The Journey: Mill Stones 2/?
Title: The Journey: Mill Stones
Authors: sasskitten and jeyhawk
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Summary: Dean is a hunter ever on the look out for things to kill. Sam is an innocent with his mind set on tracking down the thing that killed his girlfriend. When these two men are thrown together, they realize that their lives might not be as different as they first thought.
Disclaimer: We don’t own Supernatural, we make no money from it, it’s just for fun.
Chapter One
The walk to Jerryville didn't take as long as Sam thought it would and it was quite a nice hike. Not a single car passed him on the way and he was pretty happy about that because he didn't know how to answer if someone asked if he wanted a ride. He'd spent almost a week holed up in his room before going to Barstow and the walk was doing him good. It was nice to feel the sunshine on his face again and to be reminded that there really was a world outside of himself.
Jerryville wasn't a very big place, it was one of those little villages on the outskirts of the outskirts. It didn't have its own school, police office, or motel, but it did have a bar, a tiny drug store and a church. As he walked into the gathering of old fashioned houses that Sam supposed was the town center, he headed for the bar first. Despite the still early hour it was open and a few customers were already seated at the bar. The barkeep, a middle-aged woman, looked up at him when he came in and a smile spread over his face.
"Now I gotta ask myself," she said. "If this is my lucky day. Not only one, but two gorgeous young things walking into my bar in the same day... I must have made someone very happy."
Sam smiled. "So I'm not the first huh?"
"That you ain't and I'm sorry to disappoint honey, but I think the last guy to walk in might even have been a liiiiittle bit cuter than you are. At least he looked like he washed his hair occasionally."
Sam self-consciously touched a hand to his unkempt hair, realizing he couldn't remember when he had last showered. "Yeah, it's been a rough week," he said as he walked up to the bar.
"Anything you want to tell me about honey," the smiling woman asked as she put a beer in front of Sam.
"I didn't..." Sam started, but she shushed him and shook her head.
"I don’t hear things boy, I know you didn't order anything, but if I ever saw a boy in need of a drink it's you."
Sam couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him. "I suppose that's true," he said, sliding onto the nearest bar stool.
"So tell me, what are you doing here? Looking for the old mill, like the last guy? I'm telling you sweetie, that place is baaad news."
Sam's ears pricked up. "Why would you think that's where I'm headed?"
She smiled at him knowingly. "Strangers only come here is for two reasons, the nightlife," she said sarcastically making Sam laugh for perhaps the first time in a week. "And the murders over at the mill."
Sam looked down at his beer and nodded. "What can you tell me about it?"
"Same thing I told that other man, it's a tragedy and I hope they catch the son of a bitch."
Sam took a sip of his beer and tried to figure out in his head the best way to get information out of her, the kind he was really looking for, without sounding like a freak. "I'm actually writing a paper," he told her, “a psychology paper on urban legends and how people's paranoia and eagerness to believe help them grow."
The woman looked at him impressed. "Oh, a college boy huh? Are you far from home?"
"You could say that." Home, what was that?
"Well I guess there is an urban legend associated with the mill," she told him nodding. "It's like I told that other fella, a man went mad and shot his missus and their kids, they're buried out by the stream, and now folks say it's haunted," she said with a laugh. "Every town has it's own supposed haunted house. There's not a lot for the kids here to do so I guess they have to create their own fun."
Sam frowned. "This other guy, he was asking about John Hoppich?"
The woman looked at him hard. "Well I don't remember what they said the man's name was but he was asking about the history of it and about the legend, said he was with the violent crimes branch of the FBI."
Sam frowned again and leaned both his elbows on the bar. "He was alone?" At her nod he spoke again. "This is a small town right, so you'd have seen any others come by?"
"Yep, I reckon, why?"
"No, no reason, it's just all interesting for my paper is all," he told her, plastering on a smile.
One of the other customers waved the woman over and Sam hurriedly finished his beer, setting the glass down. He left five bucks on the counter as he hurried out of the bar, he'd always been a lightweight and with what little he had eaten in the past few days, the beer was bound to go directly to his head. He didn't want to be in the bar when that happened, because he could all too easily see himself crying with his head on that woman's shoulder.
