Fic: Secret's in the Telling, Part II
If you’ve been wondering what the hell I’ve been doing for the past few months, this is it. The rest is written (over 40,000 words of it), but still being tweaked. I’m waiting until it’s all done to post to the coms, probably sometime in the next two weeks. But go ahead and enjoy in the meantime, because if you are already reading this, you definitely count as my peeps.
Title: Secret's in the Telling, Part II(A)
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Nathan/Peter (Heroes), Dean/Sam (Supernatural), and some cross-pollination.
Warnings: Graphic slash, fictional relatives in lust (consensual incest), violence (really), harsh language
Universe: SPN - vaguely Season 3 (sometime between 3x5 Bedtime Stories and 3x10 Dream a Little Dream of Me). Heroes - vaguely post Season 2 (general spoilers)
Author’s note: Thanks to redandglenda for the beta and jaunechat for listening to me gripe. I don’t own Heroes or Supernatural.
Part I
“So what’s the next step?” Peter asked. This little diner in west Baltimore was crowded, but he spoke softly, eager to avoid being overheard by any locals.
“Find some people who were close to this guy, uh--.”
“Josh Mueller,” Peter supplied the name he’d seen in the Times, in the article that had brought them here.
“Right. Him. We talk to his family, whoever saw him last, that kind of thing,” Dean said breezily. “Try to find out if it’s really the demon that got him. If we’re really lucky, we’ll get to break into the coroner’s office later, see if the marks on this guy match the ones for the sacrifice.”
Peter still wasn’t clear on all of this supernatural stuff. He’d only just been getting used to crazy genetic mutations and the array of abilities that came with them, and now Dean had opened the door to a whole new realm of disturbing possibilities. “How does this sacrifice thing work?”
“Not 100% sure,” Dean said through a mouth full of cheeseburger. “Most of these things involve symbols, blood, little bit of chanting.”
“So she snatches one family member, does this ritual, and then what?”
“Near as Sam had it figured, the sacrifice has something to do with the bloodline. Like the first victim’s the key the demon uses to unlock the house.” Dean’s brow crinkled into a frustrated furrow. “Whatever. Sam explained it better.” He returned to devouring his food.
Peter watched with amusement. Dean had ordered a bacon cheeseburger, fries, coffee, and cherry pie. The guy was totally unrestrained Id. Peter took a moment to wonder what it would have been like to have grown up with a brother like Dean-someone who didn’t censor his every action. Someone who said exactly what he was thinking. Well…Most of the time.
Dean was just shoveling another forkful of pie into his mouth when Peter overheard, Hard to concentrate on the case when you’re making love to your milkshake over there.
Peter abashedly pulled his mouth off the straw he’d been sucking on. “So we need a way to stop it after it’s turned the key?”
“We need a way to stop it, period,” Dean said, brandishing his fork. “Once the sacrifice is done, the family’s toast in the next few days.”
After lunch they stopped to gas up the Impala and picked up a local paper. “See, easy,” Dean said, pointing to an article of Josh Mueller’s murder. “Best friend Aaron Bates, last one to see Mueller alive blah blah blah. Let’s go talk to him.”
They found the guy in question at home, and Peter tried couldn’t help but marvel at the fancy double-talk Dean had pulled on the phone to get the Department of Transportation to give him the address off Bates’ drivers license. Bates looked drawn and haggard. Sort of what Peter would expect of a guy who’d just lost his best high school buddy.
“I’m Detective McGarrett, this is Detective Williams.” Dean flashed his badge, quick and authoritative, and Peter mimicked the motion. The badges Dean had provided weren’t that authentic-looking, but Dean had assured him that they worked every time. Still, Peter always got the same little flutter of fear in his stomach every time he had to impersonate a cop.
“Peter, you always look like you’re apologizing. Or trying to sell Girl Scout Cookies. You need to look like you have a right to be here. Like you could fuck someone up.”
“Well sorry if I’m not as scary as the great Nathan Petrelli.”
Nathan gave a long-suffering sigh. “Peter, you have the power to level a city. Could you at least pretend to be scary?”
“I already talked to the police,” Bates said. Still, he opened the door and let them in.
“We’re following up on the initial report,” Dean said smoothly. “There were a few things in your statement that didn’t quite add up.”
Peter overhead a stray thought, loud and sharp: Holy crap. They know. “Uh, like what?” Bates leaned against the foyer wall and crossed his arms over his chest casually, but Peter could hear his heart hammering.
“Well why don’t you start by telling us about how you knew the victim,” Dean said.
“Okay. Well, I knew Josh since kindergarten. He was like…” No, not family, not like that. “We were close.”
“I know this must be hard,” Peter began at the same time Dean said, “Tell us about his family.” They weren’t quite polished as a team, and Dean’s annoyed glance stung a little, as did the overheard thought, This’d be a lot easier if Sammy was here.
Bates was answering, though, oblivious to their irritation. “No, nothing. I mean fine. They’re fine. They get along fine.” God damn you, Josh. You and Jesse both. “Why do you ask?”
“What about Jesse?” Peter asked quickly. He resolutely did not look at Dean.
Shit shit shit. “Um… I think Jesse’s taking it really hard. I mean, I can’t imagine what it’s like to lose your twin like that.” God, I hope he didn’t tell them I knew… Why would he do that? Why did they tell me in the first place? These guys totally know. Shit.
Before Peter could work out what any of that meant, Dean said, “Yeah, terrible. I think that’s all we need.” He flipped his notebook shut.
“One more thing,” Peter said quickly. “Did Josh and Jesse ever tell you anything unusual? Something maybe they wanted you to keep secret?”
Bates looked from Peter to Dean and back again, mouth working soundlessly. No no no no I can’t. “No,” he said finally, and it came out as little more than a croak. “No. Nope, man. Nothing like that.”
“Thanks for your time.” Dean dragged Peter away by the elbow. Before they were halfway down the sidewalk, he snapped, “What the hell happened to following my lead?”
“Just trying to help,” Peter muttered. There was no use trying to explain how he knew just the right questions to ask.
Dean stopped by the door of the Impala and looked suspiciously at Peter. “How’d you know this guy had a twin?”
“It was in the article,” Peter lied.
“Oh. Right. Well next time, don’t be so damn pushy. People start to get suspicious.”
“Sure. Sorry.” And he was. He didn’t want to give Dean any reason not to trust him; it was going to take both of them to track down this demon. “Sorry,” he said again.
Damn puppy eyes. “Forget it. Let’s go find this Jesse guy.”
--
Nathan walked close to Sam on the way back from the diner, as if he was afraid Sam was going to faint or something. For his part, Sam spent the walk trying to remember where he’d seen those stone pillars before. On a hunt somewhere, or maybe in a book? This morning it had seemed like a wonderful idea to walk the four miles into town-they’d both been feeling restless-but now that he knew Dean was in danger, Sam wished he could just fly back to the motel.
“So these vision things…” Nathan asked as they finally arrived back at the hotel parking lot. “You have them often?”
“Not for a long time. I thought they’d gone away, to be honest,” Sam said. Nathan clearly hadn’t believed any of what Sam had already told him about demons and rituals, so Sam didn’t want to get too much into the subject of his own psychic powers. Sam didn’t want Nathan to start treating him like a leper. Even Dean wasn’t comfortable with the things; he looked at Sam differently every time he had a vision.
“Why would you tell someone about that, Sammy?” Dean snarled as he pulled Sam along by his jacket sleeve.
“Listen, I thought it might help her open up about what’s happening to her if she knew I’d gone through something too.”
“You put yourself in danger, Sammy. I don’t want people thinking you’re…” Dean let go of Sam’s sleeve and quickened his pace.
“Thinking I’m what?”
“Anything. Nothing. Just be more careful who you talk to about that stuff, okay?”
To Sam’s surprise, Nathan just nodded. “You seem strangely okay with this,” Sam said.
“Well, if you brother’s in trouble, we have to help.” Nathan fished in his pockets and pulled out the keys to the Bentley.
“Yeah, but I mean, everything. Demons, blood rituals, visions. None of this bothers you?”
“Well, demons… I’m still not sure I’m with you on that one. But I know what it’s like to be… different. And my brother and I run into some pretty strange things in our line of work,” Nathan said, and popped open the trunk.
Sam’s eyes widened in surprise. The trunk was full of strange supplies: rope, duct tape, a fire extinguisher, lighter fluid, maps, a padded case with an assortment of syringes, a duffel bag stuffed full of cash, and guns. Lots of guns: tazer guns, tranquilizer guns, handguns. If the arsenal didn’t rival what was in the trunk of the Impala, it was only because it didn’t belong to hunters-at least not hunters who were after the monsters Sam was familiar with. Whatever mysterious business Nathan kept alluding to, it wasn’t demon hunting.
Nathan pulled out a shotgun, which he held like an old friend, and made a sweeping gesture over the rest. “Want anything?”
“Uh, yeah.” Sam took a Glock, in case they ran into anything that didn’t require the Colt, and Nathan fished out a box of ammo for him.
“So, where we headed?” Nathan asked, slamming the trunk closed.
