The Old Block (gen-fic, 4232 words, PG-13)
The Old Block
(gen-fic, 4232 words, PG-13, warnings for implied child prostitution, non-con, pedophilia)
In which Sam and Dean go for a ride with a stranger, and the stranger wishes they hadn't.
The younger one is about the age he likes. Still a little plump, with round, rosy cheeks like a cherub's. The older one is too old but so damn pretty Stevie's willing to make an exception. Stevie's got them figured for brothers. They don't look that much alike, except for maybe something in their eyes, but the two of them curl in against each other, like they've fitted together all their life.
They see him watching and the smaller one flinches a little, ducks behind his brother's shoulder. The older one whispers something in his ear and then lets him have the last of the slice of pie they're sharing.
It's pretty late at night and Stevie scans the diner quickly, looking for someone who's likely to lay claim to these kids. The old trucker at the table opposite could be a grandfather, he supposes, but he hasn't looked at the boys so much as once. And the waitress is sweet to them but they don't get much by way of special treatment, nothing like your momma's coming soon, just sit quietly.
The boys are his for the taking.
And it's not like it's such a risk when the older one's clearly offering. He's playing coy, chewing on his soft, pink lower lip, glancing up through lowered lashes. Stevie's not fooled. The boy's for sale. He can't be much more than fourteen, still be fairly fresh. His kid brother's not been on the market long at all, Stevie's got an eye for that kind of thing.
He finishes his coffee then stands up and heads for the door. As he's pulling it open, he glances back over his shoulder and jerks his head at the boys.
The night air is cool and he pops the collar of his jacket as he crosses the lot to his car. It doesn't take long for two sets of footsteps to start pattering along behind him. He hides his smile and pulls his car keys from his pocket. He sticks the key in the lock and glances up at the shadowy sky. Clouds are rolling across the fat white disc of the moon. It's as good a prompt as any, feels vaguely poetic. He unlocks the door and looks back at the boys, lingering like little ghosts in the darkness.
"Full moon tonight," he says. "Wild things are out. You shouldn't be out alone."
Stevie doesn't miss the way the younger boy's hand tightens about his brother's wrist. Nerves. It's sweet and it makes Stevie's mouth water. The older boy tilts his head up and smiles. Oh that's a smile that's probably never lost a trick yet. It's knowing and precocious. Both of these kids are going to drive Stevie out of his mind.
"We're not alone," the kid says. "We're with you." He glances at his brother, who's looking at Stevie through his messy dark bangs. "Aren't we, Sammy?"
Sammy nods and lets his brother pull him forward towards the car. His brother slides into the passenger seat and there's some unspoken communication going on between the two of them as Stevie goes round the side and gets in behind the wheel. He's never had brothers before. He's looking forward to it.
Stevie shuts his door and looks over the kid with a smooth smile, ready to talk price. He's about to open his mouth when the kid's face goes blank and he shoves a gun against Stevie's throat. He can feel his pulse hammering against the cool, hard metal.
"Hands on the wheel," the kid says.
"Kid," Stevie manages to breathe out, still hanging onto his smile. If he's smiling, he's in control. "What are you playing at?"
The muzzle of the gun jabs harder into his flesh, twisting slightly in the kid's hand. The kid isn't sweating, isn't trembling. He doesn't adjust his grip on the gun. Stevie feels his stomach drop again.
"Shut up. And hands on the wheel before I put a bullet through your throat."
Stevie obeys for now because he just needs to get a grip on the situation. He can't see Sammy for a second, then he sees him climbing into the back of the car with two duffel bags. He shoots Stevie another look with his puppy-dog eyes and there's no such sweetness in them now. Nothing but disgusted hatred.
"That everything?" the kid with the gun says and Sammy nods again.
The car shakes as they both slam their doors shut. Stevie feels a cold sweat on the back of his neck. He tries to sound reasonable, indulgent even, like a parent who's caught their kid scrawling crayon across the wall.
"All right, boys, you got me. What do you want? Money? My wallet's in my jeans pocket there."
"We need a driver. And that's you."
The kid with the gun seems to be the spokesman for the team. Stevie tries a smile on him, raising an eyebrow. The kid's looking back at him, green eyes luminous in the moonlight. Luminous and cold.
"You're old enough to have a gun but not old enough to drive?"
"Don't have time to get pulled over for being too young to be behind a wheel. Now, start the car up and get back on the road."
:::
From the muted little half-conversation that goes back and forth between the boys, Stevie picks up that the other kid’s name, the kid with the gun, is Dean. And, just like he thought, they are brothers. Fragments of sentences pass between them but seem to make sense to each other. Stevie picks up that they’ve been on their own for a while; the thrill of anxiety in Dean’s voice that he can’t quite cover up makes Stevie think they’ve been on their own longer than expected.
They don’t tell him where they’re headed, just direct him out of the truckstop town and back onto the Interstate. The gun at his throat doesn’t wobble at all and Stevie can feel the metal slide against his skin every time he swallows. He lets out a breath and flicks a glance at Dean. Dean’s got his eyes fixed on the rear-view mirror, on his brother. He looks back soon as he realises Stevie’s watching him and Stevie doesn’t let his smile falter but he marks it down as something to watch out for. That’s an opportunity right there. Dean may know how to handle a gun but he’s still just a kid, still prone to stupid mistakes like that.