As he started walking up the main road Sam realized he'd never gotten round to asking where exactly the mill was but hopefully he was headed in the right direction. Once he'd passed the main cluster of houses there was a road taking off into the forest and if Sam tried really hard he could hear something that sounded like running water coming from that direction. Now a mill needed water and even if that article he had read said the stream was drying up that had been a long time ago and it might not be true anymore. Since he didn't have any better ides, he turned right and walked in amongst the trees. He didn't have to walk very far to find the stream, it wasn't very wide, but it looked like it could have been once and even better there was a narrow path winding along it uphill. Besides the black Chevrolet that he had noticed the day before was parked at the side of the road and Sam was willing to bet that it belonged to the other guy the barkeep had been talking about.
Squaring his shoulders and trying to come up with a story that the FBI would believe, Sam started walking. The path was narrow and thorns grew on either side of it, but it wasn't unused. He wouldn't be surprised if generations of local kids had been coming up here, to scare each other, or to have private parties. It didn't take Sam very long to reach the old mill, a sturdy old block building that locked peaceful enough. The wheel that had once powered the mill hardly touched the water anymore and the lower half had more or less rotted to pieces. All the windows were broken and the walls spoke of all the kids that had been up there, in lewd pictures and graffiti tags. Despite that, Sam jumped when the door creaked open and someone stepped out of the stone stairs leading up to it.
He spun round to find an equally surprised looking man, in his mid twenties, short dark blond hair, wearing jeans and a worn jacket. He certainly didn't look like FBI.
"Uh, hey," Sam said, walking closer to the man who had regained his composure and seemed to be sliding something into the back of jeans.
"Hey, what're you doing here?" the man asked in a gruff voice.
"I uh, I'm writing a paper," Sam lied, surprised at how easily lies seemed to be coming out of him lately.
"Oh, well it probably isn't safe up here, considering there's a murderer on the loose," the man told him, flashing a bright smile at him. "So maybe you should head on back down to the village."
Sam raised his eyebrows and looked at him a little skeptically. "Right, but it's okay for you to be up here?"
"Well I'm... a reporter, Dean Winchester," the blond introduced himself, pulling an ID card out of his wallet.
"Sam Nova," Sam told him. "And how is a reporter any more safe here than I am?"
"Nova? Like the star? Or the car?" Dean said with a chuckle.
"Actually it’s latin for new, or a very brightly shining star, not to be confused with a supernova though because..." Sam told him only for Dean to look at him like he had two heads.
"Okay then college boy, what the hell kinda paper are you writing anyway? You learning to be a criminologist or something?"
Sam hesitated for only a second before answering but it was enough of a tell for Dean. "Yeah, I am."
Dean smiled at him. "Uh huh. Well I've looked in every room of his place and I ain't found nothing, so now you've seen where those kids were killed how about I give you a ride back into town?"
Sam squared up to him then. "How do I know you're not the killer and that once I'm alone with you in your car you're gonna kill me?
Dean seemed to find that idea amusing. "Well for one thing, we're alone now and I have a gun in the back of my jeans, so if I wanted you dead I'd kill you now, and the second thing is that all the other murders took place right here, serial murderers this specific rarely change their M.O, I'd have thought an aspiring criminologist would have known that."
"Sometimes they improvise," Sam retorted. "You might use that gun to knock me over the head, drag me back into the house and then kill me. And what the fuck are you doing with a gun in your pocket anyway?"
"Protection," Dean said, moving towards Sam with both of hands in front of him with his palms up. "Reporters see some wicked shit and people always want to kill us."
"I wonder why?" Sam grumbled under his breath as he started walking down the path again, Dean right behind him. He didn't need to go inside this time around, he'd be back later.
"Sorry, I didn't catch that."
"Nothing. So what's your story?" He asked, as the road came into sight.
"Story?" Dean asked sounding bewildered.
"The one you're writing for that paper you work for."
"Oh... We'll I don't really have one that was why I went up there to begin with."
Sam threw Dean a glance over his shoulder, but the other man wasn't looking at him, he seemed to be scanning the woods. Probably looking for those people that wanted to kill him. "Well you could always start with looking into the other murders and see if there is a connection," Sam said, only to have Dean's face snap back in his direction.
"What other murders?" He asked.
