Night of the Boy King, Part Three (4/6)
Art Title:
Prompt Number: S1025
Artist: expectative
Fic Title: Night of the Boy King
Author: safiyabat
Beta: elwarre
Fandom/Genre: SPN, angst, Wincest,
Pairing(s): Sam/Dean, past Sam/OCs
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 32,157 (entire fic), 5,926 (this chapter)
Warnings: Some explicit sexual content, show-level violence, demonic possession, using the "big boy words." Wincest. Note: This chapter is explicit.
Summary: John Winchester realized that something was "off" about Sammy when the boy was about seven. He abandoned him with the best demonologist he knew, Pastor Jim Murphy in Blue Earth, Minnesota. A little over ten years later, his older son Dean is ready to take on the demon that destroyed his family. All signs point to Blue Earth.
Dean made a point of heading to the school the very next day. He couldn’t come up with a valid excuse to be in the building, but he could certainly keep an eye on the exterior. Bobby got a job as a janitor so he could monitor Sam Murphy indoors. Nothing stood out for the first couple of days, although Bobby made a point of putting devil’s traps under every mud mat in every entrance. It couldn’t hurt, they figured. Sam Murphy didn’t seem to notice them, or if he did they didn’t seem to bother him at all. On the contrary, once or twice Sam even seemed to be aware of the surveillance. He might have even winked at Dean as he went about his business, walking around with the occasional girl or guy or cluster of people (and really, he couldn’t be messing around with all of them, could he?)
The weekend passed. Bobby and Dean followed Jim and Sam out of town, but they lost the pair on country roads. “Jim’s good at what he does,” Bobby had to admit. “He always was.”
“Doesn’t look like he’s lost a step,” Dean had to admit.
They returned to Blue Earth to keep an eye on the town. Jim was back in time for Sunday mass. Sam showed up for services - it would probably have looked bad if he hadn’t - but he didn’t take Communion.
Bobby remarked on it from their seat in the back of the church, where Jim glared daggers at them. Dean elbowed him in the ribs. “Notice how we’re not taking Communion either?” he pointed out.
“Yeah, but we ain’t Catholic,” he retorted.
“Maybe the kid ain’t either.”
“He’s Jim’s nephew, raised in his house,” Bobby scoffed.
It wasn’t until Wednesday, when Dean had been there for a full week, that he got to speak directly to Sam again. “Enjoying the view?” Sam demanded.
Dean hadn’t even heard him approach. He jumped and turned around. “Jesus, Sam. You can’t just… sneak up on a hunter.”
“Apparently you can,” the teen replied with a smirk. “But you haven’t answered my question. I know you’ve been following me.”
“Yeah. Well, you know how it is.” He tried to put as much of an apology into his smile as he could.
“Well, no, I don’t. I’ve never stalked a teenager to try to decide if I needed to execute him before.” His expression was gentle, even if the words were harsh. “Come on. Come out of the trees, at least.”
“It’s not really like that,” Dean tried. “I mean, not exactly. It’s… it’s an abundance of caution.”
“Good to know. I’d hate to get shot just for the hell of it.” There wasn’t any bitterness to his voice, just amusement. “Come on. Let’s at least talk face to face?”
Dean could do that. A week’s non-contact hadn’t cured him of his desire for the boy, but he could probably manage to focus while talking. “Okay,” he agreed, and was rewarded by a more genuine smile.
They wandered aimlessly down one of the paths through the woods. Sam seemed to have some idea where he was going, although Dean could probably get back to the high school if he needed to. “Can I ask you a question?” he asked the taller male as they walked companionably side by side.
“That’s why we’re here,” Sam offered.
“How come you didn’t take Communion on Sunday?”
Sam smiled. “I never received the Sacraments. Not any of them. You have to get at least three of them before you can take Communion, you know.”
“But you’re a priest’s nephew, Sam. You’ve lived in his house since you were a kid.”
“That doesn’t mean my family - my bio family, I guess - were religious. Or at least that they thought I was worth bothering with. I mean, they’re the ones who abandoned me with Uncle Jim when I was just a little kid. They don’t seem to have thought I was worth baptizing and I guess Uncle Jim respected that. So.” His face darkened.
“Nah, I’m sure it wasn’t like that. I mean, my dad never had my little brother baptized either but it wasn’t because of him. After my mom was killed he just… he didn’t see a point to religious anything, you know? It wasn’t because of him; it was because religion didn’t mean anything to him anymore. I know my mom was going to get it done. We weren’t Catholic, though.”
“You have a brother?”
“Had. He, uh, he died. Same demon that got my mom came back for him. Then my dad, a few months ago.” He swallowed.
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too. He was such a little thing, you know? That’s what I remember most. Little things. He liked Lucky Charms. Books.” He shrugged. “Thundercats cartoons.”
Sam laughed a little. “I guess that’s what stands out after a long time passes. You know, I still remember bits and pieces of my family. I remember my dad wasn’t around much. I don’t remember my mother at all; I don’t know if she left first or what. I remember that I had a brother. He was, uh, he was always trying to get me to eat more.” He laughed a little.
“Do you remember any more? It might explain what that hell bitch wanted with you.” Dean couldn’t take his eyes off Sam’s lips, the way his little pink tongue thrust through them when he hesitated in his speech.
“Like I said, bits and pieces. When I got left here it was kind of traumatic; I guess I buried a lot of it. Uncle Jim says that’s the brain’s way of processing severe trauma.”
“Do you want to?”
“Why would I want to remember the people who gave me up for dead?” Sam replied bluntly. “I don’t want to remember them. I don’t want to know them. I don’t want them to know me. The only way that I want them to know who I am is after I’ve finished law school and built up a successful practice; they can look and see, ‘That’s Sam Murphy; that’s what he made of himself. He didn’t need us. He made a life without us.’”
“So you want your bio family to be jealous?”
“No. I mean, I guess I want them to regret getting rid of me. It’s not like I was some newborn, some unwanted pregnancy that they just couldn’t handle. I could get that, you know? No, I was six or seven or something. And they didn’t even go through legal paperwork or anything, they just… dumped me. Like trash. Like nothing.” He looked away. “It’s petty. I shouldn’t even think about them. I’ve got a good life with Uncle Jim. All the books I could want, and Blue Earth is a safe town. I don’t remember much from the time before but I remember never feeling safe.”
“So you’re better off.”
“Yeah, probably. It just bugs me, you know?” He laughed. “I can’t expect you to get it, I guess. I mean, you love your dad, and he kept you with him so I guess he loved you.”
“Yeah. Shared mission and all that.”
Sam tilted his head a little bit to the side. “So it was all… what, just demon hunting for you two?”
“It was for Dad.” It was hard to say this out loud, never mind to a complete stranger, but Sam had just confessed some pretty deep things about his own background to him. The confidence should be shared, after all. It wasn’t because Sam was so easy to talk to, not at all. “I mean, it’s literally all he cared about. Me too, really. The thing took my brother, took my mom. It destroyed everything. I want to kill it. I want to make sure that it can’t destroy another family like it did mine.” He snorted. “Look at us, trading life stories. What is this, California? That only happens in California.”
“I am going there in the fall,” Sam told him. He stopped. “You’re the one who thought it might shed some light on what Meg wanted with me. The thing is, Dean, I already know what she wants.”
