High Steel Pt 3 FRAO Dean/John, Sam/OFC
High Steel Pt 3
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters & Parings: Dean/John, Sam/OFC, Jake Winchester, Bobby Singer, Ellen Harvelle, various OCs
Rating: FRAO
Warnings: violence, blood and gore, M/M sex, M/F sex, not Wincest because Dean and John are not related, Complete AU with allusions to things that have happened in the show. Sam and Dean’s father dies during the story. ***Note*** John is not Sam and Dean’s father so it is not Character Death. (At least not a show character just my OC Jake Winchester)
Summary: Dean and Sam Winchester are two brothers who hunt supernatural creatures while searching for their father. Dean meets and falls in love with a construction worker who ends up getting caught up in their world.
Dean pulled the Impala into the parking lot of the county courthouse. The coroner's office was located on the lower level at the back of the building. It was part of the older courthouse that had been built in 1885 and had river rock walls covered in climbing ivy. There was a scent to the air, old and unpleasant, and Dean recognized it as the lingering scent of decomposing bodies. There was no other odor like it.
Raking through the assorted badges in the glove compartment he selected one that bore the seal of the Centers for Disease Control, and the name Doctor Jarrod Lester. Picking up his navy suit jacket he shrugged it on then clipped the badge to the lapel. With a sigh Dean crossed the parking lot and let himself in through the ancient wooden doors.
The corridor was cramped and dank with faint traces of moss on the walls. Dean wasn't as concerned about the staff calling him on his credentials once he saw the condition of the old building. Security was pretty lax too, he had come in an entrance marked 'personnel only' and so far no one had stopped him.
The actual office was at the end of the hall and Dean pushed the door opened stepping into a large rectangular room filled with cold storage vaults at one end and a tiled examination area with metal tables at the other. The body of Rick Walters, or most of it, was on one of the tables half draped in stained sheets. Clean white sheets were folded neatly on a table nearby and Dean knew that once the body was examined and moved to cold storage it would be placed in a black vinyl body bag.
A short, balding, middle-aged man was standing beside the table making notes in a chart when Dean stepped up behind him. He cleared his throat and the man flinched. He clapped the chart shut then glared at the younger man.
Dean smiled.
"Hi I'm Doctor Jerrod Lester from the CDC. I need to ask you a few questions about the decedent and some other cases that you've processed in the past six months."
"What does the CDC have to do with this case?"
Dean sighed.
"Don't you find it just a bit odd that four otherwise healthy men would kill themselves by jumping off a building that they were working on?"
The man's eyes widened.
"Well now that you mention it…Dr. Lester, I was wondering about that."
"Yeah, uh…"
"Oh Carl Everett," he said, offering the younger man his hand.
Dean shook forcefully, smiling.
"So Dr, Everett, you have considered that these cases might be connected?"
"Yes, I had considered that. What do you need to know?"
Dean lifted the sheet and glanced at the crushed and ruined body of the man he had met just days before. He didn't flinch even though there wasn't much left of Rick Walters' head and shoulders. He must have hit head first.
"Did you notice anything odd about the condition of the bodies other than the impact trauma?"
"No, nothing odd at all. Of course, all the pathology reports will take weeks to come in. I didn't see overt evidence of disease."
"I've been told that these cases all followed an initial incident at the construction site about seven months ago. A man named Peter McCall, are you familiar with that case."
"Yes, I examined the body after the accident. Mr. McCall was bisected at the mid-point of the abdomen. Most of his internal organs were severely damaged."
"Were all of the internal organs still in the body?"
"Well, with the amount of damage done to the torso it was hard to tell, but I think that a section of large bowel was missing, and perhaps smaller sections of other organs as well. No one produced additional remains though so I can't be sure,” he said quietly.
He frowned at Dean.
"So why did the CDC send you here?"
Dean shrugged.
"Just a precaution. I'm just here to see if there is a possibility that there might be some contaminant at the site that is causing erratic behavior in the workers."
"Did you find anything?"
"No, Dr. Everett not so far. Thank you you've been very helpful."
