had more to say to each about other things. More personal things. Sam found Ichigo surprisingly easy to confide in via email, and Ichigo’s emails frequently had “I’ve never told my friends this” or “I would never admit this to anyone” in them.
They shared details about the deaths of their mothers when they were both small, although Ichigo was more Dean’s age than Sam’s when his mother died, which made for a difference in perspective. Sam had never known his mother. Ichigo had dark days, especially when it rained, when the memory of his mother and the stormy day of her death was too much. He would skip school and lay on his bed, immobilized by grief.
You’re the only one I’ve ever told about it, Ichigo wrote, I don’t want my friends to think I’m weak.
No one could ever think you’re weak for being sad about your mother, Sam had tried to reassure Ichigo in a reply, but he hadn’t addressed it again.
Sam and Ichigo compared their parallel quests for the creatures that killed their mothers and the double lives they’d had to lead as a consequence.
Sam learned about Ichigo’s reckless bravery, and his genuine loyalty and affection for his family and friends. He saw the gentleness under Ichigo’s shell of sarcasm. He was impressed by Ichigo’s fierce intelligence. He knew the names of Ichigo’s close friends; Chad, Orihime, and Uryuu and the Shinigami (Rukia, Renji, and others) who were his allies.
In turn, Sam told Ichigo about his peripatetic childhood, Stanford, and Jessica. The endless Winchester Roadtrip.
Ichigo bitched and ranted, too, because he was a teenager, and chafed at it. Sam remembered the frustration all too well; he wasn’t so far from the contradiction of wanting to be told what to do only to rebel against it. Both their situations were more complex because of the extraordinary burdens placed on them outside of the facade of their normal lives.
Ichigo was one of the few people that Sam could email about near-death experiences or dying from a position of familiarity. When Ichigo confided his wariness of his dark self to Sam, Sam read his own thoughts and fears in another’s words.
Sam had archived every email between them from the beginning. With their friendship, Sam felt a sort of admiration grow. From that grew a slow, unintentional, and completely inappropriate burn of infatuation and desire. He not only looked forward to Ichigo’s emails, he yearned for them, feeling bereft if more than a couple of days went by without a reply. Ichigo appeared to feel the same way, sending Sam snarky or sometimes worried emails when he didn’t reply swiftly enough. Usually the delays occurred after Sam had been hurt on a hunt and needed to recover, so Ichigo was right to be worried.
Sam dreamed of Ichigo now, not Hollows.
He had dreams where they fought side by side, Ichigo in his battle uniform with his enormous sword, and his fierce enthusiastic grin, which was Sam’s most vivid memory of him. Sam would be next to him, fighting with his gun, or maybe his knives. Sometimes they were peaceful dreams, where they walked together, talked about everything and nothing, equal companions. The background changed, but Sam paid little attention to the scenery.
Sam’s other clear recollection of Ichigo was how transparent he was, his mood obvious even on short acquaintance. In his dreams Sam focused on Ichigo’s animated features, sharp but open. He basked in Ichigo’s genuine smiles, and his own smile answering them with unaccustomed ease. His dreams were never sexual until he woke up.
When Sam did wake up, his ridiculous body would translate that ease and companionability into arousal and longing. He was disgusted with himself for as long as it took him to open his browser and see if he had any email from “strawberry15”.
Sam often forgot about the age difference between himself and Ichigo. Their responsibilities and occupations were so similar that when Sam was reminded of Ichigo’s relative youth by some offhand remark, it was jarring. Sam thought of them as equals, and they were, in every way but age. That was the problem.
But as long as Ichigo was in Japan and Sam was circumnavigating America with his brother, it wasn’t a big problem. The self-denial was uncomfortable at worst.
But when, sitting there in the cafe feeling the caffeine wake up his brain, he read Ichigo’s latest email -- when that email ended casually with, “I’ll be 18 in a couple of weeks,” Sam knew, instantly, illogically, that he needed to go to Japan.
The decision to go was the simplest part of the whole plan, of course. It took no time at all for Sam to pick a name off one of their fraudulent credit cards and book tickets to Tokyo and a hotel room in Karakura Town. Then he walked outside. He hunched under the cafe awning for some privacy so he could call Bobby and arrange a passport, since Sam Winchester had officially died in a jailhouse explosion years ago.
“Bobby,” Sam strived to sound casual. “How fast can you get a passport?”
“Well, good morning, Sam! No, you didn’t wake me, I haven’t actually been to bed yet, but thank you so much for asking.” Bobby’s tart greeting made Sam smile with its familiarity.
