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For Warnings and Summary, see Master Post
Chapter Five
The town wasn’t big, just one road with several stores and a small church not too far down the street from the bar. Sam snorted quietly to himself; at least the bar would make Dean happy. There were almost no cars on the street, though, and most of the businesses were closed. The height of tourist season was long over, but the town shouldn’t be completely deserted already. It was the middle of the afternoon and there was nobody on the street at all.
Dean pulled over, turned off the car and opened his door. They sat in silence for several minutes, waiting for some indication of life in the small town, but they were greeted with only the sounds of wildlife and wind. Nobody came out of a building or shouted a greeting. There were no sounds of children playing, no sounds of people, period.
“Well,” Dean finally announced, swinging himself easily out of the car, “I’m thirsty.” He gave Sam a meaningful look and headed into the bar. Sam got out uneasily and followed him.
The dim room was eerily silent and completely devoid of people as well - except for the bartender who jerked up at their entrance and practically stumbled over himself to get to the counter, a cold sweat quickly beading up on his glossy forehead.
“What can I get for you?” the man asked, his voice trembling. Dean looked back at Sam with a what the fuck expression on his face, and then moved over to the bar.
“How ‘bout a couple of beers, whatever’s on tap,” Dean asked with fake cheer.
Dean took a seat on a barstool, and Sam sat next to him, flashing the petrified man his most charming smile. Watching the man fumble down two glasses, Sam added softly, “Things are pretty quiet around here.”
The man’s hands were shaking so badly that the beer spilled all over his fingers and the counter as he set the full glasses down. He swore, grabbed a wipe rag and ran it over the smoothly polished wood, casting anxious glances at them and murmuring, “Sorry, so sorry,” under his breath.
“Hey, no problem.” Sam picked up the sticky glass in front of him and took a sip, sighing contentedly. “’S good,” he said, raising his glass in a small salute. The man just backed away, watching them uneasily.
“You got a food menu?” Dean asked, and the guy actually paled a little more.
“We’ve… we’ve go… got peanuts and p… pretzels,” the guy stammered. He pulled a couple of bowls up from under the counter and managed to spill the contents when he set them down too hard.
“Dude, what the hell? What’s got you so freaked?” Dean demanded sharply, his patience apparently already giving out.
The man emitted a low whining sound, and Sam shot his brother an annoyed glance. “We aren’t going to hurt you,” Sam said, deliberately keeping his voice soft. He looked around the room, trying to spot anyone hidden in a corner or under a table, but there was nothing. “Why don’t you tell us what’s wrong? Maybe we can help.”
They stared at each other for a few minutes, and in the face of Sam’s calm patience a little of the fear seemed to slip away, easing the man’s expression towards wary. “Look,” he finally said, his voice still strung with tension, “if you’re just passing through, ain’t nothin’ open around here. You best just be on your way.”
“Actually,” Dean said, irritating Sam once more by cutting off his reply, “we’re looking for a friend of ours. Bobby Singer. Maybe you know him?”
Dean slid a small picture across the counter. The man glanced down and picked up the photo, and then immediately dropped it, his eyes widening in alarm. He started to back away, and then visibly stopped himself, locking his panicked gaze on Dean, silently rooted to the spot.
Reaching out slowly, Dean picked up the picture and drawled, “So… I take it you do know him then? Have you seen him around? Do you know where we could find him?”
“Big house at the top of Beede Hill Grade,” he replied hoarsely.
Sam exchanged a wary glance with Dean before turning and asking, “How much do we owe you?”
The man just stared at them with huge eyes and shook his head.
“Okay, then,” Dean said, dropping a ten on the bar. “Thanks for your help.”
They both got up and backed toward the door. The man didn’t take his eyes off of them, frantically tracking their every movement. Just as they reached the door, something in him seemed to crumble, seemed to break as he called out, “Please! Don’t hurt my daughter!” He stumbled backwards until he hit the wall and slid down, mumbling the request over and over.
Sam exchanged another quick glance with Dean, and this time, Dean seemed to take the hint and left, leaving Sam to it. Moving slowly back over to the weeping man, Sam crouched down so he was less intimidating. “Hey, dude,” he tried to soothe, but the man just kept repeating over and over, “Please don’t hurt her, please don’t hurt her…” Concerned, Sam tried to coax the man to talk, tried to find out what she looked like, what her name was, anything, but the man was incoherent, and Sam finally had to admit defeat and walk away.
Sam found his brother outside leaning against the Impala. “Dude, you get anything out of Mr. Terrified?”
“No, but I think we should get up to that house. Bobby’s definitely gotten himself into the middle of something.”
~o0O0o~
The house was big and sprawling and looked like it had definitely seen better days. Part of the wrap-around porch had rotted away on the side, and the paint was peeling off everywhere, giving off an ominous vibe that would have fit in perfectly in one of those B horror films that Dean seemed to like so much. Just like the rest of the town, the house appeared to be dead.
Dean had parked the Impala a little way down the steep road, and they were walking in on foot so they wouldn’t alert whatever was inside to their presence. The cuts running across Sam’s chest pulled uncomfortably as he moved. It occurred to him that he wasn’t in the best shape to be on a hunt, but this was Bobby. They couldn’t put this off anymore. He was vaguely upset with Dean for making them go back to bed – they’d both ended up falling asleep. He desperately hoped Bobby hadn’t had to pay for his weakness.
They weren’t talking about it, but Sam was seriously creeped out by the man in town. Whatever was here was seriously bad news. They moved quietly along the tree-line, staying out of sight of the house until they located a basement window that was close to the edge of the clearing. Sam made short work of the lock, and they slipped inside. So far, this was a little too easy. Maybe the man had lied, and there was nothing here.
Sam shook his head slightly; they were never that lucky.
Sam dumped a thick layer of salt along the windows while Dean gave the basement a quick search. If nothing else, the basement could serve as a place to retreat. Dean took point, and Sam followed him up, both moving carefully to avoid making noise on the rickety stairs. The door at the top opened out into the house, which was good; they wouldn’t have to redo the salt line if they had to come back through in a hurry.
Dean took out some more salt and laid it across the threshold. After putting the salt away, he picked up his shotgun and cocked it. He put his hand on the knob and looked pointedly back at Sam to be sure he was ready. Ironic, considering Sam had been pushing Dean to move faster ever since they’d gotten to the stupid town. Sam nodded once, only a little tersely, and Dean turned the knob, opening the door slightly.
Movement and soft sighs could be heard from deeper in the house. Dean glanced back at Sam with a questioning look on his face. Sam shrugged, not really wanting to actually identify the sounds, which were decidedly obscene in nature.
Dean looked inside for a moment and then pushed the door open further to reveal an empty kitchen, run-down and dated like everything else about the old house, complete with an old 50’s-style refrigerator. Stepping cautiously over the salt line, Sam followed Dean into the room and closed the door behind them, carefully making sure that the door didn’t quite latch so they could open it easily if they needed to later.
They moved through a dining room and out into a large entryway with a staircase leading up to the left. The front door was to the right and an arched entrance in the middle of the wall ahead of them lead into a large room that curved around to the right. The sounds were much louder here, long moans and the slick slapping of flesh against flesh; it was clear that whatever was here was in the next room, and that there were a lot of them.
Dean moved quickly to the right side of the arch, Sam at his back, and peered around the edge to get a look into the room. He rapidly ducked back and pressed his back to the wall, out of sight of the room. A barely audible, “Shit,” fell from his lips. Dean looked pale, but he only paused for a moment before signaling a retreat towards the kitchen.
“It’s a freaking orgy in there,” Dean whispered as soon as they returned to the door into the basement, and Sam had to stifle his amusement at Dean’s affronted tone. “I definitely caught a flash of black eyes. More than one, and there were at least five people in that room.”
That was sobering.
“Any sign of Bobby?” Sam forced himself to ask; if Bobby was in there, Sam really wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
“No,” Dean choked out quietly, clearly startled by the thought. Sam had to suppress a grin at his brother’s expense. They needed to stay focused. Dean shuddered dramatically, and then whispered, “I think we can get by ‘em. They seemed pretty distracted. Maybe we’ll find something upstairs.”
Sam nodded his agreement, and they made their way up the stairs, only stopping so that Sam could lay another line of salt along the front door and then along a step as soon as they were beyond the sight lines of the front room.
The stairway opened into a long hall stretching left and right, all the doors along the length of it closed. Dean turned right and moved to the first one, pressing his ear against it. After a moment, he signaled that he didn’t hear anything. He slowly turned the knob before swinging the door open wide to reveal a large bathroom.