Sam frowned. "Those teenagers weren't the first people that got killed up here. I found at least five other cases and I was just doing a brief search... for my paper, you know?"
"Oh you mean those murders... Yeah I knew about them... But why would you say they’re interesting?"
Liar, Sam thought. "Because all the victims were male, aged between 18 and 38, all were killed in the same fashion. All murders took place during the night... I don't know. The time span says it couldn't have been the same killer, the earliest murder dates back to 1905 and they're famous enough to merit a copycat. Besides all the other deaths were written off as suicides, I should think, since straight edged razor to the throat is a pretty good way to kill yourself."
"Where did you find out all that?" Dean asked, sounding impressed.
"The internet... Ever heard of it, handy for all your research needs… and there's porn too."
Dean laughed. "That right?" he said, his eyes dropping to Sam's ass and wondering what exactly he was hiding under those baggy jeans. "So where're you from, Sammy?"
"It's Sam," the younger man informed him quite forcefully as he turned to look back at him. "And I'm from Kansas, but I live in California."
"Hey, no kidding, me too. Kansas that is," Dean told him, walking a little faster so that they were side by side. "So how long are you gonna be in town?"
Sam wasn't sure about the answer to that, it all depended on what he found tonight. "Couple of days."
They reached Dean's car the black Chevrolet Sam had admired earlier.
"Sweet ride," Sam told him, running his hand along the bonnet in a way that had Dean's mind thinking of other things.
"Thanks… It’s a sexty-seven Chevy Impala and she used to be my dad's," Dean told him as the got in, he started the car and Blue Oyster Cult came blearing out of the speakers, he hurriedly turned it down.
"What happened to him?" Sam asked as he put on his seatbelt.
Dean turned to him with a frown on his face. "Nothing, he just gave it to me."
"Oh," Sam said, turning to look out the other window. "So where're you staying?"
"Motel in Barstow," Dean told him. Sam turned to look at him and smiled.
"Me too."
"Really," Dean said a little too happily. "Well, Sammy, that is good to know." He looked Sam over from bottom to top in a way no man had ever looked at Sam before, to his knowledge at least. Sam wasn't even aware of how good looking he was and so didn't think for a second that Dean was actually checking him out.
"It's Sam," he just said lamely, feeling kind of uncomfortable all of a sudden.
"Sam, yeah I'll remember that."
Sam glanced at Dean who was grinning at him in a slightly unnerving way.
"So...uh... you're not like a... rapist, are you?" Sam asked.
Dean burst out laughing. "You're funny Sammy, really funny. I like that in a guy."
Sam laughed too, only he was faking it, and wondered how many more minutes he would have to put up with Dean. "I kinda don't like anything in guys," he said hurriedly, wanting to set that straight right away.
"Ah, so you're a bottom. I get it," Dean responded as he put the car in gear.
"I'm a what?" Sam squeaked.
"You said you don't like anything in a guy," Dean clarified. "So I just supposed you like guys in you."
"No... NO... No. I'm not gay... I'm not even slightly bent and you're freaking me out here."
Dean laughed again. "Don't worry Sammy," he said slapping Sam's thigh. "I wouldn't do anything to you that you weren't begging me for and I like chicks too... Meet any nice ladies lately?"
An image of Jess passed before Sam's inner eye and he shook his head. "Only one and she's..." He shrugged. "You know what? I don't really want to talk about this with you, okay? No offense man but I don't even know you."
Dean gave him a long look before nodding. "I see... a sad story."
Sam nodded in answer and stared out the window at the trees rushing past.
When they reached the motel Sam thanked Dean and walked towards his motel room, very conscious of the fact that Dean was watching him to see which room was his. "Hey, Sam," he called out to him as he opened the door. He turned back to look at Dean and saw that his face had changed, into one of concern. "Listen, be careful, writing that paper of yours. If there really is a serial killer on the loose. Wouldn't want anything to happen to you."
With that Dean turned and walked into his own room leaving Sam watching after him, a little touched and a little warmer to hear that someone still cared about him. He knew it was pathetic, he knew it was such a small thing, but he quickly went inside, shutting the door behind him as the tears started to fall again.
"Jess," he whispered as he slid down the door, even more determined now to find her killer and make it suffer.