Sam smiled. Once he’d stopped thinking about it, he’d actually remembered where he’d seen the landmarks from his vision. “Baltimore.”
------
Jesse, as it turned out, was a difficult man to track down. They talked to the parents, a girlfriend, two soccer teammates, and the pastor of Jesse’s church. Everyone had “just seen him,” or “gotten a text, like, just now,” or “spoken to him on the phone this morning,” but no one knew where he was right now. Dean had seen situations like this before, and they never ended well.
“I’m starting to get a bad feeling about this,” Peter said as they climbed back into the Impala.
“Yeah. Murdered kid’s twin goes missing, demon serial killer on the loose.”
“She has him, doesn’t she.”
“That’s what I’m thinking.” Dean was glad Peter was sharp enough to figure that out for himself.
“So what now?”
“Now we look for her,” Dean said. He reached over to fish a city map out of the glove box.
Peter pulled his knees up to his chest to get them out of the way. “Great. Because we did such a bang-up job of finding her in Albany.
“Hey, this time we know she’s got someone,” Dean offered. Like Sammy, Peter seemed to get especially frustrated, and correspondingly bitchy, when a civilian’s life was at stake.
“But we don’t know where. We have no leads!”
“Okay. So you wanna give up?” Dean snapped.
“No sir,” Peter mumbled, and slid down in his seat. Dean took a breath to calm himself. When he started sounding like his father, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that Peter sounded like Sam: the Sammy before Stanford, worn down and sullen with a lifetime of father and big brother telling him what to do.
“This is pointless, Dean. The leshii, if there ever was a leshii, is not going to show itself to us. They’re shape shifters. You think he’s just going to wander by in his true form in the middle of the night?”
“Shut up.” Dean shifted to find a non-existent more comfortable position on the tree branch he was perched on.
“Dad just sent us out here to teach us a lesson.”
“Don’t talk about him like that. And for that matter, seriously, shut up. You’re scaring off all the wildlife.”
“Dean, there’s nothing to scare. It’s the middle of the winter. We’re not going to bag a leshii sitting in a tree. You may like getting your head messed with, but I’m done with Dad’s bullshit.”
Dean rounded on Sam, shoving him back against the tree truck with an arm across his throat, but careful-always careful with Sammy-that they didn’t overbalance and fall out of the tree. “Shut up.”
“Yes sir,” Sammy hissed, hurt layered under the familiar snap of the words. Dean let him go and turned back to the silent forest. He heard Sam climb down, heard his muffled footfalls in fresh snow as he walked away. Dean stayed to keep watch alone.
“Hey I…” Dean began, but faltered under the scrutiny of big brown eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Peter said. “You’re right.”
“I know I am,” Dean said brusquely. He sat up straighter in the driver’s seat and spread out the map over the steering wheel. “We’ll check warehouses first. That’s always a good place to bring a victim. There’s an industrial park by I-95. He’d have had to drive by there to get to soccer practice. Maybe that’s where she snatched him.”
They cruised the area in the Impala, looking for anything that might lead them to the demon. At the corner of Pembroke and Bank Street, Peter sat bolt upright in his seat. “Stop the car.”
“What is it?”
“That building.” Peter pointed at a nondescript warehouse. “We should check in there.” Dean looked at him incredulously. “You have somewhere to be?” Peter asked.
Dean shrugged. He and Sam had solved cases on thinner leads, so he got out of the Impala and Peter followed wordlessly, tucking his gun in the back waistband of his pants and silently cursing the fact that the Colt was with Sam. The sun was just setting, and no one was in sight, but there was no sense being sloppy. They worked their way around the building until they got to a side door. Dean picked the lock easily. As the door clicked open, Peter let out an appreciative whistle. “You’re good at that.”
Dean smirked. “I know,” he said smugly. And everybody loves a bad boy. “Stay close.”
The warehouse was dark, of course, the last of the dusty sunlight filtering through dirty windows. Something creaked, metal on metal, from somewhere deep in the building. Dean drew his gun.
“Dean,” Peter whispered. “She’s here somewhere. I know it.”
“Okay, don’t get twitchy,” Dean warned.
Dean edged around a corner, squinting through the darkness, and Peter’s “umph” was his first warning that anything was wrong. He whirled around, leveling his gun.
The demon jumped out of the darkness to tackle Peter, and he struggled beneath her on the filthy floor of the warehouse. Dean tried to aim, swearing. He couldn’t get a clean shot with them grappling like that. He dropped his gun and drew the knife from his boot. The demon had Peter pinned face down on the floor, and she raised her knife, a line of shining silver above her head. Dean launched himself at them. He caught her in the side with his knife as she turned before a demonically strong shove sent Dean flying into a pile of boxes.
As he struggled to right himself, he heard the demon scream, saw out of the corner of his eye the same blue flash of lightning he’d seen at the cemetery a week ago, then heard the kick of a gun shot. By the time Dean stood up, the demon had fled and Peter was sitting up, holding the gun Dean had dropped.
“All right Peter!” Dean said, pulling him up by the arm. “We’ll make a hunter out of you yet!”
“I let her get away,” Peter grumbled, brushing grime off his clothes.
“It’s okay. I’ve got a plan.” Dean picked up his knife. “We’ve got her blood.” He pulled a small, oblong stone from his jacket pocket. “So we’ve got a way to find her.”
----
Sam spent the first part of the ride just watching the countryside go by. The Bentley made almost no noise, certainly nothing like the familiar purr of the Impala. Even when Dean had Metallica turned up full blast, the comforting rumble of the Impala’s engine was always there, more relaxing than any Magic Fingers bed.
“See, now that’s the sound it’s supposed to make,” Dean said with a wide grin as they accelerated on a straightaway.
“Funny. I thought that was the sound of getting pulled over for speeding by State Troopers with nothing better to do. For the third time this month.”
“Killjoy,” Dean grumbled, but he eased off the gas.
Sam wondered idly about Nathan and Peter, about their routines and rituals. If they didn’t usually drive, then how did they get around? Certainly Nathan seemed too high class and… adult for juvie crap like boosting a new car in every town. “What are you on the run from? You and Peter?” The words were out of his mouth before he’d really thought about it.
Nathan flicked his eyes away from the road for a moment to glare at Sam. “That badge, the bikini inspector one. Is it the only badge you have?”
Sam hadn’t really been expecting a straight answer, but the brush-off put him on edge. “Well when I left my motel room a week ago, I wasn’t expecting to be kidnapped,” Sam said testily. And if Nathan had let him call Dean, his brother probably wouldn’t be in some kind of mysterious mortal peril right now.
“Kidnapped?”
“You knocked me out and carried me across state lines, didn’t you?”
“I don’t recall,” Nathan said primly. “We’ll get you some pictures and remake one of Peter’s. Glove box.”
Peter opened the glove compartment to find a box about the size of the one he and Dean used to store false IDs, but here each badge had its own little slot, neatly labeled: FBI, Homeland Security, Department of Fish and Wildlife, NYPD. It was gloriously organized. Not that Sam would take the time to do something like this himself, but he could certainly appreciate the difference between this and the jumble of paperwork in the Impala’s glove box.
“You guys spend a lot of time in New York?” he asked, fingering the NYPD badges.
“No.” Nathan’s answer was unexpectedly sharp, and Sam looked up in time to catch a guilty glance before Nathan rushed on. “Use the FBI one. Works well most places.”
Sam lifted two badges and IDs from the slot marked FBI. From the first, Nathan “Special Agent Williams” stared back at him, square-jawed and grim. The second ID must have belonged to Peter. And sure, Sam had caught a glimpse of him that night the cemetery, but it had been dark. Certainly this wasn’t what he’d been expecting when he’d pictured Nathan’s brother. “Wow.”
“What?” Nathan’s eyes flicked away from the road, and caught for a moment on Peter’s picture.
“So that’s Peter.” The guy was downright pretty, and he had the same charming smile in his eyes that Dean could put on, when he wanted to.
Nathan smiled. “Yeah, that’s him. Doesn’t look like much of an FBI agent, I know.”
“Can I… What exactly do you guys do? If it’s not hunting demons.”
Nathan’s hand clenched tighter on the steering wheel, and he didn’t glare, but Sam could tell he wanted to. “No offence, Sam, but that’s between me and my brother.”
“Family business,” Sam snorted, remembering a time when Dean had given that name to their cross-country Impala odyssey.
“Yes.” Nathan’s smile was grim and a little pained. “You could say that.”
Sam took the hint and shut up, but before he closed the box, something caught his eye. Under the guise of tidying up the badges he’d moved, Sam picked up a photo that had been stashed under the NYPD badges. It was a picture of Nathan and Peter in light summer suits, standing on a grassy beach. Nathan, looking a little younger and a good deal more clean-cut, had one arm slung casually over Peter’s shoulder, and Peter’s head was half thrown back, laughing. Sam flipped the picture over. The back was labeled in small, neat writing: “Petrelli reunion on Nantucket, 2002.”
