Night Of The Boy King, Part Four (5/6)
Art Title: Night of the Boy King
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), 5,761 (this chapter)
Warnings: Some explicit sexual content, show-level violence, demonic possession, using the "big boy words." Wincest. 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’s heart froze in his chest. He wasn’t sure if it was freezing because of her words, or the look on Bobby’s face, or the look on Sam’s. “What makes you say that?” Bobby demanded. “Are you saying that Sam is another of Azazel’s experiments? Because Lily didn’t turn out bad.”
“No, she didn’t,” Casey admitted. “Ever notice how she tried to avoid touching people? Azazel’s blood gives people gifts. I mean, come on. He’s the most powerful demon in existence. He was an angel, for crying out loud. His blood, given to an infant, bonds to their very marrow. It does change them. They’re still mostly human, just… enhanced. Lily’s gifts made her touch dangerous. Her parents didn’t just catch her with a girl; touching the lady in question killed her. Others have other abilities. Super strength, electrokinesis.
“But your Sam, he’s different. Isn’t he?”
“No.” Sam shook his head. “You’re wrong. About everything. I’m not any different from anyone else. I’m just a normal teenager.”
Casey leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “It was very important to Azazel that you were born, Sam. He took every step necessary to make sure that you happened. He’s taken a strong interest in your development ever since. Hasn’t he?”
Dean found his voice. It had disappeared when he heard that demon… thing… talking about his mother. Kind of like it had disappeared for a while when she’d been killed, leaving him only able to really speak to Sammy. But now he found it again. “Why would you tell us this? I mean, assuming that it’s true. Why would you give us this kind of information?”
“Because it’s useless to you.” She shrugged. “It might give you some kind of closure, I suppose. I mean, you should know what you’ve been forced into, Dean. No one would think less of you for backing out. What’s happening is beyond you. It’s beyond humanity. You can’t stop it. Bobby, I’m sorry. But Karen - she made a deal too. Your child would have been one of ours too. One of his, no different from Lily or the others.”
“But different from me,” Sam inserted.
“Yes,” she told him softly. “I’m sorry.”
Sam got up and left the room.
Dean wanted to get up and go after him. He wanted to go wrap him in his arms, to tell him that it was all going to be okay. He wanted to tell him “demons lie.” He wanted to tell him that nothing could possibly make Sam even a little bit different than he already was, that he was perfect. Beautiful.
But he had to admit that Casey seemed willing to let it all hang out. And what was Sam going to hear, anyway? What could he possibly say that Sam would grasp? The poor guy’s world was collapsing; nothing Dean could say would ever make that right. Not now - maybe in a few nights or a week or a month. “Alright, sister,” he growled as the secret door closed behind him. “You have to know that this doesn’t end well for you.”
“On the contrary. I’ve made my peace with my Lord.” She smiled. “Besides, the worst you can do is send me back to Hell and I’ll be welcomed as a hero.”
“Is there anything else that you want to share with us?” Jim ground out through gritted teeth.
“I don’t see why you’re fighting us so hard. You’ve destroyed the world. We’ve barely had a hand in anything this past century. Four major genocides, countless smaller-scale genocides, murder on an unprecedented scale, chemical warfare, environmental destruction on a scale that will appall Lucifer himself - don’t you think it’s our turn now? Our Lord is real. He is attentive. And he’ll do things right this time.” She shook her head. “Join us, Dean. Believe me. You’re coming to us anyway, and you won’t be the first. You’ll be rewarded. You can be with the one you want.”
“Send her back,” he directed, and he walked out the door. He couldn’t let them see how tempting it was - the idea of being rewarded had always kind of hung out there, a forbidden carrot on a very distant string. Dad would have had his hide if he’d even suggested it - “saving people is the reward, boy!” - but why couldn’t he have been a little more comfortable doing it? And why couldn’t he have a long term partner, someone who loved him the way Mom had loved Dad? Why couldn’t he be with Sam? It was all crap, of course - what could she mean, he was coming to them anyway? What could stop him from being with the one he lo- cared for? He might as well go try to be supportive. It probably wouldn’t do Sam much good but it would get him away from Casey.
Sam wasn’t in his room. That wasn’t surprising. The kid had just had the foundations of his entire world rocked to their very core and not in a good way. Dean made his way out into the town. He didn’t really expect to find Sam. He didn’t think he was ready for company. The guy probably needed it; a particularly vicious part of him wanted to point out that Sam had plenty of people who could provide comfort and distraction, people who didn’t have as much baggage of their own to sort out.
His feet led him toward the Jolly Green Giant statue, and why not? It was a perfectly good landmark. He could find his way back to the church that way; it wasn’t like he hadn’t walked it often enough following Sam around. Funny; when he’d come here as a child he’d never really explored Blue Earth. They’d been hidden children, very much refugees from the world in the rafters of the rectory. The only way he knew anything about Blue Earth was from Sam.
Christ. His mother. If Casey was to be believed, and there was no reason she wasn’t, Dean’s mother had made a deal for baby Sammy. Well, that was reason enough right there. Who sold their child to the devil? Who did that? But Casey didn’t have a reason to lie. She seemed sincere. What would she have gained by lying? Did that mean she was in Hell, now? Had she become a demon already?
But if she had in fact sold baby Sammy to Azazel, she’d apparently repented. She’d died by Sammy’s crib, defending him. Well, over Sammy’s crib, but that was close enough, right? He didn’t have to cope with the idea that his mother was in hell too?
“Thought I’d find you here.” Sam’s voice cut through the chilly spring air. He shoved his hands into his pockets and Dean couldn’t help but remember the fact that the guy wasn’t wearing underwear. His breath forced little clouds in the humid air.
“That was an intense scene,” Dean told the youth. He needed to mourn, to process, but take care of Sammy overrode all of that. And, to be honest, it kind of needed to. Finding out that his mother had been kind of shady was one thing, not that he believed it for a minute. Finding out that a demon had done “every step necessary” to ensure his birth was something else. Getting addressed as “Your Highness” by a demon was even worse.
“I can ignore it.” The words were strong. So was the set of his jaw and his shoulders. He wouldn’t meet Dean’s eye. “Demons say whatever they need to say to get free, to rattle their captors.”
“That wasn’t her goal.” He paused. “Do you have abilities?”
“Dean -”
“Sam. I think I have the right to know.” And he didn’t, not really. He wasn’t in a position to claim that sleeping with someone once gave him any rights over him. And Sam, Sam knew that. He got that, because his promiscuity was on a level to make priests shake their head and high school girls use it as a reward for good grades.
But Sam looked away. “My family dumped me when I started showing signs of telekinesis,” he muttered.
Dean widened his eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“What?”
“You could’ve gotten the condoms yourself.”
Sam laughed, which was the goal. “Okay, sure.”
“Seriously, though. That’s it? Do you know Fred Jones?”
“Sure. When I started showing signs that was the first person Father Jim took me to see. I must have been about nine when he gave me my first beer.” Sam blinked.