TBC
Authors: sasskitten and jeyhawk
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Summary: Dean is a hunter ever on the look out for things to kill. Sam is an innocent with his mind set on tracking down the thing that killed his girlfriend. When these two men are thrown together, they realize that their lives might not be as different as they first thought.
Disclaimer: We don’t own Supernatural, we make no money from it, it’s just for fun.
Chapter One
The walk to Jerryville didn't take as long as Sam thought it would and it was quite a nice hike. Not a single car passed him on the way and he was pretty happy about that because he didn't know how to answer if someone asked if he wanted a ride. He'd spent almost a week holed up in his room before going to Barstow and the walk was doing him good. It was nice to feel the sunshine on his face again and to be reminded that there really was a world outside of himself.
Jerryville wasn't a very big place, it was one of those little villages on the outskirts of the outskirts. It didn't have its own school, police office, or motel, but it did have a bar, a tiny drug store and a church. As he walked into the gathering of old fashioned houses that Sam supposed was the town center, he headed for the bar first. Despite the still early hour it was open and a few customers were already seated at the bar. The barkeep, a middle-aged woman, looked up at him when he came in and a smile spread over his face.
"Now I gotta ask myself," she said. "If this is my lucky day. Not only one, but two gorgeous young things walking into my bar in the same day... I must have made someone very happy."
Sam smiled. "So I'm not the first huh?"
"That you ain't and I'm sorry to disappoint honey, but I think the last guy to walk in might even have been a liiiiittle bit cuter than you are. At least he looked like he washed his hair occasionally."
Sam self-consciously touched a hand to his unkempt hair, realizing he couldn't remember when he had last showered. "Yeah, it's been a rough week," he said as he walked up to the bar.
"Anything you want to tell me about honey," the smiling woman asked as she put a beer in front of Sam.
"I didn't..." Sam started, but she shushed him and shook her head.
"I don’t hear things boy, I know you didn't order anything, but if I ever saw a boy in need of a drink it's you."
Sam couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him. "I suppose that's true," he said, sliding onto the nearest bar stool.
"So tell me, what are you doing here? Looking for the old mill, like the last guy? I'm telling you sweetie, that place is baaad news."
Sam's ears pricked up. "Why would you think that's where I'm headed?"
She smiled at him knowingly. "Strangers only come here is for two reasons, the nightlife," she said sarcastically making Sam laugh for perhaps the first time in a week. "And the murders over at the mill."
Sam looked down at his beer and nodded. "What can you tell me about it?"
"Same thing I told that other man, it's a tragedy and I hope they catch the son of a bitch."
Sam took a sip of his beer and tried to figure out in his head the best way to get information out of her, the kind he was really looking for, without sounding like a freak. "I'm actually writing a paper," he told her, “a psychology paper on urban legends and how people's paranoia and eagerness to believe help them grow."
The woman looked at him impressed. "Oh, a college boy huh? Are you far from home?"
"You could say that." Home, what was that?
"Well I guess there is an urban legend associated with the mill," she told him nodding. "It's like I told that other fella, a man went mad and shot his missus and their kids, they're buried out by the stream, and now folks say it's haunted," she said with a laugh. "Every town has it's own supposed haunted house. There's not a lot for the kids here to do so I guess they have to create their own fun."
Sam frowned. "This other guy, he was asking about John Hoppich?"
The woman looked at him hard. "Well I don't remember what they said the man's name was but he was asking about the history of it and about the legend, said he was with the violent crimes branch of the FBI."
Sam frowned again and leaned both his elbows on the bar. "He was alone?" At her nod he spoke again. "This is a small town right, so you'd have seen any others come by?"
"Yep, I reckon, why?"
"No, no reason, it's just all interesting for my paper is all," he told her, plastering on a smile.
One of the other customers waved the woman over and Sam hurriedly finished his beer, setting the glass down. He left five bucks on the counter as he hurried out of the bar, he'd always been a lightweight and with what little he had eaten in the past few days, the beer was bound to go directly to his head. He didn't want to be in the bar when that happened, because he could all too easily see himself crying with his head on that woman's shoulder.
