Fic: Wicked Twisted Road 2/2 SPN AU Sam/Dean
Title: Wicked Twisted Road
Author: LadyJanelly
Fandom: SPN AU
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Notes: Title from the Reckless Kelly song.
Thank you to all the wonderful readers who tried fixing this for me like a year and a half ago. I appreciate all you tried to do.
13,000 words
Summary: Dean has spent half a lifetime looking for his lost brother.
CHAPTER 5
He spent the morning driving around looking for Sam, and the afternoon catching up on missed sleep. He went back on the hunt, for the Djinn by night, for Sam by day. He felt like he was only one small step up from square one. He pushed himself hard for a week. The creature didn’t feed again and nobody he talked to had seen Sam either. He started to think that maybe they’d both left town.
With the loss of most of his credit cards and the cash that Sam took, he was running low on funds. He spent an evening at a pool table, didn’t leave until well after last call. He was stumbling-tired when he got back to the car, had a few beers in him but not so many that he had a hard time with the Impala’s door lock. By all rights he should have sensed the Popo Bawa gliding above him, but shit happens and it swooped down from above the streetlights and slammed him against the side of the car before he knew it was there.
“Mine,” the cheating bastard of a winged monster hissed in his ear as it held him face-down against the car’s paint job. That slick tentacle of a tongue caressed Dean’s cheek, scalding hot and damp against his skin. The creature’s words were thickly coated with an accent that reminded Dean of the ritual he’d done over Sam as it said “Took mine, I kill you now.” Claws punctured the skin on the sides of his neck and he could see the stock of the cherry-pit loaded shotgun, just out of arm’s reach.
“Hey, fucktard!” a distressingly familiar voice called out. Dean just hoped he’d have time to get the gun before Sam got his dumb ass killed or worse. He struggled against the monster’s inhuman strength.
Then there was a meaty wet thwack and the creature’s weight bounced off of his back before falling away. He scrambled for the weapon then turned. Sam was fighting it alone, a warty-looking baseball bat in his hands. His back was to Dean, fouling his shot. He circled around, trying to get a good angle, and the damn punk circled too, whether he meant to or not.
“Fuck you,” Sam growled with every swing. The creature took a swipe at him with its claws and he shattered its hand.
“Fuck you.” Sam’s voice was louder as he sent its jaw sideways. The Bawa’s tongue was chopped off by its own teeth; it flopped around on the ground like a headless snake.
“Fuck you!” It was a good thing they were out of casual hearing range as Sam doubled it over with a blow to its crotch.
“Fuck you” he said over and over until its skull was caved in and it wasn’t even twitching any more, until he was out of breath and strength.
When it was over, Sam stood in the sudden quiet, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. The black corpse started to bubble and melt into the packed shell surface of the parking lot. Dean figured salt and lighter fluid would probably have been overkill, and besides, not freaking Sam out with fire was sort of a priority.
He slowly brought the muzzle of the shotgun down. His hand was shaking and blood was running into his right eye from where he’d hit the car.
“And you,” Sam said, bringing the tip of the bat up again.
Huh, Dean thought, epoxy and plum seeds over a Louisville Slugger. How come I don’t have one of those?
“No more tying me up, you hear me?” And that-sorta sounded like he planned to stick around.
“Okay,” said Dean, because cooperation was always better than kidnapping.
“I mean it,” Sam reiterated even as he walked up and tossed his beat-stick in the back seat of the Impala. He bent down and picked the keys up off the ground. A week had done wonders for is injuries; his nose might never be quite straight again, but the swelling had gone down and the bruises faded to green and yellow shadows. Most of the cuts were closed to pink scars, the worst still scabbed over.
“Slide,” Sam ordered as he nudged Dean across the seat. “You’re not driving like that,” and he shot Dean such a look of pure stubbornness that arguing seemed like way too much work to do on the wrong side of a shower and good night’s rest.
-----------------
Sam drove the Impala like he stole it, which meant with his hands at ten and two, at three miles under the speed limit and his turn signal blinking every time he changed lanes, whether there was another car within fifty feet or not. Dean was very proud of himself for having the presence of mind to not bust out laughing.