“Oh.” He blinked. “You couldn’t have led with that? Because we could’ve skipped that whole chick-flick moment and gotten straight to business.”
“I don’t think demonology has ever figured into a chick flick, Dean. But sure. Meg is the daughter of the guy currently ruling Hell in Lucifer’s name, a demon by the name of Azazel.” He grimaced. “I don’t know if you know him.”
“I don’t believe we’ve met.” Dean couldn’t believe he got that one out with a straight face, because who had those kinds of relationships with freaking demons?
“You’d remember him if you’d met him. Most demons have black eyes, right? Crossroads demons have red, Lilith and her immediate subordinates have white. Well, Azazel has yellow.” He grimaced.
“Wait - yellow?” He remembered the flash of his father’s eyes, chartreuse in the darkness. “That son of a bitch possessed Dad right before he died!”
“Holy - well, it’s not surprising that he didn’t make it,” Sam said, sitting down. “Azazel is a big deal, Dean. He’s not just any demon; he’s one of the Fallen. One of the angels who Fell with Lucifer, only instead of being imprisoned in the Cage his Grace was twisted into a demonic spirit. He’s immensely powerful, more powerful than human minds like ours can entirely comprehend.” He shuddered, curtaining his face with his hair before springing to his feet. “This is… this is important, Dean.”
“So the demon that killed my family is your father?” Dean distilled.
Sam gave him a look that was part disgust, part sadness. “Dude. No. I’m not a demon. I’m not even part demon. Why are you even listening to Meg? She’s a liar, a body thief.”
“But why would she say things like that, Sam?”
“I don’t know, to piss me off. Because Jim and I have exorcised tons of demons from human hosts over the past ten years. Because she liked having me for a host and she can’t get back in. I don’t know.” He gestured wildly, stepping into Dean’s personal space. “What the hell kind of hunters take a demon’s word over a human’s anyway?”
“Calm down, Sammy,” he urged. “We just have to examine all angles, okay? She seemed to be targeting you last week. What did she really want?”
“She wanted me to go with her, of course. Same as she always does. Azazel thinks if he sends her and gets her to make the right noises I’ll come over to his side.” He made a face, more of a glower than anything else. “And it’s Sam. Thanks.”
“What does he think he can sell you on?” Dean wondered.
“Ugh. You know. ‘Oh, we can give you a real family, a father and a sister and a brother, everything you’ve ever wanted.’” He made a face. “They like to hit out at all sorts of things, any insecurities you have. You’re a hunter, you know how demons work.”
“But why you?” Dean shook his head. “Don’t get me wrong. You’re pretty and everything. But that’s not going to count for much when you’re nothing but black smoke. It’s not something that means a lot to demons.”
Sam gave a little chuckle. “You think I’m pretty?”
Dean felt his face flush scarlet. “I guess I said that out loud, huh?”
“Little bit.” Sam smiled softly, turning the full force of his dimples onto him. “It’s nice, though. I mean, nothing freakish about feeling good about that, right?”
Dean laughed. “No. Nothing.” Tension coiled up his back. “So it would be okay if I kissed you, maybe?”
“Mmm… I think I could find a way to live with that,” Sam teased, and bent to cover Dean’s mouth with his own.
Dean was an experienced guy, to put it mildly. Once he’d hit puberty and found willing women he hadn’t looked back, finding a substitute for the lack of affection from his father in the arms of women in every town and hamlet his giant black car passed through. He thought that experience and age would imply that he’d be a better kisser than Sam, but the way that boy captured his mouth with his and gently stole his breath right from under his nose made him feel like a blushing virgin again.
He pulled back after a moment. “Sam,” he whispered.
The boy’s smile was gentle. “Sorry. I get a little carried away sometimes -”
“What? No! It’s just - I’ve never kissed a guy before.”
“Really? Well now I feel bad for all those guys you’ve met in all those towns you passed through.” Something about his tone bypassed Dean’s brain entirely and went straight to his groin.
“Sam - you’re underage.”
“Not today.” The predatory smile that he’d shown just before Meg had confronted them was back, and God help him but Dean was only a man.
“What do you mean?”
“Today’s my birthday. I’m eighteen.”
“Oh.” His brain caught up with the rest of him. “Oh!”
“Right.”
“You know, I’ve got a motel room. If, you know, you wanted….” He felt cheap, offering to just drag him back to a motel room like that. Eighteen or not this was still a high school kid, and a kid he was supposed to be observing in case he turned out to be some kind of monster. Not a one night stand, not someone who could turn into a repeat act or a long-term partner.
But here Sam was taking his hand with a shy smile. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he said.
Dean led the way back to the Impala, and Sam settled into the shotgun position. He looked good there, even with his impossibly long legs folded up so he could fit into the car. He must come from a race of giants, Dean thought to himself. Maybe holdovers from the Fomoire, if the Fomoire decided to go and have a frolic through southern Minnesota. Well, the kid was from Boston originally, right? So it wasn’t completely out of the question. He wouldn’t let himself think about that. Instead he focused on Sam, on getting them both back to the motel in one piece.
His partner showed no sign of nerves once they arrived; he simply put his things by the bathroom door and busied himself finding something in his backpack while Dean locked all of the doors. When Dean turned around he found Sam seated calmly on the bed, a friendly smile playing around his lips. He started to stand when Dean showed he was ready but the older man approached, pressing him gently back to a sitting position. “Where’s the fire?” he asked softly, and touched his lips to Sam’s.
Sam responded just as eagerly to his kiss now, neither greedy nor standoffish. His lips parted when Dean brushed his tongue up against them, allowing him entrance, but he wasn’t some kind of passive little kid who didn’t know what he was doing. One massive hand threaded itself into Dean’s hair while the other one found its way to the small of Dean’s back, pulling him closer. Dean could feel the heat radiating off Sam, could have practically fried an egg on his shoulders. He moaned softly as Sam sucked on his bottom lip and pulled his head back for air.
Sam didn’t let the opportunity go to waste. He nibbled gently along Dean’s jawline, not enough to break the skin or leave a mark but enough to make his cock sit up and take notice. He didn’t know when he’d gotten interested in guys - well, of course he did. He’d gotten interested in guys the moment Sam Murphy had walked into his life, and here he was satisfying those needs. There was nothing wrong with that. He just needed to move like he was with any other lover - the equipment didn’t matter as long as he left his partner satisfied, right?
He moved his own hands down and tugged at the hem of Sam’s sweater. “Too many clothes,” he declared.
“You’re not wrong,” Sam agreed with a grin, and allowed his shirt and undershirt to be stripped from him. Good God but the kid was ripped; he’d gotten the suggestion of sculpture when he’d seen him in just the police tee but no high school kid had the right to be this cut. His arms, his shoulders, his abs - he was like a work of art, a statue come to life. His tattoos - odd symbols, probably designed to keep demons out - only emphasized his muscle tone.
“You’re beautiful,” Dean breathed. “Have you seen yourself in a mirror?”
Sam just laughed and helped Dean off with his own shirt. “Not just for looking,” he pointed out helpfully, licking at the sweat collecting in Dean’s collarbone.