“Heh. Small world. Okay. Being telekinetic doesn’t make you a demon, Sam.” He reached out and put a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “It’s okay”
“It’s not okay, Dean. A demon thinks I’m going to take over the shop when he decides to retire and raise goats for their wool or something. I should have tried harder to get you or Bobby to shoot me.” He glared and stepped away.
“Sam, no. We’ll get through this.”
“We won’t. We can’t. There’s no… there’s no help for this. There’s no fixing it. There’s… Getting possessed is one thing. Having a demon’s blood in my veins - that’s something else.” He sighed. “And there are others.”
“That’s what Casey said.” He looked away. “Sam, I’m so sorry.”
“You didn’t do it, Dean. You gave me some mind-blowing sex. Made me feel like a person for what’s probably the very last time. Don’t apologize for that, okay? Please.” He forced a grin.
“Sam, you are a person, damn it. You’re a great guy. You’re hot, you’re smart, you’re funny. And don’t forget, you’re going to Stanford in the fall. Someone just did something to you when you were a baby. That’s all.” He reached out and grabbed Sam’s wrist gently.
“Oh, no no no, Dean. I’m ‘different. I’m special.’” The way he said that word, with its bitter twist, was so much like the way that Dad had said it that for a moment Dean thought he might be back, reincarnate.
“Sam.” He kissed Sam then, not with the degree of desire and urgency he had before, but gently and softly. Sam responded instantly, opening up as though a switch had been flipped. “Yes, you’re special. But not like that. We’re going to get through this.”
Sam closed his eyes, inhaled deeply once. “I guess if anything was inevitable the bastard wouldn’t keep sending Meg to pester me.” He folded his lips together. “He might win. He might not. But I’m not giving him me.” He looked up at Dean through his bangs, completely void of weakness. “Evil is a choice, every time. And I don’t have to choose that.”
“Good man.” Dean kissed him again - not because Sam’s big demonic freakout needed the interruption, but because he wanted to.
Sam let his hands wander under Dean’s shirt. “I can’t thank you enough, Dean,” he murmured. “If it weren’t for you today would have been -”
Dean grinned. “I’m sure you can think of a way,” he teased. “But later. For now we should get back to the others. We’ve got work to do.”
“Yeah.” He stood up, shoulders back and head high.
They made their way back to Pastor Jim’s. Neither the priest nor the hunter said anything about their disappearance. The pretty bartender had been brought home after an exorcism, but there was still work to be done. “I’ve sat here with your daddy’s journal,” Bobby informed Dean. “It seems that there’s a weapon that could possibly kill a demon, even one as powerful as Azazel.”
Dean couldn’t quite tell which of the younger men was more excited about that statement. “Oh yeah?” he asked the bearded hunter. “What is it?”
“John Winchester wrote about a gun, a special gun crafted by Samuel Colt himself. It was supposed to be able to kill anything - vampire, demon, werewolf, you name it.” Pastor Jim sighed and sat down. “He was… he was a hunter, apparently. Anyway. Your father, Dean, thought that it was in the possession of a vampire hunter by the name of Daniel Elkins.”
Sam frowned. “Why do I think I’ve heard that name before?”
Dean ran his hand through his hair. “We used to go spend time at Elkins’ place in Colorado when I was real young - like when Dad was first starting out as a hunter. They were friends, but they had a falling out. I don’t remember why.”
Bobby grinned wryly. “Your daddy had a lot of fallings-out with a lot of people, Dean. He was - well, the best way to describe him would have been ‘single minded.’”
“Can’t argue with that,” Dean agreed.
“In Elkins’ case, the falling out was over the Colt. He wanted Elkins to give him the Colt but he wouldn’t. Anyway. I spoke to him. He’s willing to part with it now, under the circumstances. It’s about a fourteen-hour drive. Are the two of you up for an overnight trip?” Jim looked between the pair of them. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but -”
“I’m in,” Sam announced firmly. “I don’t care; I’ll go alone if I have to.”
“You don’t have to go alone, Sam,” Dean told him, a hand on his back. “I’ll drive. “
Jim glanced between the lovers. His eyes narrowed and his mouth tightened, but he said nothing. “All right. Well, you can go ahead and get started then. Bobby and I will start working on the other kids, the ones he experimented on. We’ll see if we can get any leads. One thing’s for sure - Azazel seems to be intending to come here. So don’t get distracted, boys.” He glanced between them.
“No sir,” Sam told him with a grim little smile. “I’m not much of a skier anyway. How about you, Dean?”
“Pretty sure the season’s over anyway. Get your stuff, Sammy. We’re going on a road trip.”
Sam didn’t take long to pack, which Dean took as a personal sign that God or whoever looked on their relationship with approval, and they were out the door without pausing for breath. They stopped at a drive through about an hour later for dinner. Dean offered to go to an actual diner, but Sam didn’t want to get out of the car even though the food would be healthier. “I just want to get this over with,” he explained. “We’ll have to stop for the night anyway; I don’t want to stop for food too.”
Dean slumped a little. “The prospect of a night together that bad, Sammy?”
“What?” Sam blinked. “No, not at all. It’s the best part of this whole mess.” He reached out and took Dean’s hand. “I just… I’m sorry. You heard some things too, things you’re probably having a hard time with, and I’m sitting here thinking about myself.” He shook his head.
“It’s okay, Sam. All this stuff - you’re the one who has to live with it. It’s all just stuff that happened years ago, for the rest of us.” He straightened up a little. “We’re going to get this son of a bitch, Sammy. Everything he’s done to my family, everything he’s done to you, everything he’s done to all of those other families, to Bobby - it’s going to end.”
Sam squeezed his hand and offered him a smile.
They stopped for the night in Sioux City. It wasn’t all that far from Blue Earth, only about two and a half hours, but it had been a long day for both men and that still meant less time they needed to spend on the road tomorrow. They checked into a hotel - not a crappy fleabag motel like Dean was used to but a halfway-decent motel that kind of impressed Dean thanks to Pastor Jim’s generosity. The beds were comfortable and clean, the bathroom had no trace of mold - it was a lot like paradise.
“I don’t want to make assumptions, Sam,” he said, hands by his side. “I mean, I don’t want to pressure you and it’s been a long crappy day, but -”
Sam’s smile was wolfish. “But you wouldn’t object to a little bit of distraction?” He put his hands on Dean’s hips and drew him in close. “Me either.”
Dean kissed him and they undressed. Something about this guy, the completely unconscious way in which he carried his body, just cut out all rational thought. As soon as they were both naked Sam approached Dean and reached out for him. “Something I’ve been wanting to do for a week,” he announced. “Is this okay?”
“Is what okay?” Dean grinned.
Sam was already dropping to his knees, holding Dean’s eyes even as he started with kitten licks up the side of Dean’s cock. “Oh God yes,” he groaned as Sam slipped the head, just the head, into his mouth. He lavished the crown with his tongue’s attention, spending extra time on the slit like it had been made just for his tongue. Dean grabbed onto Sam’s shaggy hair, not because he wanted to force him lower but because he had to grab onto something to keep his balance.