Sam followed Dean into the motel room when they got there, just far enough behind him to be out of range of being hit or grabbed. Dean pretended not to notice as he sat the first aid kit up on the bathroom counter and Sam stood in the door way, watching in the mirror as Dean cleaned himself up and got his eye to stop bleeding.
“Here,” Sam said when Dean turned. He held his hand out and Dean took the wallet he was offering. “Fair and square, right?” Dean opened it up and flipped through it. Besides the cash, everything was where it belonged except one.
“There was a photo. Two kids on a car.”
He didn’t get it when Sam glowered at him and pulled it out of his pocked. Dean felt like he’d kicked a puppy when he took it. “I wouldn’t carry the damn thing if it wasn’t important.”
“We’re even now though, right?” Sam asked and Dean nodded, waiting to see where the kid was going with all this. Sam relaxed a little more.
“I want to make a deal.”
Dean felt his eyebrow arch up. “Oh yeah?”
Sam nodded and leaned back against the doorframe. “Yeah. So you’re leaving soon. Take me with you.” His gaze was direct, challenging. “Let me come with you and you can fuck me whenever you want. Or whatever. Only you though,” and Dean knew it wasn’t a promise of fidelity but a refusal to let Dean be his new pimp. “And condoms every time, but besides that man, whatever you’re into. Good sex too, I swear you won’t be disappointed.”
When Dean didn’t jump on the offer fast enough Sam lowered his voice to a deep rich tone that went straight to Dean’s dick. Seriously, the boy could have made a killing doing phone sex. “Blowjobs in the front seat of that car out front. You fuck me or I fuck you. Anything.”
Part of Dean couldn’t believe his luck, that the kid was trying to talk Dean into taking him instead of having to be kidnapped into it. The rest of him was torn apart because this could be Sammy, his brother, lost and used until he had no way to survive except by trading his body. And God he wanted it, to his shame. Even knowing Sam could be his blood, he wanted to have him, touch him, keep him safe forever, but not as a damn transaction. The idea of having sex with somebody who saw it as their only way out of something was almost as bad as having sex with somebody who was passed out drunk or under a spell that wouldn’t let them say no.
“You saved my life tonight, Sam,” he said, because I wanted to take you to talk to my dad about hunting down a demon that makes what we fought tonight look like a leg-humping Chihuahua anyway. Also, he might be your dad too, so this works out great didn’t have a nice ring to it. “If you want to ride shotgun, I owe you that much at least.”
Sam’s features shifted, became a little colder, a little harder. “Whatever. Your loss, man. You gonna be around for half an hour or so?”
Dean headed for his duffle bag and a clean change of clothes. “Yeah, until morning at least.”
Sam nodded. “There’s some guys holding some stuff of mine; I need to get it before I leave town.”
Dean had to admire the way Sam had played it-forcing the trust issue early on, see if Dean would be there when he got back, make Dean let him go and wait for him to return. As much as he didn’t want Sam out of his sight, he had to nod. “Sure. Just knock. I sleep light.”
Dean got almost three hours of sleep before Sam came tapping at his door like a damn raven or something. He opened the door but left the chain, because he couldn’t be too careful. Sam was right there, inches away from his face, leaning against the coral-pink cinderblock. His smile was wide and lazy, his eyes half-lidded, fucked out, Dean thought. And for just a second he had to force down the ridiculous surge of jealousy, before he could remind himself that the kid in front of him was his brother maybe, and that Dean had said no, and what the hell had he expected?
“Hey,” Sam sighed, alcohol scent in Dean’s face. “You gonna let me in?”
Dean glanced beyond Sam’s shoulder but the young man was alone. “Yeah,” he murmured, closing the door for just long enough to get the chain off.
“I’m a little drunk,” Sam said as he dropped a backpack off of his shoulder.
Dean gave him an ‘of course you are, dumb-ass’ glare in response. He put the safety back on the handgun and slid it back in the nightstand drawer.