Sam quickly tucked the picture back under the NYPD badges and glanced surreptitiously at Nathan. Luckily, Nathan had his eyes on the road. Sam slid the box of badges back into the glove compartment. He didn’t want Nathan to think he’d been prying, and in all honesty he didn’t really care about Nathan’s name. But it was enlightening to know that Nathan and Peter had a real family somewhere: the sort that had reunions on Nantucket for which jackets and ties were required, apparently. He wondered what had brought Nathan from that to this: crappy hotel rooms and greasy diner food and dusty back roads.
He settled back in the passenger seat, brooding. Once they got to Baltimore, he was sure he could find out something more about the Petrellis.
---
The thing about the lodestone was that it didn’t tell you how far away a thing was, only the direction. Stopping halfway through a cemetery-and why was it always a cemetery?-Dean held up the stone, and it spun lazily for a moment before snapping to a stop. The end painted with the demon’s blood faced north. It’s a start, Dean thought grimly. He was really getting sick of this bitch.
“The demon could be in Montreal right now,” Peter said glumly.
“Funny. Not really. Demons can’t fly.” Dean considered for a moment. “They can hitchhike, though.”
“Hey look,” Peter said. The lodestone had pivoted as they’d stood talking. “She’s moving.”
Thunder rolled overhead, and Dean swore under his breath. “Then we should hustle up. Last thing we need is to be running around in a damn storm.”
“Hey boys.”
It was the demon. Dean shouldn’t have been surprised, but when he looked up there she was, leaning against a tree, casually tossing her fancy knife up in the air and catching it.
“Peter, get behind me,” Dean said. Peter only made a small noise of protest before stepping behind Dean.
“Oh Dean. You are so darling,” the demon crooned. “Always trying to protect the weak, the innocent.”
“Yeah, I’m noble like that.” Dean flashed his best cocky grin and shifted his grip on his gun.
“Misguided, maybe. And you can save the charm,” she said, pushing off the tree and slinking a few steps closer. “I am not interested in you in the least. Not that I couldn’t take you if I wanted to. I mean, hell knows you deserve it,” her black eyes raked him up and down, expression somehow shouting her assessment of worthless and failure. “But frankly, Dean Winchester, you’re not worth the effort.”
And yeah, demons lie, and Dean had been facing up to demons and their bullshit all his life, but it still hurt a part of him that was tender with worrying at it on his own. Should have come up with a better plan, he scolded himself, taking a step back and pushing Peter further behind him. Should have gotten the Colt, or gotten something. Sloppy, Dean.
“Don’t listen to her,” Peter hissed in his ear.
“That one, though…” The demon’s eyes slid past Dean to rake Peter up and down. “He’s a treat. Him I could use.”
“Okay, creepy.” Dean said, slowly unscrewing the cap on the holy water in his left hand. If Dean could get her to chase him, he could make it to devil’s trap they’d painted in the mausoleum in the middle of the cemetery. He just had to make sure she didn’t go after Peter instead.
“Holy water?” The demon shook her head in disgust. “Really, Dean. I expected better of you.” She pulled something from under her coat, and Dean was surprised to see she held a shotgun. “I think that you should put down your gun, or I will shoot you, and then I’ll take your companion.”
“No offence, sweetheart, but I’m not dropping my gun” Dean said. What the hell kind of demon uses a gun anyway? Bitch. “Call me crazy, but I’m not willing to take your word for much.”
“That hurts, Dean.” She pumped the shotgun once. “Drop the gun. Is your life really worth his? The way I hear it, you’ve only got a few more months, anyway. One.”
“Aw, come on now.” Dean raised his own gun, but he knew the silver-tipped bullets wouldn’t kill the demon. If he was lucky, it would set her back enough that he’d have time to make a run for the trap. If not, he’d be dead, and Peter would be hers for the taking.
She pumped the shotgun. “Two.”
“Dean, drop the gun.” Peter whispered in his ear. “It’ll be okay. I know what to do.”
Oh, if that wasn’t confidence inspiring…
“Three.”
“Okay.” Dean tossed his gun on the grass in front of him. “See, we can do this like civilized people. Now just tell us where Jesse is, and we’ll be on our way.”
“Jesse? He’s already gone. You could never have saved him. Oh Dean.” The demon smiled. “I’m almost sad to have to do this. Goodbye.”
The demon pulled the trigger, and suddenly-faster than any human being had a right to move-Peter was in front of him. The impact sent him stumbling back into Dean, and then he was falling, as if in slow motion, to the ground.
“No!” Dean dove for his gun and came up firing, catching the demon in the shoulder with a silver-tipped round. He followed that with splashes of holy water, firing blindly as he waved the bottle. Screaming in mingled pain and laughter, the demon fled.
Dean scrambled to Peter’s side. There was a hole in his chest where the shotgun had caught him, and all Dean could think was that this was the sort of thing Sammy would do-selfless and stupid-and Dean would not be responsible for letting someone else’s kid brother lay down his life. Not for him. He pressed the palm of one hand against the wound, refusing to look at Peter’s face in case the eyes were glassy and dead-past helping. This Nathan, whoever he was, deserved his brother back safe, and Dean wasn’t about to ruin their chances of a reunion through his own recklessness.
“Hold on Pete,” Dean muttered. Peter twitched under his hands, and Dean felt a stab of hope-not dead yet.
“Dean…” Peter’s voice sounded as if it came from the end of a long, dark tunnel.
“It’ll be okay.” There was so much blood. He’d patched up bad wounds before, but not like this. Peter was broken wide open, white splinters of bone showing through the red. “We’ll… We’ll get you to a hospital.”
“Don’t bother.” Peter grabbed Dean’s wrist, and he was surprisingly strong for a dying guy. “Just move your hand.” His voice was wet in his throat, and Dean saw the bubbles of blood well up in his mouth, knew what they meant.
“I’m not letting you die,” Dean snarled. His free hand came to rest on Peter’s forehead-nothing better to do with it. “Not for me.”
“I’m not gonna die.”
“No, you’re not. Just hold on.” Peter made a sick, gurgling sound, and Dean’s heart almost stopped.
Then Peter pulled against Dean’s hand again-still alive, at least-and croaked, “Please don’t.” Dean let Peter drag his arm away from the wound. For a few tense moments, Peter lay with his eyes squeezed shut, breath coming in shuddering gasps. Dean hovered, rubbing his thumb in little circles against the clammy skin of Peter’s brow, and knowing with a certain gut-deep certainty that if anyone let his little brother, his Sammy, take a bullet meant for them, he’d rip them apart with his bare hands.
The rain started, then: fat drops that splashed against Peter’s pale face, against his eyes squeezed shut in pain, and Peter made another horrible noise. “Peter, for God’s sake let me help,” Dean said, hands hovering over the wound like he could hold it closed with bare hands if Peter would let him.
Peter shook his head, weakly shoving Dean away, and he settled for holding Peter’s head while he shuddered with shallow breaths that Dean recognized, knew too damn well, as belonging to the end of a man’s time.
Then he began to notice something strange; as rain mixed with blood, carrying it in little pink rivers down Peter’s sides, Dean saw skin where moments ago he’d had a too-clear view of internal organs. Peter’s breath evened out, and after a moment his eyes fluttered open. “Okay,” Peter said hoarsely.
“What…?” Dean blinked the water out of his eyes and looked again. “What?”
“I should have told you,” Peter said. “I can just do… some stuff.”
“Christos,” Dean said, but Peter didn’t flinch. Not possessed… But that’s not normal.
“I’m not a demon. It’s a long story.”
“So you can…?”
“Heal. Yeah, I can,” Peter said wearily.
Dean rubbed a hand across Peter’s belly, clearing away blood to reveal whole, unmarked skin. “Huh.” He sat back on his heels. “Kinda takes away some of your hero points for jumping in front of a bullet.”
“Ah.” Peter drew in his breath with a sharp hiss as he sat up. “Still hurts like a bitch.”
“I bet.” Dean helped him to his feet. He wasn’t sure what the hell this meant about Peter, but he’d have to give the guy the benefit of the doubt. Dean had seen enough to know that powers didn’t always mean evil. Hell, Sam has some pretty strange abilities going on, and no one should think less of him for that.
For a moment, Peter stood quietly, ragged breaths sounding harsh even over the rain. He looked off into the darkness, the way the demon had gone, and shook his head. “She almost shot you.”
“Yeah, well she didn’t.” Dean was trying not to think about that. “You okay?”
“No.” Peter stumbled a few steps to a tree, bent over, and retched, but nothing came out. He stumbled to the ground, and Dean was beside him immediately.
“Hey, take it easy.” Dean grabbed him by the shoulders, and Peter leaned against him, shaking. “You really okay?”
“Sure,” Peter muttered into his shoulder. “It just gets like this, after… All the adrenaline.”
Peter’s hands on his back gripped tightly, as if he’d never let go. Dean didn’t mind. Sam wouldn’t often take comfort like this-he didn’t particularly like being held. He said it made him feel Dean was coddling him, like they were kids again.
“Shhh, Sammy.” Dean hugged his brother closer, snuggling into the corner of hotel room, wedged between the bed and the wall. “Don’t cry. Don’t cry.”