Sam, still somehow maintaining eye contact, lowered his mouth down Dean’s shaft inch by precious inch with hollowed-out cheeks. “Sweet merciful God,” the hunter groaned, and Sam just chuckled. His voice, though, it wasn’t just his voice. It was the vibration of his vocal cords on Dean’s dick, and it was just too much. The case, Azazel, the room, the whole world disappeared until nothing existed but Sam’s hot, wet mouth. “Sam!” he cried, and spilled down his throat.
Sam kept at him until he’d completely rode out his orgasm, swallowing everything he had to give and not spilling a drop. Only then did he rise, helping the suddenly boneless Dean to sink to the nearest bed with a gentle little smile. “That,” Dean gasped, “was the single best blow job I’ve ever gotten in my life.”
Sam smirked, stretching out beside him. His own erection lay hot and heavy against Dean’s thigh. “Thank you,” he said simply. “Like I said, I’ve been thinking about that since I met you, so…”
“Seriously?”
“Have you met yourself? I mean, those eyes, those freckles, the way you just jumped in to help Clay.” He shrugged. “Yeah. You’re something else, Dean.” He ran a hand over Dean’s chest. “I get that we’ve got some stuff in common and everything and that’s just icing on the cake, you know? But you’re incredible.”
As rational thought began to return to Dean’s brain he reached out for Sam, took him in hand. He loved the way that Sam looked in his arms, the way his eyes rolled back a little when he got turned on or when he was really getting into it. He loved the sounds Sam made, his little groans and gasps. He wasn’t used to being somewhere private, Dean realized. He was still in high school, of course. He had an attentive guardian and presumably so did his usual partners. Eventually Dean would teach him to make noise, to let himself be heard enjoying himself and taking pleasure. He could see that - the open road stretching out before them by day, maybe a room with just a king sized bed at night. Who cared if the kid could move things around with his brain? Who cared if a week ago Dean would never have thought of a guy this way? All he wanted now was Sam. All he needed now was Sam.
Sam came hard, eyes rolling back so hard that all Dean could see was the whites. That was fine - Dean had come back to himself enough to get a washcloth and clean them both up. They moved to the other bed, the still-pristine bed, to sleep for the night, wrapped up in each other’s arms like they didn’t have a care in the world. Dean wouldn’t have it any other way.
They spent the next day driving to Manning, Colorado. Sam offered to spell Dean behind the wheel but he declined; he loved the guy, he’d die for him and he’d live for him and he’d suck his dick until the cows came home but letting him behind the wheel of his baby was something very different. Sam seemed to be okay with that; he seemed to like looking out over the landscape.
Daniel Elkins met them at his cabin just outside of town. He was an older guy - well, that made sense. He’d been older than Dad when Dean had been a little kid; it only made sense that he looked old now. Besides, hunting wasn’t exactly a profession that led to the preservation of one’s youthful looks. “You’re John’s boys?” he grunted by way of greeting, flicking a cigarette into an old coffee can.
“I’m Dean Winchester,” Dean confirmed. “My little brother didn’t make it. This here is Sam Murphy; he’s Pastor Jim Murphy’s nephew and protégé. We’re hunting the same thing; I think Pastor Jim might’ve told you something about why?”
“Yup. You think you know where this big boss demon’ll be?”
“We’re pretty sure,” Sam informed him. “We’ve got the right bait, sir. He’ll come for it, fairly soon.”
Elkins held Sam’s eyes. Dean tried to keep his hackles from rising. They needed this guy, needed the gun in his possession. “You think you can get the shot off?” he asked finally.
“I think Dean can,” he replied evenly. “I’m a decent shot. Dean’s a trained and experienced hunter. I’m not going to risk our one shot on my ego.”
The older man relaxed a little bit. “The Colt only works with the bullets that were made for it,” he explained, turning around and walking into the cabin. “I mean, it will work with other bullets, sure, but not the way you need it to. I suppose you could kill a housebreaker with it though. There are six bullets left. Do not waste them. Colt didn’t leave any kind of journal, not that anyone’s found yet, that tells us how to make more of them.” He strode over to an old-fashioned bankers’ desk and moved it aside with a strength that belied his scrawny frame, revealing a slightly discolored panel in the floor.
The panel proved to be a false floor, which hid a combination safe. Dean looked conspicuously at the ceiling, elbowing Sam to do the same until Elkins rose to his feet again. In his hands he held a pistol case. “I never gave this to your daddy,” he explained. “It wasn’t that I didn’t want him to get his revenge or whatever. He didn’t have the knowledge, he didn’t even know who or what he was going after. Having this gun - it’s a declaration of war. They will find out that you have it, eventually. If he’d had it before he knew what he was dealing with, who to protect himself from…”
“He’d have been torn limb from limb,” Dean finished, nodding grimly.
“Not just him, kid,” Elkins reminded him firmly. “Without the gun, the demon was pretty much content to leave you and him alone until he got close enough to be a threat. You keep this thing safe. I’m sorry he couldn’t have lived to see the day when he could have been ready to use it. But I’d like to think he’d be happy knowing it was you, Dean. He - well, you always were John’s favorite, back when you were small fry.” The implication that Sammy had not been Sam’s favorite was clear, and Dean wanted to object. Dad had loved Sammy, of course he had. But now wasn’t the time for that.
Dean felt tears spring to his eye but he blinked them back. “Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down.” He accepted the pistol case. It felt heavy in his hands.
“I know you won’t, son. You be careful on your way back to Blue Earth, you hear me?”
“Yes sir. I’ll let you know when it’s over.”
They found another hotel to check into for the night. Dean wanted to check out the gun, but Sam stopped him. “The box - it’s a curse box, see?” He pointed out the markings on the pistol case. “Opening the box might just announce our location, announce that we have the gun. I don’t know, that kind of thing isn’t my specialty, but let’s wait until we get back home, okay?” He turned those eyes of his onto Dean, wide and pleading. Dean couldn’t say no, of course.
“Yeah. I guess you’re right. Let’s just hit the sack, alright?”
Sam, as it turned out, was more than willing to go to bed. They didn’t fool around much - the Colt loomed too large in both of their imaginations for any kind of sexual activity beyond a little bit of kissing. That was okay. They had plenty of time, right? Once Azazel was gone they’d have the rest of their lives.
He laughed at himself - the thought of it, him spending the rest of his life with someone, anyone. His dad would laugh. His dad would flip, and not because Sam was a guy. “You don’t get to have attachments in this life, boy,” the elder Winchester had told his son more than once. “Attachments get you dead. Have your fun, but keep your distance.”
They got up early the next morning and showered together, not for the sake of enjoying each other’s bodies but to save time. Sam didn’t even want breakfast. “My stomach is one giant knot right now,” he confessed. “God, I’m so nervous I can’t even hold my hand straight.”
