My Brother's Keeper, Part 8, Supernatural
Fandom: Supernatural
Title: My Brother's Keeper, Part Eight( Part One Here, Part Two Here, Part Three Here, Part Four Here, Part Five Here, Part Six Here, Part Seven Here)
Characters/Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Table: #1
Prompt: 061 Chance
Word Count: 3187
Summary: Complete AU. On the night the demon kills Mary Winchester, John saves Dean, but before he can go back for Sam, the fire spreads. It is assumed that Sam is dead along with his mother. In reality, he has been taken and is raised by a family dedicate to the demon who killed Mary. One night after a hunt, Dean runs into him in a bar in Palo Alto, never a clue who he really is.
Warnings: Incest, m/m sex, blood play, bondage, non-con. Evil-ness abounds--No actual sex here...There is discovery and revelation, anger, control....and we inch closer to the showdown.
This is my twenty-seventh ficlet for my Supernatural claim on 100_situations. Clicky for table
Dean slipped behind the wheel of the Impala and settled just a little. He was always more at ease in the confines of the car that was as much family as his father…or Sam he supposed…now. He stole a glance aside at Sam who was pulling the door shut. “I have to go to my motel and get a few things,” he said quietly before pulling them out onto the road.
Sam was quiet as they crossed town to the place Dean was staying. “Stay here. I’ll only be a minute.” Dean left Sam waiting and opened his room door. He had a few tricks up his sleeve that his father didn’t even know about, and the feeling that they were going to be needed.
He grabbed at his nearly empty duffle and dropped it on the bed, then knelt beside the bed to retrieve the gun he’d taped under the nightstand. It was dark and old and inscribed with symbols. He dropped it on the bed by the duffle and headed for his other hidden weapon, when his eyes fell on a piece of paper on the floor by the bed.
It was written in his hand, a note, written to his father. A note that he had no recollection of writing. “What the fuck?”
Dad, I’ve got a line on local demon activity. There seems to be a lot of possessions, various phenomenon….There’s a warehouse district near the docks that a local hunter told me about. Detscher Shipping. There’s reports of an increase in activity there, possibly even babies brought in. I’ll meet you there as soon as I can. Watch your back, Dean.
Dean bit his lip and cussed in his head. How could he not remember writing that? He hadn’t been that drunk. He felt a strong compulsion to go back to Sam, felt his cock harden.
He froze, re-read the note. “Fuck.” He hadn’t even heard of Detscher Shipping until his father called him. If that had even been his father.
Dean pulled out his phone and thumbed for his father’s number. It rang three times before his father answered. “I’m almost there, where are you?”
“Dad? Where are you?” Dean asked. His cock hurt it was so hard.
“I’m almost to the warehouse. Where are you?”
“Fuck.” Dean shook his head. “We have a problem. I didn’t write that note.”
“What?”
“For that matter, how did you know which hotel, which room?”
“Dean, you called me and left a message.”
“No, Dad. I didn’t. At least I don’t remember it.”
“What’s going on?”
“Give me a minute.”
He pulled a worn leather journal out of his duffle, thumbing through it until he found a page inscribed in Latin. There were holes in his memory, but with everything he’d been through in his life, he was accustomed to that happening from time to time. Sometimes it was just the result of a mild concussion…or too much alcohol. Sometimes…He pulled his shirt open and ran a finger over the slowly healing wounds on his stomach, then went to the bathroom mirror. He murmured the Latin words slowly, and watched the wounds glow, followed by a series of sigils over his stomach and chest. “Fuck.”
He slammed the book closed and returned it to the duffle. “The fucker hexed me.” He followed it with the gun and then the knife he had hidden under the television cart. “Fuck.”
“Dean? Who? What is it?”
“There’s…a guy…damn its complicated Dad. I’m not sure exactly what he did.”
If he tried, he could almost make out a memory of Sam marking his skin with fingers and tongue, Latin words crawling over him. It had been a dream…or so he had believed. Now, now he wasn’t sure. At least he knew something had happened.
“Fuck.” He knew that he had given himself over willingly, sold himself for sex…sex with his own brother. He also knew that whatever was going down was going down soon, and his father needed him, and he didn’t have time to research the symbols and figure out just what he was stuck with…let alone how to undo it. He pulled the shirt off and replaced it with a comfortable worn t-shirt.