The wind howled outside, and another peal of thunder broke overhead, sending Sam cowering into his arms like he was trying to crawl inside Dean’s chest. “Where’s Dad?”
“I told you,” Dean said gently. “You’re too old for this. I told you.”
“The monsters are going to get him this time. I know it.”
“No they are not.” With a supreme effort, Dean pried Sam off of him and held him at arm’s length. “They’re not, because you wanna know why?”
“Why?” Sam asked with a terrified sniffle.
“Because the Winchesters, the three of us together, we’re stronger than monsters. Believe it, Sammy.”
Peter leaned more of his weight against Dean, and his shuddering breaths began to even out. “I gotcha,” Dean whispered. It felt good, right to hold Peter like this, to protect him.
“Sorry,” Peter muttered as he clung to Dean. “I’ll be fine. It’s just… Nathan has always been here when I needed him.”
“Yeah. It’s a big brother thing.” Dean got it: Peter was scared. Somewhere out there, Sammy might be scared too. It gave him a second’s pause to remember that, and he hoped that somewhere, Peter’s brother was taking better care of Sam than Dean was of Peter.
“Nathan will take care of him,” Peter said softly.
“Yeah, okay.” Dean certainly hoped so. And the least he could do in return was make sure he didn’t put Peter in danger again. “Let’s get out of the rain.” Dean maneuvered himself under Peter’s arm, wrapped a hand around his sharp-skinny hip, and pulled him to his feet. Peter lurched into him, and Dean found both his hands on Peter’s waist, Peter’s face inches from his, dripping with rain. No man should be that pretty. Dean would remember that thought later, because it was his last coherent one for some time.
Peter leaned in, closing the distance between them to nothing, and kissed Dean. His lips were soft, just as Dean had imagined they would be. His body was warm against Dean’s. Dean found himself opening up, letting Peter’s tongue in. Peter was open for him, too, wide open and wanting, and it wasn’t until Peter pulled back that Dean remembered to breathe.
They stared at each other for a moment, faces inches apart in the rain, Peter’s breath warm on the side of Dean’s face. Then Dean was the one to lean in, pressing their lips together again and coaxing Peter’s mouth open with his tongue. Peter shuddered under him, clinging to Dean like a drowning man until he suddenly broke away and took a step back, out of the circle of Dean’s arms.
“Dean, I…,” Peter said.
Here it comes, Dean thought, his heart sinking rapidly.
Peter brushed water-logged bangs out of his face. “There’s something I should tell you.”
Oh, that was never a good thing to hear after a first kiss. Especially a first kiss that had gone as well as that. And yeah, Peter had started it, but still Dean was expecting to hear “I don’t feel that way about you” or “That was stupid, forget it.”
“It’s not like that,” Peter said quickly, and he stepped back up to Dean to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “I can read minds.”
Dean’s thought process ground to a halt. “Read minds?” he repeated. Mind control? Sure. Super strength? No problem. Telekinesis? Totally believable. But mind reading…? Dean sure as shit never wanted anyone to know what was going on in his head. “I, uh,” he said cleverly.
“I try not to,” Peter explained quickly. “But sometimes, if someone’s thinking really hard, my control slips.”
“You’ve read my mind?”
“A little.”
“Ah… Dude.” Dean turned away. He tried to remember if he’d thought anything incriminating around Peter. Like how I’m wanted for murder in three states. Or how I traded my soul to a demon. Or that I’m fucking my brother. “Oh god.” Dean whirled around to face Peter. “Are you reading my mind right now?”
“No. Yes. Sorry!”
“Oh shit.” Dean took off across the graveyard. He had to get back to the Impala. Get on the move, get on the road, go after the demon and pretend this never happened. Things were going so well a few moments ago; he should have known he’d never be so lucky.
“Dean!” Peter ran after him. “Calm down.”
“How in the hell am I supposed to calm down when you’re all up in my head?” Probably hearing me think how much I love to suck Sammy’s cock-Oh fuck. Was it his imagination, or did Peter smile? “Get away from me!”
“Dean, I didn’t tell you to freak you out.” Peter grabbed at his jacket, but lost his grip on the wet leather when Dean jerked his arm away.
“Oh really?”
Peter made another grab, held on this time. “I told you because I need someone to talk to.”
“Come again?” Dean said.
Peter took a deep breath. “I’m fucking my brother.”
Dean stared at Peter, bangs plastered to his forehead in the downpour, eyes open and haunted and begging Dean to understand. “That’s….” he managed. He should be telling Peter how sick that was, how he didn’t want to hear it, but he couldn’t get the words out. He felt nothing but calm.
“My brother Nathan. We’re having sex. Have for years.”
Dean gathered his wits enough to give an indifferent shrug and a terse, “So?”
Peter’s face fell, a wounded look in his eye that hurt Dean, too, and Peter said, more softly, “I’ve never told anyone. Not anyone. If he knew…” Peter sucked in a breath and hurried on. “Nathan and I have a connection that no one else can understand, and there has never been anyone to talk to about it. But I think… I don’t know, maybe I’m supposed to meet you, because you and Sam are-.”
“Hold it,” Dean cut him off. “You need to be very careful what you say about my brother.”
Peter hesitated, his hand heavy on Dean’s arm. Finally he said, “Haven’t you ever wished there was someone you could talk to about it?”
“I don’t need to talk.” Winchesters didn’t talk about their feelings. Winchesters just did what had to be done.
“Look,” Peter continued. “I’m in love with my brother. He’s saved my life more than once. He’s seen me at my absolute worst, and he still stands by me. He gave up everything for me. He’s what matters most in my life, and I can never talk about it. Doesn’t it bother you to have to hide it all the time?”
“Yeah it does, okay?” Dean snapped. He shook Peter’s hand off his arm and took a step back, but he managed to keep from running away like a scared little girl. Peter nodded once, in acknowledgement. “We need to get out of here before that thing comes back,” Dean said. His voice sounded rough and weak.
“Okay,” Peter said, but Dean could tell he wasn’t done. “Lead the way.”
--
Somewhere on I-81, Sam sat forward with a gasp. Nathan glanced over at the pained expression on his face, and put on the right turn signal. He’d been half expecting this, ever since that diner parking lot. No one who had visions like that had them just once. There was an exit in two miles; he’d pull off there and let Sam get this whatever-it-was out of his system. “Sam? You okay?”
Sam cried out again, and this time he jerked forward so hard he nearly slammed his head against the dashboard.
“Right. Not making it to that exit, then.” Nathan guided the Bentley onto the shoulder and threw it in park. “Hey Sam.” He grabbed Sam’s shoulder, but Sam didn’t respond; he only put his head in his hands and shook.
“Come on, don’t do this,” Nathan muttered. He ripped off his seat belt and climbed out of the car into the rain and the dark.
“Peter!” He dug his fingers hard into Peter’s shoulder. “Get up.”
Peter was slack and unresponsive as a rag doll. Seeing that, Nathan’s stomach clenched against the nausea that was threatening to fight its way up. It was too much like other times that had broken Nathan’s heart-too much like three weeks of waiting at Peter’s bedside, ignoring a campaign that needed him, hating himself for letting it happen, and learning to his core how little anything else would matter if Peter never woke up.
“Peter!” He shook him fiercely, and this time Peter’s eyes fluttered open. “Damn it, Pete.”
“Hey,” he croaked. “Miss me?”
“You’re not funny,” Nathan grumbled. “That was another vision, right?”
“Yeah. I think I know what we’re supposed to do.”
Nathan wrenched the passenger door open. “Sam, what?” He put one hand on Sam’s shoulder, the other on his knee, ready to stop him if it looked like he was going to make another attempt to break his nose on the dashboard.
“Dean,” Sam gasped. He gave one more full-body shudder, backwards this time, his head rebounding off the seat. Then his breathing started to slow, but his eyes remained squeezed shut.
“It’s okay,” Nathan said. “I’ve got you.” As soon as it was out of his mouth, he knew it was wrong, too intimate, that Sam wasn’t Peter. Still, if these visions were real, and Sam’s brother was somehow in trouble, chances were good that Peter was in trouble as well.
Sam’s eyes snapped open to lock with Nathan’s. They were blank with confusion.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Nathan said soothingly. “It’s just me. What did you see?”
Understanding slowly filtered back into Sam’s eyes, and with it came, to Nathan’s surprise, a deep blush. Sam’s mouth gaped in a complete failure to form words.
“Sam, what?”
“I don’t know,” he managed at last, but he’d torn his eyes away from Nathan and wouldn’t look back.
“Did it have something to do with my brother? With the demon?”
“I… No,” Sam muttered. “Don’t worry about it.” He continued to stare resolutely at his hands.
Nathan tightened his grip on Sam’s shoulder. “I understand this might not be easy to talk about, but if you’re not telling me something that has to do with Peter....”
At last Sam’s eyes flicked to Nathan, and he ventured a weak smile. “It’s not like that. It’s just… Stuff.”
“Fine.” Nathan stood and headed back to the drivers side, uselessly shaking off the rain. It took some expenditure of willpower not to slam the car door, but he was far from calm when he pulled back onto the road. He snuck a glance over at his passenger, but Sam was stubbornly staring at his hands again, and it didn’t look like he’d be in a talking mood anytime soon.