The sickly-sweet smell of copper assaulted them immediately, permeating the room with the heavy reek. The room was covered with blood, as if someone had washed the walls and floors with it, and the bathtub was completely full of it, two dead bodies floating in a sea of red, limbs dangling over the sides of the tub.
Thank God, neither one of the corpses was Bobby.
Sam stifled his gag as Dean softly closed the door and leaned his head against it, both of them needing to catch their breaths before moving on to the next door. That had been… Sam couldn’t allow himself to stop and dwell. They didn’t have the luxury of time right now. He looked over at Dean, and Dean nodded grimly, quickly masking his haunted expression and signaling his readiness to continue.
Sam took point, trading with Dean, and waited for his brother to move into position before placing his hand on the next knob. Dean nodded and Sam opened it, carefully at first, then wider when soft whimpering drew his gaze to the corner. Three girls, probably younger than Sam, huddled together, gagged and tied with thick ropes. Sam rushed over to them, laying his shotgun down so he could wrestle with the bindings. He heard Dean close the door gently and move over to join them.
The knots were tight, and it took a while to get them loose, the girls cringing away from them the entire time. Sam got the first one’s arms free, but she stayed passive, not moving to help herself at all. He moved to her gag, but hesitated before pulling it off. “We’re here to help you,” he told her gently. “I’m gonna take the gag off, but you can’t make any noise, okay?”
The girl looked at him with wide, frightened eyes for a minute before slowly nodding. He reached around her head and untied the cloth, careful not to use any sharp movements. Chaffed raw from the tightly tied cloth, blood had matted around her mouth, and he had to peel the filthy material away from her skin. She didn’t move when he was done, just sat there silently, shaking, with tears running down her ghostly white face.
He couldn’t do anything else for her at the moment, and with one last concerned glance, he moved on to the next one. With Dean there to help him it didn’t take long to finish getting the girls loose. The three collapsed in on themselves when they were free, and Dean gave Sam a look. “We’re gonna have to get them down to the basement before we do anything else,” Dean said quietly.
None of them looked like they had a thought in their head for escape. Sam nodded, and Dean moved back to stand guard at the door. “Hey,” Sam coaxed, “do you want to get out of here?” Sam ducked his head, trying to get the girl closest to him to acknowledge him, but she just buried her face against the other two.
He didn’t know what the girls had been through, but it was pretty easy to guess. He closed his eyes and sucked in a breath, chills suddenly racing across his skin. They were all three of them broken, just like he’d been…
been…
He was better now than he’d been before. Was a little better every day. He forced himself to let the air go slowly and opened his eyes. They’d be okay if he could just get them out of here. He placed a hand on her shoulder, and she moaned, loud and agonized.
Sam instinctively jerked his hand back. He desperately didn’t want to add anything to their pain and fear. Even before he could cast a helpless glance at Dean, one of the other girls looked up and spit at him, hitting him on the cheek with a glob of gelatinous spittle.
Sam forced himself to calmly wipe it off with his hand and then into the carpet. The girls were clearly traumatized; getting their trust was going to be rough. Getting mad at the girl certainly wouldn’t help. He managed to keep his feelings locked down and repeated softly, “We’re here to help you. Let us help you.”
Fierce hatred blazed in her eyes. She didn’t back down, didn’t move or say anything to acknowledge that he’d said something. He raised a hand toward her slowly, watched her whole body stiffen like a cornered cat, and thought better of it. There was probably no way to force them to move without alerting the entire house to their presence.
At a loss, Sam looked over at Dean and said, “How ‘bout we salt the door and window and come back for them after we find Bobby?”
Clearly uncomfortable, Dean shrugged and replied, “Sounds like a plan to me.”
Sam dug some more salt out of his pack and laid it along the window ledge while Dean listened at the door. “Still sounds quiet,” Dean said as Sam joined him. There was carpet on the floor, and the door opened inward, which meant they were going to have to put the salt on the outside of the room. Dean reached out and turned the knob.
The door slammed open so hard Dean was thrown back against the wall with a sickening thud. “Dean!” Sam yelled, stunned to see Bobby standing in the open doorway. One of the girls screamed, and the other two started wailing loudly, creating a sudden chaos of sound that was like nails down a chalkboard. With rapidly building dread, Sam tossed half of the container of salt in Bobby’s face. He immediately flinched back, turning his head away and shaking it before turning to glare back at Sam. His eyes were a solid, inky black. “Shit,” Sam swore, fear for the older man making his legs turn to jell-o.
Bobby was still standing partially in the open doorway, and Sam looked on with horror as Dean threw himself against the door, trying to push him back. The door just banged against Bobby like it had hit a slab of concrete, vibrating on its hinges. Bobby smiled and simply pushed it back, sliding Dean effortlessly behind it and stepping into the room with a soft chuckle.
“Hello, boys. Good of you to drop by. Been waitin’ for you,” Bobby drawled, ignoring Dean and stepping close to Sam. He pushed in until their bodies were almost touching, forcing Sam to take a step back. Reaching out with false affection, Bobby tried to lay his hand on Sam’s face, but Sam flinched back, blocking it and knocking it away before he could make contact.
Bobby’s other hand darted out in response, slamming into Sam’s chest hard enough to send him spinning into the side of the bed. Sam’s knees gave out, and he slid down until they hit the ground as he struggled to breathe around the pain.
“Hey, asswipe!” Dean yelled, just before the blast of his shotgun echoed through the small room.
Sam pushed himself up, feeling Dean’s arms circling around him. With his brother’s help, he got dizzily to his feet. They were almost to the hallway when Sam felt raw power slam into the both of them, forcing them out through the doorway and pinning them to the far wall of the hallway. Sam strained against the pressure, his panic rising sharp and hot when he couldn’t even shift his limbs against the wall. By the sound of the strained breathing next to him, Dean was having exactly the same problem.
Bobby turned away from them, seemingly unconcerned, to look back into the room. “Shut the hell up!” he roared, and the girls went immediately, disturbingly quiet.
“Now,” he said, slinking up to Sam and pressing close, “Where were we?” Bobby buried his face in Sam’s neck and inhaled deeply. Sam’s breath caught in his throat, panic crushing his chest like a vise.
“Stop.” Sam wanted to stay stoically silent, but the word slipped past his lips before he could prevent it.
“You smell so damn good, boy,” Bobby breathed, pulling back just enough to look in Sam’s eyes. “You positively reek of power and sex.” Bobby brought his hand up and ran it over Sam’s chest provocatively. Sam slammed his head, the only part of his body he could actually move, against the wall as he futilely continued to struggle.
“Well, you smell like you rotten eggs, so why don’t you back the hell off?” Dean growled.
Bobby snorted, but kept his eyes fixed on Sam’s, moving his hand up to grip Sam’s chin and leaning in close so that their faces were only inches apart. The demon’s eyes were still pitch black, and Sam found it comforting that he didn’t have to look into the older hunter’s kind eyes.
“So. Since my daddy killed your mommy,” the demon said with Bobby’s low, gravelly voice, making Sam’s stomach roil with the wrongness of it, “I’d say that kinda makes us kin in a way, don’t you think?” Dean snarled next to them, swearing under his breath, but the demon took no notice, smirking, “And I know what you like to do with your kin…”
Fear jack-knifed through Sam’s body as the demon brought its lips in close, brushing them over Sam’s. A harsh whimpering sound escaped his mouth, and he was vaguely aware of his brother swearing next to him. Not Bobby, not Bobby, not Bobby… He repeated the words to himself over and over, willing himself to believe them.
He could feel his power welling up, aching for a target, but the thought of Bobby with lifeless eyes, covered in blood, had Sam suddenly consumed with the need to hold it back, even in the face of the perverted intent the creature’s closeness conveyed.
The demon snaked its tongue out, running it wetly over Sam’s tightly closed lips. Sam couldn’t keep another small whimper from escaping. Bobby… the demon, forced its tongue past his lips, and Sam yielded in despair, unable to make himself hurt the man he respected as a mentor. Sam’s focus narrowed to the probing tongue running over the inside of his mouth, tasting him, unable to process anything else. His power surged dangerously, and Sam clutched at it, barely holding it in check.
With a mocking laugh, the demon pulled back slightly and said derisively, “What, not happy with our little gift, Sammy? You know, I can take it back. We don’t need you to follow this path. My father will have you, one way or another.”