While Dean was busy with that, Sam toed off his shoes and sprawled himself across the bed Dean had been sleeping on, stretched out against the body-warmed sheets. “I told them I was leaving, Ron and Howard. Had to throw me a party.” His smile was almost fond. “Pair of old queens, man.”
“Get out of my bed,” Dean said, his voice flat and tired. He knew he had no claim but he really wasn’t in the mood to hear this.
“They didn’t fuck me,” Sam blurted out. “They’ve never fucked me; they’re monogamous. They just like a floor show when they’re together sometimes, make sure their friends have fun at parties. Stuff like that.”
Dean tried not to look at him but the slow slide of one hand from Sam’s chest, down his side and onto his thigh drew his gaze like the gravity of a black hole. Brother, his conscience reminded him. Maybe, his desire answered, just maybe.
“Nobody’s fucked me since the night you saved me from that thing.”
And Dean was no moron. He knew when he was being seduced, he just couldn’t quite figure out what to do about it. He settled down in one of the turquoise vinyl chairs, felt his erection tenting the front of his boxers. He was too tired for conversation and the kid was doing a fine job of filling the silence all on his own.
Sam slithered out of his jeans, kicked the worn denim to the floor. There was nothing but tan skin and white briefs underneath, so incongruous it pushed an innocence-kink button Dean didn’t even know he had.
“I told them I was leaving,” Sam said again. “They wanted me to stay, offered me my own room, a little money.” He never looked away from Dean’s eyes. He made the contact a challenge, and Dean couldn’t, wouldn’t, be the one to back down first.
“I told them I’d rather be with you.” He stroked himself through white cotton, his hips rolled up to meet his own hand. “If you want me.”
Dean was having a hard time breathing steady; he gripped onto the arms of the chair, felt his knuckles go white. Wrong, wrong, wrong, a voice in the back of his head whispered, he just couldn’t remember what it was talking about. Sam’s words made it feel so tenuous, like he’ll leave if Dean doesn’t, like he’ll disappear onto the streets again so deep Dean won’t be able to find him.
“Dean,” Sam whispered like it could make everything right, “All I know how to do is steal and fuck and I couldn’t steal leaving with you.” He slid his hand up under the hem of his t-shirt. “That doesn’t mean I don’t want to fuck you.”
“I don’t want a whore,” Dean rasped, and his voice was so strange he almost didn’t recognize it as his own.
Sam’s smiled, bright and sharp like a camera’s flash. His voice was hard, warning. “Is that all I can be to you?” and Dean felt himself shaking his head, moving to his feet, crossing the yard of empty space between the chair and bed.
“No, it’s not.” He couldn’t remember ever hearing his own voice sound so ragged.
The situation was twisted in more ways than he could put into words. He crawled over the lean body in his bed, slid his hand over wiry leg hair up to the smooth skin of Sam’s hip. Those hazel-green eyes just watched him come, and Sam rose off of the bed to meet him. Their lips touched; Dean kissed Sam with a tenderness that was intended to hurt, to crack the younger man open, bore through his defenses. If Dean was going to get broken over this, he wanted it to be sooner, before he could get attached, before it could be something more.
Sam tasted like toothpaste under the alcohol and smelled like shampoo. Yeah right, just picking up his stuff. Still, it was flattering in a way, that Sam wanted a shower before they did this. He kept waiting to hear that Sam didn’t kiss on the mouth or something, but the protest never came. Sam was either genuinely into it, or a hell of an actor. Dean spilled his orgasm over Sam’s fist, with Sam’s teeth grazing his collarbone and it was somehow more intimate than his mouth or ass would have been-Dean could believe without reservation that this was what Sam wanted to give, wanted to feel.
It wasn’t until it was all over and Dean was pulling the comforter over them both that he could focus on what he’d done. He’d had sex, or near enough to count, with a man that could be his brother. He still had to take him to their father, the only man Dean knew who might have had a clue how to protect Sam from the demon.
Dean took a deep breath and resigned himself to seeing it through to the end. If Sam was Sammy, dad would take care of him. It would be worth the death of whatever relationship Dean had with them both. Keeping Sammy safe? Would be the only thing worth losing him again.