--
On to the rest of Part II
Title: Secret's in the Telling, Part II(A)
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Nathan/Peter (Heroes), Dean/Sam (Supernatural), and some cross-pollination.
Warnings: Graphic slash, fictional relatives in lust (consensual incest), violence (really), harsh language
Universe: SPN - vaguely Season 3 (sometime between 3x5 Bedtime Stories and 3x10 Dream a Little Dream of Me). Heroes - vaguely post Season 2 (general spoilers)
Author’s note: Thanks to redandglenda for the beta and jaunechat for listening to me gripe. I don’t own Heroes or Supernatural.
Part I
“So what’s the next step?” Peter asked. This little diner in west Baltimore was crowded, but he spoke softly, eager to avoid being overheard by any locals.
“Find some people who were close to this guy, uh--.”
“Josh Mueller,” Peter supplied the name he’d seen in the Times, in the article that had brought them here.
“Right. Him. We talk to his family, whoever saw him last, that kind of thing,” Dean said breezily. “Try to find out if it’s really the demon that got him. If we’re really lucky, we’ll get to break into the coroner’s office later, see if the marks on this guy match the ones for the sacrifice.”
Peter still wasn’t clear on all of this supernatural stuff. He’d only just been getting used to crazy genetic mutations and the array of abilities that came with them, and now Dean had opened the door to a whole new realm of disturbing possibilities. “How does this sacrifice thing work?”
“Not 100% sure,” Dean said through a mouth full of cheeseburger. “Most of these things involve symbols, blood, little bit of chanting.”
“So she snatches one family member, does this ritual, and then what?”
“Near as Sam had it figured, the sacrifice has something to do with the bloodline. Like the first victim’s the key the demon uses to unlock the house.” Dean’s brow crinkled into a frustrated furrow. “Whatever. Sam explained it better.” He returned to devouring his food.
Peter watched with amusement. Dean had ordered a bacon cheeseburger, fries, coffee, and cherry pie. The guy was totally unrestrained Id. Peter took a moment to wonder what it would have been like to have grown up with a brother like Dean-someone who didn’t censor his every action. Someone who said exactly what he was thinking. Well…Most of the time.
Dean was just shoveling another forkful of pie into his mouth when Peter overheard, Hard to concentrate on the case when you’re making love to your milkshake over there.
Peter abashedly pulled his mouth off the straw he’d been sucking on. “So we need a way to stop it after it’s turned the key?”
“We need a way to stop it, period,” Dean said, brandishing his fork. “Once the sacrifice is done, the family’s toast in the next few days.”
After lunch they stopped to gas up the Impala and picked up a local paper. “See, easy,” Dean said, pointing to an article of Josh Mueller’s murder. “Best friend Aaron Bates, last one to see Mueller alive blah blah blah. Let’s go talk to him.”
They found the guy in question at home, and Peter tried couldn’t help but marvel at the fancy double-talk Dean had pulled on the phone to get the Department of Transportation to give him the address off Bates’ drivers license. Bates looked drawn and haggard. Sort of what Peter would expect of a guy who’d just lost his best high school buddy.
“I’m Detective McGarrett, this is Detective Williams.” Dean flashed his badge, quick and authoritative, and Peter mimicked the motion. The badges Dean had provided weren’t that authentic-looking, but Dean had assured him that they worked every time. Still, Peter always got the same little flutter of fear in his stomach every time he had to impersonate a cop.
“Peter, you always look like you’re apologizing. Or trying to sell Girl Scout Cookies. You need to look like you have a right to be here. Like you could fuck someone up.”
“Well sorry if I’m not as scary as the great Nathan Petrelli.”
Nathan gave a long-suffering sigh. “Peter, you have the power to level a city. Could you at least pretend to be scary?”
“I already talked to the police,” Bates said. Still, he opened the door and let them in.
“We’re following up on the initial report,” Dean said smoothly. “There were a few things in your statement that didn’t quite add up.”
Peter overhead a stray thought, loud and sharp: Holy crap. They know. “Uh, like what?” Bates leaned against the foyer wall and crossed his arms over his chest casually, but Peter could hear his heart hammering.
“Well why don’t you start by telling us about how you knew the victim,” Dean said.
“Okay. Well, I knew Josh since kindergarten. He was like…” No, not family, not like that. “We were close.”
“I know this must be hard,” Peter began at the same time Dean said, “Tell us about his family.” They weren’t quite polished as a team, and Dean’s annoyed glance stung a little, as did the overheard thought, This’d be a lot easier if Sammy was here.
Bates was answering, though, oblivious to their irritation. “No, nothing. I mean fine. They’re fine. They get along fine.” God damn you, Josh. You and Jesse both. “Why do you ask?”
“What about Jesse?” Peter asked quickly. He resolutely did not look at Dean.
Shit shit shit. “Um… I think Jesse’s taking it really hard. I mean, I can’t imagine what it’s like to lose your twin like that.” God, I hope he didn’t tell them I knew… Why would he do that? Why did they tell me in the first place? These guys totally know. Shit.
Before Peter could work out what any of that meant, Dean said, “Yeah, terrible. I think that’s all we need.” He flipped his notebook shut.
“One more thing,” Peter said quickly. “Did Josh and Jesse ever tell you anything unusual? Something maybe they wanted you to keep secret?”
Bates looked from Peter to Dean and back again, mouth working soundlessly. No no no no I can’t. “No,” he said finally, and it came out as little more than a croak. “No. Nope, man. Nothing like that.”
“Thanks for your time.” Dean dragged Peter away by the elbow. Before they were halfway down the sidewalk, he snapped, “What the hell happened to following my lead?”
“Just trying to help,” Peter muttered. There was no use trying to explain how he knew just the right questions to ask.
Dean stopped by the door of the Impala and looked suspiciously at Peter. “How’d you know this guy had a twin?”
“It was in the article,” Peter lied.
“Oh. Right. Well next time, don’t be so damn pushy. People start to get suspicious.”
“Sure. Sorry.” And he was. He didn’t want to give Dean any reason not to trust him; it was going to take both of them to track down this demon. “Sorry,” he said again.
Damn puppy eyes. “Forget it. Let’s go find this Jesse guy.”
--
Nathan walked close to Sam on the way back from the diner, as if he was afraid Sam was going to faint or something. For his part, Sam spent the walk trying to remember where he’d seen those stone pillars before. On a hunt somewhere, or maybe in a book? This morning it had seemed like a wonderful idea to walk the four miles into town-they’d both been feeling restless-but now that he knew Dean was in danger, Sam wished he could just fly back to the motel.
“So these vision things…” Nathan asked as they finally arrived back at the hotel parking lot. “You have them often?”
“Not for a long time. I thought they’d gone away, to be honest,” Sam said. Nathan clearly hadn’t believed any of what Sam had already told him about demons and rituals, so Sam didn’t want to get too much into the subject of his own psychic powers. Sam didn’t want Nathan to start treating him like a leper. Even Dean wasn’t comfortable with the things; he looked at Sam differently every time he had a vision.
“Why would you tell someone about that, Sammy?” Dean snarled as he pulled Sam along by his jacket sleeve.
“Listen, I thought it might help her open up about what’s happening to her if she knew I’d gone through something too.”
“You put yourself in danger, Sammy. I don’t want people thinking you’re…” Dean let go of Sam’s sleeve and quickened his pace.
“Thinking I’m what?”
“Anything. Nothing. Just be more careful who you talk to about that stuff, okay?”
To Sam’s surprise, Nathan just nodded. “You seem strangely okay with this,” Sam said.
“Well, if you brother’s in trouble, we have to help.” Nathan fished in his pockets and pulled out the keys to the Bentley.
“Yeah, but I mean, everything. Demons, blood rituals, visions. None of this bothers you?”
“Well, demons… I’m still not sure I’m with you on that one. But I know what it’s like to be… different. And my brother and I run into some pretty strange things in our line of work,” Nathan said, and popped open the trunk.
Sam’s eyes widened in surprise. The trunk was full of strange supplies: rope, duct tape, a fire extinguisher, lighter fluid, maps, a padded case with an assortment of syringes, a duffel bag stuffed full of cash, and guns. Lots of guns: tazer guns, tranquilizer guns, handguns. If the arsenal didn’t rival what was in the trunk of the Impala, it was only because it didn’t belong to hunters-at least not hunters who were after the monsters Sam was familiar with. Whatever mysterious business Nathan kept alluding to, it wasn’t demon hunting.
Nathan pulled out a shotgun, which he held like an old friend, and made a sweeping gesture over the rest. “Want anything?”
“Uh, yeah.” Sam took a Glock, in case they ran into anything that didn’t require the Colt, and Nathan fished out a box of ammo for him.
“So, where we headed?” Nathan asked, slamming the trunk closed.
Sam smiled. Once he’d stopped thinking about it, he’d actually remembered where he’d seen the landmarks from his vision. “Baltimore.”