“No,” Dean smiled. “It’s not, is it?” He gently pushed the younger man back onto the mattress. Tension evaporated from Sam’s body in visible waves as more of Dean’s skin touched his, and the hunter found that he liked that in ways he didn’t expect. He liked seeing all of that coiled grace loosen up and relax, become unrestrained as he straddled the boy. He liked feeling Sam’s hard length, encased in denim as it was, underneath him. He liked it because it meant that he had brought some happiness, some measure of contentment, to Sam’s life. He’d taken care of him.
Take care of Sammy.
It had been the directive of his life for seven years, and not just seven years but the most formative and traumatic years of his life. This wasn’t the same Sammy, not anything like him. But it was a Sam, and he’d been hurt and wronged, and Dean could take care of him. He slid his mouth down his partner’s body, relishing the way his tongue bounced over the chiseled abs before he got to the waistband of Sam’s jeans.
“Is this okay?” he asked Sam, hand hovering over the button.
“It’s fine by me,” Sam breathed. “Are you sure? I know you haven’t been with a guy before. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”
“Sam, it’s you. I couldn’t feel uncomfortable. Besides, I’m offering. You’re not asking me to do anything.” He unbuttoned Sam’s jeans and slowly, tantalizingly pulled the zipper down.
Sam had opted to go commando today. Dean made a mental note of that, filing that away for later before wrapping his head around the cock in front of him. Definitely descended from a race of giants, he thought wildly, before pulling the jeans and socks off. Sam was naked now, spread out and reasonably relaxed on the bed. Dean touched the swollen red member before him and Sam’s entire body gave a massive twitch. Sensitive, then.
He’d never done this. He’d never done anything like this. He’d never even contemplated anything like this, not from this side of the equation. He’d been on the receiving end plenty of times though, and he knew what he liked. When he licked a stripe up the underside of Sam’s cock Sam gasped in pleasure; he was probably doing something right. What else usually got him going? Well, he liked it when girls paid attention to the space right under the head, that usually made him pretty happy. He spent some time there and judged his success by the number of happy sounds he got out of his partner.
After a few moments he closed his mouth around the head. This part took a little getting used to; he could see why girls complained about the taste so often. In a way, though, even though it didn’t taste great it was nice. All that precome was because of Dean, because Dean was turning Sam on so much that he was leaking. That felt good, it turned Dean on even if the flavor wasn’t exactly to his taste.
Sam’s legs were spread apart, his knees slightly bent. Dean could see his hole. He groaned, which elicited a loud moan from Sam. That - that small space, that tiny aperture, was supposed to accommodate him? He pulled his mouth off Sam’s cock, making the younger man’s eyebrows draw together in consternation. “Can I…” he began.
Sam smiled gently. “Bedside table, man.”
Of course. That was what Sam had been doing while Dean had been locking the door behind them. He got up, shucked his pants and found what Sam had stashed away there, a small bottle of lube and a few condoms. He’d probably been a boy scout, too. He squinted at the directions on the bottle and put some lube on his fingers. “You sure you want this?”
“Yes,” Sam declared firmly. “Are you?”
Dean looked down at his insistent erection. “Pretty sure.”
He dropped down to his knees and took Sam back into his mouth again. This time, though, he carefully and slowly pressed one finger up and into Sam’s opening. A low groan was his reward. After a few minutes, once the finger was moving around pretty freely, he added a second. This part at least wasn’t entirely alien. He’d done this with girls a few times - not exactly often, but often enough that he had a vague idea of what was going on. He knew he needed to prepare his lover, to stretch him open before he could enter. He made a point of being patient, adding a third finger only when he felt that the first two had done their jobs.
Most of this part translated reasonably well, but some parts were a revelation. His fingers brushed against something inside Sam that had him shouting, gripping Dean’s hair hard enough that it almost hurt. “You okay?” he asked, concerned.
“Do. Not. Stop,” Sam told him, glaring even as he panted and his balls drew up. “Oh shit.” He came with a shout, sending thick ropes of come over his chest and abs.
Dean gave a low laugh as Sam sank his head back against the pillow. “I guess you liked that,” he said.
“Prostate,” he grunted, moving a little so as to better take Dean’s fingers. “Oh yeah - that’s perfect, Dean. I’m ready.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Dean would have preferred more prep - the absolute last thing that he wanted to do was to hurt his beautiful boy - but the way Sam was squirming he didn’t think that Sam was going to be all that keen on any further delay. He rolled the condom on, slicked himself up and sank slowly into Sam.
Nothing - absolutely nothing - could have prepared him for this. Sam was so tight, so very tight, and so incredibly hot. He was going to be crushed, he was going to be crushed and cooked and he was going to love every minute of it. Sam didn’t breathe and neither did Dean as both men waited for Sam’s body to adjust to Dean’s intrusion. “Go,” he finally instructed.
Dean didn’t need to be told twice; his muscles already trembled from the strain of holding so perfectly still. He pulled his hips slowly back and then snapped them forward, eliciting a cry from Sam. He didn’t insult Sam by treating him like he was going to break - the kid had done this before, had a reputation with both men and women - but Dean took his time and gave it to him tenderly. He wanted to give Sam a graphic demonstration, in ways that the man was likely to be able to understand, that he wasn’t just some one-night stand. He was cherished. He was special.
Sam hardened under him again, eyes rolling in his head. Only after he came again did Dean finally release into the condom and collapse on top of him. Sam wrapped his long arms around him and kissed the top of his head. “That was fantastic,” he murmured, a blissful smile on his face.
Dean let himself wallow in being held, in being appreciated, for a moment. “I wish someone had told me today was your birthday,” he said. “I’d have gotten you a better present than that.”
“No,” Sam told him. “You wouldn’t. Might have tried though.”
And hell if that didn’t feel good.
He did have to get up and dispose of the condom eventually; he grabbed a washcloth to clean them both up on the return trip and they fell into a light doze under the scratchy sheets.
Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. Maybe Sam did have some kind of demonic influence after him. Dean didn’t care. He already had three perfectly good reasons to kill Azazel; one more would just make it that much sweeter when he found a way to nail that yellow-eyed bastard.
He woke from his unscheduled nap to the sound of his phone buzzing - no, to the sound of two phones buzzing. Sam groaned. “You get yours first,” he scowled. “Bobby’s is probably hunting related.”
“How do you know it’s Bobby?” Dean wondered. That didn’t stop him from retrieving his phone and answering it on the very last ring. “Hey, Bobby.” It had been a lucky guess, that was the only possible explanation.
“Dean. Have you seen Sam Murphy? You were supposed to have eyes on him when he left the school.” Bobby’s voice was all wrong, tense and excited but frightened at the same time.
“Yeah, I’ve got eyes on him. Why? What’s up?” He tried not to think about what else he had on him at the moment.
“I need you to collect him and bring him back to the rectory right away. It’s important.”
Dean sat bolt upright. “What? I thought Pastor Jim said he’d shoot us if we went anywhere near Sam again.”
“Things’ve changed, son.” His mentor sighed. “He may be in danger. And not from us. Just… bring him home. It ain’t such an interesting story that I’m keen to tell it twice.”
“I gotcha, Bobby.” He hung up. “All right, we need to get cleaned up and head back over to the rectory.”