“Tell me what you know.”
Dean shook his head. “There isn’t time. It’s something to do with energy sigils and blood work. I only recognize a few of the symbols.” He sighed and peered out the window at where Sam waited. “I’m bringing him with me. We’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“Dean-“
“I may not have a choice Dad. It’s a compulsion of sorts. I doubt I could ditch him at this point. Twenty minutes. Wait for us.”
Dean closed the phone and shoved it back into his pants pocket. “Fuck.” He grabbed the duffle and headed out the door, just as Sam was getting out to find him. “Let’s go.”
“I was worried.”
Dean offered him a smile, wondering just how much of his time with Sam had been an act. “Nothing to worry about. Just needed some supplies.”
“You have supplies for demon hunting?” Sam asked, his face all wide-eyed innocence, and though Dean was less inclined to believe Sam was the innocent he wanted Dean to believe, he clapped a hand to his shoulder in reassurance.
“Yeah, sure…holy water, rock salt, guns, knives…all kinds of stuff.” He opened the trunk and deposited the duffle before heading back to the driver’s seat. “Come on, let’s go find us a demon.”
“That’s it.” Sam pointed and Dean let his eyes sweep the street. His father’s truck was no where to be seen. He stopped the car, then reversed them into an alley.
The warehouse was dark, no obvious signs of activity. That meant either they were early, or late…or walking in to a trap. Dean took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He was nervous. This was the big one, the one he’d trained his whole life for…and he was under some spell and he wasn’t sure what it was meant to do or how it could affect him.
“Kiss me Dean.” Sam said and Dean leaned over to him, their lips sliding together. When he managed to pull away, Dean closed his eyes. That didn’t seem to be a good sign. The compulsion to obey had been strong, so strong Dean hadn’t recognized it until Sam’s tongue touched his.
“Sam. Let’s concentrate on this thing okay.” Dean said softly. “We need to figure out what we’re up against.” His stomach churned as he opened the door and headed for the trunk. “Can you handle a gun?”
Sam shrugged a little as he came around to Dean’s side. “Okay. This is loaded with rock salt pellets.” Dean said, handing him the shotgun. “It won’t kill a demon, but…” He held up a box of pellets, “with these, the salt’s been soaked in holy water. It’ll hurt like hell.” He shoved the box at him with a grin. “If it’s eyes are anything other than standard human eyes…black, red, yellow…shoot it.”
Sam nodded and shoved pellets into his pockets. “Got it.”
“Good. Now, let’s see if we can find my father.”
Dean shouldered his bag after shoving several bottles of holy water into it. They crossed the street and took cover behind a truck while Dean checked the obvious points of entry and kept an eye out for his father. He pointed toward the back of the building and headed that way in a crouch, glancing back once to be sure Sam was following.
Winchester minds think alike, and Dean wasn’t surprised to find his father in the exact spot he’d been aiming for. Dean crouched in beside his father behind a stack of crates, pulling Sam closer.
“Stick close.” Dean whispered.
Sam’s hand found it’s way to the small of his back, and electric heat flooded his body. Damn, but he was hard. Dean swallowed and closed his eyes, fighting the compulsion to turn and kiss him. His father’s hand on his arm steadied him and he opened his eyes, nodding slightly. “Dad, this is…Sam.” His voice cracked and he dropped his eyes. This is your dead son, Dad…who I happen to have let fuck me and fuck me up. No. One thing at a time.
John’s eyes narrowed as Sam turned to him. “My God…Dean?”
Dean looked up at his father, then turned to Sam, trying to figure out what his father saw. It was almost like looking at Sam for the first time…his eyes, his nose… “Yeah, Dad. I know. Its all fucked up and I don’t know for sure…but…”
There were tears in John’s eyes as he reached a hand out for Sam who cringed before John’s hand settled on to his shoulders. “Sam. Your mother named you that.”
John speared Dean with a look that was more piercing than most weapons he’d ever encountered. Dean met his eyes with a look that said, Yes, I know…I should have said something.
