Fic: Trailing Some New Kill. SPN/AtS crossover. Sam/Dean, Angel/Spike. PG-13.
Oh God, I haven't written these guys in YEARS. Let's blame everything on that, okay? This is so silly it's bordering on crack.
Yes, this is a crossover with Angel the Series. This story has been lying in a folder, untouched, for 7 years. Possibly it should have stayed there. It was supposed to be a longer story but there's no way I will ever do that now so I just cleaned it up a bit to form a more or less coherent storyline, even if it's missing the actual case and/or big fight in the middle. FYI, just now, before giving this a final read through, I read the other stories in the Normal!verse and that's when I discovered I have Sam and Dean actually watching Buffy at some point. *headdesk* Also, for some reason, Dean keeps calling Sam 'bro' in the first one. What was up with that? *cringes* Can we just pretend he didn't and that this whole verse is really cool and funny and not at all embarrassing? Great, thanks. *hides*
Title: Trailing Some New Kill (4th story in the Normal!verse)
Author: felisblanco
Pairings: Dean/Sam, Spike/Angel
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 7869
Warnings: Mentions past prostitution (Dean).
Summary: “So what’s the deal with that law firm?” Dean said. “Why do demons need a lawyer? Can’t they just eat whoever pisses them off?”
Author's Note: This is supposed to fit into the The Normal!verse but can stand on its own, I guess. It takes place sometime during the first season of SPN and the fifth of Angel.
Beta’d by the lovely candygramme but then I started fiddling with it because I'm just that annoying, so all mistakes are mine and mine alone. Title from the song Angeles, the Jensen Ackles version since I've never listened to any other.
Dean hated big cities. They stank of trash and too many fucking people. And city folks drove like idiots. He still hadn’t forgiven New York for whoever put a dent in the passenger door of the Impala four years ago. So he’d double-parked, so what? Fucking impossible finding a parking space anywhere. Not that you could still see the damage, he got it fixed right away, throwing in a proper paint job while he was at it. Cost an arm and a leg, or more precisely the max allowing of Robert Scott’s credit card, but nothing was too good for his baby.
Anyway, as far as he was concerned, city people could deal with their supernatural problems themselves. He’d take being stuck in Bumfuck, Montana for a week rather than spend a single night in a damn city. Not natural, so many people living together, practically on top of each other. Like ants or cockroaches.
Plus they had lousy bars, especially when it came to hustling.
And yet here they were, in LA of all places. Which according to Sam was a hot spot for supernatural activities. The fuckers even had their own law firm. How sick was that? Not his problem though. They weren’t staying here a minute longer than they had to. Just had to find out whatever was making people lose their heads and limbs all over the damn city and shoot the sons of bitches to hell. Easy enough.
“Dean, here. Turn here,” Sam suddenly said, interrupting Dean’s inner rant.
Dean threw him a sarcastic glare. “The light’s red, Brainiac.”
Beside him Sam rolled his eyes and impatiently tried to stretch his back. They’d been driving for four hours and Sam had been bitching for the last two. It was getting really annoying. Not his baby’s fault it wasn’t built for Sasquatches.
“I know, dumbass. Turn right when it changes. Like now, Dean. Hello? Before it goes red again?”
Dean sighed and took the turn, tires screeching. “You know, you’re just a ball of sunshine when you’re PMS-ing, Samantha.”
“Haha. Shut up.” Sam rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. “Seriously, Dean, we couldn’t have made one damn stop? My back is killing me.”
“Hey, you were the one who said this was urgent. ‘People are dying, Dean!’” Dean’s voice went squeaky, eyelashes fluttering dramatically. “‘We gotta do something!’”
“I do not sound like that!” Sam protested but his lips twitched at the corners and Dean grinned.
“Oh, you totally do. Like a drag queen on crack. And then you pout your lips-“
Sam sputtered. “That’s your gig!”
“… and turn those damn puppy eyes on me,” Dean continued, ignoring him, “like you’re still fucking five.” He shook his head. “Not fair, you know, using that on your own goddamn brother.”
Sam looked at him, blinking innocently. “What you saying, Dean? You saying all I gotta do is look at you and you fold like a two dollar bill?”
“No. But when your gigantic hand’s wrapped around my dick as well, it’s pretty hard to argue. Literally.” Dean glanced over and caught Sam blushing. He smirked. “What’s that, Sammy? Shy?”
“No.” Sam shifted in his seat, refusing to look at him but his ears were pink, and Dean could practically feel the heat radiating off him.
“Oh, man. You turned on?”
“Shut up.”
“You are.” Dean grinned even though his own jeans suddenly felt impossibly tight. “What, you picturing it now? Your hand around my dick, stroking it. Me, sucking your nipples. Your cock sliding into me.”
“Dean!” Sam hissed, shooting him a glare. “You’re such a damn tease.”
“Only if I don’t follow through,” Dean pointed out and frowned. “Now where’s that damn hotel?”
“One more turn right, and we should be there.” Sam adjusted himself, smiling when Dean involuntarily hitched his breath. “And you better follow through, you hear me? You owe me for playing that fucking Lynyrd Skynyrd tape on repeat for the last four hours.”
“Shut your mouth, heathen,” Dean admonished. He smirked, sliding a palm up Sam’s thigh. “And come on, Sammy, don’t I always take care of you?”
“One word. Dallas.”
Dean scowled and dug his fingers into Sam’s thigh. “One word. Flu.”
“Hey, if you can breathe…”
“Watch it or it’s Dallas all over again.”
-----------------
“Ok, so here’s the deal,” Sam started reciting as soon as Dean opened the bathroom door to let out some steam. “Ten mutilated bodies in the last ten days. No heads, no limbs. Could be a crazy serial killer collecting body parts or…”
“Anthrax demons,” Dean helpfully supplied.
“Agraxi,” Sam corrected impatiently.
Dean rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” He stepped into the room, towel in hand, and smirked when Sam glanced over then hurriedly looked back at the laptop, cheeks flushing. Ha! Who needed puppy eyes when they were this damn hot? Dean spent a generous time rubbing his hair with the unaccustomedly nice hotel towel while enjoying Sam’s awkward shifting in his seat, before reluctantly tying the towel around his waist. “This being LA, I say demons.”
Sam nodded, finally looking up. “Strange scorch marks on the walls. Little or no blood. Yep, sounds demonic to me.”
Dean pulled a t-shirt out of his duffel bag, sniffed it and grimaced before putting it on. Then dropped the towel and bent over to fetch his underwear where it had fallen on the floor in their hurry to get naked earlier. Sam coughed. Dean grinned.
“You positive silver bullets will kill them?” he asked, shimmying back into his dirty jeans. No use wasting a clean pair in the sewers.
“According to the legend.” Sam cleared his throat. “How are we on silver?”
“Alright for now.” Dean sat down on the rumpled bed to roll on his smelly socks. “Need to restock on holy water and iron bullets before we leave town though.”
“I’ll put it on the list.” Sam pulled out his notepad, adding the items beneath breath-mints, lube and gun-oil.
Dean snorted. “You’ll make a good wife one day, Sammy. How’s that needlepoint coming along, by the way?”
“Fuck you,” Sam said, not even bothering to look up, as he added a few more items to the list.
“Again?” Dean sighed dramatically. “I keep telling you, Sam, I’m an old man. I need time to recover.”
Sam shook his head but a smile tugged at his lips, and his cheeks flushed pink once again. “Shut up.”
Dean grinned and sauntered into the bathroom. “Seriously, Sam. You blushing will never get old,” he teased as he checked himself in the mirror. The cut above his eyebrow was healing nicely, the bruising faded to nearly nothing. He ran his fingers through his hair until it spiked the way he liked it then stroked the rough stubble on his face. He’d have to shave tonight, or Sam would start complaining about his delicate skin getting all scratched up, the fairy princess.
“Unlike you, grandpa,” Sam bit back but there was no heat in it. Dean watched Sam’s reflection stand up and stretch, blatantly showing a hint of treasure trail, the slut, before rolling back his shoulders, a slight grimace on his face. “You done making yourself pretty?” he added as he caught Dean’s eyes in the mirror. “Those demons won’t wait forever, you know.”
“What you mean, ‘making' myself pretty’?” Dean protested. “Dude, I’m always pretty. This face?” he leered, drawing a circle in the air around the feature in question and licking his lips for good measure. “Lifetime guarantee of prettiness.”
Sam snorted. “It better. I’m planning on selling you to the highest bidder when you get too old to hunt. You know, to pay for my retirement -” The sudden silence was beyond uncomfortable.
Dean inwardly sighed. Not this again. Ignoring Sam’s guilty gaze, Dean cocked his eyebrow. “At least I’d bring in enough money for a condo and a four-wheeler. Whereas we’d be lucky to afford a tent with what I’d get for you. Believe me, I checked.” He sighed. “I should have sold you when you were still small and cute.”
“Dean…”
Dean shot him a warning glare before grabbing his boots. “So what’s the deal with that law firm?” he said, knowing that changing the subject was the only way to get Sam to back off. “Why do demons need a lawyer? Can’t they just eat whoever pisses them off?”
He could feel Sam watching him but when Dean refused to look up Sam sighed and sat down on the chair, reaching for his own boots. “I don’t know. I knew this guy at Stanford… He said there’d been changes.” Sam shrugged. “His dad was involved or something.”
Dean straightened up, staring at him. “What? You just walked around talking to strangers about demons? What the hell, Sam?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Wasn’t like that. He approached me. He could… I don’t know, smell me or something. Knew I was a hunter.”
“Smell you?” Damn it! He hated when Sam kept things from him, especially about his Stanford years. Not that he was jealous or anything, it was just unsettling. And something like this… Come on, Sam knew better than not to share such an important detail. Which made Dean wonder why he hadn’t. “What was he, a demon sniffer? Half dog, half human? What?”
Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. He never said. He was really strong though.” Sam smiled suddenly. “And man, he had some moves. Even you’d have been impressed.”
Dean narrowed his eyes. “Yeah? He one of those you told me about? One of your blowjob buddies, Sam? That it?”
Sam stiffened. “We agreed we weren’t going to… It’s none of your goddamn business, Dean.”