Dean shook his head. “What’s to be nervous about?” he wondered. “It’s a milk run, Sam. We went for a road trip, we got the thing, we’re heading back. Not a big deal.”
Sam’s leg was vibrating hard enough to shake the whole car, or it would have if the car hadn’t been moving. “Okay. You know how I told you I’m telekinetic, right?” Dean nodded. “Well that’s not… it’s not the only thing. Okay?”
“I don’t follow.” This sounded like it could be a long discussion, but fourteen and a half hours was a long drive. They had time.
“Um. Sometimes I, uh, see things before they happen.” He slumped down in his seat, trying to sink below the level of the window.
“Come again?” Dean blinked, gripping the steering wheel.
“Like… like I knew that something big was going to happen last week when Travis and Clay fought.” He pushed a lock of hair out of his face. “Only when I saw it Travis actually wound up killing Clay. Sometimes I manage to stop it. Sometimes I don’t.”
“You’re precognitive.” Dean turned his head to look directly at his lover. “You don’t think it might have been important to tell me something like that, Sam?” This was what he got for thinking ahead, because of course the kid had hid that from him. The telekinesis was one thing, but this other thing was something else. Why wouldn’t he have admitted it at the same time as the telekinesis unless there was something wrong with it, something very wrong?
Sam glared right back. “Can you think of a few reasons why I might not have done that, Dean? Like, I don’t know. You and your surrogate dad wanting to kill me?”
“I don’t want to kill you, Sam!” the hunter roared. “That’s Bobby, not me. Never me.”
“I’m psychic, you’re a hunter,” Sam shouted back. “There’s only one way that’s going to go nine times out of ten. And that was before I found out about Azazel and what he apparently did to me.” His hand clenched into a fist but he pounded it against his own leg, not the car. “Damn it, I knew it was all -” he bit his words off and set his jaw.
“Sam, you freaking lied to me!” Dean challenged. He kept his hands on the wheel but he didn’t, couldn’t turn his head to look at his lover. “How am I supposed to trust you when you freaking hide things like that?”
“You’re not,” Sam declared in a flat tone that had Dean’s blood running cold. “Just drive. Quickly, all right?” His eyes tightened and his mouth folded into a grim line. He was shutting Dean out, shutting everything down, and Dean should be worried about that. He knew that he should be worried about that and on some level he was, but at the same time he hadn’t gotten over his anger yet. Sam had lied, or at least not told the whole truth, and when it came to stuff like wacky mystical powers granted by a demon claiming paternity that was kind of a big deal. He’d get over it. Eventually. But for now Dean was angry, and he wanted Sam to know how angry he was. So he glowered and turned up the radio, letting Metallica eat up the hours between Colorado and Minnesota instead of talking to Sam.
The guy had to learn - he had to learn that he didn’t get to hide that kind of crap. Not from hunters, not from anyone. Not if he wanted to be considered trustworthy. Being afraid that hunters would see him as fair game was no excuse - being all shifty about it just made him look even less trustworthy. Maybe Pastor Jim had let him get away with this crap, assuming that he’d let the priest know anything in the first place. You couldn’t count on anything with this kid.
And the silent treatment didn’t seem to be affecting Sam at all. He sat in his seat, eyes straight ahead and his hands balled into fists. They did not unclench, not once. He didn’t ask to stop at all during the entire trip. He didn’t open his mouth to speak, or to eat, or to drink. He stared and he clenched and that was it. After about seven hours Dean’s anger started to dissipate a bit, but Sam didn’t budge. Dean didn’t feel like he should be the one to do the chasing - he was the injured party here, not Sam - so he let the boy stew.
After what was probably the longest and most difficult car ride he’d ever endured they pulled up to the rectory. Sam was unbuckling his seat belt even before Dean had finished pulling up to the driveway; he jumped out of the car before Dean had hit the brakes. And that kid was flying up the few steps to the rectory door - he wasn’t passing go or collecting two hundred dollars. Damn it, Dean thought. Sam had seemed so much more mature than that; was he seriously in that much of a sulk that he was going to go storming up to his room like some kind of toddler? He wasn’t even pausing to open the door; it flew open before he could even reach it. Dean chased after him, struggling to keep up.
The sight that greeted him in the rectory living room had him shaking his head. Caleb’s headless body lay on the coffee table, head between his feet like Anne Boleyn. Dean hadn’t even known Bobby had called him in. The coffee table was the only stick of furniture that could be said to remain whole; the rest lay in piles around the floor, smashed beyond recognition. Bobby Singer lay on his side, handcuffed and unconscious. At least, Dean hoped he was unconscious. The blonde demon Meg stood over it all, sneering.
Sam stood up from where he’d checked Bobby’s pulse, face a snarl of hate. “What did you do to my uncle?” he spat out, stepping forward. Dean bent down to start picking the lock on the cuffs.
“Oh, poor little brother misses his foster daddy,” she pouted, eyes wide. “That’s sweet. Really. Here’s the thing, Sammy. I know that you have the gun.”
“What would I do with a gun, Meg?” He spread his arms wide. “Do I look like some kind of a gunslinger to you?” He smirked. “You’re the one with the cowboy fetish. Not me.”
“Quit playing around, numbskull. If you want the priest you’ll hand the piece over.”
“I don’t have it.” He rolled his eyes. “What, you want to pat me down?”
“Aw, won’t loverboy get jealous?”
“We broke up,” Sam told her evenly.
Dean didn’t let himself react to Sam’s words, not visibly, but he staggered inside. He’d thought that Sam was mature enough to handle an argument - but then again, Sam apparently thought Dean was just biding his time waiting to kill him or something. Didn’t care about him at all. He never should have let himself get attached.
“Oh now ain’t that a shame. Everyone in the Pit was really rooting for the two of you. Well, except for Papa Winchester, but you know how that goes.” She sneered.
“You leave my father out of this you bitch!” Dean yelled, standing up.
“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth? Oh, I forgot. You don’t.” She smiled sweetly. “You want the priest back? You give me the gun.”
Sam inhaled slowly, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, they were gold. Dean gasped. For a moment he felt sick - but no, these weren’t the same shade as the Yellow-Eyed Demon. These were their own unique shade, more like a harvest moon in October than like Mountain Dew. “I have a better idea, Meg,” he replied, stepping into the demon’s space. “We’re going to give your father what he really wants. How’s that?”
Meg opened her mouth to object. Sam just grinned - a terrible rictus, the kind of look that was far too old to be seen on an eighteen-year-old face. The demon’s face twisted in agony and Sam relaxed a little. “Fine,” Meg panted. “We’ll go.”
He smiled. “Excellent.”
“Sam, wait,” Dean objected. “You can’t just go taking off with your demon sister -”
“What are you going to do, Dean?” Sam asked in the coldest voice Dean had ever heard from human lips, and that included his father’s voice when he’d talked about losing his baby brother. “Shoot me?” He put a hand on Meg’s arm, gripping her tight, and the pair disappeared.