“You know, if you boys needed a ride somewhere, you coulda just asked.”
“I bet we’d have had to ask real nicely,” says Dean, his lip curling into a sneer. “Thanks but no. Like it better this way.”
Sammy shifts in the back and Stevie gets a kick through the seat. The humiliation of being hijacked by kids is one thing, getting kicked around by them too is another altogether. Still, it gives him a thought and he flashes a smile in the rear-view at the scowling little boy. Get his hands on Sammy and Dean’ll give up the gun nice and easy.
“You got enough room there, Sammy? Want to come sit up front with your brother and me?”
He gets another swift kick in the small of his back and the gun’s muzzle digs deeper into his flesh. He strains away from it on reflex. His smile goes long and thin.
“Hey, hey! Don’t need to get nasty! Only trying to be friendly!”
“You don’t talk to him,” Dean says.
“Or what?” says Stevie, tilting his head towards him with one eyebrow raised. “Am I even supposed to believe there are bullets in that thing you’re waving around?”
The slow click of the hammer being raised turns Stevie’s smile cold on his face. His hands slip on the steering wheel, leaving hot sweaty palm prints on the leather.
He hopes to God these boys aren’t going far.
:::
They’re into their second hour of driving. It’s not even close to dawn yet. Sammy fell asleep a while ago, little dark head drooping forward, knees up to his chest. Stevie’s been snatching glimpses of him in the mirror but Dean makes a point of jabbing the muzzle of the gun into him so hard he thinks it’s going to hit bone.
“Dirty fuck,” says Dean under his breath.
The remark riles Stevie, makes him tense and irritable. It’s not like he didn’t used to think it himself but he’s come to terms with it now. Sexuality’s a fluid thing, it’d be a damned boring world if everyone liked the same thing. Some guys like girls with big breasts or wobbly asses, some guys go for Asian chicks or hairy bears of men. Stevie just happens to like boys with pretty faces and smooth skin, boys too young to have been fucked around and fucked up. The Ancient Greeks were all over that kind of thing. Stevie was just born in the wrong era. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.
“I may have been buying, but you were selling, kiddo. It may have been a set-up but don’t tell me you didn’t know what you were doing.”
“Screw you.”
Stevie laughs and he can tell Dean doesn't like it.
"C'mon, kid, how about I give you fifty dollars and you show me what you know? I'll still take you boys anywhere you want to go." He reaches into his pocket and hooks out a note from his wallet. "Come on, how about it? Fifty bucks."
He holds the folded note up between his fingers. Dean looks at it then out at the road. The lights from a gas station slant across the blacktop. He bites one of his pretty pink lips and Stevie wonders whether he's gonna be satisfied with a blowjob or whether it's worth pushing for a fuck.
Another sharp kick in the back and Stevie's smile goes a little strained but he holds onto it in the face of victory.
"You awake then, Sammy?" he says, pleasant as he can.
Dean snatches the note from his fingers and jerks his head towards the gas station. Stevie pulls the car in and turns off the engine while Dean holds the money out to his brother.
"Run on in and get me some M&Ms, Sammy. Get yourself whatever you want too. Driver's buying."
There's a second's hesitation where Sammy looks between his brother and Stevie, but whatever he sees on Dean's face seems to reassure him. He scrambles out of the car and slams the door shut. Stevie slouches in his seat and calls out the window to him, not taking his eyes off Dean,
"Don't hurry back, kid."
The still silence of the night make all the tiny noises in the car sound so loud: the squeak of leather upholstery, the wet swipe of Dean's tongue over his lips, the catch in Stevie's breathing as he watches him. His cock's getting hard and there's the weight of want in his lower belly.
Dean's such a pretty kid, soft and shining in the harsh glare of electric light. His mouth is set in a perfect pout and before Stevie fucks it he thinks he might kiss it. He reaches out, intending to graze his knuckles along the smooth line of Dean's cheekbone, but the gun suddenly gets in the way.
"I thought we had a deal," says Stevie.
"We steal your car, kidnap you… and you're surprised we've just stolen your money?"
His hand twists and Dean obviously recognises when the intention to stroke him becomes the intention to backhand him. The gun flashes darkly and is right in Stevie's face.
"You touch me and I'll put a hole in you."
They sit in sullen stalemate until Sammy clambers back into the car. He drops a bag of candy in Dean's lap and settles himself down with some chocolate and a bottle of coke. Stevie shoots him an ugly look in the rear view mirror.
"What, nothing for me?"
"Thought you'd be too busy driving," Sammy shoots back.
The kid's got a smart mouth. Dean may be the one holding the gun but neither of them are exactly lacking in attitude. Still, it's only the gun that keeps them from being the same kind of scared little street-punks that Stevie's grown up dealing with. It's only the gun.