“Oh hell.” The sarcasm slipped out before he managed to get a hold of himself. “Don’t tell me you slept with Spanky, the demon-sniffing half-dog.”
Sam stood up, glaring down at him. “You really wanna go down this road, Dean? ‘Cause if you do there are some questions I’d like answers to. You know, about your Pretty Woman days?”
This time the silence was painful.
“That’s low, even for you,” Dean finally said, keeping his voice painstakingly calm. It wasn’t that it bothered him, really it didn’t, but, fuck it, Sam still had no right to throw it in his face.
Sam swallowed. “Sorry. I just… You always…” He sighed, running his fingers through his hair like he always did when he was frustrated. “He was just a friend. Can we drop this?”
“Sure, whatever.” Dean grabbed his denim jacket. It smelled like Sam since he’d used it as a pillow in the car, and for some reason that really pissed Dean off. “You ready?” he said tightlipped as he rummaged the duffel bag for a pistol and some silver bullets.
“Dean.” Sam glanced up through his bangs, teeth worrying at his lip. “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean…”
“Yeah, you did,” Dean said and walked out.
-----------------
“And then I said, ‘Not bloody likely, mate.’ You should have seen his face. Honestly, you’d think I’d suggest he’d eat his mum or something.” Spike frowned. “Come to think of it, for a Wistla, that’s probably not an insult.”
“Spike.”
“Anyway, there I was, not a stitch on me ‘cept for my boots, and I’ve got nine feet of pissed off demon coming at me from one side, and his ladyfriend practically purring on the bed behind me…”
“Spike!”
“…and the only way out is through the window into broad daylight. So, not being suicidal, there was only one thing to do.”
“SPIKE!”
“What?”
Angel glared at him. “How many times do I have to tell you? I’m working. See this?” He waved his hand in irritation. “This is a desk. And these white things? These are papers.” He shuffled them around, stabbing his pen viciously down to sign one, hoping it didn’t involve sacrificing babies or something. “Papers which I have to read and sign and…”
“Yeah? See this?” Spike gave him the two-fingered salute. “This is me not caring. So anyway, I just gave him a smile and…” Spike took another sip from his beer and smiled wistfully. “Those Wistla demons… phew. I thought I’d never get out of there. Couldn’t walk for five days.”
“Can you just…” Angel frowned. “Wait, what? You… You had sex with it?”
“Well, yeah.” The smile got even bigger. “Have you ever seen a Wistla’s tongue? It’s like a… well, a cock. Except without the mess of come everywhere. So -”
“No! I don’t want to know.” Angel covered his ears, then realized he looked extremely stupid and slammed his palms down on the desk instead. “Why do you keep telling me these stories? Are you trying to make me jealous? Because it’s not working. The only thing it does is making me seriously reconsider touching you ever again.” He shuddered.
“Yeah, yeah.” Spike waved his hand dismissively. “You keep saying that and next thing I know I’m bent over the desk with your cock up my arse.” He sighed and shifted in the chair. “Talking about which, aren’t you done yet? My bloody balls are turning blue.”
“First off, it’s only been two hours since last time. Even your balls should be able to hold out for longer than that. Second, maybe I would be done if you’d stop interrupting me!”
Spike pouted, and Angel closed his eyes in exasperation. God, it was like dealing with a child. A five foot nine, horny, and illegally sexy child, that made Angel want to throttle him while fucking him hard enough that, maybe, for once, he’d shut up for more than five minutes.
On second thought, child was probably not the best word to use.
There was a quiet knock on the door, and then Wesley stuck his head in, as if taking in the status quo before braving the war zone that reigned most days in Angel’s office ever since Spike had been back. Well, war zone or brothel, you never really knew which one it would be. Seeing both parties still had their clothes on and weren’t, in the present moment, fighting, Wesley slinked inside.
Spike shot him a look of annoyance. Wesley showing up usually meant more work and more work meant he’d have to wait even longer for sex.
Wesley ignored Spike’s less than subtle hints for him to bugger off and said, “I thought you’d like to see this.” He put a folder on the desk and then stood back, waiting.
Angel sighed and picked it up. No doubt another boring legal case involving some damn demons that expected him to kiss their asses. Being a CEO was far less fun than he’d imagined. He flicked through the files in the folder. Police reports about ten mutilated bodies found, scattered evenly throughout the last ten days. Work of a deranged serial killer, no suspects, strange substance found at the crime scene. Clawmarks…
He looked up at Wesley, scowling. “Don’t tell me the Agraxi are back?”
“Agraxi? Bugger. Hate those things.” Spike jumped to his feet with a grin. If there was no sex to be had at least he got to kill something.
“Hopefully just one. They’re not much for company except when… you know.” Wesley made a face that spoke of far too many hours spent studying the sex lives of demonic entities. “But that’s not all.”
Angel sighed and put the police reports aside, picking up what seemed to be profiles. Two young men in their twenties stared out at him from the pictures attached to the corner. “These two of the victims?”
“No. These are the Winchesters. Apparently they’re in town. My guess is that they’re going after the Agraxi.” Wesley pursed his lips. “They might become a problem.”
Angel frowned confused, then his eyes suddenly widened in recognition. “The Winchesters? They’re here?”
“Who?” Spike walked over, grabbing the files from Angel’s hands. “Nice looking kids. I’d shag them anytime.” He gave Angel a smirk.
For once Angel didn’t rise to the bait. Instead he snagged the files back and read through them with a deep frown. “I thought the younger one was in college.”
He could feel Wesley’s eyes on him but didn’t look up. Ever since Wesley learned the truth about Connor, Angel had been waiting for the questioning to start. It hadn’t yet. But they both knew Sam Winchester had been in Stanford with Connor, in fact it was one of the few things they had discussed, the potential risk of a hunter being so close to his son. After all, hunters didn’t usually care if their prey was good or evil. As long as it was supernatural it was fair game. Angel had contemplated taking Sam out, just to be sure, but Connor had assured him the boy was one of the good ones, so he’d reluctantly left it at that. But now it seemed Sam was on the warpath again.
“Apparently there was a fire at his apartment last November. His girlfriend died. He then reunited with his brother.”
“Fire?” Angel looked up at last. “What kind of fire?”
“The bad kind,” Wesley answered, clenching his jaw.
“There’s a good kind?” Spike snorted and perched on the edge of the desk, skimming the files with a frown. “Who are they? Seem barely old enough to leave home, let alone be fighting demons.”
When Angel didn’t answer he started reading more thoroughly, his eyebrows slowly lifting higher. “Bloody hell!” he muttered a couple of times, sounding awed.
Angel waited until he was done, silently watching Wesley’s solemn expression. He was looking just as worn out as ever, but there was a glimpse in his eyes as if at last something had caught his interest and held it long enough to push his grief aside, if only for a while.
Spike finally looked up, eyes sparkling with excitement. “If even half of this is true…”
“All of it is,” Wesley said, “and that’s just what we know from reports and interviews. I would assume there’s a lot more we’ve never been made aware of.”
Spike whistled, clearly impressed. “Well, I for one can’t wait to meet them. Especially this one.” He tapped his finger on green eyes that stared back at him, looking smug as hell. “And not just because he looks good enough to eat. Figuratively speaking,” he added when Angel shot him a glare.
Angel narrowed his eyes. “You’re not coming.” He pushed away from the desk and stood up. “I’m doing this one alone.” The idea of Spike meeting Sam, who knew Connor, was not something he approved of.
“Oh come off it. I know they’re just humans but looks to me like they’re bloody good hunters and I’m not having them staking your tight arse. Heart. Whatever.” Spike slid off the desk and grabbed his leather coat. “I’m coming with you.”
“Spike.” Angel looked to Wesley for help, but he was busy gathering the documents, eyes cast down. Angel sighed. “Alright. But I’ll do the talking.”
“Not gonna scare the boys,” Spike said with a grin. “Much.”
“Not them I’m worried about,” Angel muttered and followed Spike out of the office, coat slung over his arm. He had a very bad feeling about this.
-------------------
“Fuck!”
“Here, let me…”
“Leave it, Sam.”
“But I…”
“I said, leave it!”
Dean threw the door to the hotel room open, kicking off his boots before stalking straight to the bathroom and slamming that door shut behind him. Sam sighed and kicked off his own shoes and shrugged out of his dirty jacket before walking over to a chair and gingerly sitting down.
The whole day had been shot to shit. The sewers had predictably been disgusting. After searching for two hours they’d had to admit their defeat. By that time they were sticky with sweat and smelled like drowned rats. But just as they were about to head back to the hotel they’d heard a noise down one of the corridors. They’d run towards it, sewer water splashing with every step, soon leaving them drenched. And then, whatever it had been, suddenly disappeared and they’d found themselves lost in the maze of LA’s sewer system. Dean’s mood, which hadn’t been that great to begin with, worsened with every step he took. Finally they’d decided to leave the sewers, even if they were by then filthy and smelled like shit. They’d found themselves in the middle of downtown LA and had to endure stares and varied sounds of disgust and laughter as they trotted home. No cab would take them, and about a block from the hotel a bus had passed them, sending a shower of dirty rainwater all over Dean. That had been the final straw. Sam had only just managed to stop him from shooting a round of silver bullets through the back window of the retreating bus, pointing out that it was probably filled with kids and little old ladies. And that they couldn’t really afford to waste the silver. Cursing up a blue streak while wiping dirty water out of his eyes, Dean then managed to trip and bang his shoulder hard into a dumpster. When Sam tried to prevent him from falling on his face he’d only caught the collar of Dean’s jacket which had ripped straight off.
All in all it wasn’t Dean’s best day.
Sam could hear him now, muttering curses loud enough for half the city to hear. Stomping around in the bathroom, wet clothes being thrown on the floor hard enough to make noisy slapping sounds, and then turning the water on. By the increased volume of curses the pressure wasn’t any better now than it had been this morning. Sam just hoped there would be some hot water left for him to use when Dean was finished.
The dirt had mostly dried on Sam’s skin and hair by now, his clothes damp rather than dripping, a big improvement from earlier. He could almost hear the mud crack in his scalp when he furrowed his brow. He was pretty sure his jacket was ruined, and his shoes looked like they were beyond salvation as well. Dean’s boots were soggy, but once cleaned, dried and greased they would probably be all right. The leather was tough, it had survived worse.