John nodded. “I’ve always wondered, believed….but there was no evidence, no trail to follow…”
“Dad?” Dean’s jaw clenched and he felt a stab of jealousy. Jealousy. Dean kicked himself. “You never said-“
John let go of Sam and nodded. “I never wanted you to…it doesn’t matter. How did you find him?” Dean could tell he was waiting to follow his son’s lead with this.
Dean shrugged. “He found me…in a bar in Palo Alto, actually. Look, here’s what we know. Sam…he gets…dreams, stuff that comes true. His father--he man who raised him is planning to sacrifice him to the demon.”
“That doesn’t make sense, Dean.”
“I know.”
“Why?” Sam asked, his eyes darting between them. “Why doesn’t it make sense?”
Dean sighed. “It’s a lot to go into, Sammy, but trust us when we say it doesn’t.”
“Tell you what else doesn’t make sense, right after I got here they brought in a woman and an infant.” John said, his eyes watching Sam’s reaction. “I didn’t get a good look, but their all set up for some ritual activity inside.”
Dean frowned at him. “What kind of ritual?”
“Bloodletting by the look of it.”
“Sacrifice…as in….actual sacrifice?” Dean shook his head. “That’s…just wrong.”
“Yeah, doesn’t fit our guy’s MO at all.”
“Sammy, you got the keys?”
“Huh? Yeah.” Sam pulled out a set of keys and put them in Dean’s hand.
“Sam’s…old man owns the building.”
John rolled his eyes. “This keeps getting better and better.”
“You’re telling me.”
John exhaled slowly, looking around them. “Sam, can you handle that gun?”
Sam nodded, adjusting his grip on it. “Dean and I need to go over some details, some ritual stuff, prep work. Can you stay here and watch our backs? We’ll be just over there.” John pointed behind him, closer to the warehouse wall.
Sam looked scared, and Dean squeezed his hand briefly, walking him toward the door. “Its okay…we’ll be right here. Just keep your head down and you’ll be fine.”
Sam nodded tightly and moved, into a crouch closer to the end of the crates Dean sighed again as he and his father moved far enough away that they wouldn’t be overheard. Running a hand through his hair he crossed back to his father. “It’s a trap.”
“Clearly. What about him?”
Dean shook his head. “I don’t know. Its…I haven’t known him all that long. We-met in a bar a few months ago…spent a few hours together. Then I ran into him here.” Dean swallowed around a lump of need that filled him and spared a glance back. “There’s…The kid’s messed up in the head, and he’s not entirely innocent, no matter what he looks like.” Dean paced away and back again. “Fuck, it’s strong.”
“Okay…I need to see, but we don’t want to tip him off.” John pulled off his shirt and pulled a bottle of holy water out of the bag at his feet, shoving into Dean’s hands. “Pretend like it’s a ritual thing. I’ll do you next.” Dean nodded and opened the bottle, squeezing some of the water into his palms and rubbing them together, before slowly rubbing it over his father’s skin.
Dean blew out a deep breath and handed the bottle back to his father before he pulled his own shirt off. John wet down his hands and rubbed them over Dean, murmuring Latin under his breath. John cussed and ran a hand over the skin.
“How bad is the compulsion?”
Dean shrugged. “I’m not sure. I don’t remember it.” He could feel the color rising in his cheeks. It wasn’t entirely true…he remembered begging…he remembered the feeling of Sam’s cock inside him, claiming him, owning him…he remembered falling into the dark almost willingly…if it meant Sam would stay there inside him. “He’s scared, he was afraid to tell me who he was…afraid we wouldn’t help him, or believe him…or something.”
John shook his head. “This was sealed in blood, Dean. How could you not remember?”
“It must be part of the compulsion.”
John leaned around Dean to peer at where Sam knelt. “Has he made you do anything since you found out?”
“No. Not really.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing I didn’t want to do, Dad…I just didn’t want to right then.”
“What else do you know about him?”
Dean shrugged. “Not much, Dad. Not really.” He knew how he liked his cock sucked…how to tongue the slit to make him buck his hips…how much teeth to use to make him hiss…how hard it made him when Dean begged…Dean took a deep breath. “We could just take Sam and go, Dad. Go somewhere to figure this out.”
John shook his head. “We’ve never been this close…not since the night you got that scar. We can’t walk away.”
“Okay. What’s the plan then?”