:::
It wouldn't be a road trip without someone drinking way more than they should and needing a rest stop badly. Sammy may be part of the crew that's kidnapped Stevie, but he's still just a kid and Dean picks up on what the problem is just a second or two before Stevie does.
A wordless conversation goes on in the mirror and Stevie tries to keep an eye on his driving while snatching glimpses of it. Sammy looks sulky but desperate and Dean's got the fine art of looking like a frustrated parent down already.
Stevie lets out a laugh at Sammy's agitated little face and raises an eyebrow at him.
"You gotta go, Sammy? Well that'll teach you for guzzling your coke and not offering me a mouthful, now won't it?"
"Shut your mouth," says Dean, still watching his brother out of the corner of his eye.
He scans the roadside. Trees loom up on either side, stretching on into shadow. It's not the nice, exposed countryside they left behind an hour or so ago. Stevie watches him, knowing that he can only figure out so many problems at once and at some point, the gun's going to slip.
"Can't you hold it?" Dean says at last, and Stevie has to laugh again at Sammy's tiny little shake of his head. They're both such cute boys.
Dean lets out an exasperated breath and Stevie doesn't offer any suggestions or help. Dean's brought this on himself and Stevie's not going to get drawn into some Stockholm Syndrome crap. The boys need to learn that their actions have consequences.
"All right, pull over," says Dean. He glances back at Sammy. "And you be quick. You get into any trou-"
"Dean!" says Sammy, flushing and shooting an embarrassed glare at Stevie, who's watching with a grin he's not trying to hide.
Sammy scuttles off into the undergrowth and Dean's torn between craning his neck round to keep watch and keeping the gun pointed at Stevie. The gun slips once and Stevie pretends not to notice. They sit and wait together, Dean getting more and more on edge.
"What was that?" Stevie hisses at a particularly loud crackle of twigs.
He leans in as Dean's neck whips around again and wrenches the gun from his grip. Dean scrabbles for it, his little fingers scraping over Steve's hand and Stevie catches his wrist, holds it bruisingly tight. He's almost caught out by the punch Dean throws at him but Stevie's running on adrenaline and the knowledge he's going to teach this brat a lesson. He sticks the gun in the back of his waistband and lunges back at Dean.
"Take your fucking hands off me! I'll fucking kill you!"
Dean's snarling and spitting like a wildcat but Stevie bundles him out of the car. It's a struggle because the boy may be short and scrawny but there's both strength and direction in the flying fists and feet. But Stevie's got him by the scruff of the neck and at the back of the waistband of his jeans. He flings him down, face first, over the hood of the car. The slam of metal shuts Dean up for a second and Stevie resolves to do it again if the little cunt starts screaming again.
Stevie presses him down and Dean wriggles until he feels just how hard Stevie is against his ass. He goes completely still and Stevie laughs and pushes against him, grinding his cock over the small of his back where his t-shirt's ridden up.
"Bet you wish you hadn't been such a cock-tease earlier, huh?" He reaches down to tug his flies down and feels the shudder go all the way through Dean's body. "You're lucky I'm not like some of the creeps you could've picked up. I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm just gonna fuck you. You know you've been asking for it."
Dean twitches, tries to raise his head and Stevie slams him back down. He does it harder than he means to and hears Dean make a soft, pained noise. He wonders if maybe Dean's nose is dripping blood on the hood then reminds himself he's been driven God-knows-where with a gun stuck in his throat. He doesn't care if Dean's nose is broken; that's going to be the least of Dean's worries by the time Stevie's done with him.
He kicks Dean's legs apart and sticks his knee between his spread thighs to hold him like that while he gets his own jeans down about his hips. The pre-dawn air is chilly and he sucks in his breath as it hits his cock. He spits on the palm of his hand and slicks it over himself, then he reaches round Dean's body to get as his flies.
"Let go of my brother right now."
There's a moment of confusion because Stevie can't figure out how he hears the click of a gun being cocked when the weight of Dean's gun is still resting against his spine. Then that gun's gone too and he looks over his shoulder to see that Sammy's standing right there, with two guns pointed at Stevie. The little freak can't be more than ten years old and he's got a gun of his own.
Stevie can feel Dean sag, his knees going weak for a second, then an elbow shoots back to catch him hard in the ribs.
"Get off me, you sick asshole!"
Stevie tries to get his breath back, only dimly aware of Dean scooting out from under him. He knows his cock's hanging out for both of the boys to see but it takes him a while to get past being winded and having a gun held on him by a kid. He drags his jeans back up and looks at them both.
Dean glares back at him, still so pretty and flushed. There's blood on his face, splatters of it down the front of his t-shirt. Sammy's pale but resolute. His hand doesn't wobble either when he gives the spare gun back to Dean. They both are staring at him like he's something nasty they've trodden on.
"Get back in the car," says Sammy at last. "We're gonna be late."
:::
Just before dawn, they cross a stateline and start hitting towns again. They pass a few more cars, diners and motels roll on past. Sammy searches through his pocket for a screwed-up serviette. He and Dean lean towards one another and Stevie sees childish scribbling that passes for handwriting all over it.
