Fic: Beggars in the House of Plenty (Supernatural/Heroes crossover AU) Part II
Title Beggars in the House of Plenty (Part II)
Fandom: Heroes/Supernatural (AU for both)
Rating:: NC-17
Pairings: Sam/Peter, hints of Nathan/Peter
Warning: D/S play, Consent issues relating to mistaken identity, mild violence
Author's notes: This is the long, long, long, long overdue fic which pinkfinity bought for Sweet Charity last year. Thanks to pinkfinity for being so patient, and redandglenda and jaune_chat for the beta help. Apologies to John Patrick Shanley for shameless misappropriation of his title.
Summary: Peter is tired of the pressures of his family’s work at Petrelli International, and finds the safety and acceptance he needs with a man who has something to do with the mysterious problems plaguing the family.
See Part One here
“Who is this guy again?” Peter asked. He wasn't sure he liked the look of the somber man in the trenchcoat who had been standing over the scene, seemingly just staring, while the other cops had supervised loading their unconscious attackers into an ambulance.
“Detective friend of Dean's,” Sam said shortly. Then he cocked his head, considering. “Or maybe friend is too strong a word. A guy he knows. Apparently they help each other out from time to time. Can't say I think much of his type.”
As if he'd heard them, the cop turned and fixed Sam with a penetrating look before striding over. When he stood in front of them, he looked them both up and down efficiently, and turned to Peter. “You are Peter Petrelli?”
“Yes,” Peter said slowly.
“Peter, this is Detective Castiel,” Sam said with an overly grand gesture. “Detective, I don't know if you remember--.”
“I know who you are,” Castiel said shortly. He seemed reluctant to tear his eyes away from Sam, but he glanced at Peter to ask, “Did you recognize the men who attacked you?”
“No. I assumed they worked for my brother. If it hadn't been for Sam--.”
“Did they say what they wanted? Did they ask for anything?”
“Not that I remember.”
“They wanted him to get in the car,” Sam spoke up. “They seemed to want him alive. I believe one of them had a weapon. That must have been what blew up the car.”
Peter threw Sam a sharp look.
“We did not recover a gun,” Castiel said.
“Didn't say it wasn't a gun,” Sam smiled back sweetly, and Peter wondered if he always antagonized the authorities this much, or if he had some sort of a history with this detective. In any case, it was time to jump in.
“Must have been a tazer,” Peter said quickly. “That would support your theory that they wanted me alive.”
“Can you think of any reason why someone would want to abduct you?” Castiel asked.
“I can think of a dozen,” Peter shrugged. “But my brother was attacked tonight, too. They've got to be related.”
“Hm,” was all Castiel said to that. “Was either of you injured in the attack?”
“No,” Peter jumped in before Sam could open his mouth. The last thing he needed was this detective hearing a story of some mysterious, miraculous powers being displayed and connect it somehow to Nathan or any of the other Petrellis. “Sam's pretty good with his fists. And with a tire iron, apparently.”
Sam threw him an amused look, but Peter ignored it.
“I'm going to put you in protective custody until we find your attackers,” Castiel announced with a hard glare at Sam.
“Is my brother in protective custody?”
Castiel's face almost showed an expression. “No. Mr. Petrelli refused police protection.”
“Well then thank you, detective, but I think I'll follow my brother's example. Seems like Sam's all the bodyguard I need.” He turned quickly to Sam. “I mean, that is, if you want to stay. You don't have to--.”
“Of course.” Sam clapped Peter's shoulder. “You don't have to ask.”
“Mister Petrelli.” Castiel gave him a pained look. “I recommend that you come with us. Mister Winchester is hardly a suitable--.”
“Is that all, detective?” Peter said coolly. He straightened to his full height and gave Castiel the bored, haughty glare he’d seen his everyone else in his family display with alarming regularity. “Mister Winchester and I are leaving.”
“Wait--,” Castiel called, but Peter had already grabbed Sam’s wrist and begun pulling him away from the police. When they were clear of the crime scene tape, Peter chanced a glance back to see if Sam thought he was behaving suspiciously, and saw that Sam was grinning ear-to-ear, as if they’d just gotten away with something by the skin of their teeth.
--
“I could use a drink.” Sam pushed open the door to his apartment and ushered Peter inside.
“You want something?” He strode off into the kitchen.
Peter didn't reply; he couldn't decide whether he wanted alcohol to quiet the nervous buzz inside him or if he'd rather curl up with Sam and sleep until someone called with news.
Sam solved the dilemma by bringing back two open beer bottles and handing one to Peter.
“Apparently I need to start keeping hard stuff in the house.” He swigged down several gulps of his drink while Peter stood unmoving.
“Hey.” Sam set his bottle aside and took hold of Peter's shoulders. “You're shaking.”
Peter tried to produce a smile, but managed only half. “I'm fine,” he lied. “It's just adrenaline.” Using any new ability for the first time always left him feeling off base. He had no idea where that healing ability had come from, but if he hadn't had it, if that man had kept hurting Sam, if he hadn't been able to turn that other man's power against him…
“Peter. Calm down.” The command in Sam's voice grounded Peter and helped him focus. “You did fine.” Sam slid a hand to the back of Peter's neck and pulled him in for a possessive kiss that left Peter calm and pliant.
“Thanks,” Peter muttered.
“It's okay.” Sam took Peter's beer away and set it on an overstuffed bookshelf. “I know what you need.”
He kissed Peter again, this time walking him backwards until Peter's back thumped into the wall. Sam ran a hand down Peter's back to grab his ass hard as he pushed his hips forward, trapping Peter.
“I know what you want,” Sam muttered, breath hot in Peter's ear. “Let me take control. Let me make you feel safe again.”
Peter had never seen that hungry, predatory look in Sam's eyes. He bit his lip to keep back a moan. If Sam hadn't had him pinned to the wall, his knees might have buckled. He couldn't control what was happening to his family; he couldn't fix anything that had happened tonight, but if Sam would allow it, he knew he could do this right. He could please Sam. He could be good. If only Sam would let him.
“Am I right?” Sam asked. He dug his fingers hard into Peter's ass. “Is this what you need?”
“Please.” The plea tumbled out of Peter's mouth, and his skin heated at how desperate he sounded already.
“That's right.” Sam ground against him, dragging another involuntary moan out of Peter when he realized how hard he'd gotten already.
Sam leveled one arm against Peter's chest to keep him pinned. He pulled his hand away from Peter's ass to cup his crotch and rubbed Peter roughly through his tightening jeans, squeezing him almost to the point of pain. “What's this, Peter?”
Peter's mouth gaped, but his brain seemed to have short-circuted.
“We've been at this--what?--two minutes, and you're already so hard it hurts.” Sam leaned in and planted a close-mouthed kiss on Peter's lips. “You really are a slut for this.”
Peter's cock jerked against Sam's hand, and he let his eyes fall shut as a deeper flush crept up his face. He hadn't realized how badly he needed this. Sam indulged Peter's requests for rough play from time to time, but never seemed to put his heart into it. Whatever barrier the night's events had broken had evidently let out a part of Sam capable of giving Peter exactly what he needed. Not a moment too soon: when he entered the apartment, Peter had felt lost, adrift, and now hope and hot, overwhelming arousal buoyed him. He hadn't felt so dominated, so free since--Well, for years. He opened his eyes again to find Sam watching him with a measuring look.
“Knees,” Sam said, and stepped away.
Peter melted to the floor, unsure if he'd have been able to stand on his own anyway. He looked up at Sam, who from this angle seemed ten feet tall, and felt a visceral, anticipatory shudder rip through him.
“Get it out,” Sam ordered.
Peter's hands went right to Sam's jeans. He unbuttoned and unzipped him efficiently, despite his trembling hands. He pulled down the boxers with the pants to free Sam's lengthy erection. He almost took it in his hand, then remembered his manners and looked to Sam for further instructions.
“Good boy,” Sam said, sending a satisfied flutter through Peter's belly. “You can touch.”
Peter wrapped his hand around the base. He pulled gently, watching the fascinating slide of skin as if he'd never seen Sam's cock before. He wasn't fully hard yet, so Peter stroked him slowly, twisting his hand when he got to the crown, twisting the other way on the backstroke. He looked up at Sam again, and asked softly, “Can I lick it?”
Sam cocked his head to the side and gave a thin smile. “Can you lick what?”
“Can I lick your cock, Sir?” Peter's mouth went dry. Sam. He'd meant to say Sam, but somehow Sir had come out instead.
Sam's eyes hardened.
Fear assaulted Peter: fear that Sam would say no. Suddenly having a cock in his mouth seemed vital, as if Peter would die if he couldn't have it. “Please. I'll make it good. You know I can make it good. Sam, please.”
“Shh.” Sam held up a hand to stop the flow of words. He dragged a finger up Peter's neck and petted him on the cheek. “Okay, Peter. Tongue only.”
Peter dove forward to lick first at the head of Sam's cock, then all the way down the shaft, desperate to taste every part of Sam.
“That's it.” Sam petted Peter's hair, but made no move to direct him. “Look at you. So eager for it. Poor boy. You've been neglected too long. Don't worry. I'm here.” His hand fell away. “Stop now, Peter.”
Peter reluctantly dragged his mouth away and looked up at Sam.
“Up,” Sam ordered. “Take your clothes off.”
Peter jumped to his feet and obeyed as quickly as possible, leaving his clothes in an untidy heap on the floor. Then he stood still, trying not to fidget, as Sam walked around behind him.
“Your skin is so pale,” Sam said, sounding almost reverent. Fingers brushed over Peter's hip. “Soft, too.”
Sam's large arms wrapped around Peter's waist, and Peter shivered in delight when he realized from the warm press of skin against his back that Sam was naked, too. Sam licked a line from Peter's shoulder blade up to his neck, and Peter bit back a groan as his neglected dick began to throb.
