The Homewrecker Chapter 5
Title: The Homewrecker Chapter 5
Author: JCRGIRL
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Wincest, AU, BabyFic (Non-MPreg)
Word Count: ~ 4125
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue. Just playing in Kripke's sandbox.
Beta: emeraldheiress
Summary: What happens when the monsters are not the supernatural kind? Fireworks aren't the only explosions.
Author Notes: Joey Verse, set on Joey's 1 year birthday. Chronologically follows 'He Knows When You've Been Naughty'. Joey Verse Banner by emeraldheiress because she's too good to me!
Sam rolled over, hand sliding up the cool, empty side of the bed before curling around the edge of Dean’s pillowcase. He pulled the feather stuffed pillow to his chest and buried his nose in its Dean scented softness. Joey’s sheets rustled softly over the noise of the baby monitor and Sam smiled. The kid was in perpetual motion even when he was asleep. God help him and Dean both when Joey got a good hold on the whole walking thing.
The sheets shifted again followed by a muted squeak, so low Sam almost missed it. Joey whined, a soft irritated noise, and Sam groaned as he swung his legs off the bed. Rubbing his knuckles in his eyes and running his hand over his face to wipe away sleep, he reached under Dean’s pillow for his brother’s Taurus, not taking any chances after his dream. Tucking the cool metal in the back of his sleep pants, Sam stumbled into the nursery to soothe his cranky son. Prying apart sleep leaded eyelids, Sam vital organs turned to ice and forced a shiver up his spine. A man stood next to the crib, cradling Joey to his chest.
I’m dreaming again. It’s just a dream. Sam shut his eyes tight, face scrunching with the effort, and blinked them open. He’s still there. Why can’t I wake up?
“Hiya Sammy.” The voice was familiar but Sam’s groggy brain couldn’t supply a name or face to match it.
“Please don’t hurt him.” Sam’s stomach roiled, the words from his dream rolling off his tongue.
“It was never my plan to hurt him, Sam. You, on the other hand, are a different story.” The nightlight’s dim glow cast the man’s features in relief, obscuring the parts necessary for identification.
“Anything,” Sam answered quickly. “I’ll let you do anything. I won’t fight you. Just please, please don’t hurt my son.” He felt heat pressing at his eyes, the beginnings of tears prickling at the edges.
Joey shifted in the man’s arms, the conversation rousing him. Hazel eyes peered up at the unexpected face and the small child shook, a tiny whimper escaping his lips. Joey’s eyes turned liquid with fear. Sam watched as fat tears slid over rounded cheeks and the sound of innocent terror split the air.
“Joey, it’s okay. Sssshhh, baby. Everything’s fine. Daddy’s right here.” Sam took a step closer to his son when chubby hands extended toward him. Absently, Sam could hear the ringing of his cell phone, but it did nothing to drown out Joey’s frightened cries.
The man clutched Joey tighter. “No, Sam. You’re not Daddy anymore. I am.” The man laughed cruelly, pulling the blanket wrapped bundle closer to his body. “I promise you Sam that I won’t hurt him. Once you’ve been dealt with, me, Dean and Joey here are going to be a family.”
Recognition hit Sam like lightening leaving him feeling weak and shaky. “You,” he whispered, swallowing around the bile creeping up his throat.
The man jostled the whining boy a little too violently in his attempt to hush his cries. “I’m going to be great. I’ve already helped Dean’s career. Do you know how many times his name has been in the paper because of me? Four times. Four times Dean Browning has been in print as a hero. All because of me.” The intruder’s voice rose as he spoke and Joey’s hiccupping sobs morphed into a wailing cry.
“You’re The Homewrecker,” Sam gasped. God, the monster was one of their friends, one of Dean’s crew. In all his research he’d never once considered a firefighter as the culprit, but now it made perfect sense. The fires had been well contained, set in such a way to destroy the house, but give the family plenty of time to get out safely.
“Yeah, Sam, and you will be my final and greatest act. I realized that The Homewrecker was after my good friend and came by to check on his family, only to find the house ablaze. I can see the headlines over stories about how I risked my life to save his son, but, unfortunately, I couldn’t save his lover. Dean will be so broken up over your loss, but grateful to me for saving some part of his family. I’ll be there to pick up the pieces.”