“Balls,” Bobby objected.
Back to Part Three -- On to Part Five
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), 5,761 (this chapter)
Warnings: Some explicit sexual content, show-level violence, demonic possession, using the "big boy words." Wincest. 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’s heart froze in his chest. He wasn’t sure if it was freezing because of her words, or the look on Bobby’s face, or the look on Sam’s. “What makes you say that?” Bobby demanded. “Are you saying that Sam is another of Azazel’s experiments? Because Lily didn’t turn out bad.”
“No, she didn’t,” Casey admitted. “Ever notice how she tried to avoid touching people? Azazel’s blood gives people gifts. I mean, come on. He’s the most powerful demon in existence. He was an angel, for crying out loud. His blood, given to an infant, bonds to their very marrow. It does change them. They’re still mostly human, just… enhanced. Lily’s gifts made her touch dangerous. Her parents didn’t just catch her with a girl; touching the lady in question killed her. Others have other abilities. Super strength, electrokinesis.
“But your Sam, he’s different. Isn’t he?”
“No.” Sam shook his head. “You’re wrong. About everything. I’m not any different from anyone else. I’m just a normal teenager.”
Casey leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “It was very important to Azazel that you were born, Sam. He took every step necessary to make sure that you happened. He’s taken a strong interest in your development ever since. Hasn’t he?”
Dean found his voice. It had disappeared when he heard that demon… thing… talking about his mother. Kind of like it had disappeared for a while when she’d been killed, leaving him only able to really speak to Sammy. But now he found it again. “Why would you tell us this? I mean, assuming that it’s true. Why would you give us this kind of information?”
“Because it’s useless to you.” She shrugged. “It might give you some kind of closure, I suppose. I mean, you should know what you’ve been forced into, Dean. No one would think less of you for backing out. What’s happening is beyond you. It’s beyond humanity. You can’t stop it. Bobby, I’m sorry. But Karen - she made a deal too. Your child would have been one of ours too. One of his, no different from Lily or the others.”
“But different from me,” Sam inserted.
“Yes,” she told him softly. “I’m sorry.”
Sam got up and left the room.
Dean wanted to get up and go after him. He wanted to go wrap him in his arms, to tell him that it was all going to be okay. He wanted to tell him “demons lie.” He wanted to tell him that nothing could possibly make Sam even a little bit different than he already was, that he was perfect. Beautiful.
But he had to admit that Casey seemed willing to let it all hang out. And what was Sam going to hear, anyway? What could he possibly say that Sam would grasp? The poor guy’s world was collapsing; nothing Dean could say would ever make that right. Not now - maybe in a few nights or a week or a month. “Alright, sister,” he growled as the secret door closed behind him. “You have to know that this doesn’t end well for you.”
“On the contrary. I’ve made my peace with my Lord.” She smiled. “Besides, the worst you can do is send me back to Hell and I’ll be welcomed as a hero.”
“Is there anything else that you want to share with us?” Jim ground out through gritted teeth.
“I don’t see why you’re fighting us so hard. You’ve destroyed the world. We’ve barely had a hand in anything this past century. Four major genocides, countless smaller-scale genocides, murder on an unprecedented scale, chemical warfare, environmental destruction on a scale that will appall Lucifer himself - don’t you think it’s our turn now? Our Lord is real. He is attentive. And he’ll do things right this time.” She shook her head. “Join us, Dean. Believe me. You’re coming to us anyway, and you won’t be the first. You’ll be rewarded. You can be with the one you want.”
“Send her back,” he directed, and he walked out the door. He couldn’t let them see how tempting it was - the idea of being rewarded had always kind of hung out there, a forbidden carrot on a very distant string. Dad would have had his hide if he’d even suggested it - “saving people is the reward, boy!” - but why couldn’t he have been a little more comfortable doing it? And why couldn’t he have a long term partner, someone who loved him the way Mom had loved Dad? Why couldn’t he be with Sam? It was all crap, of course - what could she mean, he was coming to them anyway? What could stop him from being with the one he lo- cared for? He might as well go try to be supportive. It probably wouldn’t do Sam much good but it would get him away from Casey.
Sam wasn’t in his room. That wasn’t surprising. The kid had just had the foundations of his entire world rocked to their very core and not in a good way. Dean made his way out into the town. He didn’t really expect to find Sam. He didn’t think he was ready for company. The guy probably needed it; a particularly vicious part of him wanted to point out that Sam had plenty of people who could provide comfort and distraction, people who didn’t have as much baggage of their own to sort out.
His feet led him toward the Jolly Green Giant statue, and why not? It was a perfectly good landmark. He could find his way back to the church that way; it wasn’t like he hadn’t walked it often enough following Sam around. Funny; when he’d come here as a child he’d never really explored Blue Earth. They’d been hidden children, very much refugees from the world in the rafters of the rectory. The only way he knew anything about Blue Earth was from Sam.
Christ. His mother. If Casey was to be believed, and there was no reason she wasn’t, Dean’s mother had made a deal for baby Sammy. Well, that was reason enough right there. Who sold their child to the devil? Who did that? But Casey didn’t have a reason to lie. She seemed sincere. What would she have gained by lying? Did that mean she was in Hell, now? Had she become a demon already?
But if she had in fact sold baby Sammy to Azazel, she’d apparently repented. She’d died by Sammy’s crib, defending him. Well, over Sammy’s crib, but that was close enough, right? He didn’t have to cope with the idea that his mother was in hell too?
“Thought I’d find you here.” Sam’s voice cut through the chilly spring air. He shoved his hands into his pockets and Dean couldn’t help but remember the fact that the guy wasn’t wearing underwear. His breath forced little clouds in the humid air.
“That was an intense scene,” Dean told the youth. He needed to mourn, to process, but take care of Sammy overrode all of that. And, to be honest, it kind of needed to. Finding out that his mother had been kind of shady was one thing, not that he believed it for a minute. Finding out that a demon had done “every step necessary” to ensure his birth was something else. Getting addressed as “Your Highness” by a demon was even worse.
“I can ignore it.” The words were strong. So was the set of his jaw and his shoulders. He wouldn’t meet Dean’s eye. “Demons say whatever they need to say to get free, to rattle their captors.”
“That wasn’t her goal.” He paused. “Do you have abilities?”
“Dean -”
“Sam. I think I have the right to know.” And he didn’t, not really. He wasn’t in a position to claim that sleeping with someone once gave him any rights over him. And Sam, Sam knew that. He got that, because his promiscuity was on a level to make priests shake their head and high school girls use it as a reward for good grades.
But Sam looked away. “My family dumped me when I started showing signs of telekinesis,” he muttered.
Dean widened his eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“What?”
“You could’ve gotten the condoms yourself.”
Sam laughed, which was the goal. “Okay, sure.”
“Seriously, though. That’s it? Do you know Fred Jones?”
“Sure. When I started showing signs that was the first person Father Jim took me to see. I must have been about nine when he gave me my first beer.” Sam blinked.