As he started walking up the main road Sam realized he'd never gotten round to asking where exactly the mill was but hopefully he was headed in the right direction. Once he'd passed the main cluster of houses there was a road taking off into the forest and if Sam tried really hard he could hear something that sounded like running water coming from that direction. Now a mill needed water and even if that article he had read said the stream was drying up that had been a long time ago and it might not be true anymore. Since he didn't have any better ides, he turned right and walked in amongst the trees. He didn't have to walk very far to find the stream, it wasn't very wide, but it looked like it could have been once and even better there was a narrow path winding along it uphill. Besides the black Chevrolet that he had noticed the day before was parked at the side of the road and Sam was willing to bet that it belonged to the other guy the barkeep had been talking about.
Squaring his shoulders and trying to come up with a story that the FBI would believe, Sam started walking. The path was narrow and thorns grew on either side of it, but it wasn't unused. He wouldn't be surprised if generations of local kids had been coming up here, to scare each other, or to have private parties. It didn't take Sam very long to reach the old mill, a sturdy old block building that locked peaceful enough. The wheel that had once powered the mill hardly touched the water anymore and the lower half had more or less rotted to pieces. All the windows were broken and the walls spoke of all the kids that had been up there, in lewd pictures and graffiti tags. Despite that, Sam jumped when the door creaked open and someone stepped out of the stone stairs leading up to it.
He spun round to find an equally surprised looking man, in his mid twenties, short dark blond hair, wearing jeans and a worn jacket. He certainly didn't look like FBI.
"Uh, hey," Sam said, walking closer to the man who had regained his composure and seemed to be sliding something into the back of jeans.
"Hey, what're you doing here?" the man asked in a gruff voice.
"I uh, I'm writing a paper," Sam lied, surprised at how easily lies seemed to be coming out of him lately.
"Oh, well it probably isn't safe up here, considering there's a murderer on the loose," the man told him, flashing a bright smile at him. "So maybe you should head on back down to the village."
Sam raised his eyebrows and looked at him a little skeptically. "Right, but it's okay for you to be up here?"
"Well I'm... a reporter, Dean Winchester," the blond introduced himself, pulling an ID card out of his wallet.
"Sam Nova," Sam told him. "And how is a reporter any more safe here than I am?"
"Nova? Like the star? Or the car?" Dean said with a chuckle.
"Actually it’s latin for new, or a very brightly shining star, not to be confused with a supernova though because..." Sam told him only for Dean to look at him like he had two heads.
"Okay then college boy, what the hell kinda paper are you writing anyway? You learning to be a criminologist or something?"
Sam hesitated for only a second before answering but it was enough of a tell for Dean. "Yeah, I am."
Dean smiled at him. "Uh huh. Well I've looked in every room of his place and I ain't found nothing, so now you've seen where those kids were killed how about I give you a ride back into town?"
Sam squared up to him then. "How do I know you're not the killer and that once I'm alone with you in your car you're gonna kill me?
Dean seemed to find that idea amusing. "Well for one thing, we're alone now and I have a gun in the back of my jeans, so if I wanted you dead I'd kill you now, and the second thing is that all the other murders took place right here, serial murderers this specific rarely change their M.O, I'd have thought an aspiring criminologist would have known that."
"Sometimes they improvise," Sam retorted. "You might use that gun to knock me over the head, drag me back into the house and then kill me. And what the fuck are you doing with a gun in your pocket anyway?"
"Protection," Dean said, moving towards Sam with both of hands in front of him with his palms up. "Reporters see some wicked shit and people always want to kill us."
"I wonder why?" Sam grumbled under his breath as he started walking down the path again, Dean right behind him. He didn't need to go inside this time around, he'd be back later.
"Sorry, I didn't catch that."
"Nothing. So what's your story?" He asked, as the road came into sight.
"Story?" Dean asked sounding bewildered.
"The one you're writing for that paper you work for."
"Oh... We'll I don't really have one that was why I went up there to begin with."
Sam threw Dean a glance over his shoulder, but the other man wasn't looking at him, he seemed to be scanning the woods. Probably looking for those people that wanted to kill him. "Well you could always start with looking into the other murders and see if there is a connection," Sam said, only to have Dean's face snap back in his direction.
"What other murders?" He asked.