John muttered in Latin and wiped over Dean’s chest with more of holy water. “That won’t neutralize it, but should block it some, give you a chance.”
“It stings.” Dean waved his hand over his chest to dry his skin.
“That’s how you know it’s working.” John said with a smirk. “Now, we have to get in there and figure it out. We operate under the assumption that we can’t trust him.” He thrust his chin toward Sam. “You got me, Dean?”
Dean swallowed and nodded. “Yes sir.”
“Good boy. Now, I’ll take him with me, circle around the west end of the building. You work your way around the east end. What’s that gun loaded with?” John looked again at the door.
“Rock salt, soaked in holy water.”
John nodded. “We don’t move in until It’s there. No matter what.”
“What are our weapons here?”
“Most of these are people, possessed or not. Blessed rounds should be good for them.” John rummaged in his backpack and pulled out a red handled knife. The blade was sharp and curved and marked with runes. “This was made for me by an old friend. It should cut the bastard in two.”
Dean smirked and pulled out his knife, similar in design, it’s handle black. “Looks like we have the same friends.” Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “This is really it.”
“Yeah.” John breathed it, his eyes stealing back to Sam. He pulled Dean unexpectedly into a hug. “You stay alive, hear me?”
Dean nodded as he was released. “You too.”
John shouldered his backpack and led the way, crouching and crawling to Sam’s side. “You’re coming with me, Son.”
“What about Dean?”
“Dean’s got a job to do. I’m going to protect you.”
Sam’s eyes searched for Dean’s and when Dean nodded he seemed to deflate a little. “Okay, I guess.”
“Trust me Sam.” Dean said, managing to keep his voice even and calm. “This is our chance.” He pressed the keys into his father’s hand. “You take these. I’ll find my own way in.” He flashed a smile and disappeared around the back of the building.
John clamped a hand down on Sam’s shoulder. “You ready for this?”
Sam nodded. John nodded. “Let’s see about getting inside.”
Dean crawled through a grimy window, dropping lightly to the floor six feet below. He was on the waterside of the building, and the smell of salt air left a tang in the back of his throat. He’d watched from the window as several people came and went from the back entrance, and when the store room was finally empty, he’d dropped in. He’d moved quickly to the door. The last two to leave the room had taken weapons with them. Dean wanted to know why demons needed weapons.
He peered through the door and paused as a wave of desire swept through him. The only thing worse than being away from Sam was when Sam touched him. He shook it off and eased out the door. The sound of voices drew him, clinging to the shadows, to a set of doors that were cracked open.
His father wasn’t kidding about the bloodletting ritual. He couldn’t see much more than the black tubs and part of the altar, and a handful of people in robes. Dean’s eyes swept the upper reaches of the room, looking for a place to get a better vantage point. Voices moving closer to his spot sent Dean scurrying into the shadows, into a corridor.
It was dark, lined with what he assumed were offices. He peered into windows, taking stock of places to hide, possible weapons, fuel for fire. Then, as he neared a cross corridor, he froze, stepping back to peer into the room.
She felt his eyes and turned and something inside him cracked. She was screaming his name, pounding on the door. Dean looked around him, then reached for the door. Her face was frantic in the tiny window. The door was locked, of course and it took Dean a minute to dig out his picks. “I’m coming. Hold on.” His mind crashed through their history, to the last fight, to the last time he’d held her in his arms and told her the truth….everything about him. He could almost smell her hair.
He fought with the lock until it gave, then she was in his arms, crying hysterically. “Cassie. Cassie. Calm down. I’ve got you.”
“Dean…Oh my god, Dean.” He held her while she gasped for air and sobbed against his shoulder. “They took her, Dean. They took her.”
“Who? Who took who? What are you doing here?”
She stood back, her hands still shaking, tears streaming down her face. “I don’t know who they are. They showed up at my house a few days ago. Forced me to get in the van with Dana.”
“Who’s Dana?”
Her face paled and she pushed her hair out of her face. “I never told you…I couldn’t…I couldn’t find you…and…”
He grabbed her shoulders and shook her lightly. “Cassie, stay with me. I need you to help me understand, so I can do…what I do.”
Her eyes met his, then danced away. “Dana is my daughter.” She swallowed, then looked up at him. “Our daughter, Dean.”