"Those our directions?" he says.
Dean and Sammy both ignore him. Sammy catches hold of Dean's wrist and twists it so he can see the watch. The boys exchange another worried look and Dean jabs the gun at Stevie.
"You need to drive faster," he tells him.
Stevie shrugs and complies, tries not to grin too broadly when they get waved over by the police. It's just one guy on a motorcycle, looking like he needs his coffee. Stevie's curious how the boys are going to play this one. Are they going to wave their guns around? Try to pass it off as all Stevie's fault? He's not going to let them.
The cop stomps over, flipping through the pages of a notebook, and Dean and Sammy crowd around Stevie, looking puppyish and bleary-eyed but excited. Stevie winds the window down and looks at the officer, very aware of the gun now pressed to his ribs.
"Problem, officer?" says Stevie.
"You aware you were doing 60 in a 40, sir?"
Stevie's about to apologise and try to smooth it over but Sammy shoves his face in the gap and beams at the cop. His voice pipes up, shrill and bright, and not at all like how Stevie's used to hearing it.
"Daddy's taking us camping! We're gonna catch a fish! And he's gonna show us how to gut it!"
Dean shoves his brother back into his seat.
"Shut up, geekface! Can't you see Dad's busy?"
"Dad!" Sammy squeaks. "He called me geekface again! You told him he's not to call me geekface but he did it anyway, Dad! You heard him, didn't you, Dad?"
"He's busy!" Dean snarls again.
"You seem to have your hands full," says the cop, grinning slightly. "I'll let it go this time but just keep an eye on your speed in future, yeah?" He grins again at the boys and Stevie manages a weak smile back at him.
They're waved on and the boys instantly drop back into their seats. Sam rustles around and drags a map out of his duffel bag. Dean lounges back in his seat and doesn't take his eyes off Stevie. It's relief going through Stevie but the whole incident just goes to prove that these boys aren't exactly new to this kind of thing.
Sunlight creeps over the road and the smattering of houses. A bird sweeps through the sky overhead and Stevie stifles a yawn. He needs some caffeine, and he needs these boys gone. It's not like they don't both look dead on their feet too. Dean's fixed on keeping the gun on Stevie. Sammy's busy flicking between the map and the serviette. He looks up at the welcome sign as they enter another town and glances at his brother.
"There's a bus station up ahead. That's where we're going."
Dean looks at his watch and frowns. Shakes his head at Sammy.
"We're late. He's gonna have both our asses."
"Only a little late," Sammy says, sounding affronted. "We did our best."
They both look at Stevie at that and he knows what they're thinking: their best is kind of inadequate and scummy. Still, it's the home run. He can pass these boys off to whoever wants them and get the hell away from them.
He turns into the parking lot outside the bus station. There's a single car there, a sleek black muscle car. And there's a man sitting on a bench, a big man with dark hair and dark eyes. He lifts his head and watches Stevie's car roll in next to his. Sammy's jumping out of the car with the duffel bags before Stevie's even come to a proper stop.
"I thought I told you boys to take a bus," says the man, catching hold of Sammy's shoulder. He holds him tight and Stevie can see the genuine concern, the need to have the boy in reach again, even though his tone is cold.
"We didn't have enough money, Dad," says Sam. "We had to make him drive us, Dean said the police would stop us if we didn't have an adult with us."
The man nods but he's watching Stevie. Stevie doesn't like the look in his eye, not when Dean's got blood down his t-shirt and is holding a gun on him. Stevie tries a smile that the man doesn't return.
"Dean was right," says the man, coming closer. "C'mon, Dean, let me get a look at you."
Dean's slower about getting out of the car than his brother was and Stevie gets that he's ashamed about something but he can't figure what, not until the man's tilting his face up to look at him and raises an eyebrow.
"Got the jump on you, did he?"
Dean's cheeks go red and he drops his gaze back to the ground, scowling at Stevie out of the corner of his eye. He looks petulant and small and Stevie doesn't know whether to be offended or not that Dean's ashamed of being caught out by him.
"We got him back, Dad," says Sammy but their dad's not listening.
Stevie finally gets a smile off him but it's not a nice one and he kind of wishes the man hadn't bothered. He feels more acutely conscious of the damage to Dean's face than ever. There's the fleeting temptation to start the car up and just gun it out of the parking lot. He thinks maybe they'd find him though, maybe not the kids, but their dad definitely.
"You gave my boys a ride, did you?" their dad says, resting against the side of the car. "Out of the goodness of your heart?"
"Something like-" he starts to say but a fist comes slamming through the window and crushes lips to teeth, snaps teeth from gums.
His mouth feels like it's on fire, full of blood and pain. Stevie claps his hand over his broken face and makes a scared, angry noise. He fumbles for the keys in the ignition, gets the car running. He expects another punch but it doesn't come. The man just steps back and watches, blank-eyed and still.
Stevie gets one last look at them as the car hurtles back onto the road. Dean and Sammy, standing one on either side of their dad, whose knuckles are skinned from the impact on Stevie's face and who doesn't stop watching him.