“That probably has something to do with the three calls Uncle Jim has left me.” He grimaced. “I’m in for it. I’d better return the calls.” He grabbed his phone and called. “Hi, Uncle Jim. Yes, sir - no, sorry. I had my phone off. No, I had a date. I know. A gentleman doesn’t take calls in the middle of -” He grinned impishly. “Yes, sir. No, sir. I see him. No, I know things are on kind of a bad note with them right now but he’s been following me for a week. I can probably persuade him to give me a ride if he’s got to go to the same place anyway.” Dean couldn’t help it. He swatted Sam with a pillow.
The pair dressed quickly, Dean made some necessary repairs to his hairstyle and they made their way back to the rectory. Jim and Bobby waited for them there. “We’ll talk about your ‘date’ later, young man,” the priest told Sam sternly. “Right now we’ve got bigger fish to fry than your libido.”
“What’s wrong, sir?” Dean asked politely, seeing Sam hang his head slightly. “Not that I’m not thrilled that the two of you are talking again, but I have to admit that I’m more than a little shocked. What’s going on?”
“We had two major developments today while Azazel’s golden boy here was -” Pastor Jim cleared his throat loudly and Bobby gave an exaggerated nod. “I apologize. I meant to say while Pastor Jim’s nephew was on a date, and while mine was off watching him. A young girl from Sam’s school was found dead today, down in the boiler room.”
Sam frowned. “Oh my God. Who?”
“Lily Heldal,” Pastor Jim replied. “She’d just moved here in September.”
“We were friends,” Sam remembered. “Friendly, anyway. She was kind of prickly, but her parents kicked her out of the house when they found her with a girl. Her aunt took her in to finish her senior year.” He grimaced. “Oh my… wow. What, uh, what happened to her?”
“The cops are calling it suicide,” Bobby filled in. “I ain’t never seen a suicide that strangled herself with her own two hands. The killer used a rope after the fact, but you couldn’t miss the bruising under the damn thing.” He shook his head.
The senior sat down, head in his hands. “Was there any sulfur?”
“None,” Jim told him, putting a hand on his shoulder and stroking his hair gently. “I’m sorry, son. She was your friend.”
“She was. But… I mean… I’ll go to the funeral and everything. But what does this have to do with us?” He gestured to the four of them and to the church. “I mean, you and me, Uncle Jim, sure. But Dean and Bobby Singer? They’re not from here, it’s not something that would involve them much less get the three of you back to the table together.” His face shifted, something coming to mind. “Unless you think I had something to do with it?”
“What? No,” Bobby scowled. “No, It’s a much smaller hand - probably a girl, could be a very small guy. Believe it or not, boy, I’m not actually out to get you.”
Sam snorted, but said nothing. Dean felt a pang. He didn’t want bad blood or distrust between his lover and his mentor, but he could certainly understand where Sam might not trust Bobby. “So what’s the deal then?”
“The deal is that we caught a demon alive, Sam.” Jim informed him gently. “She’s possessing a bartender from town, a woman by the name of Casey. We managed to keep her in her host and brought her back here to talk to us.”
Both Sam and Dean blanched. “Torture?” Dean winced, glancing at Sam.
“Hopefully not,” the priest grimaced. “Only the real fanatics usually need that to loosen up their tongues. I’m not a big fan of that kind of thing anyway.”
“There’s not really a lot we can do to them that hasn’t already been done,” Sam murmured. “That’s how a person becomes a demon in the first place, remember?” He sighed. “So have you spoken with her?”
“No. We were waiting for you.” Bobby offered an apologetic smile. “Your uncle thought you’d want to be there. Thought real highly of your ability to question demons.”
Sam hung his head so that his hair hid most of his face. “Do you think she had anything to do with Lily’s death?”
“I don’t know, son.” Jim gripped his shoulder. “We’ll find out.”
The priest led the way down into the basement, and through a secret door in the basement to a passage leading underneath the church. In a room underneath where the altar would probably be, void of all decoration except a devil’s trap, sat a beautiful young woman. Straight brown hair, perfectly sculpted features, exquisite pink lips and a body that any fitness instructor would have sobbed over - Casey was nothing short of stunning. She sat in the middle of the devil’s trap, leaning back on her arms to give a little emphasis to her chest. “Well. If it isn’t Dean Winchester. I never thought I’d get to meet you in the flesh. After, maybe. But hey - this is special. I got to meet your daddy and now I get to meet you.”
He couldn’t help but snarl. “You leave him out of this. He’s got nothing to do with this!”
She smiled at him gently. “Calm down, Dean. I’m hardly traducing his character. I did get to meet your father. I’ve met a lot of people. He was strong. Fierce. Not much different from you. He had his flaws, of course. All humans do. He was terrified of the things he didn’t understand. And he was proud - oh, so proud. Proud enough to be one of us, almost.” Dean snarled in rage, but Sam held him back. It wasn’t like he could have done anything to her.
She gestured. “Have a seat, Dean. I’m here to talk.”
“Did you kill that girl at the high school today?” he growled.
“No,” she told him. “That’s not really my style. I’m more of an… enabler, I guess. I’d rather nudge humans in the right direction. It doesn’t take much. You whisper to the right councilman about a casino in the right place, or you wave a hooker at the right person, and they’ll march into Hell all by themselves and thank you for the trip. Half the time I don’t have to do any work at all. Isn’t that right, Dean?” She winked at him.
“Do you know who did kill the girl at the high school today?” Bobby interrupted.
“The killer was human, I can tell you that much. Well, mostly human. She’s one of Azazel’s experiments.”
“Experiments?” Jim frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“Azazel - you do know who he is, right? Well, he needed people who could perform certain tasks. Those people needed to have loyalty to him, but be able to avoid things that affect demons. So years ago - quite a lot of years ago really - he started making plans. He started making deals with women.”
“What kind of deals?” Bobby scowled.
“I wouldn’t have thought a yellow-eyed demon would have lowered himself to making deals,” Sam frowned.
“Oh, but he wouldn’t have trusted any mere crossroads devil to this kind of work, Sam,” she told him, with a lift of her eyebrows. “No, this was too important. He needed their permission to access their children. That was all. And he got it, from every single one. And ten years later, he collected. Lily Heldal’s mother was one of those women.” She gave a thin, feline smile. “He gave every one of those children a gift: his unholy blood.”
Sam looked green. “So you’re saying that Lily has demon blood inside of her. And so does her killer.”
“And so,” Casey added with a grin like a cat with a giant bowl of cream, “did little Sammy Winchester. You remember him, right, Dean?”
“That’s not possible. My mother wouldn’t -” He choked himself off.
“People do all kinds of things when they’re desperate, Dean,” she told him. The kicker was, she really did sound sympathetic. “I don’t know what it was with her. I don’t. She might not even have known, entirely, what she was agreeing to. But she did sell her son to Azazel, the same as all of these other parents.”
“That’s impossible!” Dean roared.
“That’s exactly what your father said when I told him.” She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, in the end.”
“Azazel and his daughter have been harassing my boy,” Jim challenged her. “Do you know anything about that?”
“Sure,” she said, blinking innocently over black eyes.
“Care to share with the class?” Dean spat, trying desperately to force himself to focus on the demon in front of him.
“Azazel wants Sam because Sam is his successor. Sam is going to lead the armies of Hell.” She smiled at him. “It’s an honor to meet you, your Highness.”
“I’m not leading anything,” Sam vowed, and his voice didn’t shake at all.
“I’m sorry, Sam. Ultimately you will.”