Title: My Brother's Keeper, Part Eight( Part One Here, Part Two Here, Part Three Here, Part Four Here, Part Five Here, Part Six Here, Part Seven Here)
Characters/Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Table: #1
Prompt: 061 Chance
Word Count: 3187
Summary: Complete AU. On the night the demon kills Mary Winchester, John saves Dean, but before he can go back for Sam, the fire spreads. It is assumed that Sam is dead along with his mother. In reality, he has been taken and is raised by a family dedicate to the demon who killed Mary. One night after a hunt, Dean runs into him in a bar in Palo Alto, never a clue who he really is.
Warnings: Incest, m/m sex, blood play, bondage, non-con. Evil-ness abounds--No actual sex here...There is discovery and revelation, anger, control....and we inch closer to the showdown.
This is my twenty-seventh ficlet for my Supernatural claim on 100_situations. Clicky for table
Dean slipped behind the wheel of the Impala and settled just a little. He was always more at ease in the confines of the car that was as much family as his father…or Sam he supposed…now. He stole a glance aside at Sam who was pulling the door shut. “I have to go to my motel and get a few things,” he said quietly before pulling them out onto the road.
Sam was quiet as they crossed town to the place Dean was staying. “Stay here. I’ll only be a minute.” Dean left Sam waiting and opened his room door. He had a few tricks up his sleeve that his father didn’t even know about, and the feeling that they were going to be needed.
He grabbed at his nearly empty duffle and dropped it on the bed, then knelt beside the bed to retrieve the gun he’d taped under the nightstand. It was dark and old and inscribed with symbols. He dropped it on the bed by the duffle and headed for his other hidden weapon, when his eyes fell on a piece of paper on the floor by the bed.
It was written in his hand, a note, written to his father. A note that he had no recollection of writing. “What the fuck?”
Dad, I’ve got a line on local demon activity. There seems to be a lot of possessions, various phenomenon….There’s a warehouse district near the docks that a local hunter told me about. Detscher Shipping. There’s reports of an increase in activity there, possibly even babies brought in. I’ll meet you there as soon as I can. Watch your back, Dean.
Dean bit his lip and cussed in his head. How could he not remember writing that? He hadn’t been that drunk. He felt a strong compulsion to go back to Sam, felt his cock harden.
He froze, re-read the note. “Fuck.” He hadn’t even heard of Detscher Shipping until his father called him. If that had even been his father.
Dean pulled out his phone and thumbed for his father’s number. It rang three times before his father answered. “I’m almost there, where are you?”
“Dad? Where are you?” Dean asked. His cock hurt it was so hard.
“I’m almost to the warehouse. Where are you?”
“Fuck.” Dean shook his head. “We have a problem. I didn’t write that note.”
“What?”
“For that matter, how did you know which hotel, which room?”
“Dean, you called me and left a message.”
“No, Dad. I didn’t. At least I don’t remember it.”
“What’s going on?”
“Give me a minute.”
He pulled a worn leather journal out of his duffle, thumbing through it until he found a page inscribed in Latin. There were holes in his memory, but with everything he’d been through in his life, he was accustomed to that happening from time to time. Sometimes it was just the result of a mild concussion…or too much alcohol. Sometimes…He pulled his shirt open and ran a finger over the slowly healing wounds on his stomach, then went to the bathroom mirror. He murmured the Latin words slowly, and watched the wounds glow, followed by a series of sigils over his stomach and chest. “Fuck.”
He slammed the book closed and returned it to the duffle. “The fucker hexed me.” He followed it with the gun and then the knife he had hidden under the television cart. “Fuck.”
“Dean? Who? What is it?”
“There’s…a guy…damn its complicated Dad. I’m not sure exactly what he did.”
If he tried, he could almost make out a memory of Sam marking his skin with fingers and tongue, Latin words crawling over him. It had been a dream…or so he had believed. Now, now he wasn’t sure. At least he knew something had happened.
“Fuck.” He knew that he had given himself over willingly, sold himself for sex…sex with his own brother. He also knew that whatever was going down was going down soon, and his father needed him, and he didn’t have time to research the symbols and figure out just what he was stuck with…let alone how to undo it. He pulled the shirt off and replaced it with a comfortable worn t-shirt.