Now he knows where the boys get it from.
~end
(gen-fic, 4232 words, PG-13, warnings for implied child prostitution, non-con, pedophilia)
In which Sam and Dean go for a ride with a stranger, and the stranger wishes they hadn't.
The younger one is about the age he likes. Still a little plump, with round, rosy cheeks like a cherub's. The older one is too old but so damn pretty Stevie's willing to make an exception. Stevie's got them figured for brothers. They don't look that much alike, except for maybe something in their eyes, but the two of them curl in against each other, like they've fitted together all their life.
They see him watching and the smaller one flinches a little, ducks behind his brother's shoulder. The older one whispers something in his ear and then lets him have the last of the slice of pie they're sharing.
It's pretty late at night and Stevie scans the diner quickly, looking for someone who's likely to lay claim to these kids. The old trucker at the table opposite could be a grandfather, he supposes, but he hasn't looked at the boys so much as once. And the waitress is sweet to them but they don't get much by way of special treatment, nothing like your momma's coming soon, just sit quietly.
The boys are his for the taking.
And it's not like it's such a risk when the older one's clearly offering. He's playing coy, chewing on his soft, pink lower lip, glancing up through lowered lashes. Stevie's not fooled. The boy's for sale. He can't be much more than fourteen, still be fairly fresh. His kid brother's not been on the market long at all, Stevie's got an eye for that kind of thing.
He finishes his coffee then stands up and heads for the door. As he's pulling it open, he glances back over his shoulder and jerks his head at the boys.
The night air is cool and he pops the collar of his jacket as he crosses the lot to his car. It doesn't take long for two sets of footsteps to start pattering along behind him. He hides his smile and pulls his car keys from his pocket. He sticks the key in the lock and glances up at the shadowy sky. Clouds are rolling across the fat white disc of the moon. It's as good a prompt as any, feels vaguely poetic. He unlocks the door and looks back at the boys, lingering like little ghosts in the darkness.
"Full moon tonight," he says. "Wild things are out. You shouldn't be out alone."
Stevie doesn't miss the way the younger boy's hand tightens about his brother's wrist. Nerves. It's sweet and it makes Stevie's mouth water. The older boy tilts his head up and smiles. Oh that's a smile that's probably never lost a trick yet. It's knowing and precocious. Both of these kids are going to drive Stevie out of his mind.
"We're not alone," the kid says. "We're with you." He glances at his brother, who's looking at Stevie through his messy dark bangs. "Aren't we, Sammy?"
Sammy nods and lets his brother pull him forward towards the car. His brother slides into the passenger seat and there's some unspoken communication going on between the two of them as Stevie goes round the side and gets in behind the wheel. He's never had brothers before. He's looking forward to it.
Stevie shuts his door and looks over the kid with a smooth smile, ready to talk price. He's about to open his mouth when the kid's face goes blank and he shoves a gun against Stevie's throat. He can feel his pulse hammering against the cool, hard metal.
"Hands on the wheel," the kid says.
"Kid," Stevie manages to breathe out, still hanging onto his smile. If he's smiling, he's in control. "What are you playing at?"
The muzzle of the gun jabs harder into his flesh, twisting slightly in the kid's hand. The kid isn't sweating, isn't trembling. He doesn't adjust his grip on the gun. Stevie feels his stomach drop again.
"Shut up. And hands on the wheel before I put a bullet through your throat."
Stevie obeys for now because he just needs to get a grip on the situation. He can't see Sammy for a second, then he sees him climbing into the back of the car with two duffel bags. He shoots Stevie another look with his puppy-dog eyes and there's no such sweetness in them now. Nothing but disgusted hatred.
"That everything?" the kid with the gun says and Sammy nods again.
The car shakes as they both slam their doors shut. Stevie feels a cold sweat on the back of his neck. He tries to sound reasonable, indulgent even, like a parent who's caught their kid scrawling crayon across the wall.
"All right, boys, you got me. What do you want? Money? My wallet's in my jeans pocket there."
"We need a driver. And that's you."
The kid with the gun seems to be the spokesman for the team. Stevie tries a smile on him, raising an eyebrow. The kid's looking back at him, green eyes luminous in the moonlight. Luminous and cold.
"You're old enough to have a gun but not old enough to drive?"
"Don't have time to get pulled over for being too young to be behind a wheel. Now, start the car up and get back on the road."
:::
From the muted little half-conversation that goes back and forth between the boys, Stevie picks up that the other kid’s name, the kid with the gun, is Dean. And, just like he thought, they are brothers. Fragments of sentences pass between them but seem to make sense to each other. Stevie picks up that they’ve been on their own for a while; the thrill of anxiety in Dean’s voice that he can’t quite cover up makes Stevie think they’ve been on their own longer than expected.
They don’t tell him where they’re headed, just direct him out of the truckstop town and back onto the Interstate. The gun at his throat doesn’t wobble at all and Stevie can feel the metal slide against his skin every time he swallows. He lets out a breath and flicks a glance at Dean. Dean’s got his eyes fixed on the rear-view mirror, on his brother. He looks back soon as he realises Stevie’s watching him and Stevie doesn’t let his smile falter but he marks it down as something to watch out for. That’s an opportunity right there. Dean may know how to handle a gun but he’s still just a kid, still prone to stupid mistakes like that.