It had gone quiet in the bathroom except for the steady running of water. Sam started to doze off despite the disgusting state he was in, exhaustion winning over the smell. The chair wasn’t exactly comfortable, but he wasn’t about to sully the bed, and anyway, Dean had to be done soon.
Just then the water shut off, and Sam straightened, trying to stretch the kinks out of his neck and shoulders before standing up. Bits of dried mud fell from his hair, peppering his nose, and he scratched it in irritation.
“You’re not the only one who needs to clean up, you know?” he complained in a loud voice, scowling when the only answer he got was a grunt that could mean anything from ‘Piss off,’ to ‘In a minute.’
The bathroom door finally opened, bellowing out a cloud of steam from which Dean emerged, clean but just as grumpy.
“All yours, princess,” he sneered, rubbing his hair vigorously with the towel before wrapping it around his waist with no hint of that morning’s flirting. His hair stuck up in all directions. If Sam hadn’t been so damn tired and filthy it would have made him smile. Instead he brushed past Dean, lips pinched tight.
“I swear, if you’ve used up all the hot water I’m going to kill you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Dean dismissed with a wave and flung himself down on the bed, remote in hand. “Hurry up. Your turn to get dinner.”
Sam gritted his teeth. It wasn’t and they both knew it. But he had ripped Dean’s jacket, accident or not, and so he had to make up for it somehow. Although… A smile crept over Sam’s face. There had been a very nice looking vegan restaurant around the corner. If Dean wanted him to get dinner, Sam would get dinner. A very healthy dinner. He was thinking… sprouts. And maybe tofu.
--------------------
Angel kept his eyes on the entrance to the hotel, pondering whether they should make their move or wait longer. To tell the truth, what he’d seen of the Winchester boys so far hadn’t really struck him as impressive. Drenched with sewer water, the stink bad enough that Angel could smell it across the street. And then the older one, Dean, who was supposed to be the more experienced hunter, had tripped over his own feet and faceplanted in a big puddle. And these guys thought they could take on a nest of Agraxi? It was laughable really, or it would be if he hadn’t read the reports.
Everyone could have a bad day, he knew that first hand. Sometimes things just… happened. Like being turned into a puppet. Which totally wasn’t his fault.
He glanced over at Spike who was already dozing off. Stakeouts had never been Spike’s forte; sitting still in general wasn’t really his thing. After entertaining himself first by sucking Angel off and then by jerking himself off he’d stared increasingly bored out of the window, until his eyelids started drooping, and before long his cheek was resting against the window, lips twitching occasionally as he slept. He didn’t look like a vicious vampire, more like a twelve year old, Angel thought with a grin.
A movement suddenly caught his eye, and he looked up just in time to see the younger Winchester brother cross the street. For a moment Angel thought they’d been spotted but Sam didn’t even glance their way as he walked confidently around the corner. There was a smile curling his lips that Angel recognized too well, having seen it on Spike far too many times. Either the boy was plotting something or he wasn’t quite as innocent as he seemed.
Twenty minutes later Sam returned, carrying two Styrofoam boxes and a six-pack. Angel’s stomach growled. He knew they should have taken a thermos with them. When vegetables started to smell tasty it was time to heat up some blood.
Angel contemplated their next move. From the looks of things the brothers hadn’t made any progress and he really didn’t want their deaths on his conscience if they were as incompetent as they looked. Guess it was time to have a little talk. He nudged Spike awake, ignoring his disgruntled protests from being woken up in the middle of his nap. They hurried across the street and into the hotel where Angel slipped the concierge a fifty for the boys’ room number.
“So what?” Spike asked, punching the button for the 5th floor a little harder than necessary. “We’re just gonna knock on their door like we’re popping in for a cuppa? They’re bloody hunters, mate. They’re gonna know what we are.”
“Maybe. Didn’t see any vampire killings on their résumés though.”
Spike tilted his head in thought. “Yeah, what’s that about? How can you travel all over this bloody country and not stumble upon a single vampire? I mean, the kid spent four years in Stanford. I know at least five who -”
“Not anymore.”
“What?”
Damn. Angel kept his eyes on the numbers slowly counting the floors. “I killed them a couple of months ago.”
He could feel Spike looking at him. “Just like that? You just walked up to them, said hello and staked the lot?”
“It’s what we do, Spike,” Angel muttered, jaw clenched. He should have known better than to bring that up. “Fight evil.”
“Here, yeah. And in Sunnydale. We don’t go driving around the bloody country like these wackos, looking for the damn things. What were you doing in Stanford anyway? You moving on to college girls now? High school cheerleaders not doing it for you anymore?”
Now there was a sure sign Spike was pissed. “Shut up,” Angel said, unable to meet Spike’s eyes. “It’s none of your damn business. What do you care anyway?”
Spike came to a halt. “If you have to ask you’re a bigger wanker than I thought.”
Angel sighed inwardly. “Spike…”
The elevator opened with a ping and Spike strode out of it and down the corridor, looking all kinds of pissed off. Angel followed him resigned. He’d apologize later. Somehow.
Spike was waiting outside the door to room 503, eyes staring stubbornly at the stained carpet, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his coat. “Not like we even needed to get their room number,” he muttered. “I can smell them miles away.”
“Not your money, so leave it,” Angel answered, keeping his voice neutral.
“I’m just saying. Fifty quid, could have spent it on beer.”
“I’ll buy you some later.”
“Assuming there is a later, and these kids don’t stake you.”
“Spike…”
The door was suddenly thrown open. “You gonna stand there bickering all night or you coming in?” Dean snapped. He rolled his eyes when they just stared at him, startled, and stomped back to the bed, where he’d obviously been sitting, eating his dinner. He left the door open.
Spike and Angel looked at each other then shrugged and followed, colliding as they both tried to step through the doorway at the same time. The boys were watching them with what looked like amusement and even a little bit of contempt. Granted, it wasn’t one of their grandest entrances, but at least a hint of fearful respect would have been nice.
“You knew we were coming?” Angel asked suspicious. The report said the younger one had some psychic abilities but it hadn’t been too specific about what they entailed.
Dean snorted. “You were making enough noise out there to wake up the dead.” He stuffed what looked like grass into his mouth and a shudder of disgust shook him as he fought to swallow. “You should really work on that whole stealth thing.”
Angel wanted to argue. He was a vampire. He was very stealthy. Or he used to be before Spike started following him around. “You know who we are?” he asked instead, ignoring the insult.
Dean shrugged and took a big gulp from his beer then grimaced as he poked what was left of his food. Sam was watching him, smirking. So that’s what he’d been planning earlier, Angel thought, a gastronomic revenge. Well, that was just evil, messing with a man’s food. Or a vampire’s for that matter. Angel guessed Dean’s view on health food was along the same line as his own on rat blood. Sure, it contained all the necessary nutrition so technically it could sustain him just as well as the otter (without adding all the extra pounds) but no one in their right mind would call rats tasty. Or even in their wrong mind. His rat-eating phase hadn’t exactly been his sanest.
He was so immerged in his thoughts he jerked slightly when Sam loudly cleared his throat. Taking a break from enjoying his brother’s misery he was now watching the pair of them with interest. “Not exactly but I’m guessing you’re from Wolfram and Hart.” His eyes narrowed and Angel grew increasingly uncomfortable as Sam studied him. “You’re Connor’s father, right? I can see the resemblance.”
Damn. “Yes. But that’s not why we’re here.”
Spike turned to stare at him in shock. Angel shot him a warning glare. Spike opened his mouth, but then obviously changed his mind. He stepped back and stuffed his hands back into the pockets of his coat, silently seething from the looks of it. Angel sighed inwardly. Great. They were in for a fun weekend once this was over. Maybe he should just let the boys stake him. Or Spike.
Both Winchesters were watching them now. They seemed relaxed, eating their food and drinking their beer as if nothing unusual was going on. But somehow Angel knew that all they needed was one wrong move and the big knife resting beside Sam on the bed would be in his hand and the gun on the nightstand would be aimed at their heads. Of course chances were they had no idea what they were fighting and so they’d be knocked down before they’d even know what was happening. Being a vampire had its perks, speed being one of them. Still, he wasn’t looking for a fight. Diplomacy wasn’t his strongest point (unlike stealth, ha!), but he could be friendly when needed and negotiate with even the most distasteful people on more or less amicable terms.
There was something bothering him though. Above the smell of the sewer coming from the bathroom - where the boys’ clothes were undoubtedly being soaked in detergent - and the strong scent of spiced vegetables, he could smell something else. Sex, as recent as from this morning. All of a sudden he realized that there was only one bed in the room.
Angel studied the Winchesters with a new sense of awareness. They didn’t seem like the kind of boys who would revel in that kind of… well, debauchery. They were hunters, killers, but they were doing it for the right reasons, or so all reports had indicated. There was nothing to suggest that either of them had been twisted by their years spent fighting evil. That they’d gone ‘wrong’.
But there was no doubt. He could smell them clearly now he knew what to look for. This morning, yes. And not just jerking off, oh no. They’d gone the whole nine yards and from the look of things it wasn’t the first time. Suddenly an image of Sam pushing his cocky brother down on the bed and fucking him from behind flashed across Angel’s vision and he felt himself go instantly hard. He glanced over at Spike and saw his nostrils flaring, a hint of surprise on his face. When he met Angel’s eyes they shared a heated look, and it was all Angel could do not to drag Spike out of there.
Someone coughed and he blinked to find the boys watching them with wary eyes.
“Not that we don’t appreciate the welcoming wagon, but some explanation for what the hell you’re doing here would be nice,” Dean said, one eyebrow raised in a way that reminded Angel annoyingly of Spike and made him, if possible, even hornier.
“We just came to tell you you’re on our turf,” he said briskly. “We can take care of things from here.”
“Like you’ve been taking care of them the last ten days?” Dean said casually, his eyes hard. “Ten people dead and you’ve done nothing.”
Angel took a deep breath. “Look, kid. You have no idea what you’re dealing with. You’re way over your head with this so I suggest you back off and leave it to the big boys.”