Back to Part Two -- On to Part Four
Prompt Number: S1025
Artist: expectative
Fic Title: Night of the Boy King
Author: safiyabat
Beta: elwarre
Fandom/Genre: SPN, angst, Wincest,
Pairing(s): Sam/Dean, past Sam/OCs
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 32,157 (entire fic), 5,926 (this chapter)
Warnings: Some explicit sexual content, show-level violence, demonic possession, using the "big boy words." Wincest. Note: This chapter is explicit.
Summary: John Winchester realized that something was "off" about Sammy when the boy was about seven. He abandoned him with the best demonologist he knew, Pastor Jim Murphy in Blue Earth, Minnesota. A little over ten years later, his older son Dean is ready to take on the demon that destroyed his family. All signs point to Blue Earth.
Dean made a point of heading to the school the very next day. He couldn’t come up with a valid excuse to be in the building, but he could certainly keep an eye on the exterior. Bobby got a job as a janitor so he could monitor Sam Murphy indoors. Nothing stood out for the first couple of days, although Bobby made a point of putting devil’s traps under every mud mat in every entrance. It couldn’t hurt, they figured. Sam Murphy didn’t seem to notice them, or if he did they didn’t seem to bother him at all. On the contrary, once or twice Sam even seemed to be aware of the surveillance. He might have even winked at Dean as he went about his business, walking around with the occasional girl or guy or cluster of people (and really, he couldn’t be messing around with all of them, could he?)
The weekend passed. Bobby and Dean followed Jim and Sam out of town, but they lost the pair on country roads. “Jim’s good at what he does,” Bobby had to admit. “He always was.”
“Doesn’t look like he’s lost a step,” Dean had to admit.
They returned to Blue Earth to keep an eye on the town. Jim was back in time for Sunday mass. Sam showed up for services - it would probably have looked bad if he hadn’t - but he didn’t take Communion.
Bobby remarked on it from their seat in the back of the church, where Jim glared daggers at them. Dean elbowed him in the ribs. “Notice how we’re not taking Communion either?” he pointed out.
“Yeah, but we ain’t Catholic,” he retorted.
“Maybe the kid ain’t either.”
“He’s Jim’s nephew, raised in his house,” Bobby scoffed.
It wasn’t until Wednesday, when Dean had been there for a full week, that he got to speak directly to Sam again. “Enjoying the view?” Sam demanded.
Dean hadn’t even heard him approach. He jumped and turned around. “Jesus, Sam. You can’t just… sneak up on a hunter.”
“Apparently you can,” the teen replied with a smirk. “But you haven’t answered my question. I know you’ve been following me.”
“Yeah. Well, you know how it is.” He tried to put as much of an apology into his smile as he could.
“Well, no, I don’t. I’ve never stalked a teenager to try to decide if I needed to execute him before.” His expression was gentle, even if the words were harsh. “Come on. Come out of the trees, at least.”
“It’s not really like that,” Dean tried. “I mean, not exactly. It’s… it’s an abundance of caution.”
“Good to know. I’d hate to get shot just for the hell of it.” There wasn’t any bitterness to his voice, just amusement. “Come on. Let’s at least talk face to face?”
Dean could do that. A week’s non-contact hadn’t cured him of his desire for the boy, but he could probably manage to focus while talking. “Okay,” he agreed, and was rewarded by a more genuine smile.
They wandered aimlessly down one of the paths through the woods. Sam seemed to have some idea where he was going, although Dean could probably get back to the high school if he needed to. “Can I ask you a question?” he asked the taller male as they walked companionably side by side.
“That’s why we’re here,” Sam offered.
“How come you didn’t take Communion on Sunday?”
Sam smiled. “I never received the Sacraments. Not any of them. You have to get at least three of them before you can take Communion, you know.”
“But you’re a priest’s nephew, Sam. You’ve lived in his house since you were a kid.”
“That doesn’t mean my family - my bio family, I guess - were religious. Or at least that they thought I was worth bothering with. I mean, they’re the ones who abandoned me with Uncle Jim when I was just a little kid. They don’t seem to have thought I was worth baptizing and I guess Uncle Jim respected that. So.” His face darkened.
“Nah, I’m sure it wasn’t like that. I mean, my dad never had my little brother baptized either but it wasn’t because of him. After my mom was killed he just… he didn’t see a point to religious anything, you know? It wasn’t because of him; it was because religion didn’t mean anything to him anymore. I know my mom was going to get it done. We weren’t Catholic, though.”
“You have a brother?”
“Had. He, uh, he died. Same demon that got my mom came back for him. Then my dad, a few months ago.” He swallowed.
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too. He was such a little thing, you know? That’s what I remember most. Little things. He liked Lucky Charms. Books.” He shrugged. “Thundercats cartoons.”
Sam laughed a little. “I guess that’s what stands out after a long time passes. You know, I still remember bits and pieces of my family. I remember my dad wasn’t around much. I don’t remember my mother at all; I don’t know if she left first or what. I remember that I had a brother. He was, uh, he was always trying to get me to eat more.” He laughed a little.
“Do you remember any more? It might explain what that hell bitch wanted with you.” Dean couldn’t take his eyes off Sam’s lips, the way his little pink tongue thrust through them when he hesitated in his speech.
“Like I said, bits and pieces. When I got left here it was kind of traumatic; I guess I buried a lot of it. Uncle Jim says that’s the brain’s way of processing severe trauma.”
“Do you want to?”
“Why would I want to remember the people who gave me up for dead?” Sam replied bluntly. “I don’t want to remember them. I don’t want to know them. I don’t want them to know me. The only way that I want them to know who I am is after I’ve finished law school and built up a successful practice; they can look and see, ‘That’s Sam Murphy; that’s what he made of himself. He didn’t need us. He made a life without us.’”
“So you want your bio family to be jealous?”
“No. I mean, I guess I want them to regret getting rid of me. It’s not like I was some newborn, some unwanted pregnancy that they just couldn’t handle. I could get that, you know? No, I was six or seven or something. And they didn’t even go through legal paperwork or anything, they just… dumped me. Like trash. Like nothing.” He looked away. “It’s petty. I shouldn’t even think about them. I’ve got a good life with Uncle Jim. All the books I could want, and Blue Earth is a safe town. I don’t remember much from the time before but I remember never feeling safe.”
“So you’re better off.”
“Yeah, probably. It just bugs me, you know?” He laughed. “I can’t expect you to get it, I guess. I mean, you love your dad, and he kept you with him so I guess he loved you.”
“Yeah. Shared mission and all that.”
Sam tilted his head a little bit to the side. “So it was all… what, just demon hunting for you two?”
“It was for Dad.” It was hard to say this out loud, never mind to a complete stranger, but Sam had just confessed some pretty deep things about his own background to him. The confidence should be shared, after all. It wasn’t because Sam was so easy to talk to, not at all. “I mean, it’s literally all he cared about. Me too, really. The thing took my brother, took my mom. It destroyed everything. I want to kill it. I want to make sure that it can’t destroy another family like it did mine.” He snorted. “Look at us, trading life stories. What is this, California? That only happens in California.”
“I am going there in the fall,” Sam told him. He stopped. “You’re the one who thought it might shed some light on what Meg wanted with me. The thing is, Dean, I already know what she wants.”