“Good morning, Bobby, how are you?” Sam said with exaggerated schoolroom politeness.
“Better than I was, now that I have some coffee in me. Now, what’s this about a passport?”
“How fast can you get one?”
“Pretty quick, actually, since it’s sitting in my desk drawer,” Bobby said. Sam waited. “Or did you mean for you?”
Sam rolled his eyes and sighed. It had seemed like such a good idea to jump on this spur-of-the-moment plan right after he bought the tickets, but he knew he was going to have to work for this passport.
“How fast can you get me a passport, Bobby?”
“What do you need a passport for, Sam?”
“I want to go to Japan and I just booked the tickets, but I need a new passport to go with the name on the tickets, since technically I’m dead.” Sam really hoped that all the detail would throw Bobby off the scent.
“Japan? What do you need to go to Japan for?”
Of course, Sam could never be that lucky.
“I thought I would visit that Shinigami kid that helped us out with that Hollow a while back,” Sam said, and then was startled. ‘A while back’ -- has it really been almost two years? “You remember?”
“Is Dean going with you?”
Sam snorted. “Shit, no. He would drive me crazy with 12 hours of him humming ‘Enter Sandman’ and I wouldn’t get any rest with him puking every five minutes. I’d need elephant tranquilizers to keep him down for a flight that long without killing him.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Bobby muttered. “So let me get this straight, and correct me if I miss any important details, here. You want me to get you a passport so that you can make a trip all the way to Japan to visit someone who happened to give you guys a hand on a hunt back in the day?” Bobby’s voice was positively heavy with disbelief.
“Yes.” Sam stuck to the simplest answer, since anything else would open up a line of inquiry that he really didn’t feel like dealing with.
“Why? You never followed up with anyone else you were involved with on hunts, why now?”
Sam rolled his eyes, blowing a frustrated breath into his bangs, so done with Bobby’s interrogation.
“Look, Bobby, can you get me the passport or not?”
“Keep your shorts on, boy. I can have one for you in a week. What’s the name on it?”
“Craig Johnson.”
“All right. You better bring me a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue for my trouble,” Bobby said. “And don’t think we’re done with this.”
“I’ll bring you two bottles,” Sam assured him. “See you in a week?”
“See you then.” Bobby hung up.
Sam mentally dusted off his hands. That was done.
Only one more hurdle.
***
Dean paced back and forth in front of Sam, who sat at the end of one of their motel beds.
“Japan? Why in the hell do you need to go there?”
“I just need a break, Dean. It’s only for a few days.”
Dean stopped and glared down at Sam, arms crossed and brows furrowed.
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with that kid who helped with that Hollow, would it? The one with the big sword and smart mouth? The one sending you all those emails?”
Sam shouldn’t have been surprised at the breathtaking nerve Dean showed in being offended at Ichigo’s smartassery, even it was a clear case of pot/kettle. He didn’t bother denying the emails. What would be the point?
Instead, he asked, “Have you been using my stuff again?”
“If you would actually log out of your account, I wouldn’t know who was writing to you,” Dean snapped. “I do sometimes need your laptop for actual research.”
“Researching busty Asian beauties,” Sam snickered.
“Seems like I’m not the only one with an Asian fetish.”
Sam fell back onto the bed in exasperation. “Yes, okay, fine, I’m going to Japan to visit Ichigo,” he muttered, beyond humiliated.
“Okay, then,” Dean sat on the bed across from Sam’s. “I’m not going to ask you if you think this is really a good idea, because I know how you are when you’ve made up your mind. Just be careful, alright?”
Sam looked up at his brother in surprise. He couldn’t believe that Dean was letting him off the hook that easily.
“Dean, I can handle myself.”
“Normally I would agree with you, if you were going over there to fight. But that’s not why you’re going, is it?”
“Research?” Sam tried.
“Please,” Dean scoffed. “I mean, if you have to go all the way to Japan just to get your ashes hauled, that’s your business, but don’t try to tell me it’s research. It’s more like a sad, pathetic cry for help.”
...And there was the sarcasm. As if Dean could have resisted a jab at Sam’s apparent desperation.
Well, it is kind of research, Sam thought. Research into whether Ichigo returned his attraction. He sighed.
“You don’t think it’s weird?”
Dean shrugged. “What, the age difference bothers you?”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“It isn’t bothering you enough to prevent you from making this trip.”
Sam gave his brother a ‘well, duh’ look.
“Maybe it’s a little weird. Not the age difference, but you getting a wild hair and running off to give him a happy birthday private strip-o-gram? Now that’s strange.” Dean smirked at Sam.