“You know, if you boys needed a ride somewhere, you coulda just asked.”
“I bet we’d have had to ask real nicely,” says Dean, his lip curling into a sneer. “Thanks but no. Like it better this way.”
Sammy shifts in the back and Stevie gets a kick through the seat. The humiliation of being hijacked by kids is one thing, getting kicked around by them too is another altogether. Still, it gives him a thought and he flashes a smile in the rear-view at the scowling little boy. Get his hands on Sammy and Dean’ll give up the gun nice and easy.
“You got enough room there, Sammy? Want to come sit up front with your brother and me?”
He gets another swift kick in the small of his back and the gun’s muzzle digs deeper into his flesh. He strains away from it on reflex. His smile goes long and thin.
“Hey, hey! Don’t need to get nasty! Only trying to be friendly!”
“You don’t talk to him,” Dean says.
“Or what?” says Stevie, tilting his head towards him with one eyebrow raised. “Am I even supposed to believe there are bullets in that thing you’re waving around?”
The slow click of the hammer being raised turns Stevie’s smile cold on his face. His hands slip on the steering wheel, leaving hot sweaty palm prints on the leather.
He hopes to God these boys aren’t going far.
:::
They’re into their second hour of driving. It’s not even close to dawn yet. Sammy fell asleep a while ago, little dark head drooping forward, knees up to his chest. Stevie’s been snatching glimpses of him in the mirror but Dean makes a point of jabbing the muzzle of the gun into him so hard he thinks it’s going to hit bone.
“Dirty fuck,” says Dean under his breath.
The remark riles Stevie, makes him tense and irritable. It’s not like he didn’t used to think it himself but he’s come to terms with it now. Sexuality’s a fluid thing, it’d be a damned boring world if everyone liked the same thing. Some guys like girls with big breasts or wobbly asses, some guys go for Asian chicks or hairy bears of men. Stevie just happens to like boys with pretty faces and smooth skin, boys too young to have been fucked around and fucked up. The Ancient Greeks were all over that kind of thing. Stevie was just born in the wrong era. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.
“I may have been buying, but you were selling, kiddo. It may have been a set-up but don’t tell me you didn’t know what you were doing.”
“Screw you.”
Stevie laughs and he can tell Dean doesn't like it.
"C'mon, kid, how about I give you fifty dollars and you show me what you know? I'll still take you boys anywhere you want to go." He reaches into his pocket and hooks out a note from his wallet. "Come on, how about it? Fifty bucks."
He holds the folded note up between his fingers. Dean looks at it then out at the road. The lights from a gas station slant across the blacktop. He bites one of his pretty pink lips and Stevie wonders whether he's gonna be satisfied with a blowjob or whether it's worth pushing for a fuck.
Another sharp kick in the back and Stevie's smile goes a little strained but he holds onto it in the face of victory.
"You awake then, Sammy?" he says, pleasant as he can.
Dean snatches the note from his fingers and jerks his head towards the gas station. Stevie pulls the car in and turns off the engine while Dean holds the money out to his brother.
"Run on in and get me some M&Ms, Sammy. Get yourself whatever you want too. Driver's buying."
There's a second's hesitation where Sammy looks between his brother and Stevie, but whatever he sees on Dean's face seems to reassure him. He scrambles out of the car and slams the door shut. Stevie slouches in his seat and calls out the window to him, not taking his eyes off Dean,
"Don't hurry back, kid."
The still silence of the night make all the tiny noises in the car sound so loud: the squeak of leather upholstery, the wet swipe of Dean's tongue over his lips, the catch in Stevie's breathing as he watches him. His cock's getting hard and there's the weight of want in his lower belly.
Dean's such a pretty kid, soft and shining in the harsh glare of electric light. His mouth is set in a perfect pout and before Stevie fucks it he thinks he might kiss it. He reaches out, intending to graze his knuckles along the smooth line of Dean's cheekbone, but the gun suddenly gets in the way.
"I thought we had a deal," says Stevie.
"We steal your car, kidnap you… and you're surprised we've just stolen your money?"
His hand twists and Dean obviously recognises when the intention to stroke him becomes the intention to backhand him. The gun flashes darkly and is right in Stevie's face.
"You touch me and I'll put a hole in you."
They sit in sullen stalemate until Sammy clambers back into the car. He drops a bag of candy in Dean's lap and settles himself down with some chocolate and a bottle of coke. Stevie shoots him an ugly look in the rear view mirror.
"What, nothing for me?"
"Thought you'd be too busy driving," Sammy shoots back.
The kid's got a smart mouth. Dean may be the one holding the gun but neither of them are exactly lacking in attitude. Still, it's only the gun that keeps them from being the same kind of scared little street-punks that Stevie's grown up dealing with. It's only the gun.