The house phone rang, the answering machine clicking on when no one picked up. A few seconds later, Sam’s cell phone rang again.
“Don’t worry Sammy. I’ll make them happy.”
Dean bounced in his seat as the fire engine trundled back to the station from their post at the city’s Memorial Day Extravaganza. As the large vehicle pulled into the open bay, Dean’s mind was already focused on the bunk waiting for him just inside the red brick building. He slithered out of his flame retardant pants, hung them on the peg under his name and headed inside to his locker.
The door clanged open, the lock sticking slightly, and Dean leaned a weary head against the cool metal.
“Hey, Browning. You okay, man,” Matt called from down the row of metal cabinets.
“Yeah. I was up half the night with Sam.”
“I’ll bet you were.” Chris waggled his eyebrows, lecherous smirk firmly in place.
“Dude, your mind lives in the gutter,” Dean laughed. “Sam was sick last night. I was up playing nursemaid.”
“Do you look sexy in your nurse outfit? I bet Sam can’t resist those bow legs in thigh high white stockings.” Dustin pulled his sweaty shirt over his head, Dean’s sweat dampened tee hitting him in the face as soon as it emerged.
“I’d rather have my bow legs than your pasty bird chest.” Dean lifted his boot to rest on the bench and started untying his shoe laces.
“Seriously, Sam okay?” Matt dropped on the bench next to Dean, using his dirty t-shirt to swipe over his chest and arms.
“He’s fine. Just something didn’t agree with him.” Dean rummaged through his locker in search of his shower kit, readjusting his duffel to pull the small bag out.
Stepping back, he looked at the pictures taped to the inside of his locker door, a collage covering the entirety of the space available. There was him and Sam sitting on the beach in Florida, one of all three of them taken last summer by Bobby before they brought Joey home for the first time, a portrait of them at Christmas time, several of them surrounded by friends during various get-togethers, a sneak attack shot by Sam of him asleep on the couch with Joey draped over his chest and the newest, a photo of Sam, Dean, Joey, Bobby and John in front of the Impala from their recent reunion at the Roadhouse. His eyes scanned each smiling face, lingering on those of his lover and son. He frowned when he noticed a bare patch of grey steel near the top.
He startled when a meaty hand clapped down on his back. “What’s the matter, Dean?”
Dean smiled absently. “I could’ve sworn there was a picture of Sam and Joey here.” He tapped his finger at the bare piece of metal. Shifting things in his locker looking to see if the photo fell, his search was interrupted by the ringing of his cellphone. He fished his phone out of his pants and scowled at the display.
Incoming Call
Casey
Fuck! This can’t be good.
“Casey?”
“Dean?” Casey’s voice was breathless, betraying an edge of panic that Dean had never heard from her.
Oh, this really can’t be good.
“Casey? What’s the matter?”
“Where are you? Are you with Sam and Joey?” Adrenaline shot through Dean’s veins. Casey was always in control, generations of breeding and years of training making calm and collected her default setting, but this was Casey on the verge of breaking.
“I’m at work. Sam and Joey are at the house. Why? Casey, what’s going on?” Dean turned his back on the concerned eyes staring at him.
“Something’s wrong. Joey’s upset, really upset. I’ve tried Sam’s cell and he’s not picking up.” The words rushed out, Casey’s accent deepening to make them almost indecipherable.
Dean sighed in relief, resting his forehead on the door of the locker next to his. “I’m sure he’s fine. Sammy probably told him he couldn’t have a third s’more or something.” Dean paused for a moment, something occurring to him. “Wait, wait, wait. How do you know Joey’s upset?”
“I can feel him. Dean, this isn’t him throwing a tantrum over Sam not letting him have a cookie or some waitress hitting on you. He’s…he’s terrified.”
Moving down the bank of lockers toward the wall and away from his friends not so casually lingering, Dean dropped his voice. “Can we get back to the ‘I can feel him’ part of the conversation? What do you mean you can feel him? When did this start?”
“We don’t have time for this, right now. You need to get home.”
“Casey, calm down.” Dean’s free hand reached out to press against the wall, his straightened arm supporting his leaning body. He bowed his head and let his eyes trace over the glossy linoleum tiles, following the lines that separated one square from the next. “Bobby’s with them. If something was wrong…” Dean’s gaze stuttered over a small square of matte white paper contrasting against the speckled pattern of the commercial flooring. Dean tilted his head and crouched down, fingers wrinkling the slick paper when he picked it up.