He had to hand it to the kid, he was fast. One moment he was sitting on the bed, relaxed and smirking. The next he was up in Angel’s face, glaring at him with a look of contempt. He matched Angel in height, adding another inch or so by pure rage. It was interesting seeing the hunter finally emerge from behind the pretty boy face. Angel could see now what made monsters fear him. It wasn’t just the foolish bravery and stubbornness, it was the kid’s obvious and utter indifference to his own well being.
“Big boys? That be you and Shrimp over there?” Dean ignored Spike’s indignant “Oi!” his hard gaze never leaving Angel’s. “Just because you’re some big shot lawyer doesn’t mean -”
“Dean!”
“Stay back, Sam,” Dean growled. It was kinda cute. Reminded Angel of an angry puppy. “I’m handling this.”
Sam had gotten up off the bed as well and was watching them warily. For the first time Angel noticed how tall he was. He was no small thing himself but the kid towered over him by a good three inches and he had the body of a college boy rushing to pack on muscle.
“I’m not exactly a lawyer,” Angel argued. He really didn’t want to hurt the kid but the way he was up in his face was really starting to piss him off. He glanced over at Spike who was watching them with a look of amusement, his earlier bad mood vanished, probably whisked away by the prospect of finally getting to hit something. “I just run the firm.”
“An evil firm,” Sam said. “So why should we trust you? For all we know these demons are under your protection.”
“It’s not evil! I’m in charge now and we’re -”
“Pet, I don’t think they’re interested. Beside, they’re right. It is an evil firm.”
Angel shot him a glare but Spike just shrugged and sauntered over to the bed. “This all you’ve got?” he said with a frown, indicating the bottles of Miller beer. “Bloody American piss. Can I have one?”
“Help yourself,” Sam said, eyes still on his brother. “Dean, c’mon. Let it go.”
Dean held Angel’s stare for a few seconds longer. His eyes narrowed and he stepped back. “You’re not human,” he said slowly but surely.
Angel saw Sam stiffen, his hand reaching for the gun.
“Don’t,” Angel warned him then added, “It won’t kill me anyway.”
“What are you?” Dean shifted his eyes over to Spike. “Both of you?”
“Vampires,” Spike said casually, sipping his beer. “But don’t worry. We’ve got souls now. All nice and neutered.”
Sam and Dean both stared at him.
“You’re kidding, right?” Dean finally asked. He sounded dazed. “Dad says there are no vampires left.”
Spike snorted. “Yeah, right. A bit thick, is he? Your dad?”
The anger was back in a flare. “You shut up about him or I’ll chop your fucking head off, so help me God!”
Spike rolled his eyes. “Did you miss the part about the soul? We’re all good now. Saving puppies, helping the hopeless, blah-blah.” Spike popped what looked like a piece of meat into his mouth and then spit it out with a grimace. “What the bloody hell are you eating? If you’re looking for evil, that’s it, right here.”
“It’s soy meat,” Sam said absently, still staring at him in disbelief. “It’s good for you. Well, not you, I guess. You’re vampires?” He looked over at Angel, eyes widening even further. “But… Connor?”
“He’s human. Normal,” Angel said quickly. If the kid ever went back to Stanford he didn’t want him causing trouble. “Look, the Agraxi, they’re vicious. And big. And no offence but I really think you’d be better off staying away. Just get back to fighting ghosts and whatever else you do but leave this one to us.”
Sam hesitated. He looked over at Dean who was still clearly itching for a fight. “Dean, maybe we should…”
Dean glared at him. “What the hell, Sam? No. We’re not going anywhere. Not until we’ve made sure it’s dead. I don’t trust these two. They might say they’re not evil but I’ve seen no proof of it yet.”
“He’s right.” Spike shrugged when Angel glared at him. “What? I wouldn’t trust us either. Although I would be careful who I called evil, all things considered.”
Dean frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Spike, don’t,” Angel tried to warn but it was too late.
“Not exactly walking the straight and narrow, are you? What with the two of you shagging, being brothers and all.” Spike tapped his nose. “Vampire. Very advanced sense of smell.”
The silence was palpable. Sam had gone deep red in the face whereas Dean was so pale his freckles stood out like beacons. “What did you say?”
Spike waved his hand dismissively. “’Course, you’re both adults so who bloody cares? Just don’t go thinking you’re innocent. Big sin you’re committing there, according to the big man upstairs.”
“Spike!” Angel hissed. “It’s none of our business.”
“You’re right it ain’t.” Dean leaned against the table. “That why you were looking at us like that before? Because you could smell… us?”
“Well, it was a bit of a surprise,” Spike admitted, not seeming to care that Angel was sending him death glares. “Thought you were both white-hats, all about doing the right thing.”
“It’s the right thing for us,” Sam snapped, finally out of his stupor although his face was still deep red.
“Sammy, leave it.” Dean had relaxed, a smile even tugged at his lips. “They’re not judging. Would be pretty hypocritical, seeing as they both think it’s hot as hell.” He nodded at Angel’s embarrassingly obvious bulge before letting his gaze, and smirk, slide over to Spike’s matching problem. “Am I right?”
Spike smirked. “And I though your brother was supposed to be the smart one.”
Dean grinned, looking smug, but a faint flush shot up his cheeks.
Angel’s eyes narrowed. What was going on? Were they… flirting? He glanced over at Sam and wasn’t surprised to see him pulled up to his whole height, shoulders squared, like a cock ready to fight.
“Alright,” Angel said sharply, sending Spike a glare that said he’d better knock it off or there would be consequences. Spike was of course too busy eyeing up the pretty-boy hunter to even notice. Angel gritted his teeth. “Can we focus?”
“We’re not backing off,” Dean said firmly, his gaze still on Spike. They seemed to be engaging in some kind of silent conversation, most likely concerning their dicks. Spike curled his lips and wrapped his tongue around the hint of a fang. Dean raised an eyebrow then tilted his head a little, exposing his neck.
Enough was enough. Angel growled.
Spike ripped his eyes away from Dean, finally, his lips twitching in amusement. Sam and Dean on the other hand both instantly stepped back, reaching for their weapons. Not exactly what Angel had been going for but at least now all eyes were on him.
“Okay,” he said. “Since the Agraxi like to kill humans you can be bait.”
He’d expected outrage but to his surprise Dean and Sam looked at each other, clearly having a silent conversation of their own, possibly also involving dicks, before facing forward and nodding in agreement.
“Yeah, all right,” Dean drawled. “But I’m not wearing a gold bikini. It gets Sammy too worked up.”
Sam snorted but his face went a little pink, which made Angel wonder if Dean actually did have a gold bikini stuffed somewhere in his duffel bag. And damn, that thought really didn’t help the whole awkward erection situation.
“Right,” he said, clearing his throat since his voice sounded a little rough. “So here’s the plan.”
------------
The dust settled and for a moment they just stood there, breathing in the smell of victory in the air, marvelling at the fact that they were still alive. Undead. Whatever.
Only for as long as it took Spike to turn around and grin, teeth bloody from a split lip. “Bloody hell, that’s what I call a fight! I say we celebrate. Anyone up for a pint?”
Just as Angel and Sam both opened their mouth, probably to scowl about being tired and needing a shower and how the hell to get that gooey stuff out of their precious hair, Dean threw back his head and laughed. “Hell, yeah. Lead the way.”
The hisses of “Dean!” and “Spike!” were bluntly ignored as they swaggered out of the alley, arms around each other’s necks. Dean glanced back to catch Angel and Sam share an exasperated look before they sighed and followed, muttering something about not leaving “those two” alone together.
Dean grinned and let Spike take a little more of his weight. It had been a long, hard day and night and hey, he was only human. Unlike his very strong friend here. What was the use in having a vampire partner if he couldn’t take a little advantage? Plus, Spike smelled damn good, Dean thought and allowed himself a subtle inhale. Leather and smokes and whiskey, mixed with a bit of blood. It was the smell of hunting, of fighting dirty and walking away victorious. It was fucking hot. Damn, he loved Sam, inside out, but his brother was such a neat freak. Even hurt and bleeding he always smelled of soap.
Spike’s fingers trailed down Dean’s neck and Dean swore he could hear him purr. It made him shiver. After a brief hesitation he tilted his head, just a little, to allow better access. He heard Spike chuckle and grinned. Flirting with danger, wasn’t that what he did? If not usually quite this literally. Still, a little bit of fun never hurt anyone. Much.
--------
Two hours later Spike and Dean were playing pool, seeming to be more focused on who could wiggle their butts more obscenely than actually getting the balls down. They kept brushing against each other, pale arms touching freckled ones, black jeans rubbing against blue. Green eyes winking and smiling into blue ones, blond hair nudging brown as they butted heads.
Over a nearby booth hovered a dark cloud of anger and jealousy.
“Your brother always such a slut?”
“Your... whatever he is, always such a whore?”
They glared at each other and then Angel slumped back and sighed. “Yeah.”
Sam nodded. “Pretty much.”
They gazed gloomily into their respective beers until loud laughter drew their attention, and they looked up in unison, just in time to see Spike grab Dean by the neck and ...
They were out of the booth and across the floor in a quarter of a second. Angel grabbing Spike by the collar of his coat and dragging him toward the door, Sam jerking Dean close by the arm then pushing him until he fell backward onto the pool table, where he stared up at Sam with a stunned expression.
“What the hell, dude?”
Sam grabbed Dean by the neck and pulled him in for a rough kiss. “We’re going home. Now!”
“What about - ?”
“I think they’re busy, Dean.” Sam hauled Dean off of the table and to his feet, never letting go of his neck. “Just like we’re gonna be the minute I get you back to the hotel.” He leaned over and bit Dean’s ear before whispering, “I'm gonna fuck you so hard you won't be able to stand for a week.”
“Uh.” Dean swallowed and a shiver ran through him. “Yeah, okay. Wait... What time is it?”
Sam pulled back, frowning. “What?” He checked his watch. “Five to two. Why?”
Dean’s grin was obscenely wide as he pumped his fist into the air. “Hell, yeah! I won!” He smiled smugly and elbowed his little brother. “Took you long enough. I was starting to think you didn’t care.”
“You made a bet? With that, that… Billy Idol reject?” Sam sputtered.