Author: LadyJanelly
Fandom: SPN AU
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Notes: Title from the Reckless Kelly song.
Thank you to all the wonderful readers who tried fixing this for me like a year and a half ago. I appreciate all you tried to do.
13,000 words
Summary: Dean has spent half a lifetime looking for his lost brother.
CHAPTER 5
He spent the morning driving around looking for Sam, and the afternoon catching up on missed sleep. He went back on the hunt, for the Djinn by night, for Sam by day. He felt like he was only one small step up from square one. He pushed himself hard for a week. The creature didn’t feed again and nobody he talked to had seen Sam either. He started to think that maybe they’d both left town.
With the loss of most of his credit cards and the cash that Sam took, he was running low on funds. He spent an evening at a pool table, didn’t leave until well after last call. He was stumbling-tired when he got back to the car, had a few beers in him but not so many that he had a hard time with the Impala’s door lock. By all rights he should have sensed the Popo Bawa gliding above him, but shit happens and it swooped down from above the streetlights and slammed him against the side of the car before he knew it was there.
“Mine,” the cheating bastard of a winged monster hissed in his ear as it held him face-down against the car’s paint job. That slick tentacle of a tongue caressed Dean’s cheek, scalding hot and damp against his skin. The creature’s words were thickly coated with an accent that reminded Dean of the ritual he’d done over Sam as it said “Took mine, I kill you now.” Claws punctured the skin on the sides of his neck and he could see the stock of the cherry-pit loaded shotgun, just out of arm’s reach.
“Hey, fucktard!” a distressingly familiar voice called out. Dean just hoped he’d have time to get the gun before Sam got his dumb ass killed or worse. He struggled against the monster’s inhuman strength.
Then there was a meaty wet thwack and the creature’s weight bounced off of his back before falling away. He scrambled for the weapon then turned. Sam was fighting it alone, a warty-looking baseball bat in his hands. His back was to Dean, fouling his shot. He circled around, trying to get a good angle, and the damn punk circled too, whether he meant to or not.
“Fuck you,” Sam growled with every swing. The creature took a swipe at him with its claws and he shattered its hand.
“Fuck you.” Sam’s voice was louder as he sent its jaw sideways. The Bawa’s tongue was chopped off by its own teeth; it flopped around on the ground like a headless snake.
“Fuck you!” It was a good thing they were out of casual hearing range as Sam doubled it over with a blow to its crotch.
“Fuck you” he said over and over until its skull was caved in and it wasn’t even twitching any more, until he was out of breath and strength.
When it was over, Sam stood in the sudden quiet, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. The black corpse started to bubble and melt into the packed shell surface of the parking lot. Dean figured salt and lighter fluid would probably have been overkill, and besides, not freaking Sam out with fire was sort of a priority.
He slowly brought the muzzle of the shotgun down. His hand was shaking and blood was running into his right eye from where he’d hit the car.
“And you,” Sam said, bringing the tip of the bat up again.
Huh, Dean thought, epoxy and plum seeds over a Louisville Slugger. How come I don’t have one of those?
“No more tying me up, you hear me?” And that-sorta sounded like he planned to stick around.
“Okay,” said Dean, because cooperation was always better than kidnapping.
“I mean it,” Sam reiterated even as he walked up and tossed his beat-stick in the back seat of the Impala. He bent down and picked the keys up off the ground. A week had done wonders for is injuries; his nose might never be quite straight again, but the swelling had gone down and the bruises faded to green and yellow shadows. Most of the cuts were closed to pink scars, the worst still scabbed over.
“Slide,” Sam ordered as he nudged Dean across the seat. “You’re not driving like that,” and he shot Dean such a look of pure stubbornness that arguing seemed like way too much work to do on the wrong side of a shower and good night’s rest.
-----------------
Sam drove the Impala like he stole it, which meant with his hands at ten and two, at three miles under the speed limit and his turn signal blinking every time he changed lanes, whether there was another car within fifty feet or not. Dean was very proud of himself for having the presence of mind to not bust out laughing.