“So responsive. It must be difficult to feel so much all the time and not know what to do about it.” Sam curled a hand loosely, teasingly, around Peter's cock. “It's okay now. I'll take good care of you.” He pulled Peter tight against him, pressing his slick erection to the crack of Peter's ass. “You just have to say yes. Can you do that?”
“Yes. Yes sir,” Peter breathed. His face heated again at the word, which gave away his need too clearly.
“Good,” Sam said. “You remember where I keep supplies?”
Peter nodded.
“Go get the lube.” Sam released him. Peter started forward, but Sam stopped him with a sharp, “No.”
Peter turned around, puzzled.
“Crawl.”
Peter's muscles clenched all over as the command went through him like a little earthquake. He sank to his knees again. A strange, pleasant buzz that had nothing to do with alcohol fired his blood as he obeyed, crawling like an animal for his master. He retrieved the bottle of lube from the drawer of the bedside table and returned to the living room to find Sam sitting on the couch, idly stroking his full erection. The sight sent a shiver of lust through Peter.
“There.” Sam pointed to the center of the room. Peter crawled to the spot, giving Sam an easy view of his ass. “On your back. Spread your legs and open yourself up.”
Peter nodded his compliance. By now his arousal drown out all other thoughts; he felt profoundly grateful for Sam's succinct instructions. He slicked his fingers, laid back against the rug, and spread his legs. Reaching awkwardly down, he breached himself with one finger.
“No,” Sam snapped.
Peter froze, and Sam appeared, towering over him. “One? You can't possibly expect me to believe that a cockslut like you needs to start with one finger.”
Peter's heart pounded in his chest and his dick throbbed along with it. Sam had never spoken to him like that, never called him names. Now, however, he seemed to notice how his words affected Peter. “You like being ordered around by the hired help? Debasing yourself like this for a man your brother wouldn't even allow into his office. You love getting down and dirty, Peter, I can see it all over your face. Are you listening to me, whore? I know you can take more than that. Start with three. Go on.”
Peter braced his feet against the floor and canted his hips up. He worked three slick fingers into his tight ass, breathing through the uncomfortable stretch and trying to ignore the painful hardness of his cock.
“Good boy.” Sam crouched next to him. He picked up the lube and coated his own fingers. “You love the feeling of being stretched open wide. That's why you love my thick cock.” Two of Sam's meaty fingers crowded at Peter's entrance. “You just can't get enough.” Sam pressed his fingers in alongside Peter's hand.
Peter couldn't stop his hips from jerking away. Sam laid a hand on Peter's belly to still him.
“I was thinking even I might not be enough for an insatiable slut like you. Maybe we should get you a dildo to suck. Fill up your mouth while I fill up your ass. Would you like that?”
Sam shoved his fingers in further, and Peter could only groan helplessly.
“Or maybe you'd prefer a real cock. What do you think, Peter? Should I call in some help?” Sam began screwing his fingers slowly in and out of Peter, sliding their fingers alongside each other. “I bet you'd love having two men at once, holding you down, shoving into you, getting you filthy. Well, filthier.”
Peter bit back a sob and shoved down onto their twined fingers, hungry for more.
“I know who you want. I've seen the way you look at Dean. You like the way he talks, swearing like a sailor. A little dumb, a little rough around the edges. Didn't have a gentle upbringing, like pretty little Peter. You want to suck his cock, I can tell. Isn't that true?”
Peter shook his head no frantically, then yelped when Sam's free hand clamped around Peter's balls, squeezing him painfully hard.
“Don't lie to me, Peter. I know how you think. Tell me the truth.” His grip didn't relent. “Peter.”
“Yes,” Peter gasp. “Yes, I want to suck Dean's cock.”
Sam released his grip, and Peter could breathe again. Sam pulled his fingers out, only to pour more lube on his hand and return with three large fingers.
Peter tried to pull his own fingers out of his ass, but Sam's warning, “Peter,” made him stay. Sam worked his three fingers in beside them. Peter threw his head back against the rug and tried to keep breathing. Sam's voice burrowed into him as surely as his fingers, stripping away all control.
“On second thought,” Sam drawled. “Maybe even two cocks aren't enough for you. You always need more, Peter. Maybe it has something to do with being born with a silver spoon in your mouth. You're greedy. You feel entitled. But I know what you need even better than you do. You'd love to suck on one cock and have two cocks stretching your ass.”
Peter squirmed, too full, but Sam shushed him by crooking his fingers to brush against the spot that spent sparks of electricity skittering along Peter's veins. “That's it. You'd writhe like this, stuffed to your limit… Maybe that would finally be enough for you, finally sate your compulsive need to whore yourself out to anyone who'll have you.”
Peter whimpered his protest, but he couldn't think with Sam mercilessly fucking his fingers in and out of Peter's swollen hole.
“I know who you want, filling you up next to me. Yeah, you want him bad. You are shameless, you know that? Never saw a cock you didn't want to ride. Bet you've fucked half the people who work for your brother. That Haitian? The one who's always standing around like a fucking mute? You'd fuck him in a second. The man with the horn-rimmed glasses? You'd bend over a desk for him before he even asked. God, you're so easy. But I know you think about him, fantasize about him when you jerk off. Maybe sometimes you imagine I'm him. Hell, maybe you're thinking about him right now.”
Peter shook his head frantically, but couldn't form words.
Sam stabbed his fingers against Peter's prostate, which sent him bucking. Sam dropped on top of him, pinning their erections between them. He worked his fingers inside Peter as Peter thrust up against him desperately.
“I know who you want.” Sam leaned down to whisper in Peter's ear. “Nathan.”
Peter's release ripped through him, dragging with it an anguished shout. He rode out his orgasm writhing on his own fingers tangled with Sam's.
He was still panting for breath when Sam pulled their fingers out together and slid his cock into Peter's well-stretched ass.
“Yeah,” Sam breathed. He drove into Peter with hard, brutal snaps of his hips. He braced himself against Peter's shoulders and laughed as he fucked him: laughter with a nasty, maniacal edge Peter didn't recognize.
Peter wrapped his legs around Sam's back, needing comfort, needing contact. They slipped against their sweat-slick skin. Peter reached up to touch, but Sam grabbed his wrists and pinned them at his sides.
Sam dropped his head down near Peter's ear again. “That's it,” he grunted. “God, if they could see you now, how much you love taking it like this. You like this, slut? Do you, Peter? Say it!”
“Yes,” Peter sobbed.
Sam thrust in once more, deep, and his fingers clamped tight on Peter's wrists as he spent himself inside Peter.
He rolled to the side, and took Peter with him, keeping himself buried inside. “Good boy,” Sam said with a smirk. He brushed Peter's damp bangs out of his face. “I'm proud of you.”
Peter pulled himself off Sam. He shivered, too raw physically and emotionally to figure out what he should do. The elation of his orgasm had already faded in the wake of a strange, bruised feeling that went deeper than his bones.
“Hey, relax. You did good.” Sam, who had been so brutal just moments before, was all care now. He stood, led Peter into the bedroom, and pressed him into bed before retreating to the bathroom. He returned with a warm washcloth and towel and cleaned them both up. “I didn't hurt you, did I?” he asked softly.
“No,” Peter said. He felt sore, but he wasn't in pain, not really, aside from that nagging feeling of hurt, aching like a broken tooth. Sam could hardly be blamed for that, though; he'd only done what Peter had been practically begging him to do for months.
Sam crawled into bed behind Peter and gathered him against his chest. “Sure you're okay?” he asked softly.
Peter wasn't sure, but he nodded anyway. Silence settled over them. Peter drafted in a sleepy, sated haze as Sam trailed his fingers up and down Peter's naked side.
“Peter?” Sam's gentle query nudged Peter away from sleep.
“Hm?”
“Today, when those guys attacked us… It was weird how that limo just blew up.” The mattress creaked as Sam shifted. “And when that guy hit me, I swear I heard a rib crack.”
“Weird,” Peter said. He'd hoped Sam hadn't noticed.
“How do you explain something like that?”
Peter tried not to tense, but the mellow calm of a moment ago had evaporated, leaving him floundering. “I don't know,” he said lamely.
“Peter?” Sam scooted even closer, leaving no buffer of space between their bodies. “How long have you had your powers?”
“What?” Peter tried to force a laugh, but it sounded weak. “I don't know what you mean.”
“It's okay.” Sam rested his forehead against the nape of Peter's neck. “I have an ability too.”
“What do you mean?” Peter froze, barely breathing.
“I have these visions. I can see things that are going to happen. At first I thought they were just dreams.”
Peter turned over to face Sam. “But then they started coming true.”
“Exactly.” Sam sighed, and Peter recognized the tortured look of a man hell bent on beating himself up. “I'm sorry I never told you. It's not something I've ever been able to talk about.”
“I get it,” Peter said soothingly. “Does anyone know?”
“No.” Sam vehemently shook his head. “Can't tell my family. My brother would think I was a freak. A witch or a demon or something.”
“Come on, Sam. I don't think Dean could believe all that devil-spawn crap.”
A wary, steel-cold look flashed in Sam's eyes. “You don't know what Dean's capable of.”
“You're right, I don't,” Peter admitted. He looked down, thinking of the times people had said things about Nathan that he knew were false, and decided he'd be better off not making assumptions about Sam's brother. “I'm lucky, because my ability never made me feel like an outcast.”
“What do you mean?” Sam's voice sounded casual enough, but his body angled eagerly toward Peter.
“Okay, you can't tell anyone about this.” Peter heaved himself up to sitting. If there was anyone he could trust with this secret, it was Sam. He deserved to know. And besides, he'd brought up the question first. Peter couldn't bear to repay him with a lie. “Anyone. Not even Dean.”
“I promise,” Sam said impatiently.