“Tell me what you know.”
Dean shook his head. “There isn’t time. It’s something to do with energy sigils and blood work. I only recognize a few of the symbols.” He sighed and peered out the window at where Sam waited. “I’m bringing him with me. We’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“Dean-“
“I may not have a choice Dad. It’s a compulsion of sorts. I doubt I could ditch him at this point. Twenty minutes. Wait for us.”
Dean closed the phone and shoved it back into his pants pocket. “Fuck.” He grabbed the duffle and headed out the door, just as Sam was getting out to find him. “Let’s go.”
“I was worried.”
Dean offered him a smile, wondering just how much of his time with Sam had been an act. “Nothing to worry about. Just needed some supplies.”
“You have supplies for demon hunting?” Sam asked, his face all wide-eyed innocence, and though Dean was less inclined to believe Sam was the innocent he wanted Dean to believe, he clapped a hand to his shoulder in reassurance.
“Yeah, sure…holy water, rock salt, guns, knives…all kinds of stuff.” He opened the trunk and deposited the duffle before heading back to the driver’s seat. “Come on, let’s go find us a demon.”
“That’s it.” Sam pointed and Dean let his eyes sweep the street. His father’s truck was no where to be seen. He stopped the car, then reversed them into an alley.
The warehouse was dark, no obvious signs of activity. That meant either they were early, or late…or walking in to a trap. Dean took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He was nervous. This was the big one, the one he’d trained his whole life for…and he was under some spell and he wasn’t sure what it was meant to do or how it could affect him.
“Kiss me Dean.” Sam said and Dean leaned over to him, their lips sliding together. When he managed to pull away, Dean closed his eyes. That didn’t seem to be a good sign. The compulsion to obey had been strong, so strong Dean hadn’t recognized it until Sam’s tongue touched his.
“Sam. Let’s concentrate on this thing okay.” Dean said softly. “We need to figure out what we’re up against.” His stomach churned as he opened the door and headed for the trunk. “Can you handle a gun?”
Sam shrugged a little as he came around to Dean’s side. “Okay. This is loaded with rock salt pellets.” Dean said, handing him the shotgun. “It won’t kill a demon, but…” He held up a box of pellets, “with these, the salt’s been soaked in holy water. It’ll hurt like hell.” He shoved the box at him with a grin. “If it’s eyes are anything other than standard human eyes…black, red, yellow…shoot it.”
Sam nodded and shoved pellets into his pockets. “Got it.”
“Good. Now, let’s see if we can find my father.”
Dean shouldered his bag after shoving several bottles of holy water into it. They crossed the street and took cover behind a truck while Dean checked the obvious points of entry and kept an eye out for his father. He pointed toward the back of the building and headed that way in a crouch, glancing back once to be sure Sam was following.
Winchester minds think alike, and Dean wasn’t surprised to find his father in the exact spot he’d been aiming for. Dean crouched in beside his father behind a stack of crates, pulling Sam closer.
“Stick close.” Dean whispered.
Sam’s hand found it’s way to the small of his back, and electric heat flooded his body. Damn, but he was hard. Dean swallowed and closed his eyes, fighting the compulsion to turn and kiss him. His father’s hand on his arm steadied him and he opened his eyes, nodding slightly. “Dad, this is…Sam.” His voice cracked and he dropped his eyes. This is your dead son, Dad…who I happen to have let fuck me and fuck me up. No. One thing at a time.
John’s eyes narrowed as Sam turned to him. “My God…Dean?”
Dean looked up at his father, then turned to Sam, trying to figure out what his father saw. It was almost like looking at Sam for the first time…his eyes, his nose… “Yeah, Dad. I know. Its all fucked up and I don’t know for sure…but…”
There were tears in John’s eyes as he reached a hand out for Sam who cringed before John’s hand settled on to his shoulders. “Sam. Your mother named you that.”
John speared Dean with a look that was more piercing than most weapons he’d ever encountered. Dean met his eyes with a look that said, Yes, I know…I should have said something.