------
Jesse, as it turned out, was a difficult man to track down. They talked to the parents, a girlfriend, two soccer teammates, and the pastor of Jesse’s church. Everyone had “just seen him,” or “gotten a text, like, just now,” or “spoken to him on the phone this morning,” but no one knew where he was right now. Dean had seen situations like this before, and they never ended well.
“I’m starting to get a bad feeling about this,” Peter said as they climbed back into the Impala.
“Yeah. Murdered kid’s twin goes missing, demon serial killer on the loose.”
“She has him, doesn’t she.”
“That’s what I’m thinking.” Dean was glad Peter was sharp enough to figure that out for himself.
“So what now?”
“Now we look for her,” Dean said. He reached over to fish a city map out of the glove box.
Peter pulled his knees up to his chest to get them out of the way. “Great. Because we did such a bang-up job of finding her in Albany.
“Hey, this time we know she’s got someone,” Dean offered. Like Sammy, Peter seemed to get especially frustrated, and correspondingly bitchy, when a civilian’s life was at stake.
“But we don’t know where. We have no leads!”
“Okay. So you wanna give up?” Dean snapped.
“No sir,” Peter mumbled, and slid down in his seat. Dean took a breath to calm himself. When he started sounding like his father, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that Peter sounded like Sam: the Sammy before Stanford, worn down and sullen with a lifetime of father and big brother telling him what to do.
“This is pointless, Dean. The leshii, if there ever was a leshii, is not going to show itself to us. They’re shape shifters. You think he’s just going to wander by in his true form in the middle of the night?”
“Shut up.” Dean shifted to find a non-existent more comfortable position on the tree branch he was perched on.
“Dad just sent us out here to teach us a lesson.”
“Don’t talk about him like that. And for that matter, seriously, shut up. You’re scaring off all the wildlife.”
“Dean, there’s nothing to scare. It’s the middle of the winter. We’re not going to bag a leshii sitting in a tree. You may like getting your head messed with, but I’m done with Dad’s bullshit.”
Dean rounded on Sam, shoving him back against the tree truck with an arm across his throat, but careful-always careful with Sammy-that they didn’t overbalance and fall out of the tree. “Shut up.”
“Yes sir,” Sammy hissed, hurt layered under the familiar snap of the words. Dean let him go and turned back to the silent forest. He heard Sam climb down, heard his muffled footfalls in fresh snow as he walked away. Dean stayed to keep watch alone.
“Hey I…” Dean began, but faltered under the scrutiny of big brown eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Peter said. “You’re right.”
“I know I am,” Dean said brusquely. He sat up straighter in the driver’s seat and spread out the map over the steering wheel. “We’ll check warehouses first. That’s always a good place to bring a victim. There’s an industrial park by I-95. He’d have had to drive by there to get to soccer practice. Maybe that’s where she snatched him.”
They cruised the area in the Impala, looking for anything that might lead them to the demon. At the corner of Pembroke and Bank Street, Peter sat bolt upright in his seat. “Stop the car.”
“What is it?”
“That building.” Peter pointed at a nondescript warehouse. “We should check in there.” Dean looked at him incredulously. “You have somewhere to be?” Peter asked.
Dean shrugged. He and Sam had solved cases on thinner leads, so he got out of the Impala and Peter followed wordlessly, tucking his gun in the back waistband of his pants and silently cursing the fact that the Colt was with Sam. The sun was just setting, and no one was in sight, but there was no sense being sloppy. They worked their way around the building until they got to a side door. Dean picked the lock easily. As the door clicked open, Peter let out an appreciative whistle. “You’re good at that.”
Dean smirked. “I know,” he said smugly. And everybody loves a bad boy. “Stay close.”
The warehouse was dark, of course, the last of the dusty sunlight filtering through dirty windows. Something creaked, metal on metal, from somewhere deep in the building. Dean drew his gun.
“Dean,” Peter whispered. “She’s here somewhere. I know it.”
“Okay, don’t get twitchy,” Dean warned.
Dean edged around a corner, squinting through the darkness, and Peter’s “umph” was his first warning that anything was wrong. He whirled around, leveling his gun.
The demon jumped out of the darkness to tackle Peter, and he struggled beneath her on the filthy floor of the warehouse. Dean tried to aim, swearing. He couldn’t get a clean shot with them grappling like that. He dropped his gun and drew the knife from his boot. The demon had Peter pinned face down on the floor, and she raised her knife, a line of shining silver above her head. Dean launched himself at them. He caught her in the side with his knife as she turned before a demonically strong shove sent Dean flying into a pile of boxes.
As he struggled to right himself, he heard the demon scream, saw out of the corner of his eye the same blue flash of lightning he’d seen at the cemetery a week ago, then heard the kick of a gun shot. By the time Dean stood up, the demon had fled and Peter was sitting up, holding the gun Dean had dropped.
“All right Peter!” Dean said, pulling him up by the arm. “We’ll make a hunter out of you yet!”
“I let her get away,” Peter grumbled, brushing grime off his clothes.
“It’s okay. I’ve got a plan.” Dean picked up his knife. “We’ve got her blood.” He pulled a small, oblong stone from his jacket pocket. “So we’ve got a way to find her.”
----
Sam spent the first part of the ride just watching the countryside go by. The Bentley made almost no noise, certainly nothing like the familiar purr of the Impala. Even when Dean had Metallica turned up full blast, the comforting rumble of the Impala’s engine was always there, more relaxing than any Magic Fingers bed.
“See, now that’s the sound it’s supposed to make,” Dean said with a wide grin as they accelerated on a straightaway.
“Funny. I thought that was the sound of getting pulled over for speeding by State Troopers with nothing better to do. For the third time this month.”
“Killjoy,” Dean grumbled, but he eased off the gas.
Sam wondered idly about Nathan and Peter, about their routines and rituals. If they didn’t usually drive, then how did they get around? Certainly Nathan seemed too high class and… adult for juvie crap like boosting a new car in every town. “What are you on the run from? You and Peter?” The words were out of his mouth before he’d really thought about it.
Nathan flicked his eyes away from the road for a moment to glare at Sam. “That badge, the bikini inspector one. Is it the only badge you have?”
Sam hadn’t really been expecting a straight answer, but the brush-off put him on edge. “Well when I left my motel room a week ago, I wasn’t expecting to be kidnapped,” Sam said testily. And if Nathan had let him call Dean, his brother probably wouldn’t be in some kind of mysterious mortal peril right now.
“Kidnapped?”
“You knocked me out and carried me across state lines, didn’t you?”
“I don’t recall,” Nathan said primly. “We’ll get you some pictures and remake one of Peter’s. Glove box.”
Peter opened the glove compartment to find a box about the size of the one he and Dean used to store false IDs, but here each badge had its own little slot, neatly labeled: FBI, Homeland Security, Department of Fish and Wildlife, NYPD. It was gloriously organized. Not that Sam would take the time to do something like this himself, but he could certainly appreciate the difference between this and the jumble of paperwork in the Impala’s glove box.
“You guys spend a lot of time in New York?” he asked, fingering the NYPD badges.
“No.” Nathan’s answer was unexpectedly sharp, and Sam looked up in time to catch a guilty glance before Nathan rushed on. “Use the FBI one. Works well most places.”
Sam lifted two badges and IDs from the slot marked FBI. From the first, Nathan “Special Agent Williams” stared back at him, square-jawed and grim. The second ID must have belonged to Peter. And sure, Sam had caught a glimpse of him that night the cemetery, but it had been dark. Certainly this wasn’t what he’d been expecting when he’d pictured Nathan’s brother. “Wow.”
“What?” Nathan’s eyes flicked away from the road, and caught for a moment on Peter’s picture.
“So that’s Peter.” The guy was downright pretty, and he had the same charming smile in his eyes that Dean could put on, when he wanted to.
Nathan smiled. “Yeah, that’s him. Doesn’t look like much of an FBI agent, I know.”
“Can I… What exactly do you guys do? If it’s not hunting demons.”
Nathan’s hand clenched tighter on the steering wheel, and he didn’t glare, but Sam could tell he wanted to. “No offence, Sam, but that’s between me and my brother.”
“Family business,” Sam snorted, remembering a time when Dean had given that name to their cross-country Impala odyssey.
“Yes.” Nathan’s smile was grim and a little pained. “You could say that.”
Sam took the hint and shut up, but before he closed the box, something caught his eye. Under the guise of tidying up the badges he’d moved, Sam picked up a photo that had been stashed under the NYPD badges. It was a picture of Nathan and Peter in light summer suits, standing on a grassy beach. Nathan, looking a little younger and a good deal more clean-cut, had one arm slung casually over Peter’s shoulder, and Peter’s head was half thrown back, laughing. Sam flipped the picture over. The back was labeled in small, neat writing: “Petrelli reunion on Nantucket, 2002.”
Sam quickly tucked the picture back under the NYPD badges and glanced surreptitiously at Nathan. Luckily, Nathan had his eyes on the road. Sam slid the box of badges back into the glove compartment. He didn’t want Nathan to think he’d been prying, and in all honesty he didn’t really care about Nathan’s name. But it was enlightening to know that Nathan and Peter had a real family somewhere: the sort that had reunions on Nantucket for which jackets and ties were required, apparently. He wondered what had brought Nathan from that to this: crappy hotel rooms and greasy diner food and dusty back roads.