“My family,” Peter said. If Nathan knew he was telling anyone this, he'd kill him. Somehow that thought only spurred Peter on. “We all have abilities, all of us. It's… Well let's just say it's part of what makes Petrelli International so successful.”
“Wait, you're saying it's normal for you? That everyone in your family has some kind of super power?”
“Kind of.” Peter searched for the right words. “These abilities are not evil, Sam. They're just a genetic trait, like brown eyes, or outrageous tallness.” He pushed Sam teasingly and got a distracted smile in return. “This is a good thing, Sam. You don't have to be alone anymore. I can help you! You said you had visions, right? My mom does, too.”
“Mrs. Petrelli has visions,” Sam said skeptically.
“She does,” Peter said. He decided this probably wasn't the time to explain how his own power worked. “She could help you figure out how to use your ability!”
“Peter stop, stop.” Sam held up his hands. “I'm not sure I want anyone to know about this.”
“Right, sorry.” Peter realized he was clutching Sam's arms, and let go reluctantly. “It's just… When I see a way I can help, I want to jump in and fix it. It's the house all over again, isn't it? I'm sorry.” He leaned over and kissed Sam, but he didn't respond. “What's wrong?”
For a moment, Sam just looked at him, wide-eyed. Then his whole body spasmed and he cried out. His hands clutched at his head as he slammed back against the headboard.
“Sam?” Peter grabbed hold of his arm, ready to steady him if he was having a seizure, but Sam just groaned. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut, his jaw clenched. “Sam?”
“It's happening again,” Sam gritted out.
“A vision,” Peter guessed.
Sam nodded. “It's… Here. My apartment.” He took a deep breath, and some of the tension seemed to drain out of him. He opened his eyes. “It's over.”
“What did you see?”
“Something bad,” Sam said gravely. “We've got to go.”
--
Nathan took the stairs two at a time, barely keeping up with Dean. At the top of the stairs, Dean held up a hand to stop him and whispered, “When we get in there, I’m taking the lead. I know what we’re dealing with. If I say run, you run.”
“Fine,” Nathan said tightly. He had no intention of hanging back if his brother was in danger, but Dean had certainly proved many times over tonight that he’d known what he was talking about. Nathan understood as much as he needed to about special abilities, but something else had been at work here tonight. Nathan had to give Dean credit for recognizing and stopping the strange, yellow-eyed man who’d come to the hospital to finish the job he’d started when he ran Nathan off the road. Until Nathan could find someone to give him a solid explanation of exactly what in hell was going on, he’d have to rely on Dean’s evident expertise.
Dean prowled down the hallway and listened at the third door, presumably Sam’s apartment. He drew a key from his pocket and carefully slid it into the lock. He looked up and Nathan, and nodded once. Nathan nodded back.
Dean held up three fingers, two, one, then turned the lock and rammed his shoulder into the door. “Sam!” he yelled as he rushed into the apartment.
Nathan followed a step behind. Inside the cramped, neat living room, the first thing Nathan saw was Peter. He stood by a low couch, pulling a shirt over his head. Behind him loomed Sam Winchester, face contorted in an enraged grimace, eyes fixed on Dean, who had pulled his gun and pointed it at his brother.
“Peter!” Nathan yelled.
“Get away from him, you son of a bitch,” Dean growled.
“Careful, Dean. You shouldn’t talk about Mary like that,” Sam shot back.
“Peter,” Nathan called. “Get over here.”
Peter looked between Sam, Dean, and Nathan before throwing out his arms and jumping in front of Dean’s gun. “Leave him alone!”
Dean took one hand off his gun to snatch Peter’s wrist and pull, sending him stumbling toward Nathan before leveling his gun again.
Nathan grabbed his wayward brother and held him tight.
“You’re not gonna shoot me, Dean-o,” Sam laughed.
“Don’t be too sure,” Dean snarled. But he lowered the gun and instead lunged at Sam, sending him stumbling backwards through a doorway that looked like it led to a den or office.
“Let me go,” Peter demanded, and fought wildly against Nathan’s grip.
Nathan counted himself lucky that Peter’s tenuous control over his powers evaporated completely when he was angry, so in his current state of agitation he wasn’t able to wield any of the arsenal of powers that could have easily made Nathan yield. “Stop,” Nathan said, tightening his grip on Peter. “We’re here to help you. That isn’t Sam.”
“You’re wrong. Nathan, he has powers; he’s like us. Let me go! Dean’s going to kill him!”
“It’s not him,” Nathan said as he struggled to drag his brother further away from the doorway where the sounds of fighting drifted through. “There’s some sort of mind control happening. Think, Pete. Has he been acting strangely tonight?”
Peter stopped struggling and turned a ghastly shade of white. For the first time, Nathan wondered why his brother had been half-clothed when they walked in.
A crash sounded from the adjoining room, followed by Sam’s shouted, “No!”
Peter squirmed out of Nathan’s grip and ran. Nathan cursed and flew after him. Luckily Dean stood blocking the doorway, so Peter hadn’t made it past.
“That’s what you get for coming into a hunter’s home, you son of a bitch,” Dean growled.
Nathan followed Dean’s eyes up to see an elaborate design painted in a circle on the ceiling. Below it, Sam threw himself at Dean and seemed to hit an invisible barrier. His eyes looked opaque, solid black, and he was snarling like an animal. Nathan could hardly believe this was the reserved, bookish young man he’d seen a few times with Dean. He’d let his baby brother be alone with this thing. “What the hell’s wrong with him?” Nathan asked.
Peter had frozen at the sign of Sam fighting and raging. Nathan’s question seemed to shake him out of his shock. He grabbed Dean’s shirt and yelled, “Stop it! Whatever you’re doing to him, just stop!”
Dean looked to Nathan, then back at Peter, and said gruffly, “I’m trying to help him.”
“Peter,” Sam called. He’d stopped struggling, and the total blackness had cleared from his eyes. “I’m sorry! What did I do?”
“Nathan!” Peter grabbed onto the front of Nathan’s shirt and gave him a look of angry determination. “Nathan, he didn’t do anything. What the hell is going on?”
Dean strode to the room’s small desk, careful to skirt the edge of the circle inscribed on the ceiling. “Stay out of it, Peter.” He pawed through a stack of books until he found the one he was looking for and flipped it open.
“Dean, I can’t believe you’d side with him.” Sam jerked his head at Nathan. “Over your own brother. What, are you jealous?”
“Shut up,” Dean said through gritted teeth.
“Sam--.” Peter started to go to him, but Nathan caught him and held him back. “Nathan, this is ridiculous,” he protested. “Let him go.”
Dean evidently found what he was looking for in the book, because he began reading aloud. It sounded like Latin, but Nathan could only recognize a few words: unclean spirit, our Lord Jesus Christ.
Nathan had only a minute to wonder what exactly Dean was up to before Peter started struggling again.
From inside the circle, Sam began pleading. “Don’t do this! Peter, please. You said you understood. You said you’d help me. Peter, please!” Sam reached toward Peter, and Nathan had to strain to hold Peter back. “They’re doing this because I’m different. They don’t understand. Don’t let them hurt me, please Peter!”
“Don’t listen to him,” Dean yelled. “Demons lie. They read your mind and they try to get inside your head. Don’t let him.”
“Demon? What the hell’s wrong with you?” Peter struggled harder. “For God’s sake, he’s not evil, you don’t understand!”
Dean snatched up a flask marked with a crucifix from the desk, ripped off the top, and splashed the contents at Sam. The water hissed against his skin, Sam screamed like a wounded animal and his eyes flashed back.
Dean shot the Petrellis a glance that seemed almost sympathetic. “That look like not evil to you?”
Nathan and Peter both stared as Dean went back to reading.
Sam turned back to Peter, and his please became louder, more desperate. “This doesn’t change anything,” Sam called. “You think because your powers come from some gene, you’re different from me? You’re a freak, Peter. You’re an abomination. You’re so weak, you need a real man to hold you down and show you your place. You can’t do anything without their approval. You’re weak, Peter. Useless. You’re nothing but a tool for whoever’s strong enough to use you.”
“Shut up,” Nathan snapped. He looked over at Dean, who just kept reading aloud, faster now.
“Tell them, Peter,” Sam went on. “Tell them how you wanted Sam to hurt you. How you begged him to abuse you. But he was too damn soft, until I showed him how it was done. And you loved it. Tell them, Peter. Who’s the freak?”
Dean raised his voice, but Sam only spoke louder to drown out the chanting. “Nathan, you can’t pretend you’re better than us. What you can do doesn’t make you a god or an angel or anything other than a monster. If you won’t join us on your own, we’ll find a way to break you. We know all sorts of ways to break people, don’t we, Peter?”
This time Peter had to hold back his brother as he lunged for Sam.
“Come on, Petrelli,” Sam taunted. “Come take what you deserve.”
Dean shouted over him, “Benedictus Deus. Gloria Patri!”
Sam’s head snapped back. Black smoke poured out of his mouth, rising in a swirling maelstrom to spread against the ceiling before whirling out the window. Sam slumped to the floor.
Dean was beside him in an instant. Nathan stayed where he was, gripping Peter tight. He sincerely hoped someone was about to explain what just happened.
--
Dean rolled Sam onto his back and looked for injuries. If he’d been hurt, if the demon had been all that was keeping him upright…
Sam coughed and tried to sit up. Dean pushed him back down.
“Dean? Dean!” His eyes darted to the doorway, where both Petrellis stood watching warily. “Oh god, Peter. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Peter said weakly.
Dean shook him to get his attention back. “Sam, what the hell happened?”
“We were attacked,” Sam said. “I remember chasing that demon… Then I wasn’t in control any more. How did you know to come looking?”
“Castiel called. Said a few things that tipped me off. Said you’d been attacked, the place smelled like sulpher, and that you were acting weird.”