John nodded. “I’ve always wondered, believed….but there was no evidence, no trail to follow…”
“Dad?” Dean’s jaw clenched and he felt a stab of jealousy. Jealousy. Dean kicked himself. “You never said-“
John let go of Sam and nodded. “I never wanted you to…it doesn’t matter. How did you find him?” Dean could tell he was waiting to follow his son’s lead with this.
Dean shrugged. “He found me…in a bar in Palo Alto, actually. Look, here’s what we know. Sam…he gets…dreams, stuff that comes true. His father--he man who raised him is planning to sacrifice him to the demon.”
“That doesn’t make sense, Dean.”
“I know.”
“Why?” Sam asked, his eyes darting between them. “Why doesn’t it make sense?”
Dean sighed. “It’s a lot to go into, Sammy, but trust us when we say it doesn’t.”
“Tell you what else doesn’t make sense, right after I got here they brought in a woman and an infant.” John said, his eyes watching Sam’s reaction. “I didn’t get a good look, but their all set up for some ritual activity inside.”
Dean frowned at him. “What kind of ritual?”
“Bloodletting by the look of it.”
“Sacrifice…as in….actual sacrifice?” Dean shook his head. “That’s…just wrong.”
“Yeah, doesn’t fit our guy’s MO at all.”
“Sammy, you got the keys?”
“Huh? Yeah.” Sam pulled out a set of keys and put them in Dean’s hand.
“Sam’s…old man owns the building.”
John rolled his eyes. “This keeps getting better and better.”
“You’re telling me.”
John exhaled slowly, looking around them. “Sam, can you handle that gun?”
Sam nodded, adjusting his grip on it. “Dean and I need to go over some details, some ritual stuff, prep work. Can you stay here and watch our backs? We’ll be just over there.” John pointed behind him, closer to the warehouse wall.
Sam looked scared, and Dean squeezed his hand briefly, walking him toward the door. “Its okay…we’ll be right here. Just keep your head down and you’ll be fine.”
Sam nodded tightly and moved, into a crouch closer to the end of the crates Dean sighed again as he and his father moved far enough away that they wouldn’t be overheard. Running a hand through his hair he crossed back to his father. “It’s a trap.”
“Clearly. What about him?”
Dean shook his head. “I don’t know. Its…I haven’t known him all that long. We-met in a bar a few months ago…spent a few hours together. Then I ran into him here.” Dean swallowed around a lump of need that filled him and spared a glance back. “There’s…The kid’s messed up in the head, and he’s not entirely innocent, no matter what he looks like.” Dean paced away and back again. “Fuck, it’s strong.”
“Okay…I need to see, but we don’t want to tip him off.” John pulled off his shirt and pulled a bottle of holy water out of the bag at his feet, shoving into Dean’s hands. “Pretend like it’s a ritual thing. I’ll do you next.” Dean nodded and opened the bottle, squeezing some of the water into his palms and rubbing them together, before slowly rubbing it over his father’s skin.
Dean blew out a deep breath and handed the bottle back to his father before he pulled his own shirt off. John wet down his hands and rubbed them over Dean, murmuring Latin under his breath. John cussed and ran a hand over the skin.
“How bad is the compulsion?”
Dean shrugged. “I’m not sure. I don’t remember it.” He could feel the color rising in his cheeks. It wasn’t entirely true…he remembered begging…he remembered the feeling of Sam’s cock inside him, claiming him, owning him…he remembered falling into the dark almost willingly…if it meant Sam would stay there inside him. “He’s scared, he was afraid to tell me who he was…afraid we wouldn’t help him, or believe him…or something.”
John shook his head. “This was sealed in blood, Dean. How could you not remember?”
“It must be part of the compulsion.”
John leaned around Dean to peer at where Sam knelt. “Has he made you do anything since you found out?”
“No. Not really.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing I didn’t want to do, Dad…I just didn’t want to right then.”
“What else do you know about him?”
Dean shrugged. “Not much, Dad. Not really.” He knew how he liked his cock sucked…how to tongue the slit to make him buck his hips…how much teeth to use to make him hiss…how hard it made him when Dean begged…Dean took a deep breath. “We could just take Sam and go, Dad. Go somewhere to figure this out.”
John shook his head. “We’ve never been this close…not since the night you got that scar. We can’t walk away.”
“Okay. What’s the plan then?”