He settled back in the passenger seat, brooding. Once they got to Baltimore, he was sure he could find out something more about the Petrellis.
---
The thing about the lodestone was that it didn’t tell you how far away a thing was, only the direction. Stopping halfway through a cemetery-and why was it always a cemetery?-Dean held up the stone, and it spun lazily for a moment before snapping to a stop. The end painted with the demon’s blood faced north. It’s a start, Dean thought grimly. He was really getting sick of this bitch.
“The demon could be in Montreal right now,” Peter said glumly.
“Funny. Not really. Demons can’t fly.” Dean considered for a moment. “They can hitchhike, though.”
“Hey look,” Peter said. The lodestone had pivoted as they’d stood talking. “She’s moving.”
Thunder rolled overhead, and Dean swore under his breath. “Then we should hustle up. Last thing we need is to be running around in a damn storm.”
“Hey boys.”
It was the demon. Dean shouldn’t have been surprised, but when he looked up there she was, leaning against a tree, casually tossing her fancy knife up in the air and catching it.
“Peter, get behind me,” Dean said. Peter only made a small noise of protest before stepping behind Dean.
“Oh Dean. You are so darling,” the demon crooned. “Always trying to protect the weak, the innocent.”
“Yeah, I’m noble like that.” Dean flashed his best cocky grin and shifted his grip on his gun.
“Misguided, maybe. And you can save the charm,” she said, pushing off the tree and slinking a few steps closer. “I am not interested in you in the least. Not that I couldn’t take you if I wanted to. I mean, hell knows you deserve it,” her black eyes raked him up and down, expression somehow shouting her assessment of worthless and failure. “But frankly, Dean Winchester, you’re not worth the effort.”
And yeah, demons lie, and Dean had been facing up to demons and their bullshit all his life, but it still hurt a part of him that was tender with worrying at it on his own. Should have come up with a better plan, he scolded himself, taking a step back and pushing Peter further behind him. Should have gotten the Colt, or gotten something. Sloppy, Dean.
“Don’t listen to her,” Peter hissed in his ear.
“That one, though…” The demon’s eyes slid past Dean to rake Peter up and down. “He’s a treat. Him I could use.”
“Okay, creepy.” Dean said, slowly unscrewing the cap on the holy water in his left hand. If Dean could get her to chase him, he could make it to devil’s trap they’d painted in the mausoleum in the middle of the cemetery. He just had to make sure she didn’t go after Peter instead.
“Holy water?” The demon shook her head in disgust. “Really, Dean. I expected better of you.” She pulled something from under her coat, and Dean was surprised to see she held a shotgun. “I think that you should put down your gun, or I will shoot you, and then I’ll take your companion.”
“No offence, sweetheart, but I’m not dropping my gun” Dean said. What the hell kind of demon uses a gun anyway? Bitch. “Call me crazy, but I’m not willing to take your word for much.”
“That hurts, Dean.” She pumped the shotgun once. “Drop the gun. Is your life really worth his? The way I hear it, you’ve only got a few more months, anyway. One.”
“Aw, come on now.” Dean raised his own gun, but he knew the silver-tipped bullets wouldn’t kill the demon. If he was lucky, it would set her back enough that he’d have time to make a run for the trap. If not, he’d be dead, and Peter would be hers for the taking.
She pumped the shotgun. “Two.”
“Dean, drop the gun.” Peter whispered in his ear. “It’ll be okay. I know what to do.”
Oh, if that wasn’t confidence inspiring…
“Three.”
“Okay.” Dean tossed his gun on the grass in front of him. “See, we can do this like civilized people. Now just tell us where Jesse is, and we’ll be on our way.”
“Jesse? He’s already gone. You could never have saved him. Oh Dean.” The demon smiled. “I’m almost sad to have to do this. Goodbye.”
The demon pulled the trigger, and suddenly-faster than any human being had a right to move-Peter was in front of him. The impact sent him stumbling back into Dean, and then he was falling, as if in slow motion, to the ground.
“No!” Dean dove for his gun and came up firing, catching the demon in the shoulder with a silver-tipped round. He followed that with splashes of holy water, firing blindly as he waved the bottle. Screaming in mingled pain and laughter, the demon fled.
Dean scrambled to Peter’s side. There was a hole in his chest where the shotgun had caught him, and all Dean could think was that this was the sort of thing Sammy would do-selfless and stupid-and Dean would not be responsible for letting someone else’s kid brother lay down his life. Not for him. He pressed the palm of one hand against the wound, refusing to look at Peter’s face in case the eyes were glassy and dead-past helping. This Nathan, whoever he was, deserved his brother back safe, and Dean wasn’t about to ruin their chances of a reunion through his own recklessness.
“Hold on Pete,” Dean muttered. Peter twitched under his hands, and Dean felt a stab of hope-not dead yet.
“Dean…” Peter’s voice sounded as if it came from the end of a long, dark tunnel.
“It’ll be okay.” There was so much blood. He’d patched up bad wounds before, but not like this. Peter was broken wide open, white splinters of bone showing through the red. “We’ll… We’ll get you to a hospital.”
“Don’t bother.” Peter grabbed Dean’s wrist, and he was surprisingly strong for a dying guy. “Just move your hand.” His voice was wet in his throat, and Dean saw the bubbles of blood well up in his mouth, knew what they meant.
“I’m not letting you die,” Dean snarled. His free hand came to rest on Peter’s forehead-nothing better to do with it. “Not for me.”
“I’m not gonna die.”
“No, you’re not. Just hold on.” Peter made a sick, gurgling sound, and Dean’s heart almost stopped.
Then Peter pulled against Dean’s hand again-still alive, at least-and croaked, “Please don’t.” Dean let Peter drag his arm away from the wound. For a few tense moments, Peter lay with his eyes squeezed shut, breath coming in shuddering gasps. Dean hovered, rubbing his thumb in little circles against the clammy skin of Peter’s brow, and knowing with a certain gut-deep certainty that if anyone let his little brother, his Sammy, take a bullet meant for them, he’d rip them apart with his bare hands.
The rain started, then: fat drops that splashed against Peter’s pale face, against his eyes squeezed shut in pain, and Peter made another horrible noise. “Peter, for God’s sake let me help,” Dean said, hands hovering over the wound like he could hold it closed with bare hands if Peter would let him.
Peter shook his head, weakly shoving Dean away, and he settled for holding Peter’s head while he shuddered with shallow breaths that Dean recognized, knew too damn well, as belonging to the end of a man’s time.
Then he began to notice something strange; as rain mixed with blood, carrying it in little pink rivers down Peter’s sides, Dean saw skin where moments ago he’d had a too-clear view of internal organs. Peter’s breath evened out, and after a moment his eyes fluttered open. “Okay,” Peter said hoarsely.
“What…?” Dean blinked the water out of his eyes and looked again. “What?”
“I should have told you,” Peter said. “I can just do… some stuff.”
“Christos,” Dean said, but Peter didn’t flinch. Not possessed… But that’s not normal.
“I’m not a demon. It’s a long story.”
“So you can…?”
“Heal. Yeah, I can,” Peter said wearily.
Dean rubbed a hand across Peter’s belly, clearing away blood to reveal whole, unmarked skin. “Huh.” He sat back on his heels. “Kinda takes away some of your hero points for jumping in front of a bullet.”
“Ah.” Peter drew in his breath with a sharp hiss as he sat up. “Still hurts like a bitch.”
“I bet.” Dean helped him to his feet. He wasn’t sure what the hell this meant about Peter, but he’d have to give the guy the benefit of the doubt. Dean had seen enough to know that powers didn’t always mean evil. Hell, Sam has some pretty strange abilities going on, and no one should think less of him for that.
For a moment, Peter stood quietly, ragged breaths sounding harsh even over the rain. He looked off into the darkness, the way the demon had gone, and shook his head. “She almost shot you.”
“Yeah, well she didn’t.” Dean was trying not to think about that. “You okay?”
“No.” Peter stumbled a few steps to a tree, bent over, and retched, but nothing came out. He stumbled to the ground, and Dean was beside him immediately.
“Hey, take it easy.” Dean grabbed him by the shoulders, and Peter leaned against him, shaking. “You really okay?”
“Sure,” Peter muttered into his shoulder. “It just gets like this, after… All the adrenaline.”
Peter’s hands on his back gripped tightly, as if he’d never let go. Dean didn’t mind. Sam wouldn’t often take comfort like this-he didn’t particularly like being held. He said it made him feel Dean was coddling him, like they were kids again.
“Shhh, Sammy.” Dean hugged his brother closer, snuggling into the corner of hotel room, wedged between the bed and the wall. “Don’t cry. Don’t cry.”
The wind howled outside, and another peal of thunder broke overhead, sending Sam cowering into his arms like he was trying to crawl inside Dean’s chest. “Where’s Dad?”
“I told you,” Dean said gently. “You’re too old for this. I told you.”