Sam was standing at the doorway of the Elliot Brothers Funeral Home waiting until the crowd moved enough for him to get inside. He was dressed in a suit almost identical to the one that his brother was wearing. He wandered into the foyer looking at the tasteful old oak tables and floral arrangements
A small antique writing desk was unobtrusively placed at the far end of the room with a single chair behind it. Seated at the desk was a young woman, probably a few years older than Sam. She was dressed in a simple but expensive suit. The woman looked up and smiled when Sam walked up.
"Is there anything that I can do for you?" she asked with a gleam in her eyes.
Sam dug into his pocket and fished out an ivory colored business card. The woman took the card glancing at the name emblazoned on the face in elegant script.
"I'm Richard Parker from the law offices of Parker and Blazedale. I'm here to ask about the final disposition of an individual that your company prepared for burial."
"Oh certainly Mr. Parker…are you the Parker of Parker and Blazedale?"
Sam flushed.
"Oh no, that would be my father. I just finished law school."
"Really, where did you go?" she asked, rising slowly and turning toward an office door just down the corridor.
Sam glanced at the rooms they past, noting that one contained a display of caskets and urns. He followed her inside the small office, and she waved him into a chair.
"I went to Stanford," Sam said, as she opened a file drawer.
"Oh, good school. And the name of the person that you are inquiring about?"
"A Peter McCall. He was a construction worker who passed about seven months ago in a tragic accident."
She shuddered. "Yes, I remember, my uncle said he had a terrible time trying to prepare Mr. McCall for burial. Just why are you interested, may I ask?"
"Certainly, our firm represents Mr. McCall's widow. It seems that their son had him buried without informing his mother. She wants to check on the place of interment and see if it is adequate. Typical family squabble, you understand."
"Yes, it's unfortunate but it happens. Here I'll check the cemetery records. We moved the remains from the chapel here to the interment site by hearse. He was buried in Section Three of the Rosehill Memorial Gardens. It's on Highway 33, just south of Rosehill Road.
You shouldn't have any trouble finding it. It's in row twenty-two and the headstone is very unique. Mr. McCall's representative had it engraved with drawings of power tools on it."
Sam and Dean met at the hotel at noon. Dean was stuffing pizza in his face and drinking beer when his younger brother shoved the door open and threw his jacket on the bed. Dean blinked at him.
"Come on, it's still hot. What'd you find out?"
"Pete's buried in Rosehill Cemetery Section Three, Row Twenty-two. But the place is on a major freeway so it's going to be a pain in the ass to open the grave and do the salt and burn," Sam said, snagging a slice of pizza out of the box.
Dean pushed a six pack over the table and Sam grabbed a bottle, popping the lid off.
"We can't do it yet anyway. I talked to the coroner and he said it looked like a section of intestine was missing and maybe some smaller pieces as well. God, I hope they're not in concrete we'll never find them."
Sam frowned. "I don't think so. I mean the pipe cutter was on a finished section of cement footing. The concrete would have had to be dry to hold the weight. Maybe they didn't clean out the pipe cutter as well as they should have. Something might still be inside it."
Dean nodded. "I'm going over to the hospital to see John, what about you?"
"Missy and I are going to a movie tonight."
"Hey way to go, Sammy," Dean said grinning.
Sam shot him a look.
"If John gets out tonight I'll probably go home with him so don't expect me back."
Sam rolled his eyes.
"Dean you're getting in a little over your head with this guy. Remember that we're going to find Dad and get back on the road."
"Sam, John isn’t like the others. I don't know how to explain it. Look you just have a good time okay?"
John was still in his room when Dean got there. But the doctor had been in to see him and told him he was being released. Brunhilda was checking his vital signs and getting ready to remove the IV when Dean strolled into the room. John smiled at the younger man over the nurse's head, wincing as she pulled the shunt and bandaged his arm.
They walked out of the main doors of the hospital together. Dean wanted to talk to John about the case but he also wanted to spend time alone with the other man. Dean drove to the construction site and picked up John's truck then followed him to the apartment.
John huffed out a breath and shoved the door opened, groaning.
"Oh man, it's good to be home. You mind sitting a while so I can grab a quick shower?"
"Sure," Dean said and settled on the sofa clicking on the TV.
A news program was on but Dean found his attention wandering since John had left the bathroom door open and he could just make out the contours of John's lean body through the clear glass doors of the shower. He grinned, knowing that John had left the door open on purpose and was making quite a show out of lathering and rinsing his body.