Dean wiggled his eyebrows. “Of course I did. You two made it too damn easy not to. What, you really thought we were planning on ditching you two to hook up? C’mon, Sammy, give me some credit.” He suddenly went solemn. “Speaking of which, what the hell am I supposed to do with fifteen kittens?”
fin
Yes, this is a crossover with Angel the Series. This story has been lying in a folder, untouched, for 7 years. Possibly it should have stayed there. It was supposed to be a longer story but there's no way I will ever do that now so I just cleaned it up a bit to form a more or less coherent storyline, even if it's missing the actual case and/or big fight in the middle. FYI, just now, before giving this a final read through, I read the other stories in the Normal!verse and that's when I discovered I have Sam and Dean actually watching Buffy at some point. *headdesk* Also, for some reason, Dean keeps calling Sam 'bro' in the first one. What was up with that? *cringes* Can we just pretend he didn't and that this whole verse is really cool and funny and not at all embarrassing? Great, thanks. *hides*
Title: Trailing Some New Kill (4th story in the Normal!verse)
Author: felisblanco
Pairings: Dean/Sam, Spike/Angel
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 7869
Warnings: Mentions past prostitution (Dean).
Summary: “So what’s the deal with that law firm?” Dean said. “Why do demons need a lawyer? Can’t they just eat whoever pisses them off?”
Author's Note: This is supposed to fit into the The Normal!verse but can stand on its own, I guess. It takes place sometime during the first season of SPN and the fifth of Angel.
Beta’d by the lovely candygramme but then I started fiddling with it because I'm just that annoying, so all mistakes are mine and mine alone. Title from the song Angeles, the Jensen Ackles version since I've never listened to any other.
Dean hated big cities. They stank of trash and too many fucking people. And city folks drove like idiots. He still hadn’t forgiven New York for whoever put a dent in the passenger door of the Impala four years ago. So he’d double-parked, so what? Fucking impossible finding a parking space anywhere. Not that you could still see the damage, he got it fixed right away, throwing in a proper paint job while he was at it. Cost an arm and a leg, or more precisely the max allowing of Robert Scott’s credit card, but nothing was too good for his baby.
Anyway, as far as he was concerned, city people could deal with their supernatural problems themselves. He’d take being stuck in Bumfuck, Montana for a week rather than spend a single night in a damn city. Not natural, so many people living together, practically on top of each other. Like ants or cockroaches.
Plus they had lousy bars, especially when it came to hustling.
And yet here they were, in LA of all places. Which according to Sam was a hot spot for supernatural activities. The fuckers even had their own law firm. How sick was that? Not his problem though. They weren’t staying here a minute longer than they had to. Just had to find out whatever was making people lose their heads and limbs all over the damn city and shoot the sons of bitches to hell. Easy enough.
“Dean, here. Turn here,” Sam suddenly said, interrupting Dean’s inner rant.
Dean threw him a sarcastic glare. “The light’s red, Brainiac.”
Beside him Sam rolled his eyes and impatiently tried to stretch his back. They’d been driving for four hours and Sam had been bitching for the last two. It was getting really annoying. Not his baby’s fault it wasn’t built for Sasquatches.
“I know, dumbass. Turn right when it changes. Like now, Dean. Hello? Before it goes red again?”
Dean sighed and took the turn, tires screeching. “You know, you’re just a ball of sunshine when you’re PMS-ing, Samantha.”
“Haha. Shut up.” Sam rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. “Seriously, Dean, we couldn’t have made one damn stop? My back is killing me.”
“Hey, you were the one who said this was urgent. ‘People are dying, Dean!’” Dean’s voice went squeaky, eyelashes fluttering dramatically. “‘We gotta do something!’”
“I do not sound like that!” Sam protested but his lips twitched at the corners and Dean grinned.
“Oh, you totally do. Like a drag queen on crack. And then you pout your lips-“
Sam sputtered. “That’s your gig!”
“… and turn those damn puppy eyes on me,” Dean continued, ignoring him, “like you’re still fucking five.” He shook his head. “Not fair, you know, using that on your own goddamn brother.”
Sam looked at him, blinking innocently. “What you saying, Dean? You saying all I gotta do is look at you and you fold like a two dollar bill?”
“No. But when your gigantic hand’s wrapped around my dick as well, it’s pretty hard to argue. Literally.” Dean glanced over and caught Sam blushing. He smirked. “What’s that, Sammy? Shy?”
“No.” Sam shifted in his seat, refusing to look at him but his ears were pink, and Dean could practically feel the heat radiating off him.
“Oh, man. You turned on?”
“Shut up.”
“You are.” Dean grinned even though his own jeans suddenly felt impossibly tight. “What, you picturing it now? Your hand around my dick, stroking it. Me, sucking your nipples. Your cock sliding into me.”
“Dean!” Sam hissed, shooting him a glare. “You’re such a damn tease.”
“Only if I don’t follow through,” Dean pointed out and frowned. “Now where’s that damn hotel?”
“One more turn right, and we should be there.” Sam adjusted himself, smiling when Dean involuntarily hitched his breath. “And you better follow through, you hear me? You owe me for playing that fucking Lynyrd Skynyrd tape on repeat for the last four hours.”
“Shut your mouth, heathen,” Dean admonished. He smirked, sliding a palm up Sam’s thigh. “And come on, Sammy, don’t I always take care of you?”
“One word. Dallas.”
Dean scowled and dug his fingers into Sam’s thigh. “One word. Flu.”
“Hey, if you can breathe…”
“Watch it or it’s Dallas all over again.”
-----------------
“Ok, so here’s the deal,” Sam started reciting as soon as Dean opened the bathroom door to let out some steam. “Ten mutilated bodies in the last ten days. No heads, no limbs. Could be a crazy serial killer collecting body parts or…”
“Anthrax demons,” Dean helpfully supplied.
“Agraxi,” Sam corrected impatiently.
Dean rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” He stepped into the room, towel in hand, and smirked when Sam glanced over then hurriedly looked back at the laptop, cheeks flushing. Ha! Who needed puppy eyes when they were this damn hot? Dean spent a generous time rubbing his hair with the unaccustomedly nice hotel towel while enjoying Sam’s awkward shifting in his seat, before reluctantly tying the towel around his waist. “This being LA, I say demons.”
Sam nodded, finally looking up. “Strange scorch marks on the walls. Little or no blood. Yep, sounds demonic to me.”
Dean pulled a t-shirt out of his duffel bag, sniffed it and grimaced before putting it on. Then dropped the towel and bent over to fetch his underwear where it had fallen on the floor in their hurry to get naked earlier. Sam coughed. Dean grinned.
“You positive silver bullets will kill them?” he asked, shimmying back into his dirty jeans. No use wasting a clean pair in the sewers.
“According to the legend.” Sam cleared his throat. “How are we on silver?”
“Alright for now.” Dean sat down on the rumpled bed to roll on his smelly socks. “Need to restock on holy water and iron bullets before we leave town though.”
“I’ll put it on the list.” Sam pulled out his notepad, adding the items beneath breath-mints, lube and gun-oil.
Dean snorted. “You’ll make a good wife one day, Sammy. How’s that needlepoint coming along, by the way?”
“Fuck you,” Sam said, not even bothering to look up, as he added a few more items to the list.
“Again?” Dean sighed dramatically. “I keep telling you, Sam, I’m an old man. I need time to recover.”
Sam shook his head but a smile tugged at his lips, and his cheeks flushed pink once again. “Shut up.”
Dean grinned and sauntered into the bathroom. “Seriously, Sam. You blushing will never get old,” he teased as he checked himself in the mirror. The cut above his eyebrow was healing nicely, the bruising faded to nearly nothing. He ran his fingers through his hair until it spiked the way he liked it then stroked the rough stubble on his face. He’d have to shave tonight, or Sam would start complaining about his delicate skin getting all scratched up, the fairy princess.
“Unlike you, grandpa,” Sam bit back but there was no heat in it. Dean watched Sam’s reflection stand up and stretch, blatantly showing a hint of treasure trail, the slut, before rolling back his shoulders, a slight grimace on his face. “You done making yourself pretty?” he added as he caught Dean’s eyes in the mirror. “Those demons won’t wait forever, you know.”
“What you mean, ‘making' myself pretty’?” Dean protested. “Dude, I’m always pretty. This face?” he leered, drawing a circle in the air around the feature in question and licking his lips for good measure. “Lifetime guarantee of prettiness.”
Sam snorted. “It better. I’m planning on selling you to the highest bidder when you get too old to hunt. You know, to pay for my retirement -” The sudden silence was beyond uncomfortable.
Dean inwardly sighed. Not this again. Ignoring Sam’s guilty gaze, Dean cocked his eyebrow. “At least I’d bring in enough money for a condo and a four-wheeler. Whereas we’d be lucky to afford a tent with what I’d get for you. Believe me, I checked.” He sighed. “I should have sold you when you were still small and cute.”
“Dean…”
Dean shot him a warning glare before grabbing his boots. “So what’s the deal with that law firm?” he said, knowing that changing the subject was the only way to get Sam to back off. “Why do demons need a lawyer? Can’t they just eat whoever pisses them off?”
He could feel Sam watching him but when Dean refused to look up Sam sighed and sat down on the chair, reaching for his own boots. “I don’t know. I knew this guy at Stanford… He said there’d been changes.” Sam shrugged. “His dad was involved or something.”
Dean straightened up, staring at him. “What? You just walked around talking to strangers about demons? What the hell, Sam?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Wasn’t like that. He approached me. He could… I don’t know, smell me or something. Knew I was a hunter.”
“Smell you?” Damn it! He hated when Sam kept things from him, especially about his Stanford years. Not that he was jealous or anything, it was just unsettling. And something like this… Come on, Sam knew better than not to share such an important detail. Which made Dean wonder why he hadn’t. “What was he, a demon sniffer? Half dog, half human? What?”
Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. He never said. He was really strong though.” Sam smiled suddenly. “And man, he had some moves. Even you’d have been impressed.”
Dean narrowed his eyes. “Yeah? He one of those you told me about? One of your blowjob buddies, Sam? That it?”
Sam stiffened. “We agreed we weren’t going to… It’s none of your goddamn business, Dean.”
“Oh hell.” The sarcasm slipped out before he managed to get a hold of himself. “Don’t tell me you slept with Spanky, the demon-sniffing half-dog.”