John muttered in Latin and wiped over Dean’s chest with more of holy water. “That won’t neutralize it, but should block it some, give you a chance.”
“It stings.” Dean waved his hand over his chest to dry his skin.
“That’s how you know it’s working.” John said with a smirk. “Now, we have to get in there and figure it out. We operate under the assumption that we can’t trust him.” He thrust his chin toward Sam. “You got me, Dean?”
Dean swallowed and nodded. “Yes sir.”
“Good boy. Now, I’ll take him with me, circle around the west end of the building. You work your way around the east end. What’s that gun loaded with?” John looked again at the door.
“Rock salt, soaked in holy water.”
John nodded. “We don’t move in until It’s there. No matter what.”
“What are our weapons here?”
“Most of these are people, possessed or not. Blessed rounds should be good for them.” John rummaged in his backpack and pulled out a red handled knife. The blade was sharp and curved and marked with runes. “This was made for me by an old friend. It should cut the bastard in two.”
Dean smirked and pulled out his knife, similar in design, it’s handle black. “Looks like we have the same friends.” Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “This is really it.”
“Yeah.” John breathed it, his eyes stealing back to Sam. He pulled Dean unexpectedly into a hug. “You stay alive, hear me?”
Dean nodded as he was released. “You too.”
John shouldered his backpack and led the way, crouching and crawling to Sam’s side. “You’re coming with me, Son.”
“What about Dean?”
“Dean’s got a job to do. I’m going to protect you.”
Sam’s eyes searched for Dean’s and when Dean nodded he seemed to deflate a little. “Okay, I guess.”
“Trust me Sam.” Dean said, managing to keep his voice even and calm. “This is our chance.” He pressed the keys into his father’s hand. “You take these. I’ll find my own way in.” He flashed a smile and disappeared around the back of the building.
John clamped a hand down on Sam’s shoulder. “You ready for this?”
Sam nodded. John nodded. “Let’s see about getting inside.”
Dean crawled through a grimy window, dropping lightly to the floor six feet below. He was on the waterside of the building, and the smell of salt air left a tang in the back of his throat. He’d watched from the window as several people came and went from the back entrance, and when the store room was finally empty, he’d dropped in. He’d moved quickly to the door. The last two to leave the room had taken weapons with them. Dean wanted to know why demons needed weapons.
He peered through the door and paused as a wave of desire swept through him. The only thing worse than being away from Sam was when Sam touched him. He shook it off and eased out the door. The sound of voices drew him, clinging to the shadows, to a set of doors that were cracked open.
His father wasn’t kidding about the bloodletting ritual. He couldn’t see much more than the black tubs and part of the altar, and a handful of people in robes. Dean’s eyes swept the upper reaches of the room, looking for a place to get a better vantage point. Voices moving closer to his spot sent Dean scurrying into the shadows, into a corridor.
It was dark, lined with what he assumed were offices. He peered into windows, taking stock of places to hide, possible weapons, fuel for fire. Then, as he neared a cross corridor, he froze, stepping back to peer into the room.
She felt his eyes and turned and something inside him cracked. She was screaming his name, pounding on the door. Dean looked around him, then reached for the door. Her face was frantic in the tiny window. The door was locked, of course and it took Dean a minute to dig out his picks. “I’m coming. Hold on.” His mind crashed through their history, to the last fight, to the last time he’d held her in his arms and told her the truth….everything about him. He could almost smell her hair.
He fought with the lock until it gave, then she was in his arms, crying hysterically. “Cassie. Cassie. Calm down. I’ve got you.”
“Dean…Oh my god, Dean.” He held her while she gasped for air and sobbed against his shoulder. “They took her, Dean. They took her.”
“Who? Who took who? What are you doing here?”
She stood back, her hands still shaking, tears streaming down her face. “I don’t know who they are. They showed up at my house a few days ago. Forced me to get in the van with Dana.”
“Who’s Dana?”
Her face paled and she pushed her hair out of her face. “I never told you…I couldn’t…I couldn’t find you…and…”
He grabbed her shoulders and shook her lightly. “Cassie, stay with me. I need you to help me understand, so I can do…what I do.”
Her eyes met his, then danced away. “Dana is my daughter.” She swallowed, then looked up at him. “Our daughter, Dean.”