“Heh. Small world. Okay. Being telekinetic doesn’t make you a demon, Sam.” He reached out and put a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “It’s okay”
“It’s not okay, Dean. A demon thinks I’m going to take over the shop when he decides to retire and raise goats for their wool or something. I should have tried harder to get you or Bobby to shoot me.” He glared and stepped away.
“Sam, no. We’ll get through this.”
“We won’t. We can’t. There’s no… there’s no help for this. There’s no fixing it. There’s… Getting possessed is one thing. Having a demon’s blood in my veins - that’s something else.” He sighed. “And there are others.”
“That’s what Casey said.” He looked away. “Sam, I’m so sorry.”
“You didn’t do it, Dean. You gave me some mind-blowing sex. Made me feel like a person for what’s probably the very last time. Don’t apologize for that, okay? Please.” He forced a grin.
“Sam, you are a person, damn it. You’re a great guy. You’re hot, you’re smart, you’re funny. And don’t forget, you’re going to Stanford in the fall. Someone just did something to you when you were a baby. That’s all.” He reached out and grabbed Sam’s wrist gently.
“Oh, no no no, Dean. I’m ‘different. I’m special.’” The way he said that word, with its bitter twist, was so much like the way that Dad had said it that for a moment Dean thought he might be back, reincarnate.
“Sam.” He kissed Sam then, not with the degree of desire and urgency he had before, but gently and softly. Sam responded instantly, opening up as though a switch had been flipped. “Yes, you’re special. But not like that. We’re going to get through this.”
Sam closed his eyes, inhaled deeply once. “I guess if anything was inevitable the bastard wouldn’t keep sending Meg to pester me.” He folded his lips together. “He might win. He might not. But I’m not giving him me.” He looked up at Dean through his bangs, completely void of weakness. “Evil is a choice, every time. And I don’t have to choose that.”
“Good man.” Dean kissed him again - not because Sam’s big demonic freakout needed the interruption, but because he wanted to.
Sam let his hands wander under Dean’s shirt. “I can’t thank you enough, Dean,” he murmured. “If it weren’t for you today would have been -”
Dean grinned. “I’m sure you can think of a way,” he teased. “But later. For now we should get back to the others. We’ve got work to do.”
“Yeah.” He stood up, shoulders back and head high.
They made their way back to Pastor Jim’s. Neither the priest nor the hunter said anything about their disappearance. The pretty bartender had been brought home after an exorcism, but there was still work to be done. “I’ve sat here with your daddy’s journal,” Bobby informed Dean. “It seems that there’s a weapon that could possibly kill a demon, even one as powerful as Azazel.”
Dean couldn’t quite tell which of the younger men was more excited about that statement. “Oh yeah?” he asked the bearded hunter. “What is it?”
“John Winchester wrote about a gun, a special gun crafted by Samuel Colt himself. It was supposed to be able to kill anything - vampire, demon, werewolf, you name it.” Pastor Jim sighed and sat down. “He was… he was a hunter, apparently. Anyway. Your father, Dean, thought that it was in the possession of a vampire hunter by the name of Daniel Elkins.”
Sam frowned. “Why do I think I’ve heard that name before?”
Dean ran his hand through his hair. “We used to go spend time at Elkins’ place in Colorado when I was real young - like when Dad was first starting out as a hunter. They were friends, but they had a falling out. I don’t remember why.”
Bobby grinned wryly. “Your daddy had a lot of fallings-out with a lot of people, Dean. He was - well, the best way to describe him would have been ‘single minded.’”
“Can’t argue with that,” Dean agreed.
“In Elkins’ case, the falling out was over the Colt. He wanted Elkins to give him the Colt but he wouldn’t. Anyway. I spoke to him. He’s willing to part with it now, under the circumstances. It’s about a fourteen-hour drive. Are the two of you up for an overnight trip?” Jim looked between the pair of them. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but -”
“I’m in,” Sam announced firmly. “I don’t care; I’ll go alone if I have to.”
“You don’t have to go alone, Sam,” Dean told him, a hand on his back. “I’ll drive. “
Jim glanced between the lovers. His eyes narrowed and his mouth tightened, but he said nothing. “All right. Well, you can go ahead and get started then. Bobby and I will start working on the other kids, the ones he experimented on. We’ll see if we can get any leads. One thing’s for sure - Azazel seems to be intending to come here. So don’t get distracted, boys.” He glanced between them.
“No sir,” Sam told him with a grim little smile. “I’m not much of a skier anyway. How about you, Dean?”
“Pretty sure the season’s over anyway. Get your stuff, Sammy. We’re going on a road trip.”
Sam didn’t take long to pack, which Dean took as a personal sign that God or whoever looked on their relationship with approval, and they were out the door without pausing for breath. They stopped at a drive through about an hour later for dinner. Dean offered to go to an actual diner, but Sam didn’t want to get out of the car even though the food would be healthier. “I just want to get this over with,” he explained. “We’ll have to stop for the night anyway; I don’t want to stop for food too.”
Dean slumped a little. “The prospect of a night together that bad, Sammy?”
“What?” Sam blinked. “No, not at all. It’s the best part of this whole mess.” He reached out and took Dean’s hand. “I just… I’m sorry. You heard some things too, things you’re probably having a hard time with, and I’m sitting here thinking about myself.” He shook his head.
“It’s okay, Sam. All this stuff - you’re the one who has to live with it. It’s all just stuff that happened years ago, for the rest of us.” He straightened up a little. “We’re going to get this son of a bitch, Sammy. Everything he’s done to my family, everything he’s done to you, everything he’s done to all of those other families, to Bobby - it’s going to end.”
Sam squeezed his hand and offered him a smile.
They stopped for the night in Sioux City. It wasn’t all that far from Blue Earth, only about two and a half hours, but it had been a long day for both men and that still meant less time they needed to spend on the road tomorrow. They checked into a hotel - not a crappy fleabag motel like Dean was used to but a halfway-decent motel that kind of impressed Dean thanks to Pastor Jim’s generosity. The beds were comfortable and clean, the bathroom had no trace of mold - it was a lot like paradise.
“I don’t want to make assumptions, Sam,” he said, hands by his side. “I mean, I don’t want to pressure you and it’s been a long crappy day, but -”
Sam’s smile was wolfish. “But you wouldn’t object to a little bit of distraction?” He put his hands on Dean’s hips and drew him in close. “Me either.”
Dean kissed him and they undressed. Something about this guy, the completely unconscious way in which he carried his body, just cut out all rational thought. As soon as they were both naked Sam approached Dean and reached out for him. “Something I’ve been wanting to do for a week,” he announced. “Is this okay?”
“Is what okay?” Dean grinned.
Sam was already dropping to his knees, holding Dean’s eyes even as he started with kitten licks up the side of Dean’s cock. “Oh God yes,” he groaned as Sam slipped the head, just the head, into his mouth. He lavished the crown with his tongue’s attention, spending extra time on the slit like it had been made just for his tongue. Dean grabbed onto Sam’s shaggy hair, not because he wanted to force him lower but because he had to grab onto something to keep his balance.