Sam stood up, glaring down at him. “You really wanna go down this road, Dean? ‘Cause if you do there are some questions I’d like answers to. You know, about your Pretty Woman days?”
This time the silence was painful.
“That’s low, even for you,” Dean finally said, keeping his voice painstakingly calm. It wasn’t that it bothered him, really it didn’t, but, fuck it, Sam still had no right to throw it in his face.
Sam swallowed. “Sorry. I just… You always…” He sighed, running his fingers through his hair like he always did when he was frustrated. “He was just a friend. Can we drop this?”
“Sure, whatever.” Dean grabbed his denim jacket. It smelled like Sam since he’d used it as a pillow in the car, and for some reason that really pissed Dean off. “You ready?” he said tightlipped as he rummaged the duffel bag for a pistol and some silver bullets.
“Dean.” Sam glanced up through his bangs, teeth worrying at his lip. “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean…”
“Yeah, you did,” Dean said and walked out.
-----------------
“And then I said, ‘Not bloody likely, mate.’ You should have seen his face. Honestly, you’d think I’d suggest he’d eat his mum or something.” Spike frowned. “Come to think of it, for a Wistla, that’s probably not an insult.”
“Spike.”
“Anyway, there I was, not a stitch on me ‘cept for my boots, and I’ve got nine feet of pissed off demon coming at me from one side, and his ladyfriend practically purring on the bed behind me…”
“Spike!”
“…and the only way out is through the window into broad daylight. So, not being suicidal, there was only one thing to do.”
“SPIKE!”
“What?”
Angel glared at him. “How many times do I have to tell you? I’m working. See this?” He waved his hand in irritation. “This is a desk. And these white things? These are papers.” He shuffled them around, stabbing his pen viciously down to sign one, hoping it didn’t involve sacrificing babies or something. “Papers which I have to read and sign and…”
“Yeah? See this?” Spike gave him the two-fingered salute. “This is me not caring. So anyway, I just gave him a smile and…” Spike took another sip from his beer and smiled wistfully. “Those Wistla demons… phew. I thought I’d never get out of there. Couldn’t walk for five days.”
“Can you just…” Angel frowned. “Wait, what? You… You had sex with it?”
“Well, yeah.” The smile got even bigger. “Have you ever seen a Wistla’s tongue? It’s like a… well, a cock. Except without the mess of come everywhere. So -”
“No! I don’t want to know.” Angel covered his ears, then realized he looked extremely stupid and slammed his palms down on the desk instead. “Why do you keep telling me these stories? Are you trying to make me jealous? Because it’s not working. The only thing it does is making me seriously reconsider touching you ever again.” He shuddered.
“Yeah, yeah.” Spike waved his hand dismissively. “You keep saying that and next thing I know I’m bent over the desk with your cock up my arse.” He sighed and shifted in the chair. “Talking about which, aren’t you done yet? My bloody balls are turning blue.”
“First off, it’s only been two hours since last time. Even your balls should be able to hold out for longer than that. Second, maybe I would be done if you’d stop interrupting me!”
Spike pouted, and Angel closed his eyes in exasperation. God, it was like dealing with a child. A five foot nine, horny, and illegally sexy child, that made Angel want to throttle him while fucking him hard enough that, maybe, for once, he’d shut up for more than five minutes.
On second thought, child was probably not the best word to use.
There was a quiet knock on the door, and then Wesley stuck his head in, as if taking in the status quo before braving the war zone that reigned most days in Angel’s office ever since Spike had been back. Well, war zone or brothel, you never really knew which one it would be. Seeing both parties still had their clothes on and weren’t, in the present moment, fighting, Wesley slinked inside.
Spike shot him a look of annoyance. Wesley showing up usually meant more work and more work meant he’d have to wait even longer for sex.
Wesley ignored Spike’s less than subtle hints for him to bugger off and said, “I thought you’d like to see this.” He put a folder on the desk and then stood back, waiting.
Angel sighed and picked it up. No doubt another boring legal case involving some damn demons that expected him to kiss their asses. Being a CEO was far less fun than he’d imagined. He flicked through the files in the folder. Police reports about ten mutilated bodies found, scattered evenly throughout the last ten days. Work of a deranged serial killer, no suspects, strange substance found at the crime scene. Clawmarks…
He looked up at Wesley, scowling. “Don’t tell me the Agraxi are back?”
“Agraxi? Bugger. Hate those things.” Spike jumped to his feet with a grin. If there was no sex to be had at least he got to kill something.
“Hopefully just one. They’re not much for company except when… you know.” Wesley made a face that spoke of far too many hours spent studying the sex lives of demonic entities. “But that’s not all.”
Angel sighed and put the police reports aside, picking up what seemed to be profiles. Two young men in their twenties stared out at him from the pictures attached to the corner. “These two of the victims?”
“No. These are the Winchesters. Apparently they’re in town. My guess is that they’re going after the Agraxi.” Wesley pursed his lips. “They might become a problem.”
Angel frowned confused, then his eyes suddenly widened in recognition. “The Winchesters? They’re here?”
“Who?” Spike walked over, grabbing the files from Angel’s hands. “Nice looking kids. I’d shag them anytime.” He gave Angel a smirk.
For once Angel didn’t rise to the bait. Instead he snagged the files back and read through them with a deep frown. “I thought the younger one was in college.”
He could feel Wesley’s eyes on him but didn’t look up. Ever since Wesley learned the truth about Connor, Angel had been waiting for the questioning to start. It hadn’t yet. But they both knew Sam Winchester had been in Stanford with Connor, in fact it was one of the few things they had discussed, the potential risk of a hunter being so close to his son. After all, hunters didn’t usually care if their prey was good or evil. As long as it was supernatural it was fair game. Angel had contemplated taking Sam out, just to be sure, but Connor had assured him the boy was one of the good ones, so he’d reluctantly left it at that. But now it seemed Sam was on the warpath again.
“Apparently there was a fire at his apartment last November. His girlfriend died. He then reunited with his brother.”
“Fire?” Angel looked up at last. “What kind of fire?”
“The bad kind,” Wesley answered, clenching his jaw.
“There’s a good kind?” Spike snorted and perched on the edge of the desk, skimming the files with a frown. “Who are they? Seem barely old enough to leave home, let alone be fighting demons.”
When Angel didn’t answer he started reading more thoroughly, his eyebrows slowly lifting higher. “Bloody hell!” he muttered a couple of times, sounding awed.
Angel waited until he was done, silently watching Wesley’s solemn expression. He was looking just as worn out as ever, but there was a glimpse in his eyes as if at last something had caught his interest and held it long enough to push his grief aside, if only for a while.
Spike finally looked up, eyes sparkling with excitement. “If even half of this is true…”
“All of it is,” Wesley said, “and that’s just what we know from reports and interviews. I would assume there’s a lot more we’ve never been made aware of.”
Spike whistled, clearly impressed. “Well, I for one can’t wait to meet them. Especially this one.” He tapped his finger on green eyes that stared back at him, looking smug as hell. “And not just because he looks good enough to eat. Figuratively speaking,” he added when Angel shot him a glare.
Angel narrowed his eyes. “You’re not coming.” He pushed away from the desk and stood up. “I’m doing this one alone.” The idea of Spike meeting Sam, who knew Connor, was not something he approved of.
“Oh come off it. I know they’re just humans but looks to me like they’re bloody good hunters and I’m not having them staking your tight arse. Heart. Whatever.” Spike slid off the desk and grabbed his leather coat. “I’m coming with you.”
“Spike.” Angel looked to Wesley for help, but he was busy gathering the documents, eyes cast down. Angel sighed. “Alright. But I’ll do the talking.”
“Not gonna scare the boys,” Spike said with a grin. “Much.”
“Not them I’m worried about,” Angel muttered and followed Spike out of the office, coat slung over his arm. He had a very bad feeling about this.
-------------------
“Fuck!”
“Here, let me…”
“Leave it, Sam.”
“But I…”
“I said, leave it!”
Dean threw the door to the hotel room open, kicking off his boots before stalking straight to the bathroom and slamming that door shut behind him. Sam sighed and kicked off his own shoes and shrugged out of his dirty jacket before walking over to a chair and gingerly sitting down.
The whole day had been shot to shit. The sewers had predictably been disgusting. After searching for two hours they’d had to admit their defeat. By that time they were sticky with sweat and smelled like drowned rats. But just as they were about to head back to the hotel they’d heard a noise down one of the corridors. They’d run towards it, sewer water splashing with every step, soon leaving them drenched. And then, whatever it had been, suddenly disappeared and they’d found themselves lost in the maze of LA’s sewer system. Dean’s mood, which hadn’t been that great to begin with, worsened with every step he took. Finally they’d decided to leave the sewers, even if they were by then filthy and smelled like shit. They’d found themselves in the middle of downtown LA and had to endure stares and varied sounds of disgust and laughter as they trotted home. No cab would take them, and about a block from the hotel a bus had passed them, sending a shower of dirty rainwater all over Dean. That had been the final straw. Sam had only just managed to stop him from shooting a round of silver bullets through the back window of the retreating bus, pointing out that it was probably filled with kids and little old ladies. And that they couldn’t really afford to waste the silver. Cursing up a blue streak while wiping dirty water out of his eyes, Dean then managed to trip and bang his shoulder hard into a dumpster. When Sam tried to prevent him from falling on his face he’d only caught the collar of Dean’s jacket which had ripped straight off.
All in all it wasn’t Dean’s best day.
Sam could hear him now, muttering curses loud enough for half the city to hear. Stomping around in the bathroom, wet clothes being thrown on the floor hard enough to make noisy slapping sounds, and then turning the water on. By the increased volume of curses the pressure wasn’t any better now than it had been this morning. Sam just hoped there would be some hot water left for him to use when Dean was finished.
The dirt had mostly dried on Sam’s skin and hair by now, his clothes damp rather than dripping, a big improvement from earlier. He could almost hear the mud crack in his scalp when he furrowed his brow. He was pretty sure his jacket was ruined, and his shoes looked like they were beyond salvation as well. Dean’s boots were soggy, but once cleaned, dried and greased they would probably be all right. The leather was tough, it had survived worse.