:::
It wouldn't be a road trip without someone drinking way more than they should and needing a rest stop badly. Sammy may be part of the crew that's kidnapped Stevie, but he's still just a kid and Dean picks up on what the problem is just a second or two before Stevie does.
A wordless conversation goes on in the mirror and Stevie tries to keep an eye on his driving while snatching glimpses of it. Sammy looks sulky but desperate and Dean's got the fine art of looking like a frustrated parent down already.
Stevie lets out a laugh at Sammy's agitated little face and raises an eyebrow at him.
"You gotta go, Sammy? Well that'll teach you for guzzling your coke and not offering me a mouthful, now won't it?"
"Shut your mouth," says Dean, still watching his brother out of the corner of his eye.
He scans the roadside. Trees loom up on either side, stretching on into shadow. It's not the nice, exposed countryside they left behind an hour or so ago. Stevie watches him, knowing that he can only figure out so many problems at once and at some point, the gun's going to slip.
"Can't you hold it?" Dean says at last, and Stevie has to laugh again at Sammy's tiny little shake of his head. They're both such cute boys.
Dean lets out an exasperated breath and Stevie doesn't offer any suggestions or help. Dean's brought this on himself and Stevie's not going to get drawn into some Stockholm Syndrome crap. The boys need to learn that their actions have consequences.
"All right, pull over," says Dean. He glances back at Sammy. "And you be quick. You get into any trou-"
"Dean!" says Sammy, flushing and shooting an embarrassed glare at Stevie, who's watching with a grin he's not trying to hide.
Sammy scuttles off into the undergrowth and Dean's torn between craning his neck round to keep watch and keeping the gun pointed at Stevie. The gun slips once and Stevie pretends not to notice. They sit and wait together, Dean getting more and more on edge.
"What was that?" Stevie hisses at a particularly loud crackle of twigs.
He leans in as Dean's neck whips around again and wrenches the gun from his grip. Dean scrabbles for it, his little fingers scraping over Steve's hand and Stevie catches his wrist, holds it bruisingly tight. He's almost caught out by the punch Dean throws at him but Stevie's running on adrenaline and the knowledge he's going to teach this brat a lesson. He sticks the gun in the back of his waistband and lunges back at Dean.
"Take your fucking hands off me! I'll fucking kill you!"
Dean's snarling and spitting like a wildcat but Stevie bundles him out of the car. It's a struggle because the boy may be short and scrawny but there's both strength and direction in the flying fists and feet. But Stevie's got him by the scruff of the neck and at the back of the waistband of his jeans. He flings him down, face first, over the hood of the car. The slam of metal shuts Dean up for a second and Stevie resolves to do it again if the little cunt starts screaming again.
Stevie presses him down and Dean wriggles until he feels just how hard Stevie is against his ass. He goes completely still and Stevie laughs and pushes against him, grinding his cock over the small of his back where his t-shirt's ridden up.
"Bet you wish you hadn't been such a cock-tease earlier, huh?" He reaches down to tug his flies down and feels the shudder go all the way through Dean's body. "You're lucky I'm not like some of the creeps you could've picked up. I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm just gonna fuck you. You know you've been asking for it."
Dean twitches, tries to raise his head and Stevie slams him back down. He does it harder than he means to and hears Dean make a soft, pained noise. He wonders if maybe Dean's nose is dripping blood on the hood then reminds himself he's been driven God-knows-where with a gun stuck in his throat. He doesn't care if Dean's nose is broken; that's going to be the least of Dean's worries by the time Stevie's done with him.
He kicks Dean's legs apart and sticks his knee between his spread thighs to hold him like that while he gets his own jeans down about his hips. The pre-dawn air is chilly and he sucks in his breath as it hits his cock. He spits on the palm of his hand and slicks it over himself, then he reaches round Dean's body to get as his flies.
"Let go of my brother right now."
There's a moment of confusion because Stevie can't figure out how he hears the click of a gun being cocked when the weight of Dean's gun is still resting against his spine. Then that gun's gone too and he looks over his shoulder to see that Sammy's standing right there, with two guns pointed at Stevie. The little freak can't be more than ten years old and he's got a gun of his own.
Stevie can feel Dean sag, his knees going weak for a second, then an elbow shoots back to catch him hard in the ribs.
"Get off me, you sick asshole!"
Stevie tries to get his breath back, only dimly aware of Dean scooting out from under him. He knows his cock's hanging out for both of the boys to see but it takes him a while to get past being winded and having a gun held on him by a kid. He drags his jeans back up and looks at them both.
Dean glares back at him, still so pretty and flushed. There's blood on his face, splatters of it down the front of his t-shirt. Sammy's pale but resolute. His hand doesn't wobble either when he gives the spare gun back to Dean. They both are staring at him like he's something nasty they've trodden on.
"Get back in the car," says Sammy at last. "We're gonna be late."
:::
Just before dawn, they cross a stateline and start hitting towns again. They pass a few more cars, diners and motels roll on past. Sammy searches through his pocket for a screwed-up serviette. He and Dean lean towards one another and Stevie sees childish scribbling that passes for handwriting all over it.
"Those our directions?" he says.