Sam, still somehow maintaining eye contact, lowered his mouth down Dean’s shaft inch by precious inch with hollowed-out cheeks. “Sweet merciful God,” the hunter groaned, and Sam just chuckled. His voice, though, it wasn’t just his voice. It was the vibration of his vocal cords on Dean’s dick, and it was just too much. The case, Azazel, the room, the whole world disappeared until nothing existed but Sam’s hot, wet mouth. “Sam!” he cried, and spilled down his throat.
Sam kept at him until he’d completely rode out his orgasm, swallowing everything he had to give and not spilling a drop. Only then did he rise, helping the suddenly boneless Dean to sink to the nearest bed with a gentle little smile. “That,” Dean gasped, “was the single best blow job I’ve ever gotten in my life.”
Sam smirked, stretching out beside him. His own erection lay hot and heavy against Dean’s thigh. “Thank you,” he said simply. “Like I said, I’ve been thinking about that since I met you, so…”
“Seriously?”
“Have you met yourself? I mean, those eyes, those freckles, the way you just jumped in to help Clay.” He shrugged. “Yeah. You’re something else, Dean.” He ran a hand over Dean’s chest. “I get that we’ve got some stuff in common and everything and that’s just icing on the cake, you know? But you’re incredible.”
As rational thought began to return to Dean’s brain he reached out for Sam, took him in hand. He loved the way that Sam looked in his arms, the way his eyes rolled back a little when he got turned on or when he was really getting into it. He loved the sounds Sam made, his little groans and gasps. He wasn’t used to being somewhere private, Dean realized. He was still in high school, of course. He had an attentive guardian and presumably so did his usual partners. Eventually Dean would teach him to make noise, to let himself be heard enjoying himself and taking pleasure. He could see that - the open road stretching out before them by day, maybe a room with just a king sized bed at night. Who cared if the kid could move things around with his brain? Who cared if a week ago Dean would never have thought of a guy this way? All he wanted now was Sam. All he needed now was Sam.
Sam came hard, eyes rolling back so hard that all Dean could see was the whites. That was fine - Dean had come back to himself enough to get a washcloth and clean them both up. They moved to the other bed, the still-pristine bed, to sleep for the night, wrapped up in each other’s arms like they didn’t have a care in the world. Dean wouldn’t have it any other way.
They spent the next day driving to Manning, Colorado. Sam offered to spell Dean behind the wheel but he declined; he loved the guy, he’d die for him and he’d live for him and he’d suck his dick until the cows came home but letting him behind the wheel of his baby was something very different. Sam seemed to be okay with that; he seemed to like looking out over the landscape.
Daniel Elkins met them at his cabin just outside of town. He was an older guy - well, that made sense. He’d been older than Dad when Dean had been a little kid; it only made sense that he looked old now. Besides, hunting wasn’t exactly a profession that led to the preservation of one’s youthful looks. “You’re John’s boys?” he grunted by way of greeting, flicking a cigarette into an old coffee can.
“I’m Dean Winchester,” Dean confirmed. “My little brother didn’t make it. This here is Sam Murphy; he’s Pastor Jim Murphy’s nephew and protégé. We’re hunting the same thing; I think Pastor Jim might’ve told you something about why?”
“Yup. You think you know where this big boss demon’ll be?”
“We’re pretty sure,” Sam informed him. “We’ve got the right bait, sir. He’ll come for it, fairly soon.”
Elkins held Sam’s eyes. Dean tried to keep his hackles from rising. They needed this guy, needed the gun in his possession. “You think you can get the shot off?” he asked finally.
“I think Dean can,” he replied evenly. “I’m a decent shot. Dean’s a trained and experienced hunter. I’m not going to risk our one shot on my ego.”
The older man relaxed a little bit. “The Colt only works with the bullets that were made for it,” he explained, turning around and walking into the cabin. “I mean, it will work with other bullets, sure, but not the way you need it to. I suppose you could kill a housebreaker with it though. There are six bullets left. Do not waste them. Colt didn’t leave any kind of journal, not that anyone’s found yet, that tells us how to make more of them.” He strode over to an old-fashioned bankers’ desk and moved it aside with a strength that belied his scrawny frame, revealing a slightly discolored panel in the floor.
The panel proved to be a false floor, which hid a combination safe. Dean looked conspicuously at the ceiling, elbowing Sam to do the same until Elkins rose to his feet again. In his hands he held a pistol case. “I never gave this to your daddy,” he explained. “It wasn’t that I didn’t want him to get his revenge or whatever. He didn’t have the knowledge, he didn’t even know who or what he was going after. Having this gun - it’s a declaration of war. They will find out that you have it, eventually. If he’d had it before he knew what he was dealing with, who to protect himself from…”
“He’d have been torn limb from limb,” Dean finished, nodding grimly.
“Not just him, kid,” Elkins reminded him firmly. “Without the gun, the demon was pretty much content to leave you and him alone until he got close enough to be a threat. You keep this thing safe. I’m sorry he couldn’t have lived to see the day when he could have been ready to use it. But I’d like to think he’d be happy knowing it was you, Dean. He - well, you always were John’s favorite, back when you were small fry.” The implication that Sammy had not been Sam’s favorite was clear, and Dean wanted to object. Dad had loved Sammy, of course he had. But now wasn’t the time for that.
Dean felt tears spring to his eye but he blinked them back. “Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down.” He accepted the pistol case. It felt heavy in his hands.
“I know you won’t, son. You be careful on your way back to Blue Earth, you hear me?”
“Yes sir. I’ll let you know when it’s over.”
They found another hotel to check into for the night. Dean wanted to check out the gun, but Sam stopped him. “The box - it’s a curse box, see?” He pointed out the markings on the pistol case. “Opening the box might just announce our location, announce that we have the gun. I don’t know, that kind of thing isn’t my specialty, but let’s wait until we get back home, okay?” He turned those eyes of his onto Dean, wide and pleading. Dean couldn’t say no, of course.
“Yeah. I guess you’re right. Let’s just hit the sack, alright?”
Sam, as it turned out, was more than willing to go to bed. They didn’t fool around much - the Colt loomed too large in both of their imaginations for any kind of sexual activity beyond a little bit of kissing. That was okay. They had plenty of time, right? Once Azazel was gone they’d have the rest of their lives.
He laughed at himself - the thought of it, him spending the rest of his life with someone, anyone. His dad would laugh. His dad would flip, and not because Sam was a guy. “You don’t get to have attachments in this life, boy,” the elder Winchester had told his son more than once. “Attachments get you dead. Have your fun, but keep your distance.”
They got up early the next morning and showered together, not for the sake of enjoying each other’s bodies but to save time. Sam didn’t even want breakfast. “My stomach is one giant knot right now,” he confessed. “God, I’m so nervous I can’t even hold my hand straight.”