“Oh.” He blinked. “You couldn’t have led with that? Because we could’ve skipped that whole chick-flick moment and gotten straight to business.”
“I don’t think demonology has ever figured into a chick flick, Dean. But sure. Meg is the daughter of the guy currently ruling Hell in Lucifer’s name, a demon by the name of Azazel.” He grimaced. “I don’t know if you know him.”
“I don’t believe we’ve met.” Dean couldn’t believe he got that one out with a straight face, because who had those kinds of relationships with freaking demons?
“You’d remember him if you’d met him. Most demons have black eyes, right? Crossroads demons have red, Lilith and her immediate subordinates have white. Well, Azazel has yellow.” He grimaced.
“Wait - yellow?” He remembered the flash of his father’s eyes, chartreuse in the darkness. “That son of a bitch possessed Dad right before he died!”
“Holy - well, it’s not surprising that he didn’t make it,” Sam said, sitting down. “Azazel is a big deal, Dean. He’s not just any demon; he’s one of the Fallen. One of the angels who Fell with Lucifer, only instead of being imprisoned in the Cage his Grace was twisted into a demonic spirit. He’s immensely powerful, more powerful than human minds like ours can entirely comprehend.” He shuddered, curtaining his face with his hair before springing to his feet. “This is… this is important, Dean.”
“So the demon that killed my family is your father?” Dean distilled.
Sam gave him a look that was part disgust, part sadness. “Dude. No. I’m not a demon. I’m not even part demon. Why are you even listening to Meg? She’s a liar, a body thief.”
“But why would she say things like that, Sam?”
“I don’t know, to piss me off. Because Jim and I have exorcised tons of demons from human hosts over the past ten years. Because she liked having me for a host and she can’t get back in. I don’t know.” He gestured wildly, stepping into Dean’s personal space. “What the hell kind of hunters take a demon’s word over a human’s anyway?”
“Calm down, Sammy,” he urged. “We just have to examine all angles, okay? She seemed to be targeting you last week. What did she really want?”
“She wanted me to go with her, of course. Same as she always does. Azazel thinks if he sends her and gets her to make the right noises I’ll come over to his side.” He made a face, more of a glower than anything else. “And it’s Sam. Thanks.”
“What does he think he can sell you on?” Dean wondered.
“Ugh. You know. ‘Oh, we can give you a real family, a father and a sister and a brother, everything you’ve ever wanted.’” He made a face. “They like to hit out at all sorts of things, any insecurities you have. You’re a hunter, you know how demons work.”
“But why you?” Dean shook his head. “Don’t get me wrong. You’re pretty and everything. But that’s not going to count for much when you’re nothing but black smoke. It’s not something that means a lot to demons.”
Sam gave a little chuckle. “You think I’m pretty?”
Dean felt his face flush scarlet. “I guess I said that out loud, huh?”
“Little bit.” Sam smiled softly, turning the full force of his dimples onto him. “It’s nice, though. I mean, nothing freakish about feeling good about that, right?”
Dean laughed. “No. Nothing.” Tension coiled up his back. “So it would be okay if I kissed you, maybe?”
“Mmm… I think I could find a way to live with that,” Sam teased, and bent to cover Dean’s mouth with his own.
Dean was an experienced guy, to put it mildly. Once he’d hit puberty and found willing women he hadn’t looked back, finding a substitute for the lack of affection from his father in the arms of women in every town and hamlet his giant black car passed through. He thought that experience and age would imply that he’d be a better kisser than Sam, but the way that boy captured his mouth with his and gently stole his breath right from under his nose made him feel like a blushing virgin again.
He pulled back after a moment. “Sam,” he whispered.
The boy’s smile was gentle. “Sorry. I get a little carried away sometimes -”
“What? No! It’s just - I’ve never kissed a guy before.”
“Really? Well now I feel bad for all those guys you’ve met in all those towns you passed through.” Something about his tone bypassed Dean’s brain entirely and went straight to his groin.
“Sam - you’re underage.”
“Not today.” The predatory smile that he’d shown just before Meg had confronted them was back, and God help him but Dean was only a man.
“What do you mean?”
“Today’s my birthday. I’m eighteen.”
“Oh.” His brain caught up with the rest of him. “Oh!”
“Right.”
“You know, I’ve got a motel room. If, you know, you wanted….” He felt cheap, offering to just drag him back to a motel room like that. Eighteen or not this was still a high school kid, and a kid he was supposed to be observing in case he turned out to be some kind of monster. Not a one night stand, not someone who could turn into a repeat act or a long-term partner.
But here Sam was taking his hand with a shy smile. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he said.
Dean led the way back to the Impala, and Sam settled into the shotgun position. He looked good there, even with his impossibly long legs folded up so he could fit into the car. He must come from a race of giants, Dean thought to himself. Maybe holdovers from the Fomoire, if the Fomoire decided to go and have a frolic through southern Minnesota. Well, the kid was from Boston originally, right? So it wasn’t completely out of the question. He wouldn’t let himself think about that. Instead he focused on Sam, on getting them both back to the motel in one piece.
His partner showed no sign of nerves once they arrived; he simply put his things by the bathroom door and busied himself finding something in his backpack while Dean locked all of the doors. When Dean turned around he found Sam seated calmly on the bed, a friendly smile playing around his lips. He started to stand when Dean showed he was ready but the older man approached, pressing him gently back to a sitting position. “Where’s the fire?” he asked softly, and touched his lips to Sam’s.
Sam responded just as eagerly to his kiss now, neither greedy nor standoffish. His lips parted when Dean brushed his tongue up against them, allowing him entrance, but he wasn’t some kind of passive little kid who didn’t know what he was doing. One massive hand threaded itself into Dean’s hair while the other one found its way to the small of Dean’s back, pulling him closer. Dean could feel the heat radiating off Sam, could have practically fried an egg on his shoulders. He moaned softly as Sam sucked on his bottom lip and pulled his head back for air.
Sam didn’t let the opportunity go to waste. He nibbled gently along Dean’s jawline, not enough to break the skin or leave a mark but enough to make his cock sit up and take notice. He didn’t know when he’d gotten interested in guys - well, of course he did. He’d gotten interested in guys the moment Sam Murphy had walked into his life, and here he was satisfying those needs. There was nothing wrong with that. He just needed to move like he was with any other lover - the equipment didn’t matter as long as he left his partner satisfied, right?
He moved his own hands down and tugged at the hem of Sam’s sweater. “Too many clothes,” he declared.
“You’re not wrong,” Sam agreed with a grin, and allowed his shirt and undershirt to be stripped from him. Good God but the kid was ripped; he’d gotten the suggestion of sculpture when he’d seen him in just the police tee but no high school kid had the right to be this cut. His arms, his shoulders, his abs - he was like a work of art, a statue come to life. His tattoos - odd symbols, probably designed to keep demons out - only emphasized his muscle tone.
“You’re beautiful,” Dean breathed. “Have you seen yourself in a mirror?”
Sam just laughed and helped Dean off with his own shirt. “Not just for looking,” he pointed out helpfully, licking at the sweat collecting in Dean’s collarbone.