It had gone quiet in the bathroom except for the steady running of water. Sam started to doze off despite the disgusting state he was in, exhaustion winning over the smell. The chair wasn’t exactly comfortable, but he wasn’t about to sully the bed, and anyway, Dean had to be done soon.
Just then the water shut off, and Sam straightened, trying to stretch the kinks out of his neck and shoulders before standing up. Bits of dried mud fell from his hair, peppering his nose, and he scratched it in irritation.
“You’re not the only one who needs to clean up, you know?” he complained in a loud voice, scowling when the only answer he got was a grunt that could mean anything from ‘Piss off,’ to ‘In a minute.’
The bathroom door finally opened, bellowing out a cloud of steam from which Dean emerged, clean but just as grumpy.
“All yours, princess,” he sneered, rubbing his hair vigorously with the towel before wrapping it around his waist with no hint of that morning’s flirting. His hair stuck up in all directions. If Sam hadn’t been so damn tired and filthy it would have made him smile. Instead he brushed past Dean, lips pinched tight.
“I swear, if you’ve used up all the hot water I’m going to kill you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Dean dismissed with a wave and flung himself down on the bed, remote in hand. “Hurry up. Your turn to get dinner.”
Sam gritted his teeth. It wasn’t and they both knew it. But he had ripped Dean’s jacket, accident or not, and so he had to make up for it somehow. Although… A smile crept over Sam’s face. There had been a very nice looking vegan restaurant around the corner. If Dean wanted him to get dinner, Sam would get dinner. A very healthy dinner. He was thinking… sprouts. And maybe tofu.
--------------------
Angel kept his eyes on the entrance to the hotel, pondering whether they should make their move or wait longer. To tell the truth, what he’d seen of the Winchester boys so far hadn’t really struck him as impressive. Drenched with sewer water, the stink bad enough that Angel could smell it across the street. And then the older one, Dean, who was supposed to be the more experienced hunter, had tripped over his own feet and faceplanted in a big puddle. And these guys thought they could take on a nest of Agraxi? It was laughable really, or it would be if he hadn’t read the reports.
Everyone could have a bad day, he knew that first hand. Sometimes things just… happened. Like being turned into a puppet. Which totally wasn’t his fault.
He glanced over at Spike who was already dozing off. Stakeouts had never been Spike’s forte; sitting still in general wasn’t really his thing. After entertaining himself first by sucking Angel off and then by jerking himself off he’d stared increasingly bored out of the window, until his eyelids started drooping, and before long his cheek was resting against the window, lips twitching occasionally as he slept. He didn’t look like a vicious vampire, more like a twelve year old, Angel thought with a grin.
A movement suddenly caught his eye, and he looked up just in time to see the younger Winchester brother cross the street. For a moment Angel thought they’d been spotted but Sam didn’t even glance their way as he walked confidently around the corner. There was a smile curling his lips that Angel recognized too well, having seen it on Spike far too many times. Either the boy was plotting something or he wasn’t quite as innocent as he seemed.
Twenty minutes later Sam returned, carrying two Styrofoam boxes and a six-pack. Angel’s stomach growled. He knew they should have taken a thermos with them. When vegetables started to smell tasty it was time to heat up some blood.
Angel contemplated their next move. From the looks of things the brothers hadn’t made any progress and he really didn’t want their deaths on his conscience if they were as incompetent as they looked. Guess it was time to have a little talk. He nudged Spike awake, ignoring his disgruntled protests from being woken up in the middle of his nap. They hurried across the street and into the hotel where Angel slipped the concierge a fifty for the boys’ room number.
“So what?” Spike asked, punching the button for the 5th floor a little harder than necessary. “We’re just gonna knock on their door like we’re popping in for a cuppa? They’re bloody hunters, mate. They’re gonna know what we are.”
“Maybe. Didn’t see any vampire killings on their résumés though.”
Spike tilted his head in thought. “Yeah, what’s that about? How can you travel all over this bloody country and not stumble upon a single vampire? I mean, the kid spent four years in Stanford. I know at least five who -”
“Not anymore.”
“What?”
Damn. Angel kept his eyes on the numbers slowly counting the floors. “I killed them a couple of months ago.”
He could feel Spike looking at him. “Just like that? You just walked up to them, said hello and staked the lot?”
“It’s what we do, Spike,” Angel muttered, jaw clenched. He should have known better than to bring that up. “Fight evil.”
“Here, yeah. And in Sunnydale. We don’t go driving around the bloody country like these wackos, looking for the damn things. What were you doing in Stanford anyway? You moving on to college girls now? High school cheerleaders not doing it for you anymore?”
Now there was a sure sign Spike was pissed. “Shut up,” Angel said, unable to meet Spike’s eyes. “It’s none of your damn business. What do you care anyway?”
Spike came to a halt. “If you have to ask you’re a bigger wanker than I thought.”
Angel sighed inwardly. “Spike…”
The elevator opened with a ping and Spike strode out of it and down the corridor, looking all kinds of pissed off. Angel followed him resigned. He’d apologize later. Somehow.
Spike was waiting outside the door to room 503, eyes staring stubbornly at the stained carpet, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his coat. “Not like we even needed to get their room number,” he muttered. “I can smell them miles away.”
“Not your money, so leave it,” Angel answered, keeping his voice neutral.
“I’m just saying. Fifty quid, could have spent it on beer.”
“I’ll buy you some later.”
“Assuming there is a later, and these kids don’t stake you.”
“Spike…”
The door was suddenly thrown open. “You gonna stand there bickering all night or you coming in?” Dean snapped. He rolled his eyes when they just stared at him, startled, and stomped back to the bed, where he’d obviously been sitting, eating his dinner. He left the door open.
Spike and Angel looked at each other then shrugged and followed, colliding as they both tried to step through the doorway at the same time. The boys were watching them with what looked like amusement and even a little bit of contempt. Granted, it wasn’t one of their grandest entrances, but at least a hint of fearful respect would have been nice.
“You knew we were coming?” Angel asked suspicious. The report said the younger one had some psychic abilities but it hadn’t been too specific about what they entailed.
Dean snorted. “You were making enough noise out there to wake up the dead.” He stuffed what looked like grass into his mouth and a shudder of disgust shook him as he fought to swallow. “You should really work on that whole stealth thing.”
Angel wanted to argue. He was a vampire. He was very stealthy. Or he used to be before Spike started following him around. “You know who we are?” he asked instead, ignoring the insult.
Dean shrugged and took a big gulp from his beer then grimaced as he poked what was left of his food. Sam was watching him, smirking. So that’s what he’d been planning earlier, Angel thought, a gastronomic revenge. Well, that was just evil, messing with a man’s food. Or a vampire’s for that matter. Angel guessed Dean’s view on health food was along the same line as his own on rat blood. Sure, it contained all the necessary nutrition so technically it could sustain him just as well as the otter (without adding all the extra pounds) but no one in their right mind would call rats tasty. Or even in their wrong mind. His rat-eating phase hadn’t exactly been his sanest.
He was so immerged in his thoughts he jerked slightly when Sam loudly cleared his throat. Taking a break from enjoying his brother’s misery he was now watching the pair of them with interest. “Not exactly but I’m guessing you’re from Wolfram and Hart.” His eyes narrowed and Angel grew increasingly uncomfortable as Sam studied him. “You’re Connor’s father, right? I can see the resemblance.”
Damn. “Yes. But that’s not why we’re here.”
Spike turned to stare at him in shock. Angel shot him a warning glare. Spike opened his mouth, but then obviously changed his mind. He stepped back and stuffed his hands back into the pockets of his coat, silently seething from the looks of it. Angel sighed inwardly. Great. They were in for a fun weekend once this was over. Maybe he should just let the boys stake him. Or Spike.
Both Winchesters were watching them now. They seemed relaxed, eating their food and drinking their beer as if nothing unusual was going on. But somehow Angel knew that all they needed was one wrong move and the big knife resting beside Sam on the bed would be in his hand and the gun on the nightstand would be aimed at their heads. Of course chances were they had no idea what they were fighting and so they’d be knocked down before they’d even know what was happening. Being a vampire had its perks, speed being one of them. Still, he wasn’t looking for a fight. Diplomacy wasn’t his strongest point (unlike stealth, ha!), but he could be friendly when needed and negotiate with even the most distasteful people on more or less amicable terms.
There was something bothering him though. Above the smell of the sewer coming from the bathroom - where the boys’ clothes were undoubtedly being soaked in detergent - and the strong scent of spiced vegetables, he could smell something else. Sex, as recent as from this morning. All of a sudden he realized that there was only one bed in the room.
Angel studied the Winchesters with a new sense of awareness. They didn’t seem like the kind of boys who would revel in that kind of… well, debauchery. They were hunters, killers, but they were doing it for the right reasons, or so all reports had indicated. There was nothing to suggest that either of them had been twisted by their years spent fighting evil. That they’d gone ‘wrong’.
But there was no doubt. He could smell them clearly now he knew what to look for. This morning, yes. And not just jerking off, oh no. They’d gone the whole nine yards and from the look of things it wasn’t the first time. Suddenly an image of Sam pushing his cocky brother down on the bed and fucking him from behind flashed across Angel’s vision and he felt himself go instantly hard. He glanced over at Spike and saw his nostrils flaring, a hint of surprise on his face. When he met Angel’s eyes they shared a heated look, and it was all Angel could do not to drag Spike out of there.
Someone coughed and he blinked to find the boys watching them with wary eyes.
“Not that we don’t appreciate the welcoming wagon, but some explanation for what the hell you’re doing here would be nice,” Dean said, one eyebrow raised in a way that reminded Angel annoyingly of Spike and made him, if possible, even hornier.
“We just came to tell you you’re on our turf,” he said briskly. “We can take care of things from here.”
“Like you’ve been taking care of them the last ten days?” Dean said casually, his eyes hard. “Ten people dead and you’ve done nothing.”
Angel took a deep breath. “Look, kid. You have no idea what you’re dealing with. You’re way over your head with this so I suggest you back off and leave it to the big boys.”
He had to hand it to the kid, he was fast. One moment he was sitting on the bed, relaxed and smirking. The next he was up in Angel’s face, glaring at him with a look of contempt. He matched Angel in height, adding another inch or so by pure rage. It was interesting seeing the hunter finally emerge from behind the pretty boy face. Angel could see now what made monsters fear him. It wasn’t just the foolish bravery and stubbornness, it was the kid’s obvious and utter indifference to his own well being.