Sam heard Dean’s sharp intake of breath next to him, and he managed to turn his head enough to see the cold fury etching his brother’s features. Sam’s head was swimming with raw power, and it took a moment for the demon’s words to penetrate the fog. Sam jerked his head back and managed to choke out a belated, “What? How?”
The demon laughed loudly, “What’s it worth to you, Sammy boy? What are you willing to give if I take back the whole attack? Make it so you don’t have to fuck your brother anymore? Make it so you still have one sliver of self-worth?”
The power inside of him felt like electrical pulses traveling under his skin and trying to burn their way out. Sam struggled to think beyond the crackle and pull of his power and make sense of Bobby’s words. It wasn’t fucking possible to undo what had been done months ago, was it?
“What do you want?” Dean demanded, his voice raw and angry and just a little bit… eager.
“There’re six hundred and sixty six roads, and they all lead to the same place,” Bobby continued, still flatly ignoring Dean. “See, the irony is, that day? Dean had gotten bored waiting around for you. He was coming early to meet you at the library. Would’ve made it in time and everything. Averted the whole thing. So, we caused a little accident. Held Dean up a good five minutes.”
“Fuck,” Dean breathed out brokenly. “I’m gonna to wipe your ass off the planet.”
The corner of Bobby’s mouth twitched up slightly at Dean’s words, the first sign the demon had given that he even knew Dean was there, and Sam glared at him, seeing only the demon who’d fucked up their lives. Bobby leaned in so close Sam could feel the demon’s breath on his lips once more, but Sam stubbornly didn’t flinch away. With barely concealed glee the demon placed its finger lightly on Sam’s lips and taunted, “He missed you by minutes.”
Fury ripped through Sam, and he felt the tight grip on his power slip. “No!” he yelled, terrified that he’d soon have Bobby’s blood on his hands.
“That’s okay, we’re done here anyway.” The demon pulled back and opened his mouth, black smoke spilling out of his throat in billowing bursts that roared through the house. Screams started echoing through the rest of the house, and more black smoke flowed up the stairs, all of it meeting and mixing together in a spinning vortex that hit the ceiling and plunged through, leaving the house empty and quiet except for the harsh sobbing wails that continued to echo up the stairs.
The power was still there, raging inside of him and robbed of its target. Sam could feel it spilling out, seeking destruction, so he slammed it into the wall, ripping a hole through to the next room and down through the floor. The house shook: every board, every wall, and every corner of the foundation. The force holding Sam and his brother to the wall disappeared just as the last of the smoke left Bobby; all three of them slumped down to the floor at the same time.
“Fuck,” Dean muttered under his breath, “Holy, fucking fuck.”
Sam was shaking from the force of the power that was still pulsing through him, shaking even as the power slowly quieted. Dean reached out and cupped Sam’s face with his hand, forcing his head up. “You okay?” he asked, fear leaving his voice hoarse.
“Yeah, I’m good,” Sam lied, pulling his face away to look over at Bobby. The man was hunched over, silent tremors shaking his solid frame, his face almost at the floor. “Hey, Bobby,” Sam said and placed a hand gently on Bobby’s upper back. Bobby jerked away, scrambling backwards until he was several feet down the hall. He pressed his back against the wall, holding himself rigid, his arms straight down at his sides for support and his head thrown back with his eyes closed.
“Bobby?” Sam repeated, following the man down the hall.
“Stay the hell away from me, Sam,” Bobby growled, halting Sam in his tracks. “Just… give me a damn minute. Why don’t’cha go…” Bobby’s voice faltered, ripping Sam’s heart out of his chest. “Go take care of the girls in that room.”
Sam cast a meaningful look at Dean, who nodded once and settled back to wait, a quiet support if Bobby needed it.
~o0O0o~
Bobby’d said nothing during the short journey back from the old farmhouse. Not all that surprising, really, but it left Sam feeling awkward and uncomfortable in his presence. On an instinctive level, it seemed like there ought to be something Sam could say or do to help, even though he knew from his own experience that there was no fixing this, at least, not any time soon.
Dean parked the Impala and barked an order at Sam to wait while he went in to rent a second cabin. Sam looked at his brother imploringly, begging Dean with his eyes not to abandon him, but Dean ignored him and quickly walked away.
Bobby was still behind him, and the car was suddenly stifling, pulsing with the suffocating sense of loss: loss of power, loss of control, loss of self. He threw the door open. It wasn’t enough. He shifted and slid his feet outside of the car so he could face out and take deep, calming breaths of air.
His head cleared a little, and he got out of the car to open the back door so Bobby could get out. Bobby didn’t even acknowledge the act, just stayed in the car staring into space. Sam stood awkwardly next to the open door while Dean took his sweet time getting another cabin rented.
Bobby looked completely lost. Two men down. They needed Bobby – needed his strength and intelligence, needed to know there was someone they could turn to when they were out of their depth. Sam’s chest felt tight and anxiety clawed at his throat. He needed to do something. “Bobby, I…” he finally started.
He was cut off almost immediately with a sharp, “Don’t.”
“Right,” Sam replied, and moved over to lean against the hood to wait. There was nothing he could do no matter how hard he wished that wasn’t true.
His whole body felt like a catalog of aches, pains and bone-deep fatigue. He had to smother a soft groan as he sat back on the hard, unforgiving metal, but there was no way he was climbing back into the car with Bobby. He just couldn’t.
When Dean finally showed up with the keys and motioned to the newly rented cabin, Sam practically leapt off the car and hurried inside, letting Dean take care of coaxing Bobby out of the car. Sam wasn’t sure what Dean said to him, but a few minutes later Bobby silently followed Dean into the room and sat on the bed like something old and used. Sam was partially to blame for that. Bobby looked... When Sam had realized that he'd kissed Dean that first time, when he'd realized that the taste of Dean in his mouth had left him feeling warm and needy and good even though he knew it wasn't what Dean had wanted... Bobby looked like that. The thought made him feel sick.
Sam opened his mouth to ask if there was anything Bobby needed, anything he could do to help, but Dean cut him off before he could get the words out. “Okay, we’re done waiting, Bobby. We need some answers, so spill. What the hell happened?”
Sam shot an annoyed look at his brother. Mr. Sensitivity, as usual. The carnage at the old house had been surreal - worse than anything Sam had ever seen on any hunt. He didn’t think the people of the town would ever recover – the ones that were left alive, anyway. He cast a worried glance at Bobby. The man had been there for most of it. Probably even participated in it.
He hoped Bobby wouldn’t be able to explain.
He hoped Bobby didn’t remember anything at all.
Bobby looked up at them, his eyes shiny with tears that didn’t quite manage to fall. He opened his mouth to say something, but then his eyes slid away, his gaze landing on an empty patch of wall in the corner of the room.
“Bobby,” Dean demanded. “Do you remember anything? I mean, the demon said some stuff…”
“Remember almost everything…” Bobby rasped. He looked up at Dean, his eyes flashing angrily. “Bastard made me… well… John was supposed to…” Bobby cut himself off abruptly, his face reddening. “I’m guessing he must have finally decided to contact you, since you’re here. Stubborn bastard.”
Sam wasn’t surprised. He wasn’t. Watching Dean’s stunned face drain of color, though, that fucking hurt. It didn’t last long, defensive anger welling up almost immediately to take its place. Sam felt his own anger raising up to match, but he knew darn well it wasn’t Bobby he was mad at.
“You know, you could have told us he’d been talking to you,” Dean snapped. “You knew we were looking for him. Shit. He’s…” Dean trailed off, his gaze turning to Sam. “But it… it doesn’t matter – we got bigger issues here.” Dean tore his gaze away from Sam’s to look back at Bobby, his expression fierce. “Was the demon telling the truth? Is there a way to fix this?” Dean made a back and forth motion with his hand between the two of them, his voice hopeful… eager even.
Dean was right, of course. This was good news. Dean never should have been put into a situation where he was forced to fuck his own brother. It wasn’t natural; Sam knew that. It was just… Dean’s anticipation hurt way more than it should.
Sam found himself turning away from them guiltily to stare blankly out the window. The idea of making the last 9 or 10 months never happen was… overwhelming… and fraught with more mixed emotion than he ever would have guessed if anyone had asked him yesterday.
Not that he didn’t want a take-back for himself… of course he did… but… he couldn’t quite imagine his life without Dean as his partner any more. Didn’t really want to imagine it. He needed to, though. For Dean’s sake.