"Bastard," Dean grumbled loudly.
John's deep rumbling laughter sent a shiver down Dean's spine. His attention was completely shot by the time that the water shut off. The older man appeared in the living room wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. Dean grinned rising from the sofa.
Pulling John into a tight embrace Dean rubbed his hands over the still moist, warm skin of his back. John leaned forward catching Dean's mouth in a kiss. He exhaled in one long sigh then thrust his tongue deep into the younger man's mouth.
"You feel well enough for this?" Dean asked drawing back a little. John smiled.
"Oh yeah, let's go to bed."
John pushed Dean down on the bed and straddled his hips. He slid his hands up the younger man's arms grasping his shoulder forcing him prone on the bed. With a feral grin John reached into the drawer rummaging until he came up with a tube of gel and a plastic strip of condoms. Dean grinned at him when he saw John dump the entire strip on the bed.
"Feeling optimistic are you?" Dean drawled.
John nodded bending down to kiss him.
"Oh yeah, I know you've got it in you…"
"Actually, I think I'm gonna have it in you."
Laughing John popped the tube open and dripped the gel on Dean's belly. He scraped a dollop up and reached behind himself to stroke the lube over his own entrance. Dean watched entranced by the sight of John's long, slender fingers disappearing into his own body. When he was satisfied that he was stretched and ready John ripped the plastic off the condom with his teeth and rolled it over Dean's cock. He tugged Dean's dick roughly drawing a hiss out of the younger man, and then grinned again.
"Hold on, 'cause I'm gonna ride you like you were Seabiscuit."
"Ride 'em cowboy," Dean moaned as John lowered himself down, his cock sliding easily into the older man.
The theater was cold and dark, Sam sank down into the seat. Missy settled into the chair beside him pulling her sweater on. She smiled up at him.
"I'm really glad that you and your brother decided to stay in town for a little while longer. Is it exciting being a bounty hunter?"
"It can be, but mostly its long hours or research and tracking and a few minutes of terrifying violence."
Her face clouded. "I guess that it's dangerous, huh?"
Sam nodded. "Yeah, it gets dangerous. Our Dad works in the business too. I can't tell you how many times he's been injured. You can tell everywhere he's had a job from his medical records, all the names of the emergency rooms or hospitals he's been in."
They grew silent as the movie started. Missy curled up in the seat, leaning against Sam's arm. He glanced down at her. She was a warm weight in the dark cold air, and it felt good. Since Jessica had been killed almost ten months before and Dean had dragged Sam, kicking and screaming, back into hunting to go look for their father he hadn’t been particularly interested in asking anyone out. Now it felt good to just sit here, with a nice girl by his side and pretend that this afternoon an angry spirit hadn't tried to cut his brother's head off with a pipe saw.
Missy glanced up at Sam from under her bangs then shifted so that her hand slid down his arm to his lap. He wriggled around a bit when her fingers worked themselves against the fly of his jeans. Sam jerked, grunting, when she undid his zipper. The sound of the teeth parting sounded like thunder in the dark, still theater. Sam jerked involuntarily, the back of his head connecting with the wooden seatback with a resounding thud. He saw stars for a few minutes, then Missy's slim, warm fingers were inside his jeans and boxers and he saw stars for an entirely different reason.
Missy fished Sam's cock out of his jeans and gripped the shaft firmly. He swallowed hard.
"Uhh, this is a pretty public place…"
"Shhh, Sam. I like it in public it makes me hot," she whispered.
Suddenly without warning Missy swooped down and Sam felt his dick enveloped in the wet heat of her mouth. He uttered a shot, sharp sound before he could clamp his lips shut. One of the people in the row behind them kicked his seat and Sam panted out an apology.
Sam grunted as Missy deep throated the length of cock in her mouth. He wanted to writhe in the seat but he was afraid of attracting too much attention so he clamped one hand of the chair arm, and the other on Missy's shoulder and rode it out. Glancing at the aisle between the seats Sam noted that an elderly man was glaring through the darkness as if he was trying to see just what was going on. Not wanting to get arrested for public indecency, and particularly not wanting to have Dean have to bail him out of jail Sam came in Missy's mouth. She made a little half-angry sound and spit into the floor.