“No,” Dean smiled. “It’s not, is it?” He gently pushed the younger man back onto the mattress. Tension evaporated from Sam’s body in visible waves as more of Dean’s skin touched his, and the hunter found that he liked that in ways he didn’t expect. He liked seeing all of that coiled grace loosen up and relax, become unrestrained as he straddled the boy. He liked feeling Sam’s hard length, encased in denim as it was, underneath him. He liked it because it meant that he had brought some happiness, some measure of contentment, to Sam’s life. He’d taken care of him.
Take care of Sammy.
It had been the directive of his life for seven years, and not just seven years but the most formative and traumatic years of his life. This wasn’t the same Sammy, not anything like him. But it was a Sam, and he’d been hurt and wronged, and Dean could take care of him. He slid his mouth down his partner’s body, relishing the way his tongue bounced over the chiseled abs before he got to the waistband of Sam’s jeans.
“Is this okay?” he asked Sam, hand hovering over the button.
“It’s fine by me,” Sam breathed. “Are you sure? I know you haven’t been with a guy before. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”
“Sam, it’s you. I couldn’t feel uncomfortable. Besides, I’m offering. You’re not asking me to do anything.” He unbuttoned Sam’s jeans and slowly, tantalizingly pulled the zipper down.
Sam had opted to go commando today. Dean made a mental note of that, filing that away for later before wrapping his head around the cock in front of him. Definitely descended from a race of giants, he thought wildly, before pulling the jeans and socks off. Sam was naked now, spread out and reasonably relaxed on the bed. Dean touched the swollen red member before him and Sam’s entire body gave a massive twitch. Sensitive, then.
He’d never done this. He’d never done anything like this. He’d never even contemplated anything like this, not from this side of the equation. He’d been on the receiving end plenty of times though, and he knew what he liked. When he licked a stripe up the underside of Sam’s cock Sam gasped in pleasure; he was probably doing something right. What else usually got him going? Well, he liked it when girls paid attention to the space right under the head, that usually made him pretty happy. He spent some time there and judged his success by the number of happy sounds he got out of his partner.
After a few moments he closed his mouth around the head. This part took a little getting used to; he could see why girls complained about the taste so often. In a way, though, even though it didn’t taste great it was nice. All that precome was because of Dean, because Dean was turning Sam on so much that he was leaking. That felt good, it turned Dean on even if the flavor wasn’t exactly to his taste.
Sam’s legs were spread apart, his knees slightly bent. Dean could see his hole. He groaned, which elicited a loud moan from Sam. That - that small space, that tiny aperture, was supposed to accommodate him? He pulled his mouth off Sam’s cock, making the younger man’s eyebrows draw together in consternation. “Can I…” he began.
Sam smiled gently. “Bedside table, man.”
Of course. That was what Sam had been doing while Dean had been locking the door behind them. He got up, shucked his pants and found what Sam had stashed away there, a small bottle of lube and a few condoms. He’d probably been a boy scout, too. He squinted at the directions on the bottle and put some lube on his fingers. “You sure you want this?”
“Yes,” Sam declared firmly. “Are you?”
Dean looked down at his insistent erection. “Pretty sure.”
He dropped down to his knees and took Sam back into his mouth again. This time, though, he carefully and slowly pressed one finger up and into Sam’s opening. A low groan was his reward. After a few minutes, once the finger was moving around pretty freely, he added a second. This part at least wasn’t entirely alien. He’d done this with girls a few times - not exactly often, but often enough that he had a vague idea of what was going on. He knew he needed to prepare his lover, to stretch him open before he could enter. He made a point of being patient, adding a third finger only when he felt that the first two had done their jobs.
Most of this part translated reasonably well, but some parts were a revelation. His fingers brushed against something inside Sam that had him shouting, gripping Dean’s hair hard enough that it almost hurt. “You okay?” he asked, concerned.
“Do. Not. Stop,” Sam told him, glaring even as he panted and his balls drew up. “Oh shit.” He came with a shout, sending thick ropes of come over his chest and abs.
Dean gave a low laugh as Sam sank his head back against the pillow. “I guess you liked that,” he said.
“Prostate,” he grunted, moving a little so as to better take Dean’s fingers. “Oh yeah - that’s perfect, Dean. I’m ready.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Dean would have preferred more prep - the absolute last thing that he wanted to do was to hurt his beautiful boy - but the way Sam was squirming he didn’t think that Sam was going to be all that keen on any further delay. He rolled the condom on, slicked himself up and sank slowly into Sam.
Nothing - absolutely nothing - could have prepared him for this. Sam was so tight, so very tight, and so incredibly hot. He was going to be crushed, he was going to be crushed and cooked and he was going to love every minute of it. Sam didn’t breathe and neither did Dean as both men waited for Sam’s body to adjust to Dean’s intrusion. “Go,” he finally instructed.
Dean didn’t need to be told twice; his muscles already trembled from the strain of holding so perfectly still. He pulled his hips slowly back and then snapped them forward, eliciting a cry from Sam. He didn’t insult Sam by treating him like he was going to break - the kid had done this before, had a reputation with both men and women - but Dean took his time and gave it to him tenderly. He wanted to give Sam a graphic demonstration, in ways that the man was likely to be able to understand, that he wasn’t just some one-night stand. He was cherished. He was special.
Sam hardened under him again, eyes rolling in his head. Only after he came again did Dean finally release into the condom and collapse on top of him. Sam wrapped his long arms around him and kissed the top of his head. “That was fantastic,” he murmured, a blissful smile on his face.
Dean let himself wallow in being held, in being appreciated, for a moment. “I wish someone had told me today was your birthday,” he said. “I’d have gotten you a better present than that.”
“No,” Sam told him. “You wouldn’t. Might have tried though.”
And hell if that didn’t feel good.
He did have to get up and dispose of the condom eventually; he grabbed a washcloth to clean them both up on the return trip and they fell into a light doze under the scratchy sheets.
Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. Maybe Sam did have some kind of demonic influence after him. Dean didn’t care. He already had three perfectly good reasons to kill Azazel; one more would just make it that much sweeter when he found a way to nail that yellow-eyed bastard.
He woke from his unscheduled nap to the sound of his phone buzzing - no, to the sound of two phones buzzing. Sam groaned. “You get yours first,” he scowled. “Bobby’s is probably hunting related.”
“How do you know it’s Bobby?” Dean wondered. That didn’t stop him from retrieving his phone and answering it on the very last ring. “Hey, Bobby.” It had been a lucky guess, that was the only possible explanation.
“Dean. Have you seen Sam Murphy? You were supposed to have eyes on him when he left the school.” Bobby’s voice was all wrong, tense and excited but frightened at the same time.
“Yeah, I’ve got eyes on him. Why? What’s up?” He tried not to think about what else he had on him at the moment.
“I need you to collect him and bring him back to the rectory right away. It’s important.”
Dean sat bolt upright. “What? I thought Pastor Jim said he’d shoot us if we went anywhere near Sam again.”
“Things’ve changed, son.” His mentor sighed. “He may be in danger. And not from us. Just… bring him home. It ain’t such an interesting story that I’m keen to tell it twice.”
“I gotcha, Bobby.” He hung up. “All right, we need to get cleaned up and head back over to the rectory.”