Sam frowned. "Those teenagers weren't the first people that got killed up here. I found at least five other cases and I was just doing a brief search... for my paper, you know?"
"Oh you mean those murders... Yeah I knew about them... But why would you say they’re interesting?"
Liar, Sam thought. "Because all the victims were male, aged between 18 and 38, all were killed in the same fashion. All murders took place during the night... I don't know. The time span says it couldn't have been the same killer, the earliest murder dates back to 1905 and they're famous enough to merit a copycat. Besides all the other deaths were written off as suicides, I should think, since straight edged razor to the throat is a pretty good way to kill yourself."
"Where did you find out all that?" Dean asked, sounding impressed.
"The internet... Ever heard of it, handy for all your research needs… and there's porn too."
Dean laughed. "That right?" he said, his eyes dropping to Sam's ass and wondering what exactly he was hiding under those baggy jeans. "So where're you from, Sammy?"
"It's Sam," the younger man informed him quite forcefully as he turned to look back at him. "And I'm from Kansas, but I live in California."
"Hey, no kidding, me too. Kansas that is," Dean told him, walking a little faster so that they were side by side. "So how long are you gonna be in town?"
Sam wasn't sure about the answer to that, it all depended on what he found tonight. "Couple of days."
They reached Dean's car the black Chevrolet Sam had admired earlier.
"Sweet ride," Sam told him, running his hand along the bonnet in a way that had Dean's mind thinking of other things.
"Thanks… It’s a sexty-seven Chevy Impala and she used to be my dad's," Dean told him as the got in, he started the car and Blue Oyster Cult came blearing out of the speakers, he hurriedly turned it down.
"What happened to him?" Sam asked as he put on his seatbelt.
Dean turned to him with a frown on his face. "Nothing, he just gave it to me."
"Oh," Sam said, turning to look out the other window. "So where're you staying?"
"Motel in Barstow," Dean told him. Sam turned to look at him and smiled.
"Me too."
"Really," Dean said a little too happily. "Well, Sammy, that is good to know." He looked Sam over from bottom to top in a way no man had ever looked at Sam before, to his knowledge at least. Sam wasn't even aware of how good looking he was and so didn't think for a second that Dean was actually checking him out.
"It's Sam," he just said lamely, feeling kind of uncomfortable all of a sudden.
"Sam, yeah I'll remember that."
Sam glanced at Dean who was grinning at him in a slightly unnerving way.
"So...uh... you're not like a... rapist, are you?" Sam asked.
Dean burst out laughing. "You're funny Sammy, really funny. I like that in a guy."
Sam laughed too, only he was faking it, and wondered how many more minutes he would have to put up with Dean. "I kinda don't like anything in guys," he said hurriedly, wanting to set that straight right away.
"Ah, so you're a bottom. I get it," Dean responded as he put the car in gear.
"I'm a what?" Sam squeaked.
"You said you don't like anything in a guy," Dean clarified. "So I just supposed you like guys in you."
"No... NO... No. I'm not gay... I'm not even slightly bent and you're freaking me out here."
Dean laughed again. "Don't worry Sammy," he said slapping Sam's thigh. "I wouldn't do anything to you that you weren't begging me for and I like chicks too... Meet any nice ladies lately?"
An image of Jess passed before Sam's inner eye and he shook his head. "Only one and she's..." He shrugged. "You know what? I don't really want to talk about this with you, okay? No offense man but I don't even know you."
Dean gave him a long look before nodding. "I see... a sad story."
Sam nodded in answer and stared out the window at the trees rushing past.
When they reached the motel Sam thanked Dean and walked towards his motel room, very conscious of the fact that Dean was watching him to see which room was his. "Hey, Sam," he called out to him as he opened the door. He turned back to look at Dean and saw that his face had changed, into one of concern. "Listen, be careful, writing that paper of yours. If there really is a serial killer on the loose. Wouldn't want anything to happen to you."
With that Dean turned and walked into his own room leaving Sam watching after him, a little touched and a little warmer to hear that someone still cared about him. He knew it was pathetic, he knew it was such a small thing, but he quickly went inside, shutting the door behind him as the tears started to fall again.
"Jess," he whispered as he slid down the door, even more determined now to find her killer and make it suffer.
TBC