“Dean?”
Dean turned the paper over, recognizing it instantly by feel as a picture. He swallowed convulsively taking in the subjects of the photo. Eyes flicking up to the name plate on the locker in front of him, cold fear slid down Dean’s spine. MIKE GARRETT. The photograph crumpled as he closed it in his fist.
“Dean!” Casey’s tinny voice reverberated through the speaker of his phone.
“Call you right back.” Dean hoped the words came out, lips too numb for him to feel them form the words. He was only certain he’d spoken when Casey’s “Don’t you dare hang…” was cut off by the ending of the call.
“I gotta’ go,” Dean whispered, turning back to his friends. His fingers shook as pushed the buttons for the first speed dial number. Cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder, Dean returned to his locker and yanked his duffel out. After four rings, Sam’s cheery voice came over the line.
You’ve reached the Browning-Remington residence. Please leave a mess-
Dean stabbed the END button and pulled his Metallica t-shirt over his head, a birthday present from Sam. He punched the buttons for the second speed dial number and stomped his feet into his boots, bending to tie them as the phone rang again.
This is Sam Remington. Please leave -
Snatching the handle for his bag, he moved to the door at the back of the firehouse. Dean rapped his knuckles against the occluded glass, just below the gold stenciled name LT. WALKER. Poking his head in the door, he gave a quick and vague explanation about a family emergency then headed to the Impala. Scrolling down to the third speed dial, he opened the door and threw his bag in the back seat.
“Dean! Everything okay?” Matt jogged up to the car, Chris and Dustin close behind. Dean knew they didn’t miss him saying Casey’s name.
“I’m not sure. Joey’s Mom has been trying to call the house and Sam’s cell, but he’s not answering. I can’t get him to answer either. It’s probably nothing. Dead batteries or something, but I want to go check.” Dean plopped onto the leather seat, turning the key, and pushed SEND on his phone. He pulled the door shut and threw the car in reverse, Matt’s ‘let us know he’s okay’ lost under the growl of the Impala's engine. Dean tossed his phone on the seat when a gruff voice answered.
You’re dime. You know what to do.
The picture was still grasped in his sweaty hand, smashed between the steering wheel and his palm. He shuddered at the sight of Sam’s smiling face obscured by black marker and slashed through with a knife like a plot point in a fucking Lifetime movie. His phone rang and he nearly swerved off the road in his rush to grab it off the seat. His heart sank at the display.
Incoming Call
Casey
“I’m on my way. Tell me everything you know,” Dean snarled in greeting.
“I don’t know much. Just that Joey is petrified. More scared than I’ve ever felt him before.”
“And explain to me about this feeling thing.” Taking the exit for the highway, Dean pressed the pedal further toward the black floor mat, his girl answering with a burst of speed.
“To some extent I’ve always been able to feel Joey, but it’s gotten stronger over the past few months. I don’t know if it’s because of me or because of Sam or because of me and Sam or something uniquely Joey, but I know what he’s feeling. I’m pretty sure Sam can too. He probably just writes it off as being in tune with his son.” Since their last conversation Casey had regained some of her usual composure, but Dean could still detect the frantic tone that matched the way he felt inside.
“But tonight was different?”
“This is the most scared I’ve ever felt him,” she repeated. “How far away are you?”
“At least ten minutes. How far are you?” Dean glanced in his rearview mirror and switched lanes.
“Dean, I’m in Oregon.”
Dean almost dropped the phone. “Christ, Casey. You’re practically on the other side of the country. You can feel him that far away,” he exclaimed.
“Not normally. At this distance, I should only be getting faint impressions. Joey’s emotions are basically slapping me in the face. Do you understand now?”
“Oh God.” Dean felt the color drain from his face.
“Get to them, Dean. Protect our boys. I’m sending help.”
Dean flipped the phone shut and laid it on his thigh in the vain hope that Sam would call and put an end to this nightmare. He nudged the gas pedal down further and urged his girl faster.
Sam lunged forward, trusting his instincts to take over, hand reaching into the back of his pajama bottoms for the gun tucked there. His fingers touched the pearl grip when he stopped in his tracks, eyes focused on the gun held by the man in front of him.