“That probably has something to do with the three calls Uncle Jim has left me.” He grimaced. “I’m in for it. I’d better return the calls.” He grabbed his phone and called. “Hi, Uncle Jim. Yes, sir - no, sorry. I had my phone off. No, I had a date. I know. A gentleman doesn’t take calls in the middle of -” He grinned impishly. “Yes, sir. No, sir. I see him. No, I know things are on kind of a bad note with them right now but he’s been following me for a week. I can probably persuade him to give me a ride if he’s got to go to the same place anyway.” Dean couldn’t help it. He swatted Sam with a pillow.
The pair dressed quickly, Dean made some necessary repairs to his hairstyle and they made their way back to the rectory. Jim and Bobby waited for them there. “We’ll talk about your ‘date’ later, young man,” the priest told Sam sternly. “Right now we’ve got bigger fish to fry than your libido.”
“What’s wrong, sir?” Dean asked politely, seeing Sam hang his head slightly. “Not that I’m not thrilled that the two of you are talking again, but I have to admit that I’m more than a little shocked. What’s going on?”
“We had two major developments today while Azazel’s golden boy here was -” Pastor Jim cleared his throat loudly and Bobby gave an exaggerated nod. “I apologize. I meant to say while Pastor Jim’s nephew was on a date, and while mine was off watching him. A young girl from Sam’s school was found dead today, down in the boiler room.”
Sam frowned. “Oh my God. Who?”
“Lily Heldal,” Pastor Jim replied. “She’d just moved here in September.”
“We were friends,” Sam remembered. “Friendly, anyway. She was kind of prickly, but her parents kicked her out of the house when they found her with a girl. Her aunt took her in to finish her senior year.” He grimaced. “Oh my… wow. What, uh, what happened to her?”
“The cops are calling it suicide,” Bobby filled in. “I ain’t never seen a suicide that strangled herself with her own two hands. The killer used a rope after the fact, but you couldn’t miss the bruising under the damn thing.” He shook his head.
The senior sat down, head in his hands. “Was there any sulfur?”
“None,” Jim told him, putting a hand on his shoulder and stroking his hair gently. “I’m sorry, son. She was your friend.”
“She was. But… I mean… I’ll go to the funeral and everything. But what does this have to do with us?” He gestured to the four of them and to the church. “I mean, you and me, Uncle Jim, sure. But Dean and Bobby Singer? They’re not from here, it’s not something that would involve them much less get the three of you back to the table together.” His face shifted, something coming to mind. “Unless you think I had something to do with it?”
“What? No,” Bobby scowled. “No, It’s a much smaller hand - probably a girl, could be a very small guy. Believe it or not, boy, I’m not actually out to get you.”
Sam snorted, but said nothing. Dean felt a pang. He didn’t want bad blood or distrust between his lover and his mentor, but he could certainly understand where Sam might not trust Bobby. “So what’s the deal then?”
“The deal is that we caught a demon alive, Sam.” Jim informed him gently. “She’s possessing a bartender from town, a woman by the name of Casey. We managed to keep her in her host and brought her back here to talk to us.”
Both Sam and Dean blanched. “Torture?” Dean winced, glancing at Sam.
“Hopefully not,” the priest grimaced. “Only the real fanatics usually need that to loosen up their tongues. I’m not a big fan of that kind of thing anyway.”
“There’s not really a lot we can do to them that hasn’t already been done,” Sam murmured. “That’s how a person becomes a demon in the first place, remember?” He sighed. “So have you spoken with her?”
“No. We were waiting for you.” Bobby offered an apologetic smile. “Your uncle thought you’d want to be there. Thought real highly of your ability to question demons.”
Sam hung his head so that his hair hid most of his face. “Do you think she had anything to do with Lily’s death?”
“I don’t know, son.” Jim gripped his shoulder. “We’ll find out.”
The priest led the way down into the basement, and through a secret door in the basement to a passage leading underneath the church. In a room underneath where the altar would probably be, void of all decoration except a devil’s trap, sat a beautiful young woman. Straight brown hair, perfectly sculpted features, exquisite pink lips and a body that any fitness instructor would have sobbed over - Casey was nothing short of stunning. She sat in the middle of the devil’s trap, leaning back on her arms to give a little emphasis to her chest. “Well. If it isn’t Dean Winchester. I never thought I’d get to meet you in the flesh. After, maybe. But hey - this is special. I got to meet your daddy and now I get to meet you.”
He couldn’t help but snarl. “You leave him out of this. He’s got nothing to do with this!”
She smiled at him gently. “Calm down, Dean. I’m hardly traducing his character. I did get to meet your father. I’ve met a lot of people. He was strong. Fierce. Not much different from you. He had his flaws, of course. All humans do. He was terrified of the things he didn’t understand. And he was proud - oh, so proud. Proud enough to be one of us, almost.” Dean snarled in rage, but Sam held him back. It wasn’t like he could have done anything to her.
She gestured. “Have a seat, Dean. I’m here to talk.”
“Did you kill that girl at the high school today?” he growled.
“No,” she told him. “That’s not really my style. I’m more of an… enabler, I guess. I’d rather nudge humans in the right direction. It doesn’t take much. You whisper to the right councilman about a casino in the right place, or you wave a hooker at the right person, and they’ll march into Hell all by themselves and thank you for the trip. Half the time I don’t have to do any work at all. Isn’t that right, Dean?” She winked at him.
“Do you know who did kill the girl at the high school today?” Bobby interrupted.
“The killer was human, I can tell you that much. Well, mostly human. She’s one of Azazel’s experiments.”
“Experiments?” Jim frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“Azazel - you do know who he is, right? Well, he needed people who could perform certain tasks. Those people needed to have loyalty to him, but be able to avoid things that affect demons. So years ago - quite a lot of years ago really - he started making plans. He started making deals with women.”
“What kind of deals?” Bobby scowled.
“I wouldn’t have thought a yellow-eyed demon would have lowered himself to making deals,” Sam frowned.
“Oh, but he wouldn’t have trusted any mere crossroads devil to this kind of work, Sam,” she told him, with a lift of her eyebrows. “No, this was too important. He needed their permission to access their children. That was all. And he got it, from every single one. And ten years later, he collected. Lily Heldal’s mother was one of those women.” She gave a thin, feline smile. “He gave every one of those children a gift: his unholy blood.”
Sam looked green. “So you’re saying that Lily has demon blood inside of her. And so does her killer.”
“And so,” Casey added with a grin like a cat with a giant bowl of cream, “did little Sammy Winchester. You remember him, right, Dean?”
“That’s not possible. My mother wouldn’t -” He choked himself off.
“People do all kinds of things when they’re desperate, Dean,” she told him. The kicker was, she really did sound sympathetic. “I don’t know what it was with her. I don’t. She might not even have known, entirely, what she was agreeing to. But she did sell her son to Azazel, the same as all of these other parents.”
“That’s impossible!” Dean roared.
“That’s exactly what your father said when I told him.” She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, in the end.”
“Azazel and his daughter have been harassing my boy,” Jim challenged her. “Do you know anything about that?”
“Sure,” she said, blinking innocently over black eyes.
“Care to share with the class?” Dean spat, trying desperately to force himself to focus on the demon in front of him.
“Azazel wants Sam because Sam is his successor. Sam is going to lead the armies of Hell.” She smiled at him. “It’s an honor to meet you, your Highness.”
“I’m not leading anything,” Sam vowed, and his voice didn’t shake at all.
“I’m sorry, Sam. Ultimately you will.”
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