Sam realized he had been hoping that Dean would say the one thing that would make it okay for him to take the trip. He really should have known better by now. It was on Sam to justify the trip to himself. Dean wasn’t going to do that.
“Whatever, jerk.” Sam said, chagrined.
Dean got up and snagged his jacket off the back of a chair. “I’m getting some food. Bitch.”
“Yeah, okay.” Sam stayed supine, realizing how stupid and reckless this all must seem to his brother and Bobby. Hell, it even seemed stupid and reckless to him.
He knew he should spare some worry over whether or not he would be caught traveling internationally with a fraudulent credit card and fake passport, but he had faith in Bobby’s abilities and connections. His driver’s license was flawless, and Bobby had gotten that for him, too.
Sam asked himself again why he was even going. He wanted to see Ichigo, but maybe it was a bad idea to go so impulsively. It was a long trip, a lot of money (even if it wasn’t his money) to investigate whether or not Ichigo was attracted to him.
He had never spoken to Ichigo on the phone, never texted him, only emailed.
Sam briefly considered calling ahead, but discarded the idea immediately. He wanted to surprise Ichigo, to see what his reaction would be to his unannounced arrival. So, no phone call. Just show up, see what happened, and go with it.
Sam knew if he thought about it too much, he would talk himself out of going, because he knew it was ridiculous. He was taking a stupid, impulsive chance and that was really unlike him, and would probably end up in a devastating rejection.
Sam took a deep breath and tried to put it out of his mind. He was committed now.
**
Another day ended, another week passed, and another hunt finished. They stopped by Bobby’s for some rest and research and Sam got his new passport.
“Now are you going to tell me what this is all about?” Bobby asked.
“I’m visiting a friend for his birthday.”
“Really,” Bobby’s tone redefined ‘skeptical’. “In Japan.”
“Really. In Japan.” Sam repeated implacably.
Bobby peered up at him and sighed, knowing Sam’s stubbornness all too well. “Try not to call any attention to yourself.”
“I’m not on any wanted lists anymore,” Sam protested.
“But you do stand out. Not very many people are as tall as you are, especially where you’re going. So make sure you stay under the radar,” Bobby insisted.
“Yes, sir. Thanks for the passport.”
“Pay up,” Bobby replied. Sam held out the whiskey.
I bet he and Dean are going to be on the phone gossiping about me like a couple of teenage girls as soon as I’m on that plane, Sam thought.
***
Packing took some thought. Sam couldn’t bring any of his weapons with him, or holy water, though he did have a rosary to bless water in a pinch. If he got into a tight spot, he would have to rely on his hand-to-hand skills and his father’s thorough combat training. He would have liked to think of himself as a civilian on this trip, but he knew better. Hunters were never civilians. He and Dean had lots of demons, and not all of them metaphorical.
After all that planning, Sam had even less than usual to pack, so he was able to go carry-on. It felt weird to go completely unarmed, without even a knife up his sleeve. He felt strangely naked.
Dean took him as far as the security gates at LAX.
“Let me know when you get there,” Dean reminded him.
“Yeah, okay.” Sam slung his laptop bag over his right shoulder, and held his small roll-aboard suitcase in his left hand.
“Sam,” Dean said, and the seriousness of his tone stopped Sam in his tracks. “Be careful.”
“You told me that already,” said Sam. Dean looked grave and Sam smiled briefly. “I will be, don’t worry.”
“Not possible.” Dean clapped Sam on the shoulder. “Go on. Have a safe flight. Good luck with the fetish. Use condoms.”
Sam rolled his eyes and joined the security line. He looked back once. Dean raised a hand in farewell, then turned and walked away. He was never one for prolonged goodbyes.
Sam set his watch for Tokyo time and logged into the airport wifi to check his email and look up demons on Wikipedia so he could make corrections to the entries. He was distracting himself, and he knew it, but he didn’t know what else he could do besides bounce his leg and fidget and overthink things. Better to do something constructive.
Sam couldn’t say if he hoped surprising Ichigo would fan the flames of his infatuation, or quench them. Either way, tomorrow he’d know for sure.
His stomach twisted in nervousness as he boarded the plane. “Craig Johnson” was sitting in first-class, but he still felt cramped, knees bumping up against the wall in front of him. The dimensions were similar to the front seat of the Impala, though, and Sam had the Winchester talent of catching sleep when and where he could. As the plane taxied and took off, he leaned his seat back, plopped one of the tiny airline pillows over his eyes, and fell asleep. He had one last thought before unconsciousness claimed him.
Right now, right this minute, Ichigo is turning eighteen.
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