“Thanks for coming.” Sam pushed himself up, wincing at aches that seemed to reach every part of him.
“How can you be sure he’s okay?” Nathan demanded.
“Nice thing about exorcisms,” Dean said. “It’s pretty obvious when they work. Sam, did the demon say anything about why he was here?”
“No… No clues.”
“We had some trouble at the hospital earlier. Yellow eyes.”
“Is everyone okay?” Sam asked quietly, as if he was afraid to talk about it in front of the Petrellis.
“Yeah, yeah. Turns out Nathan-I mean, Mr. Petrelli’s pretty handy in a fight.”
“I’ll take Peter home now,” Nathan said. “Let’s go, Pete.”
“I don’t need an escort. I’m fine,” Peter said. He shrugged off Nathan’s grip.
“Let’s go.” Nathan went to the apartment door.
Peter hesitated, his eyes fixed on Sam. “Sam?”
Sam kept his eyes fixed on the ground, face creased with a miserable look of guilt.
“I’ll take care of him,” Dean said softly. “Go.”
Peter nodded reluctantly and allowed his brother to lead him out of the apartment.
--
Six months later
“Dean, I’m taking the Impala!”
“No,” Dean called from the kitchenette.
“Dean, come on. I need it today.”
“You’ve played that card too often recently. All you’ve done all summer is borrow my car.” Dean walked in holding a plate piled high with a sandwich. “So uno, dude. No more cards.”
“Uno means you have one more card,” Sam muttered.
“Whatever. I hate that game.” Dean threw himself down in a chair next to the room’s only table and set his sandwich in front of him. “You’re not taking my car. I have worked too hard this week standing between damnation and Petrelli International, I think those hell bitches are finally getting the point, and I deserve to drive to a strip club and get one hell of a lap dance.” He punctuated his point by taking an enormous bite of his sandwich.
“It’s important.” Sam stayed by the doorway, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “I’ve got... I’ve got a date with Peter.”
“Peter Petrelli?” Dean asked through a mouthful of bread.
“Yeah.”
“Sammy…” Dean swallowed hard and prepared to explain to his brother--again--why this was a bad idea.
“Before you freak out, just let me say something.” Sam crossed the room in three long strides and took the seat across from Dean. “Peter and I are fine. I don’t know what hang-ups you and Nathan have about what happened, but Peter and I are over it. We didn’t let is poison us, because we don’t just shut up and let emotional wounds fester like you do.”
“Thanks a lot,” Dean muttered. He picked at his sandwich, but he couldn’t come up with an argument against what Sam was saying.
“We’re fine, Dean. Hell, I think in some ways that demon did us a favor.”
“Yeah. Real nice hell-spawn, that one.”
Sam ignored him. “I have something special planned for today, and I would like to borrow the car. Please.”
“Special?” Now Dean narrowed his eyes. “You are not fucking in the Impala!”
“Wasn’t planning on it.” Sam sounded scandalized.
“So what are you planning that couldn’t happen in a taxi?”
“We’re going out of town.” It was Sam’s turn to fidget. “To Burnholt.”
“What’s in--?” Dean started to ask, before he came up with the answer on his own. “Dad’s cabin?”
“Yeah.”
“Sam, that place is a dump. Nobody’s been in there since…” Dean shook his head. He didn’t like to dwell on memories of the bad things that had happened to them over the years. “Well, you know.”
“Actually…” Sam kept staring at the surface of the table, and Dean started putting the clues together for himself.
“You’ve been fixing it up,” he concluded.
“Yeah.”
“That’s where you’ve been taking my car all summer.”
“Yeah.”
Dean pushed his chair back angrily and got up from the table so he wouldn’t have to sit there watching Sam look guilty. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me about this?”
“Because I didn’t want to argue, Dean.”
“So you lied to me? Snuck around behind my back?”
“Dean. Look.” Sam pulled his phone out of his pocket and hit a few buttons before passing it over. “I took a few pictures.”
Dean took the phone and said nothing for a few moments as he flipped through the photos. He’d almost forgotten the stonework around the fireplace, and the way the afternoon sunshine sparkled on the lake. “The new roof looks good,” he said at last.
“I nearly drove a roofing nail through my foot doing that.” Sam came to stand next to him.
“Paid off, I guess.” He handed the phone back to Sam.
“You done being pissed?”
“Yeah.” He walked back to the table and slumped into his chair.
“I’m taking the Impala.”
“Fine.” Dean thought of the road to the cabin, the long drive through nowhere-in-particular, and imagined his brother making the trip alone all summer. “Sam?”
“Yeah?” He hoisted his duffel bag.
“You did all this for Peter?”
“Well, not all for him. But mostly, yes.” Sam paused with his hand on the door. “He’s worth it, Dean.”
“Okay.” Dean nodded curtly and picked up his sandwich. “He’d better put out, is all I’m saying.”
“Goodbye, Dean.”
“I want details,” Dean called after him.
“Goodbye, Dean.”
“And not in the car!”
“Goodbye!”
--
Peter knocked and the door of Nathan’s office and received an immediate, “Come in.”
Nathan sat behind his desk, scribbling intently all over some important-looking document. He didn’t look up.
“Ma said you might be here.” Peter didn’t wait for an invitation, but wandered in and made himself at home on one of the sofas. “I told her it was a Saturday morning, and surely you’d be at the hospital with Heidi for her physio.”
“Damn.” Nathan dropped his pen and looked up. “That’s today?”
“And every Saturday,” Peter said mildly.
Nathan shook his head. “Elle was supposed to put all that on my schedule. I’ll have to talk to her about it.” He picked up his pen and went back to scribbling.
“I didn’t come here for that, anyway,” Peter said. “I wanted to tell you something.”
“Is it about how you’re seeing Sam Winchester again?”
“You knew about that?” Peter winced.
Nathan didn’t even pause in his work. “I have people whose job it is to keep an eye on my assets.”
“And I’m one of your assets?”
Nathan glanced up to shook him an annoyed look. “Of course, Peter.”
Perhaps that shouldn’t have made Peter feel good, but it did. “So you don’t mind my seeing Sam.”
“Fuck whoever you want, Peter. Just make sure it doesn’t interfere with the company. Besides, if Dean is right about those things-,” Nathan never could bring himself to say demons, “Then it couldn’t hurt for you to have the extra protection.”
“You’re an ass, Nathan.” Peter jumped off the sofa and went for the door.
“Wait.” Nathan flew after him and caught his arm. “Wait.” He took a breath and seemed to be bracing himself to give up a hard-fought concession. “I don’t like what Sam did, but if you say it wasn’t his fault, I believe you. I trust you, Pete. And I know he can give you something you need…” Peter heard the precarious edge in Nathan’s voice, the unspoken, something I can’t give you. “And I’d rather you get that from someone who understands what you are.”
“Our abilities, you mean.”
“No. I mean you. You’re special, Pete. Never forget it.” Nathan straightened and pulled away. “And you’re a Petrelli. You deserve to have whatever you want.”
“Thanks, Nathan.” Peter squeezed Nathan’s arm, and was about to say something more when his phone buzzed. He plucked it out of his pocket and checked the caller ID. “That’s him now, actually.”
“Fine.” Nathan was already walking back to his desk. “Have fun. Don’t be seen in public with him.”
“Whatever.” Peter rolled his eyes. He slipped out of Nathan’s office, feeling lighter than he had in months, and answered the phone. “Sam? What’s the plan?”
--
The rumble of the Impala filled the easy silence between them. Every time Sam glanced over from the driver’s seat, he couldn’t help but grin at the wide-eyed contentment on Peter’s face as he stared out at the landscape rushing by. Sam turned onto the dirt road that led through to the edge of the lake, then stopped the car. “Close your eyes.”
Peter looked skeptical for a moment, but at Sam’s, “please,” he gamely covered his eyes with his hands.
The Impala growled and bucked over the rough road. “Please tell me you’re not taking me into the woods to kill me,” Peter said. “I spent long enough defending you to Nathan that it’d be embarrassing to be proved wrong.”
“Yeah, I had to defend you to Dean, too.”
Peter peeked out from behind his fingers to share a knowing smile, and just like that another bond connected them.
Sam pulled the Impala onto the grass and killed the engine. “We’re here. You can look.”
Peter took his hands away from his eyes and stared out the windshield at the little wooden cabin on the lake.
For several seconds he just looked, saying nothing. A flock of geese took off from the water and flew off toward the south, honking. They seemed to give Peter back his speech. “This is yours?” he asked.
“It was my dad’s.” He climbed out of the car, and Peter did likewise. “It’s mine and Dean’s now. I’ve been fixing it up.”
“Wow… This is… wow.” Peter walked around to the front of the Impala, but seemed shy to approach any closer. Sam went to him.
“Listen, I know you used to have a place like this.” He drew a single key on a ring out of his pocket and held it out to Peter. “I want you to be able to come here whenever you want. If you need a place to get away, or… Just if you want to.”
“Sam, I…” Peter looked down at the key.
“Is this weird?” Sam shifted his weight nervously as a wave of doubt overcame him. “I didn’t want it to seem like…”
“No.” Peter closed his hands over Sam’s. “No, Sam, it’s great.” He took the key, but kept one of his hands twined with Sam’s. “I just had no idea.”
“It’s demon-proof, too.” Sam led Peter toward the front door. “The doorjamb and the windows have a salt line built into them. Devil’s traps painted everywhere--.”
“Sam.” Peter shut him up with a kiss that made Sam forget where he was for a moment. “It’s great. Thank you.” He held up his key and started for the door. “Is there a fireplace?”
“Yeah,” Sam said, following.
“Bearskin rug?” Peter leaned back against the front door and stretched languidly.
“Well, a rug.”
“Want to break it in?”
“Yes I do.”