“Easy now, Sam. You being shot before the fire would be an unfortunate complication.” When Sam’s hand twitched for the gun again, The Homewrecker cocked his gun in response. “That doesn’t mean I will hesitate to shoot you though. Why don’t you turn around and pull that gun of yours out. Only use one finger if you don’t mind.” Sam complied, his son’s continued cries sinking under his skin and squeezing his heart. “Toss it on the floor like a good boy”
“Please,” Sam pleaded.
“You can beg all you want, like the little bitch you are, Sam. It won’t do you any good.” The man moved around the perimeter of the room, gun still trained on Sam. At the door he smirked. “You know the great thing about fire? If you understand it, love it, you can manipulate it. You can mold it to your will, make it destroy, make it kill.”
Sam had the oddest sense of déjà vu, he knew what was about to happen and he’d be damned if he let Joey be taken without a fight. He lurched forward, his eyes registering a bright flash before heat and pain tore through Sam’s being. His body rocked back with the force of the impact and Sam fell to his knees. Joey’s screams pin-balled around the echo of the gun’s retort in Sam’s skull. Hand pressing to the point of pain, he felt wet warmth wash over his fingers.
“Fuck, Sammy. I told you not to test me. Just had to play the hero, didn’t you? No matter. Out here, it’s a volunteer fire service. By the time they get here, the physical evidence will be destroyed. They’ll need dental records to ID your body.”
He stepped back and with a flick of his wrist, a Zippo lit. Dropping the lighter at the threshold, flames erupted and immediately began licking their way up the door casing.
“Good bye, Sammy.”
Sam watched helplessly through the heat distorted air as the man moved to the stairs with his son. Joey screamed for him, his tear streaked face illuminated in the light of the flames engulfing the walls of the nursery. Sam rolled over and clawed his way toward the window, hands leaving bloody tracks on the tan carpeting. His breath came out in pained gasps, each inch gained sapping up the little strength he had left.
The fire raced around the walls to the window, accelerated with the help of The Homewrecker’s knowledge, and cut off Sam’s escape. Smoke tore at his throat as he impotently called for ‘help’ and ‘Dean’. Tears streamed down his face and each breath ached in his lungs. Collapsing to the carpet, Sam felt darkness press on his like a blanket.
Dean turned off the street that led to their house. His mind was still stuck on the fact that Mike wanted to hurt Sammy. They were friends. Mike hung out at their house almost every weekend. Hell, he’d been there for Christmas and Easter.
Dean pulled up in front of his house, eyes fixed on the flickering orange and yellow light visible behind the drawn curtains of Joey’s nursery. He pushed the door open, hinges protesting the sudden movement, and stumbled onto the grass.
I dreamt that we had a fire here.
Pushing up off the ground, Dean ran to the front of the house, keys out and ready to be slotted into the lock. As he approached the door, it opened and Dean started as Brandon rushed out clutching Joey to his chest. Angus bounded around Brandon’s ankles, yapping and nipping at the man’s jean cuffs.
“Brandon? Where’s Sam?”
Brandon coughed a few times, fingers gripping the hysterically crying child closer. “I don’t know. I found Joey, but couldn’t get to Sam. The flames were too much.” Angus growled, small head thrashing back and forth as he bit the frayed fabric at the bottom of his jeans
“Call 911 and stay here with Joey. I’m going in to find Sam.” Dean pushed Brandon and his son farther from the house, nudging the stubborn puppy along as well with the toe of his boot, and sprinted through the open doorway.
“Dean, wait! It’s too dangerous.” Brandon called frantically to the retreating form.
Dean stepped into the living room, eyes wide at the fire consuming the upstairs landing. He did a quick check of the lower level and not finding Sam, he stood at the base of the stairs. The fire had yet to make it all the way to the stairs, small flames dancing along the railing, but leaving the steps intact. Dean ascended them two at a time, pulling his shirt up to cover his nose and mouth in an attempt to filter the air going in his lungs. He darted in the guest room and master, smoke creating a haziness that burned his eyes and made them water. Coming back to the landing, he was confronted by the wall of flames that emanated from Joey’s nursery. The orange fingers spread across the adjacent walls and yellow tongues licked their way to the ceiling. Through bleary eyes, Dean peered into the nursery and saw a figure on the ground.