"You should have warned me," she hissed.
"Me?" Sam gasped incredulously, "You should have at least told me what you were going to do."
"I was trying to do something nice for you." she snapped then sighed, "Look I'm sorry okay. It's been a while for me and I'm a little out of practice."
She leaned her head against his shoulder whilst Sam got his dick back into his jeans. He didn't bother telling her that she didn't seem so out of practice to him. Sighing Sam wrapped an arm around her shoulders and settled back letting the crappy dialogue of the mediocre movie wash over him.
It was almost midnight when Sam walked in the hotel. He placed a call to Dean's cell and his brother answered on the first ring. Sam glanced at the clock on the wall. Dean sounded mellow and laid-back, and Sam smiled. John was probably the cause of that.
"Hey, come pick me up. We can get out to the building again. Did you get John to borrow Mike Peralta's keys again?"
"Yeah, John and I will be over to pick you up in a few minutes."
"Dean, I don't think that it's a good idea for John to be involved in this. Pete has already tried to kill him once."
"I know that's why we're taking him. John thought this up himself. If he's there it might cause the spirit to focus on John and give us time to search the pipe cutter for remains."
The building loomed dark and silent in the sky. Dean once again was struck by the sheer height of the thing. He and Sam were carrying shot guns loaded with salt-packed shells. Dean had given John his .45 when the older man assured him that he could use a gun. John unlocked the gate and the three men entered the site.
The lift was on the lower floor. And John hit the power switch to turn it on. The engine whined as the motor powered up, then the gate door popped and John shoved the gate aside. Dean and Sam followed the older man inside.
The caged rolled up and John stepped out of the lift. He had Dean's .45 tucked in the waistband of his jeans pressed tightly against the small of his back. Dean slid around him cradling one of the shot guns in the crook of his elbow. He waved his younger brother forward and Sam stepped out sweeping an EMF detector around the room. John jerked his head at the device in Sam's hand.
"What's that do?" he asked.
Sam turned smiling, balancing the shot gun he carried on one arm and sweeping the room with the other.
"This is an EMF detector. Spirits have to draw energy from the environment in order to manifest themselves. They have no inherent energy like living things," Sam said quietly.
"They have to pull it out of their surroundings. When they do this it does two things. First, it causes a drop in the temperature as they pull heat energy from around them, second it causes a jump in the background radiations present in the environment and produces and electro-magnetic field. This device picks up those EMFs."
John nodded. "So you have ways of finding ghosts when you hunt."
Dean took point, motioning John into line behind him, and Sam followed along at the rear. The thirteenth floor was quiet, the tarp covered area of the building shrouded in deep shadows. From his position in line Sam could just barely make out the bulky amorphous shape of the pipe cutter in the deep recesses of the building.
Dean faded into the shadow and Sam slipped the EMF detector into his pocket dropping onto one knee. He leaned under the front edge of the table, and pulled a flashlight out of his other pocket. Playing the beam over the saw table he checked the corners for any type of remains. Just as he was about to give up he heard John gasp and jerked back.
Dean jumped forward moving next to the older man and John nodded in the direction of the raw girders at the end of the finished section of floor.
"I saw something, Dean," he said.
There was an edge of fear tainting his voice and Dean grabbed his arm, squeezing gently. John glanced at him and smiled.
"I'm okay. Maybe I should walk over there give your brother some room to work."
"Don't go too far. I'll be right here, so keep your head on straight."
John sighed. "I'm hunting a ghost, Dean. Until a few days ago I didn't even really believe that they existed. Hell, I guess that Granny-dear wasn't as crazy as everybody said."
Still he flashed a quick grin and Dean felt his stomach tightening. He watched as John walked hesitantly across the room, and then paused to look back over his shoulder. The look he gave the younger man sent a shiver coursing down Dean's spine, and he knew in an instant that John wasn't just the latest player in his game of fuck and run. John meant so much more than that, and wasn't that a bitch?
When Pete manifested himself it was so quick that Dean couldn't even get a breath drawn to call out to John. One minute the older man was standing in the center of the room and the next he was hurled across the floor toward the unfinished section of the wall. Dean gasped.
John rolled to his knees and caught sight of the blue-gray figure of the man he had known so long. Pete had been a friend, at least in John's mind, and he didn't understand why the older man seemed to hate him so.