Peter turned the key in the lock and beckoned Sam inside.
--
END
Fandom: Heroes/Supernatural (AU for both)
Rating:: NC-17
Pairings: Sam/Peter, hints of Nathan/Peter
Warning: D/S play, Consent issues relating to mistaken identity, mild violence
Author's notes: This is the long, long, long, long overdue fic which pinkfinity bought for Sweet Charity last year. Thanks to pinkfinity for being so patient, and redandglenda and jaune_chat for the beta help. Apologies to John Patrick Shanley for shameless misappropriation of his title.
Summary: Peter is tired of the pressures of his family’s work at Petrelli International, and finds the safety and acceptance he needs with a man who has something to do with the mysterious problems plaguing the family.
See Part One here
“Who is this guy again?” Peter asked. He wasn't sure he liked the look of the somber man in the trenchcoat who had been standing over the scene, seemingly just staring, while the other cops had supervised loading their unconscious attackers into an ambulance.
“Detective friend of Dean's,” Sam said shortly. Then he cocked his head, considering. “Or maybe friend is too strong a word. A guy he knows. Apparently they help each other out from time to time. Can't say I think much of his type.”
As if he'd heard them, the cop turned and fixed Sam with a penetrating look before striding over. When he stood in front of them, he looked them both up and down efficiently, and turned to Peter. “You are Peter Petrelli?”
“Yes,” Peter said slowly.
“Peter, this is Detective Castiel,” Sam said with an overly grand gesture. “Detective, I don't know if you remember--.”
“I know who you are,” Castiel said shortly. He seemed reluctant to tear his eyes away from Sam, but he glanced at Peter to ask, “Did you recognize the men who attacked you?”
“No. I assumed they worked for my brother. If it hadn't been for Sam--.”
“Did they say what they wanted? Did they ask for anything?”
“Not that I remember.”
“They wanted him to get in the car,” Sam spoke up. “They seemed to want him alive. I believe one of them had a weapon. That must have been what blew up the car.”
Peter threw Sam a sharp look.
“We did not recover a gun,” Castiel said.
“Didn't say it wasn't a gun,” Sam smiled back sweetly, and Peter wondered if he always antagonized the authorities this much, or if he had some sort of a history with this detective. In any case, it was time to jump in.
“Must have been a tazer,” Peter said quickly. “That would support your theory that they wanted me alive.”
“Can you think of any reason why someone would want to abduct you?” Castiel asked.
“I can think of a dozen,” Peter shrugged. “But my brother was attacked tonight, too. They've got to be related.”
“Hm,” was all Castiel said to that. “Was either of you injured in the attack?”
“No,” Peter jumped in before Sam could open his mouth. The last thing he needed was this detective hearing a story of some mysterious, miraculous powers being displayed and connect it somehow to Nathan or any of the other Petrellis. “Sam's pretty good with his fists. And with a tire iron, apparently.”
Sam threw him an amused look, but Peter ignored it.
“I'm going to put you in protective custody until we find your attackers,” Castiel announced with a hard glare at Sam.
“Is my brother in protective custody?”
Castiel's face almost showed an expression. “No. Mr. Petrelli refused police protection.”
“Well then thank you, detective, but I think I'll follow my brother's example. Seems like Sam's all the bodyguard I need.” He turned quickly to Sam. “I mean, that is, if you want to stay. You don't have to--.”
“Of course.” Sam clapped Peter's shoulder. “You don't have to ask.”
“Mister Petrelli.” Castiel gave him a pained look. “I recommend that you come with us. Mister Winchester is hardly a suitable--.”
“Is that all, detective?” Peter said coolly. He straightened to his full height and gave Castiel the bored, haughty glare he’d seen his everyone else in his family display with alarming regularity. “Mister Winchester and I are leaving.”
“Wait--,” Castiel called, but Peter had already grabbed Sam’s wrist and begun pulling him away from the police. When they were clear of the crime scene tape, Peter chanced a glance back to see if Sam thought he was behaving suspiciously, and saw that Sam was grinning ear-to-ear, as if they’d just gotten away with something by the skin of their teeth.
--
“I could use a drink.” Sam pushed open the door to his apartment and ushered Peter inside.
“You want something?” He strode off into the kitchen.
Peter didn't reply; he couldn't decide whether he wanted alcohol to quiet the nervous buzz inside him or if he'd rather curl up with Sam and sleep until someone called with news.
Sam solved the dilemma by bringing back two open beer bottles and handing one to Peter.
“Apparently I need to start keeping hard stuff in the house.” He swigged down several gulps of his drink while Peter stood unmoving.
“Hey.” Sam set his bottle aside and took hold of Peter's shoulders. “You're shaking.”
Peter tried to produce a smile, but managed only half. “I'm fine,” he lied. “It's just adrenaline.” Using any new ability for the first time always left him feeling off base. He had no idea where that healing ability had come from, but if he hadn't had it, if that man had kept hurting Sam, if he hadn't been able to turn that other man's power against him…
“Peter. Calm down.” The command in Sam's voice grounded Peter and helped him focus. “You did fine.” Sam slid a hand to the back of Peter's neck and pulled him in for a possessive kiss that left Peter calm and pliant.
“Thanks,” Peter muttered.
“It's okay.” Sam took Peter's beer away and set it on an overstuffed bookshelf. “I know what you need.”
He kissed Peter again, this time walking him backwards until Peter's back thumped into the wall. Sam ran a hand down Peter's back to grab his ass hard as he pushed his hips forward, trapping Peter.
“I know what you want,” Sam muttered, breath hot in Peter's ear. “Let me take control. Let me make you feel safe again.”
Peter had never seen that hungry, predatory look in Sam's eyes. He bit his lip to keep back a moan. If Sam hadn't had him pinned to the wall, his knees might have buckled. He couldn't control what was happening to his family; he couldn't fix anything that had happened tonight, but if Sam would allow it, he knew he could do this right. He could please Sam. He could be good. If only Sam would let him.
“Am I right?” Sam asked. He dug his fingers hard into Peter's ass. “Is this what you need?”
“Please.” The plea tumbled out of Peter's mouth, and his skin heated at how desperate he sounded already.
“That's right.” Sam ground against him, dragging another involuntary moan out of Peter when he realized how hard he'd gotten already.
Sam leveled one arm against Peter's chest to keep him pinned. He pulled his hand away from Peter's ass to cup his crotch and rubbed Peter roughly through his tightening jeans, squeezing him almost to the point of pain. “What's this, Peter?”
Peter's mouth gaped, but his brain seemed to have short-circuted.
“We've been at this--what?--two minutes, and you're already so hard it hurts.” Sam leaned in and planted a close-mouthed kiss on Peter's lips. “You really are a slut for this.”
Peter's cock jerked against Sam's hand, and he let his eyes fall shut as a deeper flush crept up his face. He hadn't realized how badly he needed this. Sam indulged Peter's requests for rough play from time to time, but never seemed to put his heart into it. Whatever barrier the night's events had broken had evidently let out a part of Sam capable of giving Peter exactly what he needed. Not a moment too soon: when he entered the apartment, Peter had felt lost, adrift, and now hope and hot, overwhelming arousal buoyed him. He hadn't felt so dominated, so free since--Well, for years. He opened his eyes again to find Sam watching him with a measuring look.
“Knees,” Sam said, and stepped away.
Peter melted to the floor, unsure if he'd have been able to stand on his own anyway. He looked up at Sam, who from this angle seemed ten feet tall, and felt a visceral, anticipatory shudder rip through him.
“Get it out,” Sam ordered.
Peter's hands went right to Sam's jeans. He unbuttoned and unzipped him efficiently, despite his trembling hands. He pulled down the boxers with the pants to free Sam's lengthy erection. He almost took it in his hand, then remembered his manners and looked to Sam for further instructions.
“Good boy,” Sam said, sending a satisfied flutter through Peter's belly. “You can touch.”
Peter wrapped his hand around the base. He pulled gently, watching the fascinating slide of skin as if he'd never seen Sam's cock before. He wasn't fully hard yet, so Peter stroked him slowly, twisting his hand when he got to the crown, twisting the other way on the backstroke. He looked up at Sam again, and asked softly, “Can I lick it?”
Sam cocked his head to the side and gave a thin smile. “Can you lick what?”
“Can I lick your cock, Sir?” Peter's mouth went dry. Sam. He'd meant to say Sam, but somehow Sir had come out instead.
Sam's eyes hardened.
Fear assaulted Peter: fear that Sam would say no. Suddenly having a cock in his mouth seemed vital, as if Peter would die if he couldn't have it. “Please. I'll make it good. You know I can make it good. Sam, please.”
“Shh.” Sam held up a hand to stop the flow of words. He dragged a finger up Peter's neck and petted him on the cheek. “Okay, Peter. Tongue only.”
Peter dove forward to lick first at the head of Sam's cock, then all the way down the shaft, desperate to taste every part of Sam.
“That's it.” Sam petted Peter's hair, but made no move to direct him. “Look at you. So eager for it. Poor boy. You've been neglected too long. Don't worry. I'm here.” His hand fell away. “Stop now, Peter.”
Peter reluctantly dragged his mouth away and looked up at Sam.
“Up,” Sam ordered. “Take your clothes off.”
Peter jumped to his feet and obeyed as quickly as possible, leaving his clothes in an untidy heap on the floor. Then he stood still, trying not to fidget, as Sam walked around behind him.
“Your skin is so pale,” Sam said, sounding almost reverent. Fingers brushed over Peter's hip. “Soft, too.”
Sam's large arms wrapped around Peter's waist, and Peter shivered in delight when he realized from the warm press of skin against his back that Sam was naked, too. Sam licked a line from Peter's shoulder blade up to his neck, and Peter bit back a groan as his neglected dick began to throb.