Fuck, Sammy!
Mind working furiously, Dean ran into the bathroom and, stoppering the drain, turned on the tub. He dashed back out to the linen closet and tugged the warping door open, embers from the burning drywall above the doorway falling on the exposed skin of his arm. Bright red polka dots burned out to black ash against his flesh, stinging pinpoints of pain peppering his body. He dug past extra sheets and guest towels to the blankets at the bottom and jerked two from the depths. Returning to the bathroom, he drowned the weaved fabric in the cold water and drug them, sodden and dripping, across the hall.
He threw one of the blankets across the threshold to his son’s nursery forming a bridge over the lake of fire there. Ducking low to avoid the heat above, he scurried into the room toward the prone, still figure on a steadily dwindling island of untouched flooring in a sea of flames. Moving quickly, Dean reached Sam and threw the other blanket over his brother’s body, stamping out lines of fire tickling the skin on Sam’s leg and arm. Uncovering him, Dean rolled Sam onto his back, trying to get him in a position to be carried out, and gasped at the spreading stain of red darkening Sam’s favorite Notre Dame shirt.
Wiping the fear and paralyzing anguish from his mind, Dean allowed his firefighter training to take over. Heart-breaking, he made himself stop thinking of Sam as his brother, his lover, his whole fucking world and forced his mind to see him as any other victim, knowing if he didn’t they would both die.
Find an exit, make an exit, get out!
Sam’s gun lay abandoned next to him and Dean tucked it in the waistband of his jean, the warm metal singeing the delicate skin of his lower back. Ignoring the seeping blood, he pulled, prodded and yanked the limp man in his arms up and over his shoulders, dragging the still wet blanket over both their bodies. Dean adjusted his grip, repositioned the water-logged shield to cover the most of their bodies he could manage and charged through the burning upstairs. The stairs popped and creaked under their combined weight and Dean threw up prayers that the wood would hold. As his foot touched the downstairs floor, the banister fell over and the steps gave way. The front door was still open and as Dean approached, his mind and body started to register things the adrenaline had overshadowed. The heat was unbearable and his lungs tried to seize as carbon monoxide and poisons from the burning building products irritated the soft tissues. He staggered, Sam’s weight coupled with his exhaustion taxing the muscles of his legs and arms.
The cool air outside washed against his overheated skin and cooled his throat. He moved a little ways from the house and gently set Sam down on the grass, muscles trembling from exertion. Car doors slammed and a milling crowd gathered at the street.
“Sammy? Sammy, please!” Dean pressed his hand to the epicenter of the bleeding trying to stem the steady flow. He leaned down, ear close to Sam’s face and tried to gauge whether the man was breathing. Not hearing any air, Dean moved his bloody hand to Sam’s chin, his other to pinch Sam’s nose and began puffing air into his lover’s lungs. Dean’s eyes stung as he sobbed dry-eyed, blowing his life force into Sam’s lifeless body. Leaning back to take a breath, he felt a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Bobby crouched down next to him and pressed a cloth to Sam’s still bleeding wound with his free hand.
“Dean. Let me help.”
Shaking off Bobby, Dean covered Sam’s lips once again. Sam coughed, body curling in on itself as more followed. Hazel eyes blinked open and instantly locked with Dean’s.
“Joey?” Sam croaked, grabbing onto the front of Dean’s shirt. He gasped as pain ricocheted through his system, the sudden intake of air spurring another coughing fit.
“It’s okay Sammy. Brandon’s got him. He’s safe. Just relax. The Paramedics should be here soon.” Dean petted down the side of Sam’s soot streaked face, brushing away the wetness leaking from the corner of his eyes. He looked over at the white cloth Bobby was holding to Sam, slowing turning red.
“No...” Sam gasped, trying to get up. “The Homewrecker….” His hand slipped on the damp grass and Sam’s body fell heavily back on the springy softness.
“I know, Sam. Mike is The Homewrecker. I’ll make sure he pays for hurting you. I just need you to be still. You’re bleeding pretty bad, Sammy.” Dean stared hard into his brother’s eyes, pleading with him to stay still.
“No, Dean.” Sam curled his fingers in Dean’s shirt again, yanking hard and staring back equally hard. He had to make Dean understand before it was too late. “Brandon is The Homewrecker.”
Chapter 6