“The monsters are going to get him this time. I know it.”
“No they are not.” With a supreme effort, Dean pried Sam off of him and held him at arm’s length. “They’re not, because you wanna know why?”
“Why?” Sam asked with a terrified sniffle.
“Because the Winchesters, the three of us together, we’re stronger than monsters. Believe it, Sammy.”
Peter leaned more of his weight against Dean, and his shuddering breaths began to even out. “I gotcha,” Dean whispered. It felt good, right to hold Peter like this, to protect him.
“Sorry,” Peter muttered as he clung to Dean. “I’ll be fine. It’s just… Nathan has always been here when I needed him.”
“Yeah. It’s a big brother thing.” Dean got it: Peter was scared. Somewhere out there, Sammy might be scared too. It gave him a second’s pause to remember that, and he hoped that somewhere, Peter’s brother was taking better care of Sam than Dean was of Peter.
“Nathan will take care of him,” Peter said softly.
“Yeah, okay.” Dean certainly hoped so. And the least he could do in return was make sure he didn’t put Peter in danger again. “Let’s get out of the rain.” Dean maneuvered himself under Peter’s arm, wrapped a hand around his sharp-skinny hip, and pulled him to his feet. Peter lurched into him, and Dean found both his hands on Peter’s waist, Peter’s face inches from his, dripping with rain. No man should be that pretty. Dean would remember that thought later, because it was his last coherent one for some time.
Peter leaned in, closing the distance between them to nothing, and kissed Dean. His lips were soft, just as Dean had imagined they would be. His body was warm against Dean’s. Dean found himself opening up, letting Peter’s tongue in. Peter was open for him, too, wide open and wanting, and it wasn’t until Peter pulled back that Dean remembered to breathe.
They stared at each other for a moment, faces inches apart in the rain, Peter’s breath warm on the side of Dean’s face. Then Dean was the one to lean in, pressing their lips together again and coaxing Peter’s mouth open with his tongue. Peter shuddered under him, clinging to Dean like a drowning man until he suddenly broke away and took a step back, out of the circle of Dean’s arms.
“Dean, I…,” Peter said.
Here it comes, Dean thought, his heart sinking rapidly.
Peter brushed water-logged bangs out of his face. “There’s something I should tell you.”
Oh, that was never a good thing to hear after a first kiss. Especially a first kiss that had gone as well as that. And yeah, Peter had started it, but still Dean was expecting to hear “I don’t feel that way about you” or “That was stupid, forget it.”
“It’s not like that,” Peter said quickly, and he stepped back up to Dean to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “I can read minds.”
Dean’s thought process ground to a halt. “Read minds?” he repeated. Mind control? Sure. Super strength? No problem. Telekinesis? Totally believable. But mind reading…? Dean sure as shit never wanted anyone to know what was going on in his head. “I, uh,” he said cleverly.
“I try not to,” Peter explained quickly. “But sometimes, if someone’s thinking really hard, my control slips.”
“You’ve read my mind?”
“A little.”
“Ah… Dude.” Dean turned away. He tried to remember if he’d thought anything incriminating around Peter. Like how I’m wanted for murder in three states. Or how I traded my soul to a demon. Or that I’m fucking my brother. “Oh god.” Dean whirled around to face Peter. “Are you reading my mind right now?”
“No. Yes. Sorry!”
“Oh shit.” Dean took off across the graveyard. He had to get back to the Impala. Get on the move, get on the road, go after the demon and pretend this never happened. Things were going so well a few moments ago; he should have known he’d never be so lucky.
“Dean!” Peter ran after him. “Calm down.”
“How in the hell am I supposed to calm down when you’re all up in my head?” Probably hearing me think how much I love to suck Sammy’s cock-Oh fuck. Was it his imagination, or did Peter smile? “Get away from me!”
“Dean, I didn’t tell you to freak you out.” Peter grabbed at his jacket, but lost his grip on the wet leather when Dean jerked his arm away.
“Oh really?”
Peter made another grab, held on this time. “I told you because I need someone to talk to.”
“Come again?” Dean said.
Peter took a deep breath. “I’m fucking my brother.”
Dean stared at Peter, bangs plastered to his forehead in the downpour, eyes open and haunted and begging Dean to understand. “That’s….” he managed. He should be telling Peter how sick that was, how he didn’t want to hear it, but he couldn’t get the words out. He felt nothing but calm.
“My brother Nathan. We’re having sex. Have for years.”
Dean gathered his wits enough to give an indifferent shrug and a terse, “So?”
Peter’s face fell, a wounded look in his eye that hurt Dean, too, and Peter said, more softly, “I’ve never told anyone. Not anyone. If he knew…” Peter sucked in a breath and hurried on. “Nathan and I have a connection that no one else can understand, and there has never been anyone to talk to about it. But I think… I don’t know, maybe I’m supposed to meet you, because you and Sam are-.”
“Hold it,” Dean cut him off. “You need to be very careful what you say about my brother.”
Peter hesitated, his hand heavy on Dean’s arm. Finally he said, “Haven’t you ever wished there was someone you could talk to about it?”
“I don’t need to talk.” Winchesters didn’t talk about their feelings. Winchesters just did what had to be done.
“Look,” Peter continued. “I’m in love with my brother. He’s saved my life more than once. He’s seen me at my absolute worst, and he still stands by me. He gave up everything for me. He’s what matters most in my life, and I can never talk about it. Doesn’t it bother you to have to hide it all the time?”
“Yeah it does, okay?” Dean snapped. He shook Peter’s hand off his arm and took a step back, but he managed to keep from running away like a scared little girl. Peter nodded once, in acknowledgement. “We need to get out of here before that thing comes back,” Dean said. His voice sounded rough and weak.
“Okay,” Peter said, but Dean could tell he wasn’t done. “Lead the way.”
--
Somewhere on I-81, Sam sat forward with a gasp. Nathan glanced over at the pained expression on his face, and put on the right turn signal. He’d been half expecting this, ever since that diner parking lot. No one who had visions like that had them just once. There was an exit in two miles; he’d pull off there and let Sam get this whatever-it-was out of his system. “Sam? You okay?”
Sam cried out again, and this time he jerked forward so hard he nearly slammed his head against the dashboard.
“Right. Not making it to that exit, then.” Nathan guided the Bentley onto the shoulder and threw it in park. “Hey Sam.” He grabbed Sam’s shoulder, but Sam didn’t respond; he only put his head in his hands and shook.
“Come on, don’t do this,” Nathan muttered. He ripped off his seat belt and climbed out of the car into the rain and the dark.
“Peter!” He dug his fingers hard into Peter’s shoulder. “Get up.”
Peter was slack and unresponsive as a rag doll. Seeing that, Nathan’s stomach clenched against the nausea that was threatening to fight its way up. It was too much like other times that had broken Nathan’s heart-too much like three weeks of waiting at Peter’s bedside, ignoring a campaign that needed him, hating himself for letting it happen, and learning to his core how little anything else would matter if Peter never woke up.
“Peter!” He shook him fiercely, and this time Peter’s eyes fluttered open. “Damn it, Pete.”
“Hey,” he croaked. “Miss me?”
“You’re not funny,” Nathan grumbled. “That was another vision, right?”
“Yeah. I think I know what we’re supposed to do.”
Nathan wrenched the passenger door open. “Sam, what?” He put one hand on Sam’s shoulder, the other on his knee, ready to stop him if it looked like he was going to make another attempt to break his nose on the dashboard.
“Dean,” Sam gasped. He gave one more full-body shudder, backwards this time, his head rebounding off the seat. Then his breathing started to slow, but his eyes remained squeezed shut.
“It’s okay,” Nathan said. “I’ve got you.” As soon as it was out of his mouth, he knew it was wrong, too intimate, that Sam wasn’t Peter. Still, if these visions were real, and Sam’s brother was somehow in trouble, chances were good that Peter was in trouble as well.
Sam’s eyes snapped open to lock with Nathan’s. They were blank with confusion.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Nathan said soothingly. “It’s just me. What did you see?”
Understanding slowly filtered back into Sam’s eyes, and with it came, to Nathan’s surprise, a deep blush. Sam’s mouth gaped in a complete failure to form words.
“Sam, what?”
“I don’t know,” he managed at last, but he’d torn his eyes away from Nathan and wouldn’t look back.
“Did it have something to do with my brother? With the demon?”
“I… No,” Sam muttered. “Don’t worry about it.” He continued to stare resolutely at his hands.
Nathan tightened his grip on Sam’s shoulder. “I understand this might not be easy to talk about, but if you’re not telling me something that has to do with Peter....”
At last Sam’s eyes flicked to Nathan, and he ventured a weak smile. “It’s not like that. It’s just… Stuff.”
“Fine.” Nathan stood and headed back to the drivers side, uselessly shaking off the rain. It took some expenditure of willpower not to slam the car door, but he was far from calm when he pulled back onto the road. He snuck a glance over at his passenger, but Sam was stubbornly staring at his hands again, and it didn’t look like he’d be in a talking mood anytime soon.
--
On to the rest of Part II