“So responsive. It must be difficult to feel so much all the time and not know what to do about it.” Sam curled a hand loosely, teasingly, around Peter's cock. “It's okay now. I'll take good care of you.” He pulled Peter tight against him, pressing his slick erection to the crack of Peter's ass. “You just have to say yes. Can you do that?”
“Yes. Yes sir,” Peter breathed. His face heated again at the word, which gave away his need too clearly.
“Good,” Sam said. “You remember where I keep supplies?”
Peter nodded.
“Go get the lube.” Sam released him. Peter started forward, but Sam stopped him with a sharp, “No.”
Peter turned around, puzzled.
“Crawl.”
Peter's muscles clenched all over as the command went through him like a little earthquake. He sank to his knees again. A strange, pleasant buzz that had nothing to do with alcohol fired his blood as he obeyed, crawling like an animal for his master. He retrieved the bottle of lube from the drawer of the bedside table and returned to the living room to find Sam sitting on the couch, idly stroking his full erection. The sight sent a shiver of lust through Peter.
“There.” Sam pointed to the center of the room. Peter crawled to the spot, giving Sam an easy view of his ass. “On your back. Spread your legs and open yourself up.”
Peter nodded his compliance. By now his arousal drown out all other thoughts; he felt profoundly grateful for Sam's succinct instructions. He slicked his fingers, laid back against the rug, and spread his legs. Reaching awkwardly down, he breached himself with one finger.
“No,” Sam snapped.
Peter froze, and Sam appeared, towering over him. “One? You can't possibly expect me to believe that a cockslut like you needs to start with one finger.”
Peter's heart pounded in his chest and his dick throbbed along with it. Sam had never spoken to him like that, never called him names. Now, however, he seemed to notice how his words affected Peter. “You like being ordered around by the hired help? Debasing yourself like this for a man your brother wouldn't even allow into his office. You love getting down and dirty, Peter, I can see it all over your face. Are you listening to me, whore? I know you can take more than that. Start with three. Go on.”
Peter braced his feet against the floor and canted his hips up. He worked three slick fingers into his tight ass, breathing through the uncomfortable stretch and trying to ignore the painful hardness of his cock.
“Good boy.” Sam crouched next to him. He picked up the lube and coated his own fingers. “You love the feeling of being stretched open wide. That's why you love my thick cock.” Two of Sam's meaty fingers crowded at Peter's entrance. “You just can't get enough.” Sam pressed his fingers in alongside Peter's hand.
Peter couldn't stop his hips from jerking away. Sam laid a hand on Peter's belly to still him.
“I was thinking even I might not be enough for an insatiable slut like you. Maybe we should get you a dildo to suck. Fill up your mouth while I fill up your ass. Would you like that?”
Sam shoved his fingers in further, and Peter could only groan helplessly.
“Or maybe you'd prefer a real cock. What do you think, Peter? Should I call in some help?” Sam began screwing his fingers slowly in and out of Peter, sliding their fingers alongside each other. “I bet you'd love having two men at once, holding you down, shoving into you, getting you filthy. Well, filthier.”
Peter bit back a sob and shoved down onto their twined fingers, hungry for more.
“I know who you want. I've seen the way you look at Dean. You like the way he talks, swearing like a sailor. A little dumb, a little rough around the edges. Didn't have a gentle upbringing, like pretty little Peter. You want to suck his cock, I can tell. Isn't that true?”
Peter shook his head no frantically, then yelped when Sam's free hand clamped around Peter's balls, squeezing him painfully hard.
“Don't lie to me, Peter. I know how you think. Tell me the truth.” His grip didn't relent. “Peter.”
“Yes,” Peter gasp. “Yes, I want to suck Dean's cock.”
Sam released his grip, and Peter could breathe again. Sam pulled his fingers out, only to pour more lube on his hand and return with three large fingers.
Peter tried to pull his own fingers out of his ass, but Sam's warning, “Peter,” made him stay. Sam worked his three fingers in beside them. Peter threw his head back against the rug and tried to keep breathing. Sam's voice burrowed into him as surely as his fingers, stripping away all control.
“On second thought,” Sam drawled. “Maybe even two cocks aren't enough for you. You always need more, Peter. Maybe it has something to do with being born with a silver spoon in your mouth. You're greedy. You feel entitled. But I know what you need even better than you do. You'd love to suck on one cock and have two cocks stretching your ass.”
Peter squirmed, too full, but Sam shushed him by crooking his fingers to brush against the spot that spent sparks of electricity skittering along Peter's veins. “That's it. You'd writhe like this, stuffed to your limit… Maybe that would finally be enough for you, finally sate your compulsive need to whore yourself out to anyone who'll have you.”
Peter whimpered his protest, but he couldn't think with Sam mercilessly fucking his fingers in and out of Peter's swollen hole.
“I know who you want, filling you up next to me. Yeah, you want him bad. You are shameless, you know that? Never saw a cock you didn't want to ride. Bet you've fucked half the people who work for your brother. That Haitian? The one who's always standing around like a fucking mute? You'd fuck him in a second. The man with the horn-rimmed glasses? You'd bend over a desk for him before he even asked. God, you're so easy. But I know you think about him, fantasize about him when you jerk off. Maybe sometimes you imagine I'm him. Hell, maybe you're thinking about him right now.”
Peter shook his head frantically, but couldn't form words.
Sam stabbed his fingers against Peter's prostate, which sent him bucking. Sam dropped on top of him, pinning their erections between them. He worked his fingers inside Peter as Peter thrust up against him desperately.
“I know who you want.” Sam leaned down to whisper in Peter's ear. “Nathan.”
Peter's release ripped through him, dragging with it an anguished shout. He rode out his orgasm writhing on his own fingers tangled with Sam's.
He was still panting for breath when Sam pulled their fingers out together and slid his cock into Peter's well-stretched ass.
“Yeah,” Sam breathed. He drove into Peter with hard, brutal snaps of his hips. He braced himself against Peter's shoulders and laughed as he fucked him: laughter with a nasty, maniacal edge Peter didn't recognize.
Peter wrapped his legs around Sam's back, needing comfort, needing contact. They slipped against their sweat-slick skin. Peter reached up to touch, but Sam grabbed his wrists and pinned them at his sides.
Sam dropped his head down near Peter's ear again. “That's it,” he grunted. “God, if they could see you now, how much you love taking it like this. You like this, slut? Do you, Peter? Say it!”
“Yes,” Peter sobbed.
Sam thrust in once more, deep, and his fingers clamped tight on Peter's wrists as he spent himself inside Peter.
He rolled to the side, and took Peter with him, keeping himself buried inside. “Good boy,” Sam said with a smirk. He brushed Peter's damp bangs out of his face. “I'm proud of you.”
Peter pulled himself off Sam. He shivered, too raw physically and emotionally to figure out what he should do. The elation of his orgasm had already faded in the wake of a strange, bruised feeling that went deeper than his bones.
“Hey, relax. You did good.” Sam, who had been so brutal just moments before, was all care now. He stood, led Peter into the bedroom, and pressed him into bed before retreating to the bathroom. He returned with a warm washcloth and towel and cleaned them both up. “I didn't hurt you, did I?” he asked softly.
“No,” Peter said. He felt sore, but he wasn't in pain, not really, aside from that nagging feeling of hurt, aching like a broken tooth. Sam could hardly be blamed for that, though; he'd only done what Peter had been practically begging him to do for months.
Sam crawled into bed behind Peter and gathered him against his chest. “Sure you're okay?” he asked softly.
Peter wasn't sure, but he nodded anyway. Silence settled over them. Peter drafted in a sleepy, sated haze as Sam trailed his fingers up and down Peter's naked side.
“Peter?” Sam's gentle query nudged Peter away from sleep.
“Hm?”
“Today, when those guys attacked us… It was weird how that limo just blew up.” The mattress creaked as Sam shifted. “And when that guy hit me, I swear I heard a rib crack.”
“Weird,” Peter said. He'd hoped Sam hadn't noticed.
“How do you explain something like that?”
Peter tried not to tense, but the mellow calm of a moment ago had evaporated, leaving him floundering. “I don't know,” he said lamely.
“Peter?” Sam scooted even closer, leaving no buffer of space between their bodies. “How long have you had your powers?”
“What?” Peter tried to force a laugh, but it sounded weak. “I don't know what you mean.”
“It's okay.” Sam rested his forehead against the nape of Peter's neck. “I have an ability too.”
“What do you mean?” Peter froze, barely breathing.
“I have these visions. I can see things that are going to happen. At first I thought they were just dreams.”
Peter turned over to face Sam. “But then they started coming true.”
“Exactly.” Sam sighed, and Peter recognized the tortured look of a man hell bent on beating himself up. “I'm sorry I never told you. It's not something I've ever been able to talk about.”
“I get it,” Peter said soothingly. “Does anyone know?”
“No.” Sam vehemently shook his head. “Can't tell my family. My brother would think I was a freak. A witch or a demon or something.”
“Come on, Sam. I don't think Dean could believe all that devil-spawn crap.”
A wary, steel-cold look flashed in Sam's eyes. “You don't know what Dean's capable of.”
“You're right, I don't,” Peter admitted. He looked down, thinking of the times people had said things about Nathan that he knew were false, and decided he'd be better off not making assumptions about Sam's brother. “I'm lucky, because my ability never made me feel like an outcast.”
“What do you mean?” Sam's voice sounded casual enough, but his body angled eagerly toward Peter.
“Okay, you can't tell anyone about this.” Peter heaved himself up to sitting. If there was anyone he could trust with this secret, it was Sam. He deserved to know. And besides, he'd brought up the question first. Peter couldn't bear to repay him with a lie. “Anyone. Not even Dean.”
“I promise,” Sam said impatiently.