Dean shook his head. “What’s to be nervous about?” he wondered. “It’s a milk run, Sam. We went for a road trip, we got the thing, we’re heading back. Not a big deal.”
Sam’s leg was vibrating hard enough to shake the whole car, or it would have if the car hadn’t been moving. “Okay. You know how I told you I’m telekinetic, right?” Dean nodded. “Well that’s not… it’s not the only thing. Okay?”
“I don’t follow.” This sounded like it could be a long discussion, but fourteen and a half hours was a long drive. They had time.
“Um. Sometimes I, uh, see things before they happen.” He slumped down in his seat, trying to sink below the level of the window.
“Come again?” Dean blinked, gripping the steering wheel.
“Like… like I knew that something big was going to happen last week when Travis and Clay fought.” He pushed a lock of hair out of his face. “Only when I saw it Travis actually wound up killing Clay. Sometimes I manage to stop it. Sometimes I don’t.”
“You’re precognitive.” Dean turned his head to look directly at his lover. “You don’t think it might have been important to tell me something like that, Sam?” This was what he got for thinking ahead, because of course the kid had hid that from him. The telekinesis was one thing, but this other thing was something else. Why wouldn’t he have admitted it at the same time as the telekinesis unless there was something wrong with it, something very wrong?
Sam glared right back. “Can you think of a few reasons why I might not have done that, Dean? Like, I don’t know. You and your surrogate dad wanting to kill me?”
“I don’t want to kill you, Sam!” the hunter roared. “That’s Bobby, not me. Never me.”
“I’m psychic, you’re a hunter,” Sam shouted back. “There’s only one way that’s going to go nine times out of ten. And that was before I found out about Azazel and what he apparently did to me.” His hand clenched into a fist but he pounded it against his own leg, not the car. “Damn it, I knew it was all -” he bit his words off and set his jaw.
“Sam, you freaking lied to me!” Dean challenged. He kept his hands on the wheel but he didn’t, couldn’t turn his head to look at his lover. “How am I supposed to trust you when you freaking hide things like that?”
“You’re not,” Sam declared in a flat tone that had Dean’s blood running cold. “Just drive. Quickly, all right?” His eyes tightened and his mouth folded into a grim line. He was shutting Dean out, shutting everything down, and Dean should be worried about that. He knew that he should be worried about that and on some level he was, but at the same time he hadn’t gotten over his anger yet. Sam had lied, or at least not told the whole truth, and when it came to stuff like wacky mystical powers granted by a demon claiming paternity that was kind of a big deal. He’d get over it. Eventually. But for now Dean was angry, and he wanted Sam to know how angry he was. So he glowered and turned up the radio, letting Metallica eat up the hours between Colorado and Minnesota instead of talking to Sam.
The guy had to learn - he had to learn that he didn’t get to hide that kind of crap. Not from hunters, not from anyone. Not if he wanted to be considered trustworthy. Being afraid that hunters would see him as fair game was no excuse - being all shifty about it just made him look even less trustworthy. Maybe Pastor Jim had let him get away with this crap, assuming that he’d let the priest know anything in the first place. You couldn’t count on anything with this kid.
And the silent treatment didn’t seem to be affecting Sam at all. He sat in his seat, eyes straight ahead and his hands balled into fists. They did not unclench, not once. He didn’t ask to stop at all during the entire trip. He didn’t open his mouth to speak, or to eat, or to drink. He stared and he clenched and that was it. After about seven hours Dean’s anger started to dissipate a bit, but Sam didn’t budge. Dean didn’t feel like he should be the one to do the chasing - he was the injured party here, not Sam - so he let the boy stew.
After what was probably the longest and most difficult car ride he’d ever endured they pulled up to the rectory. Sam was unbuckling his seat belt even before Dean had finished pulling up to the driveway; he jumped out of the car before Dean had hit the brakes. And that kid was flying up the few steps to the rectory door - he wasn’t passing go or collecting two hundred dollars. Damn it, Dean thought. Sam had seemed so much more mature than that; was he seriously in that much of a sulk that he was going to go storming up to his room like some kind of toddler? He wasn’t even pausing to open the door; it flew open before he could even reach it. Dean chased after him, struggling to keep up.
The sight that greeted him in the rectory living room had him shaking his head. Caleb’s headless body lay on the coffee table, head between his feet like Anne Boleyn. Dean hadn’t even known Bobby had called him in. The coffee table was the only stick of furniture that could be said to remain whole; the rest lay in piles around the floor, smashed beyond recognition. Bobby Singer lay on his side, handcuffed and unconscious. At least, Dean hoped he was unconscious. The blonde demon Meg stood over it all, sneering.
Sam stood up from where he’d checked Bobby’s pulse, face a snarl of hate. “What did you do to my uncle?” he spat out, stepping forward. Dean bent down to start picking the lock on the cuffs.
“Oh, poor little brother misses his foster daddy,” she pouted, eyes wide. “That’s sweet. Really. Here’s the thing, Sammy. I know that you have the gun.”
“What would I do with a gun, Meg?” He spread his arms wide. “Do I look like some kind of a gunslinger to you?” He smirked. “You’re the one with the cowboy fetish. Not me.”
“Quit playing around, numbskull. If you want the priest you’ll hand the piece over.”
“I don’t have it.” He rolled his eyes. “What, you want to pat me down?”
“Aw, won’t loverboy get jealous?”
“We broke up,” Sam told her evenly.
Dean didn’t let himself react to Sam’s words, not visibly, but he staggered inside. He’d thought that Sam was mature enough to handle an argument - but then again, Sam apparently thought Dean was just biding his time waiting to kill him or something. Didn’t care about him at all. He never should have let himself get attached.
“Oh now ain’t that a shame. Everyone in the Pit was really rooting for the two of you. Well, except for Papa Winchester, but you know how that goes.” She sneered.
“You leave my father out of this you bitch!” Dean yelled, standing up.
“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth? Oh, I forgot. You don’t.” She smiled sweetly. “You want the priest back? You give me the gun.”
Sam inhaled slowly, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, they were gold. Dean gasped. For a moment he felt sick - but no, these weren’t the same shade as the Yellow-Eyed Demon. These were their own unique shade, more like a harvest moon in October than like Mountain Dew. “I have a better idea, Meg,” he replied, stepping into the demon’s space. “We’re going to give your father what he really wants. How’s that?”
Meg opened her mouth to object. Sam just grinned - a terrible rictus, the kind of look that was far too old to be seen on an eighteen-year-old face. The demon’s face twisted in agony and Sam relaxed a little. “Fine,” Meg panted. “We’ll go.”
He smiled. “Excellent.”
“Sam, wait,” Dean objected. “You can’t just go taking off with your demon sister -”
“What are you going to do, Dean?” Sam asked in the coldest voice Dean had ever heard from human lips, and that included his father’s voice when he’d talked about losing his baby brother. “Shoot me?” He put a hand on Meg’s arm, gripping her tight, and the pair disappeared.
“Balls,” Bobby objected.
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