“Yeah, I think there might be a way to make it so that the attack never happened in the first place,” Bobby replied, interrupting Sam’s thoughts. “Gonna have to get to a library though, do some research. The demon was definitely up to something, but it didn’t exactly leave an instruction manual, and I’m not real clear on the what. I can probably find what I need in Denver… I’ll get back to you.”
“What?” Dean replied, outraged. “Bobby, we aren’t splitting up right…”
Bobby cut Dean off mid-sentence. “Damn straight we’re splitting up, boy. I need some time to myself to think. I don’t… I don’t want to be around people right now. Now, get outta here and give me some space.”
Sam turned back to face the wall at the raw pain lancing through Bobby’s voice. The man looked completely weighed down and exhausted, and Sam was suddenly ashamed for getting so caught up in his own issues that he’d managed to forget for even a moment. Dean opened his mouth to argue some more, but Sam grabbed his arm and jerked him backwards. “Come on, Dean. We need to let Bobby get some sleep.” Sam let some of his own exhaustion slip through, let it show in the lines of his body and in his face. “I could do with some myself. Dealing with those people was…”
Dean stared at Sam for a minute, an assessing look on his face, and then nodded curtly. “Alright,” he grudgingly conceded. “But Bobby, we’re going to talk about this in the morning. Got it?”
Bobby closed his eyes and gave a short, quick nod. He managed to keep most of the defeat off of his face, and it wasn’t fair. Nothing was ever fucking fair in their lives. Bobby didn’t deserve this.
Sam’s skin felt like ants were crawling over every inch, and he couldn’t stay in the room anymore. He turned and practically fled, pulling Dean behind him.
They walked in awkward silence back to their own cabin. He really didn’t know what to say to Dean, and Dean seemed lost in his own private little world. It hadn’t really been a conscious decision, but he’d completely given up on the idea of getting rid of the curse months ago. Now that it was a possibility again… it didn’t feel real.
Dean went into the bathroom to brush his teeth as soon as they got back to their room. Sam watched him for a moment and then went to sit blankly on the bed.
“We gotta meet Dad in five days…” Dean called around the toothbrush in his mouth… at least Sam was pretty sure that’s what he’d said.
“Yeah,” Sam answered back noncommittally.
Dean rinsed his mouth and then turned to lean against the door jam of the bathroom. “Maybe it’ll be all fixed by then.”
Sam felt nauseous, his insides twisting around themselves. “Yeah, that’d be good.”
Dean looked at him oddly. “You okay? I thought you’d be pretty happy by now…”
“I am, Dean. I’m thrilled. I’m just…” Sam stood up and stripped his shirts off. “I’m just tired.” He pulled his pants off and crawled into bed, adding as an afterthought, “And it doesn’t seem real, you know?”
Dean came over and sat on the bed. “Yeah, that makes sense.” He draped himself over the top of the covers and leaned in predatorily. “I’m still too keyed up to sleep. Wanna take the edge off?” Dean closed the distance and pressed their mouths together hungrily, pushing his tongue into Sam’s mouth insistently while he slid his hand down Sam’s chest to cup Sam’s dick through the thick denim.
With a groan, Sam wrapped his arms around Dean and pulled him in close. God, he needed this. He couldn’t imagine giving Dean up. His need to possess and be possessed by Dean didn’t feel imposed, didn’t feel like something the creature had conjured up for Sam. It never had. Certainly his love for Dean had always been there. This was just… more. More complete. Deeper and more consuming, but on some level, his need for Dean had always been there. He hadn’t been unhappy before all this started, but he had definitely felt more alone.
Dean lightly bit Sam’s lower lip, sucking it into his mouth and then scraping his teeth along the skin until it pulled free, and he pulled back enough to look in Sam’s eyes. “You with me?” Dean asked, concern starting to pool in his widening eyes.
Sam let his fingers scrape through Dean’s short hair until his hands were flat against the sides of Dean’s face, and he tilted Dean’s head back, exposing Dean’s neck. The bruise he’d placed there the previous night was a rich, deep purple, staining the pale skin and spreading over the curve of Dean’s jaw. Sam pulled Dean back down and licked over it, tasting Dean’s rich, earthy flavor. He pulled Dean back up, so he could see his mark glistening in the light, inspecting it and deciding to make it darker before pulling Dean back down once more to suck the skin into his mouth hard, deepening his claim.
Dean groaned and slipped a hand down to cup himself. Sam snatched at it and pulled it back. “Don’t,” he ordered, “Only I get to touch you there.”
“Fuck,” Dean whispered.
Sam used his grip on Dean’s arm to his advantage, flipping them around to pin Dean underneath him. He pulled Dean’s hands up high and gazed down at his brother.
Dean’s eyes were wide, his skin flushed, his breaths coming out hard and fast, and his lips were swollen and full from the rough kisses they’d been exchanging. Dean looked completely vulnerable and debauched. He was beautiful. Sam never wanted to let him go.
He nudged Dean’s face over to the left so he could get a look at the other side of his brother’s neck. The silvery scar from Sam’s teeth when this had all started showed starkly against the surrounding skin. Sam dipped down and fit his teeth back over the mark, biting down. Dean trembled beneath him and a whispered, “Sammy,” fell from his lips. Sam bit down, and Dean turned his head away a little more, exposing more of his neck, granting Sam easy access and silently begging for more.
His mark might be gone soon. The thought simmered in Sam’s gut, painful with the sharp sting of loss. The thought of losing Dean was unbearable. He released Dean’s neck and slid down, relishing in the feel of their bodies sliding together, This was how they were meant to be. He licked a long stripe from the base of Dean’s neck down to Dean’s navel. Pausing there, he licked and bit the skin around Dean’s belly button, dipping his tongue inside to stroke the sensitive skin while he ignored the pulse of Dean’s hips that silently begged him to move lower.
Sam slid up instead until he found the small pebbled nub of Dean’s right nipple. He sucked that in hard, swirling his tongue around the raised flesh and scraping against it with his teeth to draw a long, needy whimper from Dean’s mouth. It wasn’t enough; Sam needed more, needed to join their bodies and taste Dean’s flavor and make Dean his in a way that wouldn’t be simply forgotten.
He pressed his teeth down harder, heard Dean yell, “Fuck,” dimly through his sex haze. Sam scissored his teeth slightly, letting the first hint of copper spread across his tongue. Dean arched against him, “God, Sam, need you so much.”
Sam bit down harder, deepening his mark, making this a mirror of the one he’d left on the other side of Dean’s neck. He only barely managed to catch himself from pressing down so deeply that Dean would need stitches. It still wasn’t enough. He needed to be inside Dean, needed to feel Dean around him, needed their bodies joined together so tightly they couldn’t distinguish any more who was who.
Sam groped at the nightstand and managed to snatch up the tube of lube without dropping it. He squeezed a large amount onto his fingers before reaching down and plunging one into Dean’s body, all the way up to his knuckle. Dean groaned loudly, spreading his legs apart to grant Sam more access. Sam plunged his finger in and out a few times before adding in another.
“Need you, too, Dean,” he moaned. “Need you so much.”
Dean pulled his legs up, “That’s enough, just do it. Do it now.”
Sam didn’t need further urging. He pulled his fingers free and crawled up. He lined up his dick with Dean’s hole and pressed down, entering him in one long, smooth stroke.
Dean’s walls squeezed around him, clutching him tightly, and Sam yelled his pleasure out against Dean’s neck. He didn’t have enough self-control left to let Dean adjust to his presence; he just pulled out again and then slammed home once more. Dean’s yells chorused with his as he thrust in and out, in and out, sheathing himself inside Dean’s body, as deep as he could go. “Tell me you’re mine,” Sam growled, continuing to move within Dean without a beat.
“God, Sam, yeah, always yours.”
Anger pulsed through Sam’s body. Not always, he thought, and pushed in hard and rough, snapping his hips back to do it again and again. Dean yelled out, his breaths so hard and fast that he was in danger of hyperventilating, but he didn’t complain or tell Sam to stop. Sam let his rage build, poured it out with each harsh thrust. He let it reach a crescendo until it spilled out of him; Dean, thank God, was coming too. Wrapped around each other in a tangle of limbs, they pulsed together and clung to each other as they worked through their release, ending up in a sweaty, intertwined heap.
Sam buried his face in the pillow and managed to hide his rage and panic at the thought of losing this until he felt his brother’s breaths even out. Exhaustion pulled at him, and it wasn’t long before he joined Dean in sleep, but the fear of losing Dean followed him into his dreams.