“Big boys? That be you and Shrimp over there?” Dean ignored Spike’s indignant “Oi!” his hard gaze never leaving Angel’s. “Just because you’re some big shot lawyer doesn’t mean -”
“Dean!”
“Stay back, Sam,” Dean growled. It was kinda cute. Reminded Angel of an angry puppy. “I’m handling this.”
Sam had gotten up off the bed as well and was watching them warily. For the first time Angel noticed how tall he was. He was no small thing himself but the kid towered over him by a good three inches and he had the body of a college boy rushing to pack on muscle.
“I’m not exactly a lawyer,” Angel argued. He really didn’t want to hurt the kid but the way he was up in his face was really starting to piss him off. He glanced over at Spike who was watching them with a look of amusement, his earlier bad mood vanished, probably whisked away by the prospect of finally getting to hit something. “I just run the firm.”
“An evil firm,” Sam said. “So why should we trust you? For all we know these demons are under your protection.”
“It’s not evil! I’m in charge now and we’re -”
“Pet, I don’t think they’re interested. Beside, they’re right. It is an evil firm.”
Angel shot him a glare but Spike just shrugged and sauntered over to the bed. “This all you’ve got?” he said with a frown, indicating the bottles of Miller beer. “Bloody American piss. Can I have one?”
“Help yourself,” Sam said, eyes still on his brother. “Dean, c’mon. Let it go.”
Dean held Angel’s stare for a few seconds longer. His eyes narrowed and he stepped back. “You’re not human,” he said slowly but surely.
Angel saw Sam stiffen, his hand reaching for the gun.
“Don’t,” Angel warned him then added, “It won’t kill me anyway.”
“What are you?” Dean shifted his eyes over to Spike. “Both of you?”
“Vampires,” Spike said casually, sipping his beer. “But don’t worry. We’ve got souls now. All nice and neutered.”
Sam and Dean both stared at him.
“You’re kidding, right?” Dean finally asked. He sounded dazed. “Dad says there are no vampires left.”
Spike snorted. “Yeah, right. A bit thick, is he? Your dad?”
The anger was back in a flare. “You shut up about him or I’ll chop your fucking head off, so help me God!”
Spike rolled his eyes. “Did you miss the part about the soul? We’re all good now. Saving puppies, helping the hopeless, blah-blah.” Spike popped what looked like a piece of meat into his mouth and then spit it out with a grimace. “What the bloody hell are you eating? If you’re looking for evil, that’s it, right here.”
“It’s soy meat,” Sam said absently, still staring at him in disbelief. “It’s good for you. Well, not you, I guess. You’re vampires?” He looked over at Angel, eyes widening even further. “But… Connor?”
“He’s human. Normal,” Angel said quickly. If the kid ever went back to Stanford he didn’t want him causing trouble. “Look, the Agraxi, they’re vicious. And big. And no offence but I really think you’d be better off staying away. Just get back to fighting ghosts and whatever else you do but leave this one to us.”
Sam hesitated. He looked over at Dean who was still clearly itching for a fight. “Dean, maybe we should…”
Dean glared at him. “What the hell, Sam? No. We’re not going anywhere. Not until we’ve made sure it’s dead. I don’t trust these two. They might say they’re not evil but I’ve seen no proof of it yet.”
“He’s right.” Spike shrugged when Angel glared at him. “What? I wouldn’t trust us either. Although I would be careful who I called evil, all things considered.”
Dean frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Spike, don’t,” Angel tried to warn but it was too late.
“Not exactly walking the straight and narrow, are you? What with the two of you shagging, being brothers and all.” Spike tapped his nose. “Vampire. Very advanced sense of smell.”
The silence was palpable. Sam had gone deep red in the face whereas Dean was so pale his freckles stood out like beacons. “What did you say?”
Spike waved his hand dismissively. “’Course, you’re both adults so who bloody cares? Just don’t go thinking you’re innocent. Big sin you’re committing there, according to the big man upstairs.”
“Spike!” Angel hissed. “It’s none of our business.”
“You’re right it ain’t.” Dean leaned against the table. “That why you were looking at us like that before? Because you could smell… us?”
“Well, it was a bit of a surprise,” Spike admitted, not seeming to care that Angel was sending him death glares. “Thought you were both white-hats, all about doing the right thing.”
“It’s the right thing for us,” Sam snapped, finally out of his stupor although his face was still deep red.
“Sammy, leave it.” Dean had relaxed, a smile even tugged at his lips. “They’re not judging. Would be pretty hypocritical, seeing as they both think it’s hot as hell.” He nodded at Angel’s embarrassingly obvious bulge before letting his gaze, and smirk, slide over to Spike’s matching problem. “Am I right?”
Spike smirked. “And I though your brother was supposed to be the smart one.”
Dean grinned, looking smug, but a faint flush shot up his cheeks.
Angel’s eyes narrowed. What was going on? Were they… flirting? He glanced over at Sam and wasn’t surprised to see him pulled up to his whole height, shoulders squared, like a cock ready to fight.
“Alright,” Angel said sharply, sending Spike a glare that said he’d better knock it off or there would be consequences. Spike was of course too busy eyeing up the pretty-boy hunter to even notice. Angel gritted his teeth. “Can we focus?”
“We’re not backing off,” Dean said firmly, his gaze still on Spike. They seemed to be engaging in some kind of silent conversation, most likely concerning their dicks. Spike curled his lips and wrapped his tongue around the hint of a fang. Dean raised an eyebrow then tilted his head a little, exposing his neck.
Enough was enough. Angel growled.
Spike ripped his eyes away from Dean, finally, his lips twitching in amusement. Sam and Dean on the other hand both instantly stepped back, reaching for their weapons. Not exactly what Angel had been going for but at least now all eyes were on him.
“Okay,” he said. “Since the Agraxi like to kill humans you can be bait.”
He’d expected outrage but to his surprise Dean and Sam looked at each other, clearly having a silent conversation of their own, possibly also involving dicks, before facing forward and nodding in agreement.
“Yeah, all right,” Dean drawled. “But I’m not wearing a gold bikini. It gets Sammy too worked up.”
Sam snorted but his face went a little pink, which made Angel wonder if Dean actually did have a gold bikini stuffed somewhere in his duffel bag. And damn, that thought really didn’t help the whole awkward erection situation.
“Right,” he said, clearing his throat since his voice sounded a little rough. “So here’s the plan.”
------------
The dust settled and for a moment they just stood there, breathing in the smell of victory in the air, marvelling at the fact that they were still alive. Undead. Whatever.
Only for as long as it took Spike to turn around and grin, teeth bloody from a split lip. “Bloody hell, that’s what I call a fight! I say we celebrate. Anyone up for a pint?”
Just as Angel and Sam both opened their mouth, probably to scowl about being tired and needing a shower and how the hell to get that gooey stuff out of their precious hair, Dean threw back his head and laughed. “Hell, yeah. Lead the way.”
The hisses of “Dean!” and “Spike!” were bluntly ignored as they swaggered out of the alley, arms around each other’s necks. Dean glanced back to catch Angel and Sam share an exasperated look before they sighed and followed, muttering something about not leaving “those two” alone together.
Dean grinned and let Spike take a little more of his weight. It had been a long, hard day and night and hey, he was only human. Unlike his very strong friend here. What was the use in having a vampire partner if he couldn’t take a little advantage? Plus, Spike smelled damn good, Dean thought and allowed himself a subtle inhale. Leather and smokes and whiskey, mixed with a bit of blood. It was the smell of hunting, of fighting dirty and walking away victorious. It was fucking hot. Damn, he loved Sam, inside out, but his brother was such a neat freak. Even hurt and bleeding he always smelled of soap.
Spike’s fingers trailed down Dean’s neck and Dean swore he could hear him purr. It made him shiver. After a brief hesitation he tilted his head, just a little, to allow better access. He heard Spike chuckle and grinned. Flirting with danger, wasn’t that what he did? If not usually quite this literally. Still, a little bit of fun never hurt anyone. Much.
--------
Two hours later Spike and Dean were playing pool, seeming to be more focused on who could wiggle their butts more obscenely than actually getting the balls down. They kept brushing against each other, pale arms touching freckled ones, black jeans rubbing against blue. Green eyes winking and smiling into blue ones, blond hair nudging brown as they butted heads.
Over a nearby booth hovered a dark cloud of anger and jealousy.
“Your brother always such a slut?”
“Your... whatever he is, always such a whore?”
They glared at each other and then Angel slumped back and sighed. “Yeah.”
Sam nodded. “Pretty much.”
They gazed gloomily into their respective beers until loud laughter drew their attention, and they looked up in unison, just in time to see Spike grab Dean by the neck and ...
They were out of the booth and across the floor in a quarter of a second. Angel grabbing Spike by the collar of his coat and dragging him toward the door, Sam jerking Dean close by the arm then pushing him until he fell backward onto the pool table, where he stared up at Sam with a stunned expression.
“What the hell, dude?”
Sam grabbed Dean by the neck and pulled him in for a rough kiss. “We’re going home. Now!”
“What about - ?”
“I think they’re busy, Dean.” Sam hauled Dean off of the table and to his feet, never letting go of his neck. “Just like we’re gonna be the minute I get you back to the hotel.” He leaned over and bit Dean’s ear before whispering, “I'm gonna fuck you so hard you won't be able to stand for a week.”
“Uh.” Dean swallowed and a shiver ran through him. “Yeah, okay. Wait... What time is it?”
Sam pulled back, frowning. “What?” He checked his watch. “Five to two. Why?”
Dean’s grin was obscenely wide as he pumped his fist into the air. “Hell, yeah! I won!” He smiled smugly and elbowed his little brother. “Took you long enough. I was starting to think you didn’t care.”
“You made a bet? With that, that… Billy Idol reject?” Sam sputtered.
Dean wiggled his eyebrows. “Of course I did. You two made it too damn easy not to. What, you really thought we were planning on ditching you two to hook up? C’mon, Sammy, give me some credit.” He suddenly went solemn. “Speaking of which, what the hell am I supposed to do with fifteen kittens?”
fin