Dean and Sammy both ignore him. Sammy catches hold of Dean's wrist and twists it so he can see the watch. The boys exchange another worried look and Dean jabs the gun at Stevie.
"You need to drive faster," he tells him.
Stevie shrugs and complies, tries not to grin too broadly when they get waved over by the police. It's just one guy on a motorcycle, looking like he needs his coffee. Stevie's curious how the boys are going to play this one. Are they going to wave their guns around? Try to pass it off as all Stevie's fault? He's not going to let them.
The cop stomps over, flipping through the pages of a notebook, and Dean and Sammy crowd around Stevie, looking puppyish and bleary-eyed but excited. Stevie winds the window down and looks at the officer, very aware of the gun now pressed to his ribs.
"Problem, officer?" says Stevie.
"You aware you were doing 60 in a 40, sir?"
Stevie's about to apologise and try to smooth it over but Sammy shoves his face in the gap and beams at the cop. His voice pipes up, shrill and bright, and not at all like how Stevie's used to hearing it.
"Daddy's taking us camping! We're gonna catch a fish! And he's gonna show us how to gut it!"
Dean shoves his brother back into his seat.
"Shut up, geekface! Can't you see Dad's busy?"
"Dad!" Sammy squeaks. "He called me geekface again! You told him he's not to call me geekface but he did it anyway, Dad! You heard him, didn't you, Dad?"
"He's busy!" Dean snarls again.
"You seem to have your hands full," says the cop, grinning slightly. "I'll let it go this time but just keep an eye on your speed in future, yeah?" He grins again at the boys and Stevie manages a weak smile back at him.
They're waved on and the boys instantly drop back into their seats. Sam rustles around and drags a map out of his duffel bag. Dean lounges back in his seat and doesn't take his eyes off Stevie. It's relief going through Stevie but the whole incident just goes to prove that these boys aren't exactly new to this kind of thing.
Sunlight creeps over the road and the smattering of houses. A bird sweeps through the sky overhead and Stevie stifles a yawn. He needs some caffeine, and he needs these boys gone. It's not like they don't both look dead on their feet too. Dean's fixed on keeping the gun on Stevie. Sammy's busy flicking between the map and the serviette. He looks up at the welcome sign as they enter another town and glances at his brother.
"There's a bus station up ahead. That's where we're going."
Dean looks at his watch and frowns. Shakes his head at Sammy.
"We're late. He's gonna have both our asses."
"Only a little late," Sammy says, sounding affronted. "We did our best."
They both look at Stevie at that and he knows what they're thinking: their best is kind of inadequate and scummy. Still, it's the home run. He can pass these boys off to whoever wants them and get the hell away from them.
He turns into the parking lot outside the bus station. There's a single car there, a sleek black muscle car. And there's a man sitting on a bench, a big man with dark hair and dark eyes. He lifts his head and watches Stevie's car roll in next to his. Sammy's jumping out of the car with the duffel bags before Stevie's even come to a proper stop.
"I thought I told you boys to take a bus," says the man, catching hold of Sammy's shoulder. He holds him tight and Stevie can see the genuine concern, the need to have the boy in reach again, even though his tone is cold.
"We didn't have enough money, Dad," says Sam. "We had to make him drive us, Dean said the police would stop us if we didn't have an adult with us."
The man nods but he's watching Stevie. Stevie doesn't like the look in his eye, not when Dean's got blood down his t-shirt and is holding a gun on him. Stevie tries a smile that the man doesn't return.
"Dean was right," says the man, coming closer. "C'mon, Dean, let me get a look at you."
Dean's slower about getting out of the car than his brother was and Stevie gets that he's ashamed about something but he can't figure what, not until the man's tilting his face up to look at him and raises an eyebrow.
"Got the jump on you, did he?"
Dean's cheeks go red and he drops his gaze back to the ground, scowling at Stevie out of the corner of his eye. He looks petulant and small and Stevie doesn't know whether to be offended or not that Dean's ashamed of being caught out by him.
"We got him back, Dad," says Sammy but their dad's not listening.
Stevie finally gets a smile off him but it's not a nice one and he kind of wishes the man hadn't bothered. He feels more acutely conscious of the damage to Dean's face than ever. There's the fleeting temptation to start the car up and just gun it out of the parking lot. He thinks maybe they'd find him though, maybe not the kids, but their dad definitely.
"You gave my boys a ride, did you?" their dad says, resting against the side of the car. "Out of the goodness of your heart?"
"Something like-" he starts to say but a fist comes slamming through the window and crushes lips to teeth, snaps teeth from gums.
His mouth feels like it's on fire, full of blood and pain. Stevie claps his hand over his broken face and makes a scared, angry noise. He fumbles for the keys in the ignition, gets the car running. He expects another punch but it doesn't come. The man just steps back and watches, blank-eyed and still.
Stevie gets one last look at them as the car hurtles back onto the road. Dean and Sammy, standing one on either side of their dad, whose knuckles are skinned from the impact on Stevie's face and who doesn't stop watching him.
Now he knows where the boys get it from.
~end