Sam followed Dean into the motel room when they got there, just far enough behind him to be out of range of being hit or grabbed. Dean pretended not to notice as he sat the first aid kit up on the bathroom counter and Sam stood in the door way, watching in the mirror as Dean cleaned himself up and got his eye to stop bleeding.
“Here,” Sam said when Dean turned. He held his hand out and Dean took the wallet he was offering. “Fair and square, right?” Dean opened it up and flipped through it. Besides the cash, everything was where it belonged except one.
“There was a photo. Two kids on a car.”
He didn’t get it when Sam glowered at him and pulled it out of his pocked. Dean felt like he’d kicked a puppy when he took it. “I wouldn’t carry the damn thing if it wasn’t important.”
“We’re even now though, right?” Sam asked and Dean nodded, waiting to see where the kid was going with all this. Sam relaxed a little more.
“I want to make a deal.”
Dean felt his eyebrow arch up. “Oh yeah?”
Sam nodded and leaned back against the doorframe. “Yeah. So you’re leaving soon. Take me with you.” His gaze was direct, challenging. “Let me come with you and you can fuck me whenever you want. Or whatever. Only you though,” and Dean knew it wasn’t a promise of fidelity but a refusal to let Dean be his new pimp. “And condoms every time, but besides that man, whatever you’re into. Good sex too, I swear you won’t be disappointed.”
When Dean didn’t jump on the offer fast enough Sam lowered his voice to a deep rich tone that went straight to Dean’s dick. Seriously, the boy could have made a killing doing phone sex. “Blowjobs in the front seat of that car out front. You fuck me or I fuck you. Anything.”
Part of Dean couldn’t believe his luck, that the kid was trying to talk Dean into taking him instead of having to be kidnapped into it. The rest of him was torn apart because this could be Sammy, his brother, lost and used until he had no way to survive except by trading his body. And God he wanted it, to his shame. Even knowing Sam could be his blood, he wanted to have him, touch him, keep him safe forever, but not as a damn transaction. The idea of having sex with somebody who saw it as their only way out of something was almost as bad as having sex with somebody who was passed out drunk or under a spell that wouldn’t let them say no.
“You saved my life tonight, Sam,” he said, because I wanted to take you to talk to my dad about hunting down a demon that makes what we fought tonight look like a leg-humping Chihuahua anyway. Also, he might be your dad too, so this works out great didn’t have a nice ring to it. “If you want to ride shotgun, I owe you that much at least.”
Sam’s features shifted, became a little colder, a little harder. “Whatever. Your loss, man. You gonna be around for half an hour or so?”
Dean headed for his duffle bag and a clean change of clothes. “Yeah, until morning at least.”
Sam nodded. “There’s some guys holding some stuff of mine; I need to get it before I leave town.”
Dean had to admire the way Sam had played it-forcing the trust issue early on, see if Dean would be there when he got back, make Dean let him go and wait for him to return. As much as he didn’t want Sam out of his sight, he had to nod. “Sure. Just knock. I sleep light.”
Dean got almost three hours of sleep before Sam came tapping at his door like a damn raven or something. He opened the door but left the chain, because he couldn’t be too careful. Sam was right there, inches away from his face, leaning against the coral-pink cinderblock. His smile was wide and lazy, his eyes half-lidded, fucked out, Dean thought. And for just a second he had to force down the ridiculous surge of jealousy, before he could remind himself that the kid in front of him was his brother maybe, and that Dean had said no, and what the hell had he expected?
“Hey,” Sam sighed, alcohol scent in Dean’s face. “You gonna let me in?”
Dean glanced beyond Sam’s shoulder but the young man was alone. “Yeah,” he murmured, closing the door for just long enough to get the chain off.
“I’m a little drunk,” Sam said as he dropped a backpack off of his shoulder.
Dean gave him an ‘of course you are, dumb-ass’ glare in response. He put the safety back on the handgun and slid it back in the nightstand drawer.