Chapter Four | Chapter Six
Chapter Five
The town wasn’t big, just one road with several stores and a small church not too far down the street from the bar. Sam snorted quietly to himself; at least the bar would make Dean happy. There were almost no cars on the street, though, and most of the businesses were closed. The height of tourist season was long over, but the town shouldn’t be completely deserted already. It was the middle of the afternoon and there was nobody on the street at all.
Dean pulled over, turned off the car and opened his door. They sat in silence for several minutes, waiting for some indication of life in the small town, but they were greeted with only the sounds of wildlife and wind. Nobody came out of a building or shouted a greeting. There were no sounds of children playing, no sounds of people, period.
“Well,” Dean finally announced, swinging himself easily out of the car, “I’m thirsty.” He gave Sam a meaningful look and headed into the bar. Sam got out uneasily and followed him.
The dim room was eerily silent and completely devoid of people as well - except for the bartender who jerked up at their entrance and practically stumbled over himself to get to the counter, a cold sweat quickly beading up on his glossy forehead.
“What can I get for you?” the man asked, his voice trembling. Dean looked back at Sam with a what the fuck expression on his face, and then moved over to the bar.
“How ‘bout a couple of beers, whatever’s on tap,” Dean asked with fake cheer.
Dean took a seat on a barstool, and Sam sat next to him, flashing the petrified man his most charming smile. Watching the man fumble down two glasses, Sam added softly, “Things are pretty quiet around here.”
The man’s hands were shaking so badly that the beer spilled all over his fingers and the counter as he set the full glasses down. He swore, grabbed a wipe rag and ran it over the smoothly polished wood, casting anxious glances at them and murmuring, “Sorry, so sorry,” under his breath.
“Hey, no problem.” Sam picked up the sticky glass in front of him and took a sip, sighing contentedly. “’S good,” he said, raising his glass in a small salute. The man just backed away, watching them uneasily.
“You got a food menu?” Dean asked, and the guy actually paled a little more.
“We’ve… we’ve go… got peanuts and p… pretzels,” the guy stammered. He pulled a couple of bowls up from under the counter and managed to spill the contents when he set them down too hard.
“Dude, what the hell? What’s got you so freaked?” Dean demanded sharply, his patience apparently already giving out.
The man emitted a low whining sound, and Sam shot his brother an annoyed glance. “We aren’t going to hurt you,” Sam said, deliberately keeping his voice soft. He looked around the room, trying to spot anyone hidden in a corner or under a table, but there was nothing. “Why don’t you tell us what’s wrong? Maybe we can help.”
They stared at each other for a few minutes, and in the face of Sam’s calm patience a little of the fear seemed to slip away, easing the man’s expression towards wary. “Look,” he finally said, his voice still strung with tension, “if you’re just passing through, ain’t nothin’ open around here. You best just be on your way.”
“Actually,” Dean said, irritating Sam once more by cutting off his reply, “we’re looking for a friend of ours. Bobby Singer. Maybe you know him?”
Dean slid a small picture across the counter. The man glanced down and picked up the photo, and then immediately dropped it, his eyes widening in alarm. He started to back away, and then visibly stopped himself, locking his panicked gaze on Dean, silently rooted to the spot.
Reaching out slowly, Dean picked up the picture and drawled, “So… I take it you do know him then? Have you seen him around? Do you know where we could find him?”
“Big house at the top of Beede Hill Grade,” he replied hoarsely.
Sam exchanged a wary glance with Dean before turning and asking, “How much do we owe you?”
The man just stared at them with huge eyes and shook his head.
“Okay, then,” Dean said, dropping a ten on the bar. “Thanks for your help.”
They both got up and backed toward the door. The man didn’t take his eyes off of them, frantically tracking their every movement. Just as they reached the door, something in him seemed to crumble, seemed to break as he called out, “Please! Don’t hurt my daughter!” He stumbled backwards until he hit the wall and slid down, mumbling the request over and over.
Sam exchanged another quick glance with Dean, and this time, Dean seemed to take the hint and left, leaving Sam to it. Moving slowly back over to the weeping man, Sam crouched down so he was less intimidating. “Hey, dude,” he tried to soothe, but the man just kept repeating over and over, “Please don’t hurt her, please don’t hurt her…” Concerned, Sam tried to coax the man to talk, tried to find out what she looked like, what her name was, anything, but the man was incoherent, and Sam finally had to admit defeat and walk away.
Sam found his brother outside leaning against the Impala. “Dude, you get anything out of Mr. Terrified?”
“No, but I think we should get up to that house. Bobby’s definitely gotten himself into the middle of something.”
~o0O0o~
The house was big and sprawling and looked like it had definitely seen better days. Part of the wrap-around porch had rotted away on the side, and the paint was peeling off everywhere, giving off an ominous vibe that would have fit in perfectly in one of those B horror films that Dean seemed to like so much. Just like the rest of the town, the house appeared to be dead.
Dean had parked the Impala a little way down the steep road, and they were walking in on foot so they wouldn’t alert whatever was inside to their presence. The cuts running across Sam’s chest pulled uncomfortably as he moved. It occurred to him that he wasn’t in the best shape to be on a hunt, but this was Bobby. They couldn’t put this off anymore. He was vaguely upset with Dean for making them go back to bed – they’d both ended up falling asleep. He desperately hoped Bobby hadn’t had to pay for his weakness.
They weren’t talking about it, but Sam was seriously creeped out by the man in town. Whatever was here was seriously bad news. They moved quietly along the tree-line, staying out of sight of the house until they located a basement window that was close to the edge of the clearing. Sam made short work of the lock, and they slipped inside. So far, this was a little too easy. Maybe the man had lied, and there was nothing here.
Sam shook his head slightly; they were never that lucky.
Sam dumped a thick layer of salt along the windows while Dean gave the basement a quick search. If nothing else, the basement could serve as a place to retreat. Dean took point, and Sam followed him up, both moving carefully to avoid making noise on the rickety stairs. The door at the top opened out into the house, which was good; they wouldn’t have to redo the salt line if they had to come back through in a hurry.
Dean took out some more salt and laid it across the threshold. After putting the salt away, he picked up his shotgun and cocked it. He put his hand on the knob and looked pointedly back at Sam to be sure he was ready. Ironic, considering Sam had been pushing Dean to move faster ever since they’d gotten to the stupid town. Sam nodded once, only a little tersely, and Dean turned the knob, opening the door slightly.
Movement and soft sighs could be heard from deeper in the house. Dean glanced back at Sam with a questioning look on his face. Sam shrugged, not really wanting to actually identify the sounds, which were decidedly obscene in nature.
Dean looked inside for a moment and then pushed the door open further to reveal an empty kitchen, run-down and dated like everything else about the old house, complete with an old 50’s-style refrigerator. Stepping cautiously over the salt line, Sam followed Dean into the room and closed the door behind them, carefully making sure that the door didn’t quite latch so they could open it easily if they needed to later.
They moved through a dining room and out into a large entryway with a staircase leading up to the left. The front door was to the right and an arched entrance in the middle of the wall ahead of them lead into a large room that curved around to the right. The sounds were much louder here, long moans and the slick slapping of flesh against flesh; it was clear that whatever was here was in the next room, and that there were a lot of them.
Dean moved quickly to the right side of the arch, Sam at his back, and peered around the edge to get a look into the room. He rapidly ducked back and pressed his back to the wall, out of sight of the room. A barely audible, “Shit,” fell from his lips. Dean looked pale, but he only paused for a moment before signaling a retreat towards the kitchen.
“It’s a freaking orgy in there,” Dean whispered as soon as they returned to the door into the basement, and Sam had to stifle his amusement at Dean’s affronted tone. “I definitely caught a flash of black eyes. More than one, and there were at least five people in that room.”
That was sobering.
“Any sign of Bobby?” Sam forced himself to ask; if Bobby was in there, Sam really wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
“No,” Dean choked out quietly, clearly startled by the thought. Sam had to suppress a grin at his brother’s expense. They needed to stay focused. Dean shuddered dramatically, and then whispered, “I think we can get by ‘em. They seemed pretty distracted. Maybe we’ll find something upstairs.”
Sam nodded his agreement, and they made their way up the stairs, only stopping so that Sam could lay another line of salt along the front door and then along a step as soon as they were beyond the sight lines of the front room.
The stairway opened into a long hall stretching left and right, all the doors along the length of it closed. Dean turned right and moved to the first one, pressing his ear against it. After a moment, he signaled that he didn’t hear anything. He slowly turned the knob before swinging the door open wide to reveal a large bathroom.