“My family,” Peter said. If Nathan knew he was telling anyone this, he'd kill him. Somehow that thought only spurred Peter on. “We all have abilities, all of us. It's… Well let's just say it's part of what makes Petrelli International so successful.”
“Wait, you're saying it's normal for you? That everyone in your family has some kind of super power?”
“Kind of.” Peter searched for the right words. “These abilities are not evil, Sam. They're just a genetic trait, like brown eyes, or outrageous tallness.” He pushed Sam teasingly and got a distracted smile in return. “This is a good thing, Sam. You don't have to be alone anymore. I can help you! You said you had visions, right? My mom does, too.”
“Mrs. Petrelli has visions,” Sam said skeptically.
“She does,” Peter said. He decided this probably wasn't the time to explain how his own power worked. “She could help you figure out how to use your ability!”
“Peter stop, stop.” Sam held up his hands. “I'm not sure I want anyone to know about this.”
“Right, sorry.” Peter realized he was clutching Sam's arms, and let go reluctantly. “It's just… When I see a way I can help, I want to jump in and fix it. It's the house all over again, isn't it? I'm sorry.” He leaned over and kissed Sam, but he didn't respond. “What's wrong?”
For a moment, Sam just looked at him, wide-eyed. Then his whole body spasmed and he cried out. His hands clutched at his head as he slammed back against the headboard.
“Sam?” Peter grabbed hold of his arm, ready to steady him if he was having a seizure, but Sam just groaned. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut, his jaw clenched. “Sam?”
“It's happening again,” Sam gritted out.
“A vision,” Peter guessed.
Sam nodded. “It's… Here. My apartment.” He took a deep breath, and some of the tension seemed to drain out of him. He opened his eyes. “It's over.”
“What did you see?”
“Something bad,” Sam said gravely. “We've got to go.”
--
Nathan took the stairs two at a time, barely keeping up with Dean. At the top of the stairs, Dean held up a hand to stop him and whispered, “When we get in there, I’m taking the lead. I know what we’re dealing with. If I say run, you run.”
“Fine,” Nathan said tightly. He had no intention of hanging back if his brother was in danger, but Dean had certainly proved many times over tonight that he’d known what he was talking about. Nathan understood as much as he needed to about special abilities, but something else had been at work here tonight. Nathan had to give Dean credit for recognizing and stopping the strange, yellow-eyed man who’d come to the hospital to finish the job he’d started when he ran Nathan off the road. Until Nathan could find someone to give him a solid explanation of exactly what in hell was going on, he’d have to rely on Dean’s evident expertise.
Dean prowled down the hallway and listened at the third door, presumably Sam’s apartment. He drew a key from his pocket and carefully slid it into the lock. He looked up and Nathan, and nodded once. Nathan nodded back.
Dean held up three fingers, two, one, then turned the lock and rammed his shoulder into the door. “Sam!” he yelled as he rushed into the apartment.
Nathan followed a step behind. Inside the cramped, neat living room, the first thing Nathan saw was Peter. He stood by a low couch, pulling a shirt over his head. Behind him loomed Sam Winchester, face contorted in an enraged grimace, eyes fixed on Dean, who had pulled his gun and pointed it at his brother.
“Peter!” Nathan yelled.
“Get away from him, you son of a bitch,” Dean growled.
“Careful, Dean. You shouldn’t talk about Mary like that,” Sam shot back.
“Peter,” Nathan called. “Get over here.”
Peter looked between Sam, Dean, and Nathan before throwing out his arms and jumping in front of Dean’s gun. “Leave him alone!”
Dean took one hand off his gun to snatch Peter’s wrist and pull, sending him stumbling toward Nathan before leveling his gun again.
Nathan grabbed his wayward brother and held him tight.
“You’re not gonna shoot me, Dean-o,” Sam laughed.
“Don’t be too sure,” Dean snarled. But he lowered the gun and instead lunged at Sam, sending him stumbling backwards through a doorway that looked like it led to a den or office.
“Let me go,” Peter demanded, and fought wildly against Nathan’s grip.
Nathan counted himself lucky that Peter’s tenuous control over his powers evaporated completely when he was angry, so in his current state of agitation he wasn’t able to wield any of the arsenal of powers that could have easily made Nathan yield. “Stop,” Nathan said, tightening his grip on Peter. “We’re here to help you. That isn’t Sam.”
“You’re wrong. Nathan, he has powers; he’s like us. Let me go! Dean’s going to kill him!”
“It’s not him,” Nathan said as he struggled to drag his brother further away from the doorway where the sounds of fighting drifted through. “There’s some sort of mind control happening. Think, Pete. Has he been acting strangely tonight?”
Peter stopped struggling and turned a ghastly shade of white. For the first time, Nathan wondered why his brother had been half-clothed when they walked in.
A crash sounded from the adjoining room, followed by Sam’s shouted, “No!”
Peter squirmed out of Nathan’s grip and ran. Nathan cursed and flew after him. Luckily Dean stood blocking the doorway, so Peter hadn’t made it past.
“That’s what you get for coming into a hunter’s home, you son of a bitch,” Dean growled.
Nathan followed Dean’s eyes up to see an elaborate design painted in a circle on the ceiling. Below it, Sam threw himself at Dean and seemed to hit an invisible barrier. His eyes looked opaque, solid black, and he was snarling like an animal. Nathan could hardly believe this was the reserved, bookish young man he’d seen a few times with Dean. He’d let his baby brother be alone with this thing. “What the hell’s wrong with him?” Nathan asked.
Peter had frozen at the sign of Sam fighting and raging. Nathan’s question seemed to shake him out of his shock. He grabbed Dean’s shirt and yelled, “Stop it! Whatever you’re doing to him, just stop!”
Dean looked to Nathan, then back at Peter, and said gruffly, “I’m trying to help him.”
“Peter,” Sam called. He’d stopped struggling, and the total blackness had cleared from his eyes. “I’m sorry! What did I do?”
“Nathan!” Peter grabbed onto the front of Nathan’s shirt and gave him a look of angry determination. “Nathan, he didn’t do anything. What the hell is going on?”
Dean strode to the room’s small desk, careful to skirt the edge of the circle inscribed on the ceiling. “Stay out of it, Peter.” He pawed through a stack of books until he found the one he was looking for and flipped it open.
“Dean, I can’t believe you’d side with him.” Sam jerked his head at Nathan. “Over your own brother. What, are you jealous?”
“Shut up,” Dean said through gritted teeth.
“Sam--.” Peter started to go to him, but Nathan caught him and held him back. “Nathan, this is ridiculous,” he protested. “Let him go.”
Dean evidently found what he was looking for in the book, because he began reading aloud. It sounded like Latin, but Nathan could only recognize a few words: unclean spirit, our Lord Jesus Christ.
Nathan had only a minute to wonder what exactly Dean was up to before Peter started struggling again.
From inside the circle, Sam began pleading. “Don’t do this! Peter, please. You said you understood. You said you’d help me. Peter, please!” Sam reached toward Peter, and Nathan had to strain to hold Peter back. “They’re doing this because I’m different. They don’t understand. Don’t let them hurt me, please Peter!”
“Don’t listen to him,” Dean yelled. “Demons lie. They read your mind and they try to get inside your head. Don’t let him.”
“Demon? What the hell’s wrong with you?” Peter struggled harder. “For God’s sake, he’s not evil, you don’t understand!”
Dean snatched up a flask marked with a crucifix from the desk, ripped off the top, and splashed the contents at Sam. The water hissed against his skin, Sam screamed like a wounded animal and his eyes flashed back.
Dean shot the Petrellis a glance that seemed almost sympathetic. “That look like not evil to you?”
Nathan and Peter both stared as Dean went back to reading.
Sam turned back to Peter, and his please became louder, more desperate. “This doesn’t change anything,” Sam called. “You think because your powers come from some gene, you’re different from me? You’re a freak, Peter. You’re an abomination. You’re so weak, you need a real man to hold you down and show you your place. You can’t do anything without their approval. You’re weak, Peter. Useless. You’re nothing but a tool for whoever’s strong enough to use you.”
“Shut up,” Nathan snapped. He looked over at Dean, who just kept reading aloud, faster now.
“Tell them, Peter,” Sam went on. “Tell them how you wanted Sam to hurt you. How you begged him to abuse you. But he was too damn soft, until I showed him how it was done. And you loved it. Tell them, Peter. Who’s the freak?”
Dean raised his voice, but Sam only spoke louder to drown out the chanting. “Nathan, you can’t pretend you’re better than us. What you can do doesn’t make you a god or an angel or anything other than a monster. If you won’t join us on your own, we’ll find a way to break you. We know all sorts of ways to break people, don’t we, Peter?”
This time Peter had to hold back his brother as he lunged for Sam.
“Come on, Petrelli,” Sam taunted. “Come take what you deserve.”
Dean shouted over him, “Benedictus Deus. Gloria Patri!”
Sam’s head snapped back. Black smoke poured out of his mouth, rising in a swirling maelstrom to spread against the ceiling before whirling out the window. Sam slumped to the floor.
Dean was beside him in an instant. Nathan stayed where he was, gripping Peter tight. He sincerely hoped someone was about to explain what just happened.
--
Dean rolled Sam onto his back and looked for injuries. If he’d been hurt, if the demon had been all that was keeping him upright…
Sam coughed and tried to sit up. Dean pushed him back down.
“Dean? Dean!” His eyes darted to the doorway, where both Petrellis stood watching warily. “Oh god, Peter. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Peter said weakly.
Dean shook him to get his attention back. “Sam, what the hell happened?”
“We were attacked,” Sam said. “I remember chasing that demon… Then I wasn’t in control any more. How did you know to come looking?”
“Castiel called. Said a few things that tipped me off. Said you’d been attacked, the place smelled like sulpher, and that you were acting weird.”