"Pete," John said quietly and the ghost turned. "What's wrong buddy? What'd I do to you that made you so pissed?"
Pete swung around glaring at John moving forward with lightening speed.
"You always had all their attention, didn't you John. You had all those men looking at you, some of 'em you even fucked. I know it…Rick, Mike, Danny all of 'em you couldn't get enough. You whore."
John's eyes were wide.
"Shit, are you crazy, Pete? I didn't sleep with any of those guys. You knew Rick loved Penny, and Mike Peralta would clean my clock if I came on to him. God, they were my friends nothing more."
From behind the gray figure John could see Sam working under the bench, could see Dean stalking forward looking very much like a lion hunting its prey. John flicked his gaze downward keeping his attention off the younger man, keeping the apparition focused on John alone.
"I saw you with Danny Weaver, John…you can't lie about that one. I saw you with your hands on him, and him touching you."
John's face paled; he flinched.
"Danny was a mistake, Pete. He and his wife were having trouble; it was just that one time."
Just as Dean made it across the room the ghost whirled, sneering. He knocked John off his feet and slammed Dean across the room. He thudded against the wall with a low groan, but managed to stagger to his feet. John pulled the .45 firing once at the spirit, but the bullet passed through ineffectively and ricocheted off the girder striking the pipe cutting saw mid-blade. Sam uttered an outraged squawk and yelled.
"John, for god's sake don't shoot at it. Let Dean take it out with the shot gun. You’ll end up hitting one of us."
John dropped the handgun on the floor scouring the room for the shot gun Dean had dropped, but the younger man was already there. He raised the gun and smiled grimly.
"Pete old buddy, over here."
The shot gun blast made John cringe but the spirit dissipated as once and John staggered across the floor to Dean.
"Why'd it go when you shot at it and not me?"
"Rock salt in the shells," Dean said and John cocked his head. Before he could ask the younger man added. "Salt is pure, it was used as an antiseptic, and preservative. It makes spirits, demons and other ectoplasmic bad guys go batshit. They can't cross it, and it makes them dissolve. But it’s only temporary."
As if to prove that point Pete's spirit reappeared knocking John aside and thrusting both hands into Dean's chest. He screamed in pain. John rolled over the ground, scrambling to his knees when the shot gun roared again. But Dean was too close and Pete flung him headfirst to the outer edge of the floor. Dean rolled and the shot gun skittered across the cement dropping off the edge of the building.
The ghost wavered then reappeared beside Dean grabbing the younger man by the jacket. He shoved and Dean slid a few inches toward the edge of the floor, one hand dangling over. John jumped to his feet rushing the ghost. But Pete merely turned, throwing one hand into the air, and John found himself slammed against the concrete wall, thumping to the ground with a dull thud. He didn't move.
The ghost turned back to Dean grabbing his jacket and swinging him into the air. His feet dangled above the floor for a few seconds. The cold night air swirled around his legs, and Dean made and grab for the girder.
Suddenly he dropped. Dean's breath whooshed out of him in one long silent scream but his feet hit the metal of the girder and he bounced forward, rolling back onto the cement floor. Sam was standing beside the pipe saw with something dark and withered in his hand.
Suddenly he dropped the desiccated piece of flesh onto the floor and dumped the contents of one of the shot gun shells over it, flipping the plastic casing back with his thumb. The salt glittered in the dim light, and then Dean saw the flare of a match.
Pete's spirit writhed and shrieked as the missing piece of his remains was destroyed. Dean staggered to his brother watching as the section of rotted flesh crackled and burned. Sam nodded to the still form lying beside the wall.
"Get John on his feet, we still have to get to the cemetery," he said, as he began collecting their things. Dean hurried to John's side kneeling down. The older man was just coming around, and Dean pulled a white handkerchief out of his pocket dabbing at the blood trickling down his face.
John moaned sitting up, and Dean slid a hand under his armpit hoisting him up.
"Looks like you caught a bolt down the cheek. It might leave a scar. I don't want you going home alone. Pete's no longer bound to this floor. We burned the remains left in the pipe saw. But we've got to finish the job out at the cemetery. Do you think you can make it?"
John nodded. "Yeah, I'll be okay."
TBC