The sickly-sweet smell of copper assaulted them immediately, permeating the room with the heavy reek. The room was covered with blood, as if someone had washed the walls and floors with it, and the bathtub was completely full of it, two dead bodies floating in a sea of red, limbs dangling over the sides of the tub.
Thank God, neither one of the corpses was Bobby.
Sam stifled his gag as Dean softly closed the door and leaned his head against it, both of them needing to catch their breaths before moving on to the next door. That had been… Sam couldn’t allow himself to stop and dwell. They didn’t have the luxury of time right now. He looked over at Dean, and Dean nodded grimly, quickly masking his haunted expression and signaling his readiness to continue.
Sam took point, trading with Dean, and waited for his brother to move into position before placing his hand on the next knob. Dean nodded and Sam opened it, carefully at first, then wider when soft whimpering drew his gaze to the corner. Three girls, probably younger than Sam, huddled together, gagged and tied with thick ropes. Sam rushed over to them, laying his shotgun down so he could wrestle with the bindings. He heard Dean close the door gently and move over to join them.
The knots were tight, and it took a while to get them loose, the girls cringing away from them the entire time. Sam got the first one’s arms free, but she stayed passive, not moving to help herself at all. He moved to her gag, but hesitated before pulling it off. “We’re here to help you,” he told her gently. “I’m gonna take the gag off, but you can’t make any noise, okay?”
The girl looked at him with wide, frightened eyes for a minute before slowly nodding. He reached around her head and untied the cloth, careful not to use any sharp movements. Chaffed raw from the tightly tied cloth, blood had matted around her mouth, and he had to peel the filthy material away from her skin. She didn’t move when he was done, just sat there silently, shaking, with tears running down her ghostly white face.
He couldn’t do anything else for her at the moment, and with one last concerned glance, he moved on to the next one. With Dean there to help him it didn’t take long to finish getting the girls loose. The three collapsed in on themselves when they were free, and Dean gave Sam a look. “We’re gonna have to get them down to the basement before we do anything else,” Dean said quietly.
None of them looked like they had a thought in their head for escape. Sam nodded, and Dean moved back to stand guard at the door. “Hey,” Sam coaxed, “do you want to get out of here?” Sam ducked his head, trying to get the girl closest to him to acknowledge him, but she just buried her face against the other two.
He didn’t know what the girls had been through, but it was pretty easy to guess. He closed his eyes and sucked in a breath, chills suddenly racing across his skin. They were all three of them broken, just like he’d been…
been…
He was better now than he’d been before. Was a little better every day. He forced himself to let the air go slowly and opened his eyes. They’d be okay if he could just get them out of here. He placed a hand on her shoulder, and she moaned, loud and agonized.
Sam instinctively jerked his hand back. He desperately didn’t want to add anything to their pain and fear. Even before he could cast a helpless glance at Dean, one of the other girls looked up and spit at him, hitting him on the cheek with a glob of gelatinous spittle.
Sam forced himself to calmly wipe it off with his hand and then into the carpet. The girls were clearly traumatized; getting their trust was going to be rough. Getting mad at the girl certainly wouldn’t help. He managed to keep his feelings locked down and repeated softly, “We’re here to help you. Let us help you.”
Fierce hatred blazed in her eyes. She didn’t back down, didn’t move or say anything to acknowledge that he’d said something. He raised a hand toward her slowly, watched her whole body stiffen like a cornered cat, and thought better of it. There was probably no way to force them to move without alerting the entire house to their presence.
At a loss, Sam looked over at Dean and said, “How ‘bout we salt the door and window and come back for them after we find Bobby?”
Clearly uncomfortable, Dean shrugged and replied, “Sounds like a plan to me.”
Sam dug some more salt out of his pack and laid it along the window ledge while Dean listened at the door. “Still sounds quiet,” Dean said as Sam joined him. There was carpet on the floor, and the door opened inward, which meant they were going to have to put the salt on the outside of the room. Dean reached out and turned the knob.
The door slammed open so hard Dean was thrown back against the wall with a sickening thud. “Dean!” Sam yelled, stunned to see Bobby standing in the open doorway. One of the girls screamed, and the other two started wailing loudly, creating a sudden chaos of sound that was like nails down a chalkboard. With rapidly building dread, Sam tossed half of the container of salt in Bobby’s face. He immediately flinched back, turning his head away and shaking it before turning to glare back at Sam. His eyes were a solid, inky black. “Shit,” Sam swore, fear for the older man making his legs turn to jell-o.
Bobby was still standing partially in the open doorway, and Sam looked on with horror as Dean threw himself against the door, trying to push him back. The door just banged against Bobby like it had hit a slab of concrete, vibrating on its hinges. Bobby smiled and simply pushed it back, sliding Dean effortlessly behind it and stepping into the room with a soft chuckle.
“Hello, boys. Good of you to drop by. Been waitin’ for you,” Bobby drawled, ignoring Dean and stepping close to Sam. He pushed in until their bodies were almost touching, forcing Sam to take a step back. Reaching out with false affection, Bobby tried to lay his hand on Sam’s face, but Sam flinched back, blocking it and knocking it away before he could make contact.
Bobby’s other hand darted out in response, slamming into Sam’s chest hard enough to send him spinning into the side of the bed. Sam’s knees gave out, and he slid down until they hit the ground as he struggled to breathe around the pain.
“Hey, asswipe!” Dean yelled, just before the blast of his shotgun echoed through the small room.
Sam pushed himself up, feeling Dean’s arms circling around him. With his brother’s help, he got dizzily to his feet. They were almost to the hallway when Sam felt raw power slam into the both of them, forcing them out through the doorway and pinning them to the far wall of the hallway. Sam strained against the pressure, his panic rising sharp and hot when he couldn’t even shift his limbs against the wall. By the sound of the strained breathing next to him, Dean was having exactly the same problem.
Bobby turned away from them, seemingly unconcerned, to look back into the room. “Shut the hell up!” he roared, and the girls went immediately, disturbingly quiet.
“Now,” he said, slinking up to Sam and pressing close, “Where were we?” Bobby buried his face in Sam’s neck and inhaled deeply. Sam’s breath caught in his throat, panic crushing his chest like a vise.
“Stop.” Sam wanted to stay stoically silent, but the word slipped past his lips before he could prevent it.
“You smell so damn good, boy,” Bobby breathed, pulling back just enough to look in Sam’s eyes. “You positively reek of power and sex.” Bobby brought his hand up and ran it over Sam’s chest provocatively. Sam slammed his head, the only part of his body he could actually move, against the wall as he futilely continued to struggle.
“Well, you smell like you rotten eggs, so why don’t you back the hell off?” Dean growled.
Bobby snorted, but kept his eyes fixed on Sam’s, moving his hand up to grip Sam’s chin and leaning in close so that their faces were only inches apart. The demon’s eyes were still pitch black, and Sam found it comforting that he didn’t have to look into the older hunter’s kind eyes.
“So. Since my daddy killed your mommy,” the demon said with Bobby’s low, gravelly voice, making Sam’s stomach roil with the wrongness of it, “I’d say that kinda makes us kin in a way, don’t you think?” Dean snarled next to them, swearing under his breath, but the demon took no notice, smirking, “And I know what you like to do with your kin…”
Fear jack-knifed through Sam’s body as the demon brought its lips in close, brushing them over Sam’s. A harsh whimpering sound escaped his mouth, and he was vaguely aware of his brother swearing next to him. Not Bobby, not Bobby, not Bobby… He repeated the words to himself over and over, willing himself to believe them.
He could feel his power welling up, aching for a target, but the thought of Bobby with lifeless eyes, covered in blood, had Sam suddenly consumed with the need to hold it back, even in the face of the perverted intent the creature’s closeness conveyed.
The demon snaked its tongue out, running it wetly over Sam’s tightly closed lips. Sam couldn’t keep another small whimper from escaping. Bobby… the demon, forced its tongue past his lips, and Sam yielded in despair, unable to make himself hurt the man he respected as a mentor. Sam’s focus narrowed to the probing tongue running over the inside of his mouth, tasting him, unable to process anything else. His power surged dangerously, and Sam clutched at it, barely holding it in check.
With a mocking laugh, the demon pulled back slightly and said derisively, “What, not happy with our little gift, Sammy? You know, I can take it back. We don’t need you to follow this path. My father will have you, one way or another.”