“Thanks for coming.” Sam pushed himself up, wincing at aches that seemed to reach every part of him.
“How can you be sure he’s okay?” Nathan demanded.
“Nice thing about exorcisms,” Dean said. “It’s pretty obvious when they work. Sam, did the demon say anything about why he was here?”
“No… No clues.”
“We had some trouble at the hospital earlier. Yellow eyes.”
“Is everyone okay?” Sam asked quietly, as if he was afraid to talk about it in front of the Petrellis.
“Yeah, yeah. Turns out Nathan-I mean, Mr. Petrelli’s pretty handy in a fight.”
“I’ll take Peter home now,” Nathan said. “Let’s go, Pete.”
“I don’t need an escort. I’m fine,” Peter said. He shrugged off Nathan’s grip.
“Let’s go.” Nathan went to the apartment door.
Peter hesitated, his eyes fixed on Sam. “Sam?”
Sam kept his eyes fixed on the ground, face creased with a miserable look of guilt.
“I’ll take care of him,” Dean said softly. “Go.”
Peter nodded reluctantly and allowed his brother to lead him out of the apartment.
--
Six months later
“Dean, I’m taking the Impala!”
“No,” Dean called from the kitchenette.
“Dean, come on. I need it today.”
“You’ve played that card too often recently. All you’ve done all summer is borrow my car.” Dean walked in holding a plate piled high with a sandwich. “So uno, dude. No more cards.”
“Uno means you have one more card,” Sam muttered.
“Whatever. I hate that game.” Dean threw himself down in a chair next to the room’s only table and set his sandwich in front of him. “You’re not taking my car. I have worked too hard this week standing between damnation and Petrelli International, I think those hell bitches are finally getting the point, and I deserve to drive to a strip club and get one hell of a lap dance.” He punctuated his point by taking an enormous bite of his sandwich.
“It’s important.” Sam stayed by the doorway, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “I’ve got... I’ve got a date with Peter.”
“Peter Petrelli?” Dean asked through a mouthful of bread.
“Yeah.”
“Sammy…” Dean swallowed hard and prepared to explain to his brother--again--why this was a bad idea.
“Before you freak out, just let me say something.” Sam crossed the room in three long strides and took the seat across from Dean. “Peter and I are fine. I don’t know what hang-ups you and Nathan have about what happened, but Peter and I are over it. We didn’t let is poison us, because we don’t just shut up and let emotional wounds fester like you do.”
“Thanks a lot,” Dean muttered. He picked at his sandwich, but he couldn’t come up with an argument against what Sam was saying.
“We’re fine, Dean. Hell, I think in some ways that demon did us a favor.”
“Yeah. Real nice hell-spawn, that one.”
Sam ignored him. “I have something special planned for today, and I would like to borrow the car. Please.”
“Special?” Now Dean narrowed his eyes. “You are not fucking in the Impala!”
“Wasn’t planning on it.” Sam sounded scandalized.
“So what are you planning that couldn’t happen in a taxi?”
“We’re going out of town.” It was Sam’s turn to fidget. “To Burnholt.”
“What’s in--?” Dean started to ask, before he came up with the answer on his own. “Dad’s cabin?”
“Yeah.”
“Sam, that place is a dump. Nobody’s been in there since…” Dean shook his head. He didn’t like to dwell on memories of the bad things that had happened to them over the years. “Well, you know.”
“Actually…” Sam kept staring at the surface of the table, and Dean started putting the clues together for himself.
“You’ve been fixing it up,” he concluded.
“Yeah.”
“That’s where you’ve been taking my car all summer.”
“Yeah.”
Dean pushed his chair back angrily and got up from the table so he wouldn’t have to sit there watching Sam look guilty. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me about this?”
“Because I didn’t want to argue, Dean.”
“So you lied to me? Snuck around behind my back?”
“Dean. Look.” Sam pulled his phone out of his pocket and hit a few buttons before passing it over. “I took a few pictures.”
Dean took the phone and said nothing for a few moments as he flipped through the photos. He’d almost forgotten the stonework around the fireplace, and the way the afternoon sunshine sparkled on the lake. “The new roof looks good,” he said at last.
“I nearly drove a roofing nail through my foot doing that.” Sam came to stand next to him.
“Paid off, I guess.” He handed the phone back to Sam.
“You done being pissed?”
“Yeah.” He walked back to the table and slumped into his chair.
“I’m taking the Impala.”
“Fine.” Dean thought of the road to the cabin, the long drive through nowhere-in-particular, and imagined his brother making the trip alone all summer. “Sam?”
“Yeah?” He hoisted his duffel bag.
“You did all this for Peter?”
“Well, not all for him. But mostly, yes.” Sam paused with his hand on the door. “He’s worth it, Dean.”
“Okay.” Dean nodded curtly and picked up his sandwich. “He’d better put out, is all I’m saying.”
“Goodbye, Dean.”
“I want details,” Dean called after him.
“Goodbye, Dean.”
“And not in the car!”
“Goodbye!”
--
Peter knocked and the door of Nathan’s office and received an immediate, “Come in.”
Nathan sat behind his desk, scribbling intently all over some important-looking document. He didn’t look up.
“Ma said you might be here.” Peter didn’t wait for an invitation, but wandered in and made himself at home on one of the sofas. “I told her it was a Saturday morning, and surely you’d be at the hospital with Heidi for her physio.”
“Damn.” Nathan dropped his pen and looked up. “That’s today?”
“And every Saturday,” Peter said mildly.
Nathan shook his head. “Elle was supposed to put all that on my schedule. I’ll have to talk to her about it.” He picked up his pen and went back to scribbling.
“I didn’t come here for that, anyway,” Peter said. “I wanted to tell you something.”
“Is it about how you’re seeing Sam Winchester again?”
“You knew about that?” Peter winced.
Nathan didn’t even pause in his work. “I have people whose job it is to keep an eye on my assets.”
“And I’m one of your assets?”
Nathan glanced up to shook him an annoyed look. “Of course, Peter.”
Perhaps that shouldn’t have made Peter feel good, but it did. “So you don’t mind my seeing Sam.”
“Fuck whoever you want, Peter. Just make sure it doesn’t interfere with the company. Besides, if Dean is right about those things-,” Nathan never could bring himself to say demons, “Then it couldn’t hurt for you to have the extra protection.”
“You’re an ass, Nathan.” Peter jumped off the sofa and went for the door.
“Wait.” Nathan flew after him and caught his arm. “Wait.” He took a breath and seemed to be bracing himself to give up a hard-fought concession. “I don’t like what Sam did, but if you say it wasn’t his fault, I believe you. I trust you, Pete. And I know he can give you something you need…” Peter heard the precarious edge in Nathan’s voice, the unspoken, something I can’t give you. “And I’d rather you get that from someone who understands what you are.”
“Our abilities, you mean.”
“No. I mean you. You’re special, Pete. Never forget it.” Nathan straightened and pulled away. “And you’re a Petrelli. You deserve to have whatever you want.”
“Thanks, Nathan.” Peter squeezed Nathan’s arm, and was about to say something more when his phone buzzed. He plucked it out of his pocket and checked the caller ID. “That’s him now, actually.”
“Fine.” Nathan was already walking back to his desk. “Have fun. Don’t be seen in public with him.”
“Whatever.” Peter rolled his eyes. He slipped out of Nathan’s office, feeling lighter than he had in months, and answered the phone. “Sam? What’s the plan?”
--
The rumble of the Impala filled the easy silence between them. Every time Sam glanced over from the driver’s seat, he couldn’t help but grin at the wide-eyed contentment on Peter’s face as he stared out at the landscape rushing by. Sam turned onto the dirt road that led through to the edge of the lake, then stopped the car. “Close your eyes.”
Peter looked skeptical for a moment, but at Sam’s, “please,” he gamely covered his eyes with his hands.
The Impala growled and bucked over the rough road. “Please tell me you’re not taking me into the woods to kill me,” Peter said. “I spent long enough defending you to Nathan that it’d be embarrassing to be proved wrong.”
“Yeah, I had to defend you to Dean, too.”
Peter peeked out from behind his fingers to share a knowing smile, and just like that another bond connected them.
Sam pulled the Impala onto the grass and killed the engine. “We’re here. You can look.”
Peter took his hands away from his eyes and stared out the windshield at the little wooden cabin on the lake.
For several seconds he just looked, saying nothing. A flock of geese took off from the water and flew off toward the south, honking. They seemed to give Peter back his speech. “This is yours?” he asked.
“It was my dad’s.” He climbed out of the car, and Peter did likewise. “It’s mine and Dean’s now. I’ve been fixing it up.”
“Wow… This is… wow.” Peter walked around to the front of the Impala, but seemed shy to approach any closer. Sam went to him.
“Listen, I know you used to have a place like this.” He drew a single key on a ring out of his pocket and held it out to Peter. “I want you to be able to come here whenever you want. If you need a place to get away, or… Just if you want to.”
“Sam, I…” Peter looked down at the key.
“Is this weird?” Sam shifted his weight nervously as a wave of doubt overcame him. “I didn’t want it to seem like…”
“No.” Peter closed his hands over Sam’s. “No, Sam, it’s great.” He took the key, but kept one of his hands twined with Sam’s. “I just had no idea.”
“It’s demon-proof, too.” Sam led Peter toward the front door. “The doorjamb and the windows have a salt line built into them. Devil’s traps painted everywhere--.”
“Sam.” Peter shut him up with a kiss that made Sam forget where he was for a moment. “It’s great. Thank you.” He held up his key and started for the door. “Is there a fireplace?”
“Yeah,” Sam said, following.
“Bearskin rug?” Peter leaned back against the front door and stretched languidly.
“Well, a rug.”
“Want to break it in?”
“Yes I do.”
Peter turned the key in the lock and beckoned Sam inside.
--
END