While Dean was busy with that, Sam toed off his shoes and sprawled himself across the bed Dean had been sleeping on, stretched out against the body-warmed sheets. “I told them I was leaving, Ron and Howard. Had to throw me a party.” His smile was almost fond. “Pair of old queens, man.”
“Get out of my bed,” Dean said, his voice flat and tired. He knew he had no claim but he really wasn’t in the mood to hear this.
“They didn’t fuck me,” Sam blurted out. “They’ve never fucked me; they’re monogamous. They just like a floor show when they’re together sometimes, make sure their friends have fun at parties. Stuff like that.”
Dean tried not to look at him but the slow slide of one hand from Sam’s chest, down his side and onto his thigh drew his gaze like the gravity of a black hole. Brother, his conscience reminded him. Maybe, his desire answered, just maybe.
“Nobody’s fucked me since the night you saved me from that thing.”
And Dean was no moron. He knew when he was being seduced, he just couldn’t quite figure out what to do about it. He settled down in one of the turquoise vinyl chairs, felt his erection tenting the front of his boxers. He was too tired for conversation and the kid was doing a fine job of filling the silence all on his own.
Sam slithered out of his jeans, kicked the worn denim to the floor. There was nothing but tan skin and white briefs underneath, so incongruous it pushed an innocence-kink button Dean didn’t even know he had.
“I told them I was leaving,” Sam said again. “They wanted me to stay, offered me my own room, a little money.” He never looked away from Dean’s eyes. He made the contact a challenge, and Dean couldn’t, wouldn’t, be the one to back down first.
“I told them I’d rather be with you.” He stroked himself through white cotton, his hips rolled up to meet his own hand. “If you want me.”
Dean was having a hard time breathing steady; he gripped onto the arms of the chair, felt his knuckles go white. Wrong, wrong, wrong, a voice in the back of his head whispered, he just couldn’t remember what it was talking about. Sam’s words made it feel so tenuous, like he’ll leave if Dean doesn’t, like he’ll disappear onto the streets again so deep Dean won’t be able to find him.
“Dean,” Sam whispered like it could make everything right, “All I know how to do is steal and fuck and I couldn’t steal leaving with you.” He slid his hand up under the hem of his t-shirt. “That doesn’t mean I don’t want to fuck you.”
“I don’t want a whore,” Dean rasped, and his voice was so strange he almost didn’t recognize it as his own.
Sam’s smiled, bright and sharp like a camera’s flash. His voice was hard, warning. “Is that all I can be to you?” and Dean felt himself shaking his head, moving to his feet, crossing the yard of empty space between the chair and bed.
“No, it’s not.” He couldn’t remember ever hearing his own voice sound so ragged.
The situation was twisted in more ways than he could put into words. He crawled over the lean body in his bed, slid his hand over wiry leg hair up to the smooth skin of Sam’s hip. Those hazel-green eyes just watched him come, and Sam rose off of the bed to meet him. Their lips touched; Dean kissed Sam with a tenderness that was intended to hurt, to crack the younger man open, bore through his defenses. If Dean was going to get broken over this, he wanted it to be sooner, before he could get attached, before it could be something more.
Sam tasted like toothpaste under the alcohol and smelled like shampoo. Yeah right, just picking up his stuff. Still, it was flattering in a way, that Sam wanted a shower before they did this. He kept waiting to hear that Sam didn’t kiss on the mouth or something, but the protest never came. Sam was either genuinely into it, or a hell of an actor. Dean spilled his orgasm over Sam’s fist, with Sam’s teeth grazing his collarbone and it was somehow more intimate than his mouth or ass would have been-Dean could believe without reservation that this was what Sam wanted to give, wanted to feel.
It wasn’t until it was all over and Dean was pulling the comforter over them both that he could focus on what he’d done. He’d had sex, or near enough to count, with a man that could be his brother. He still had to take him to their father, the only man Dean knew who might have had a clue how to protect Sam from the demon.
Dean took a deep breath and resigned himself to seeing it through to the end. If Sam was Sammy, dad would take care of him. It would be worth the death of whatever relationship Dean had with them both. Keeping Sammy safe? Would be the only thing worth losing him again.