Sam heard Dean’s sharp intake of breath next to him, and he managed to turn his head enough to see the cold fury etching his brother’s features. Sam’s head was swimming with raw power, and it took a moment for the demon’s words to penetrate the fog. Sam jerked his head back and managed to choke out a belated, “What? How?”
The demon laughed loudly, “What’s it worth to you, Sammy boy? What are you willing to give if I take back the whole attack? Make it so you don’t have to fuck your brother anymore? Make it so you still have one sliver of self-worth?”
The power inside of him felt like electrical pulses traveling under his skin and trying to burn their way out. Sam struggled to think beyond the crackle and pull of his power and make sense of Bobby’s words. It wasn’t fucking possible to undo what had been done months ago, was it?
“What do you want?” Dean demanded, his voice raw and angry and just a little bit… eager.
“There’re six hundred and sixty six roads, and they all lead to the same place,” Bobby continued, still flatly ignoring Dean. “See, the irony is, that day? Dean had gotten bored waiting around for you. He was coming early to meet you at the library. Would’ve made it in time and everything. Averted the whole thing. So, we caused a little accident. Held Dean up a good five minutes.”
“Fuck,” Dean breathed out brokenly. “I’m gonna to wipe your ass off the planet.”
The corner of Bobby’s mouth twitched up slightly at Dean’s words, the first sign the demon had given that he even knew Dean was there, and Sam glared at him, seeing only the demon who’d fucked up their lives. Bobby leaned in so close Sam could feel the demon’s breath on his lips once more, but Sam stubbornly didn’t flinch away. With barely concealed glee the demon placed its finger lightly on Sam’s lips and taunted, “He missed you by minutes.”
Fury ripped through Sam, and he felt the tight grip on his power slip. “No!” he yelled, terrified that he’d soon have Bobby’s blood on his hands.
“That’s okay, we’re done here anyway.” The demon pulled back and opened his mouth, black smoke spilling out of his throat in billowing bursts that roared through the house. Screams started echoing through the rest of the house, and more black smoke flowed up the stairs, all of it meeting and mixing together in a spinning vortex that hit the ceiling and plunged through, leaving the house empty and quiet except for the harsh sobbing wails that continued to echo up the stairs.
The power was still there, raging inside of him and robbed of its target. Sam could feel it spilling out, seeking destruction, so he slammed it into the wall, ripping a hole through to the next room and down through the floor. The house shook: every board, every wall, and every corner of the foundation. The force holding Sam and his brother to the wall disappeared just as the last of the smoke left Bobby; all three of them slumped down to the floor at the same time.
“Fuck,” Dean muttered under his breath, “Holy, fucking fuck.”
Sam was shaking from the force of the power that was still pulsing through him, shaking even as the power slowly quieted. Dean reached out and cupped Sam’s face with his hand, forcing his head up. “You okay?” he asked, fear leaving his voice hoarse.
“Yeah, I’m good,” Sam lied, pulling his face away to look over at Bobby. The man was hunched over, silent tremors shaking his solid frame, his face almost at the floor. “Hey, Bobby,” Sam said and placed a hand gently on Bobby’s upper back. Bobby jerked away, scrambling backwards until he was several feet down the hall. He pressed his back against the wall, holding himself rigid, his arms straight down at his sides for support and his head thrown back with his eyes closed.
“Bobby?” Sam repeated, following the man down the hall.
“Stay the hell away from me, Sam,” Bobby growled, halting Sam in his tracks. “Just… give me a damn minute. Why don’t’cha go…” Bobby’s voice faltered, ripping Sam’s heart out of his chest. “Go take care of the girls in that room.”
Sam cast a meaningful look at Dean, who nodded once and settled back to wait, a quiet support if Bobby needed it.
~o0O0o~
Bobby’d said nothing during the short journey back from the old farmhouse. Not all that surprising, really, but it left Sam feeling awkward and uncomfortable in his presence. On an instinctive level, it seemed like there ought to be something Sam could say or do to help, even though he knew from his own experience that there was no fixing this, at least, not any time soon.
Dean parked the Impala and barked an order at Sam to wait while he went in to rent a second cabin. Sam looked at his brother imploringly, begging Dean with his eyes not to abandon him, but Dean ignored him and quickly walked away.
Bobby was still behind him, and the car was suddenly stifling, pulsing with the suffocating sense of loss: loss of power, loss of control, loss of self. He threw the door open. It wasn’t enough. He shifted and slid his feet outside of the car so he could face out and take deep, calming breaths of air.
His head cleared a little, and he got out of the car to open the back door so Bobby could get out. Bobby didn’t even acknowledge the act, just stayed in the car staring into space. Sam stood awkwardly next to the open door while Dean took his sweet time getting another cabin rented.
Bobby looked completely lost. Two men down. They needed Bobby – needed his strength and intelligence, needed to know there was someone they could turn to when they were out of their depth. Sam’s chest felt tight and anxiety clawed at his throat. He needed to do something. “Bobby, I…” he finally started.
He was cut off almost immediately with a sharp, “Don’t.”
“Right,” Sam replied, and moved over to lean against the hood to wait. There was nothing he could do no matter how hard he wished that wasn’t true.
His whole body felt like a catalog of aches, pains and bone-deep fatigue. He had to smother a soft groan as he sat back on the hard, unforgiving metal, but there was no way he was climbing back into the car with Bobby. He just couldn’t.
When Dean finally showed up with the keys and motioned to the newly rented cabin, Sam practically leapt off the car and hurried inside, letting Dean take care of coaxing Bobby out of the car. Sam wasn’t sure what Dean said to him, but a few minutes later Bobby silently followed Dean into the room and sat on the bed like something old and used. Sam was partially to blame for that. Bobby looked... When Sam had realized that he'd kissed Dean that first time, when he'd realized that the taste of Dean in his mouth had left him feeling warm and needy and good even though he knew it wasn't what Dean had wanted... Bobby looked like that. The thought made him feel sick.
Sam opened his mouth to ask if there was anything Bobby needed, anything he could do to help, but Dean cut him off before he could get the words out. “Okay, we’re done waiting, Bobby. We need some answers, so spill. What the hell happened?”
Sam shot an annoyed look at his brother. Mr. Sensitivity, as usual. The carnage at the old house had been surreal - worse than anything Sam had ever seen on any hunt. He didn’t think the people of the town would ever recover – the ones that were left alive, anyway. He cast a worried glance at Bobby. The man had been there for most of it. Probably even participated in it.
He hoped Bobby wouldn’t be able to explain.
He hoped Bobby didn’t remember anything at all.
Bobby looked up at them, his eyes shiny with tears that didn’t quite manage to fall. He opened his mouth to say something, but then his eyes slid away, his gaze landing on an empty patch of wall in the corner of the room.
“Bobby,” Dean demanded. “Do you remember anything? I mean, the demon said some stuff…”
“Remember almost everything…” Bobby rasped. He looked up at Dean, his eyes flashing angrily. “Bastard made me… well… John was supposed to…” Bobby cut himself off abruptly, his face reddening. “I’m guessing he must have finally decided to contact you, since you’re here. Stubborn bastard.”
Sam wasn’t surprised. He wasn’t. Watching Dean’s stunned face drain of color, though, that fucking hurt. It didn’t last long, defensive anger welling up almost immediately to take its place. Sam felt his own anger raising up to match, but he knew darn well it wasn’t Bobby he was mad at.
“You know, you could have told us he’d been talking to you,” Dean snapped. “You knew we were looking for him. Shit. He’s…” Dean trailed off, his gaze turning to Sam. “But it… it doesn’t matter – we got bigger issues here.” Dean tore his gaze away from Sam’s to look back at Bobby, his expression fierce. “Was the demon telling the truth? Is there a way to fix this?” Dean made a back and forth motion with his hand between the two of them, his voice hopeful… eager even.
Dean was right, of course. This was good news. Dean never should have been put into a situation where he was forced to fuck his own brother. It wasn’t natural; Sam knew that. It was just… Dean’s anticipation hurt way more than it should.
Sam found himself turning away from them guiltily to stare blankly out the window. The idea of making the last 9 or 10 months never happen was… overwhelming… and fraught with more mixed emotion than he ever would have guessed if anyone had asked him yesterday.
Not that he didn’t want a take-back for himself… of course he did… but… he couldn’t quite imagine his life without Dean as his partner any more. Didn’t really want to imagine it. He needed to, though. For Dean’s sake.
“Yeah, I think there might be a way to make it so that the attack never happened in the first place,” Bobby replied, interrupting Sam’s thoughts. “Gonna have to get to a library though, do some research. The demon was definitely up to something, but it didn’t exactly leave an instruction manual, and I’m not real clear on the what. I can probably find what I need in Denver… I’ll get back to you.”
“What?” Dean replied, outraged. “Bobby, we aren’t splitting up right…”
Bobby cut Dean off mid-sentence. “Damn straight we’re splitting up, boy. I need some time to myself to think. I don’t… I don’t want to be around people right now. Now, get outta here and give me some space.”
Sam turned back to face the wall at the raw pain lancing through Bobby’s voice. The man looked completely weighed down and exhausted, and Sam was suddenly ashamed for getting so caught up in his own issues that he’d managed to forget for even a moment. Dean opened his mouth to argue some more, but Sam grabbed his arm and jerked him backwards. “Come on, Dean. We need to let Bobby get some sleep.” Sam let some of his own exhaustion slip through, let it show in the lines of his body and in his face. “I could do with some myself. Dealing with those people was…”
Dean stared at Sam for a minute, an assessing look on his face, and then nodded curtly. “Alright,” he grudgingly conceded. “But Bobby, we’re going to talk about this in the morning. Got it?”
Bobby closed his eyes and gave a short, quick nod. He managed to keep most of the defeat off of his face, and it wasn’t fair. Nothing was ever fucking fair in their lives. Bobby didn’t deserve this.
Sam’s skin felt like ants were crawling over every inch, and he couldn’t stay in the room anymore. He turned and practically fled, pulling Dean behind him.
They walked in awkward silence back to their own cabin. He really didn’t know what to say to Dean, and Dean seemed lost in his own private little world. It hadn’t really been a conscious decision, but he’d completely given up on the idea of getting rid of the curse months ago. Now that it was a possibility again… it didn’t feel real.
Dean went into the bathroom to brush his teeth as soon as they got back to their room. Sam watched him for a moment and then went to sit blankly on the bed.
“We gotta meet Dad in five days…” Dean called around the toothbrush in his mouth… at least Sam was pretty sure that’s what he’d said.
“Yeah,” Sam answered back noncommittally.
Dean rinsed his mouth and then turned to lean against the door jam of the bathroom. “Maybe it’ll be all fixed by then.”
Sam felt nauseous, his insides twisting around themselves. “Yeah, that’d be good.”
Dean looked at him oddly. “You okay? I thought you’d be pretty happy by now…”
“I am, Dean. I’m thrilled. I’m just…” Sam stood up and stripped his shirts off. “I’m just tired.” He pulled his pants off and crawled into bed, adding as an afterthought, “And it doesn’t seem real, you know?”
Dean came over and sat on the bed. “Yeah, that makes sense.” He draped himself over the top of the covers and leaned in predatorily. “I’m still too keyed up to sleep. Wanna take the edge off?” Dean closed the distance and pressed their mouths together hungrily, pushing his tongue into Sam’s mouth insistently while he slid his hand down Sam’s chest to cup Sam’s dick through the thick denim.
With a groan, Sam wrapped his arms around Dean and pulled him in close. God, he needed this. He couldn’t imagine giving Dean up. His need to possess and be possessed by Dean didn’t feel imposed, didn’t feel like something the creature had conjured up for Sam. It never had. Certainly his love for Dean had always been there. This was just… more. More complete. Deeper and more consuming, but on some level, his need for Dean had always been there. He hadn’t been unhappy before all this started, but he had definitely felt more alone.
Dean lightly bit Sam’s lower lip, sucking it into his mouth and then scraping his teeth along the skin until it pulled free, and he pulled back enough to look in Sam’s eyes. “You with me?” Dean asked, concern starting to pool in his widening eyes.
Sam let his fingers scrape through Dean’s short hair until his hands were flat against the sides of Dean’s face, and he tilted Dean’s head back, exposing Dean’s neck. The bruise he’d placed there the previous night was a rich, deep purple, staining the pale skin and spreading over the curve of Dean’s jaw. Sam pulled Dean back down and licked over it, tasting Dean’s rich, earthy flavor. He pulled Dean back up, so he could see his mark glistening in the light, inspecting it and deciding to make it darker before pulling Dean back down once more to suck the skin into his mouth hard, deepening his claim.
Dean groaned and slipped a hand down to cup himself. Sam snatched at it and pulled it back. “Don’t,” he ordered, “Only I get to touch you there.”
“Fuck,” Dean whispered.
Sam used his grip on Dean’s arm to his advantage, flipping them around to pin Dean underneath him. He pulled Dean’s hands up high and gazed down at his brother.
Dean’s eyes were wide, his skin flushed, his breaths coming out hard and fast, and his lips were swollen and full from the rough kisses they’d been exchanging. Dean looked completely vulnerable and debauched. He was beautiful. Sam never wanted to let him go.
He nudged Dean’s face over to the left so he could get a look at the other side of his brother’s neck. The silvery scar from Sam’s teeth when this had all started showed starkly against the surrounding skin. Sam dipped down and fit his teeth back over the mark, biting down. Dean trembled beneath him and a whispered, “Sammy,” fell from his lips. Sam bit down, and Dean turned his head away a little more, exposing more of his neck, granting Sam easy access and silently begging for more.
His mark might be gone soon. The thought simmered in Sam’s gut, painful with the sharp sting of loss. The thought of losing Dean was unbearable. He released Dean’s neck and slid down, relishing in the feel of their bodies sliding together, This was how they were meant to be. He licked a long stripe from the base of Dean’s neck down to Dean’s navel. Pausing there, he licked and bit the skin around Dean’s belly button, dipping his tongue inside to stroke the sensitive skin while he ignored the pulse of Dean’s hips that silently begged him to move lower.
Sam slid up instead until he found the small pebbled nub of Dean’s right nipple. He sucked that in hard, swirling his tongue around the raised flesh and scraping against it with his teeth to draw a long, needy whimper from Dean’s mouth. It wasn’t enough; Sam needed more, needed to join their bodies and taste Dean’s flavor and make Dean his in a way that wouldn’t be simply forgotten.
He pressed his teeth down harder, heard Dean yell, “Fuck,” dimly through his sex haze. Sam scissored his teeth slightly, letting the first hint of copper spread across his tongue. Dean arched against him, “God, Sam, need you so much.”
Sam bit down harder, deepening his mark, making this a mirror of the one he’d left on the other side of Dean’s neck. He only barely managed to catch himself from pressing down so deeply that Dean would need stitches. It still wasn’t enough. He needed to be inside Dean, needed to feel Dean around him, needed their bodies joined together so tightly they couldn’t distinguish any more who was who.
Sam groped at the nightstand and managed to snatch up the tube of lube without dropping it. He squeezed a large amount onto his fingers before reaching down and plunging one into Dean’s body, all the way up to his knuckle. Dean groaned loudly, spreading his legs apart to grant Sam more access. Sam plunged his finger in and out a few times before adding in another.
“Need you, too, Dean,” he moaned. “Need you so much.”
Dean pulled his legs up, “That’s enough, just do it. Do it now.”
Sam didn’t need further urging. He pulled his fingers free and crawled up. He lined up his dick with Dean’s hole and pressed down, entering him in one long, smooth stroke.
Dean’s walls squeezed around him, clutching him tightly, and Sam yelled his pleasure out against Dean’s neck. He didn’t have enough self-control left to let Dean adjust to his presence; he just pulled out again and then slammed home once more. Dean’s yells chorused with his as he thrust in and out, in and out, sheathing himself inside Dean’s body, as deep as he could go. “Tell me you’re mine,” Sam growled, continuing to move within Dean without a beat.
“God, Sam, yeah, always yours.”
Anger pulsed through Sam’s body. Not always, he thought, and pushed in hard and rough, snapping his hips back to do it again and again. Dean yelled out, his breaths so hard and fast that he was in danger of hyperventilating, but he didn’t complain or tell Sam to stop. Sam let his rage build, poured it out with each harsh thrust. He let it reach a crescendo until it spilled out of him; Dean, thank God, was coming too. Wrapped around each other in a tangle of limbs, they pulsed together and clung to each other as they worked through their release, ending up in a sweaty, intertwined heap.
Sam buried his face in the pillow and managed to hide his rage and panic at the thought of losing this until he felt his brother’s breaths even out. Exhaustion pulled at him, and it wasn’t long before he joined Dean in sleep, but the fear of losing Dean followed him into his dreams.
Chapter Four | Chapter Six
