The Other Son: Chapter Eight
Title: The Other Son
Author: revenant_scribe
Chapter Eight: SPLIT
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Warnings: wincest, semi-spoilers for 1.18 'Something Wicked'.
A/N: AU. This is difficult to summarize fully without also spoiling fully. All I can say is that there is no new Winchester being added into the mix. This is definitely not one of those fics.
Summary: Sam knows there are a lot of things about his father that he will never understand, or agree with -- the first and foremost being why John Winchester is so unnerved by his son's visions. It's why Sam goes alone to Fitchburg when images of the town's 'welcome' sign flash through his head while he's driving and leave him reeling for hours after. He's only looking for a hunt, but what he finds is about to turn Sam's entire world upside-down, and threaten its very foundations.
chapter eight | SPLIT
“Rawhead and Bloody Bones, steals naughty children from their homes, takes them to his dirty den, and they are never seen again,” Dean murmured - almost singing -- as he followed Sam down the stone staircase into the cellar.
“Stop it,” Sam said. “I knew I shouldn’t have shown you that rhyme. It’s creepy. ”
“No, this place is creepy,” Dean corrected, sweeping his flashlight in a slow arch around the basement. “What are we doing here, exactly? I thought rawheads liked water.”
“They do like water.” There was a large wine-rack along one wall on the left, but the rest of the cellar was cluttered with old toys and cardboard boxes. “Ouch,” Sam muttered as he almost tripped-over a rocking horse. “This area of town is exactly in the centre of the disappearances. We have to check all the houses to be certain.”
“Well, I’m not seeing water anywhere, Sam. A whole lot of creepy shit, but ... Hey, check it out!”
Sam turned around, automatically directing his flashlight towards Dean and was greeted with a toy clown wearing a red and yellow silk clown-suit with big blue buttons. Its face was painted white with red clown make-up and its hat matched its suit. It had a round red nose that lit-up because Dean was pressing its tummy. “Oh, Jesus!” Sam said, jerking back a little. “Put that back!”
“Scared of clowns, Sammy?”
“Shut up,” Sam muttered. Dean’s snickering echoed through the dank cellar as Sam moved away from the other man. “Have you found anything else?” Pop goes the Weasel started playing - apparently Dean had found a jack-in-the-box. “Besides toys?” Sam added.
“Dude, I used to hate these as a kid.”
Sam couldn’t see Dean, but it sounded like he was on the opposite side of the cellar. “Then why are you playing with it?” he asked. The tune started slowing down - no doubt Dean was anticipating the thing springing open at any moment.
“What kind of a sadistic bastard thought this up, anyway?”
“Don’t shoot it when it startles you.” Sam was answered by the clatter of metal and a thud that sounded like something impacting with a cardboard box. A moment later, Dean stepped into the pool of light from Sam’s flashlight.
“What?” Dean asked casually when Sam couldn’t quite smother his smirk.
“Did you throw the jack-in-the-box across the room?” Dean snorted derisively but couldn’t quite meet Sam’s eye. Of course, Sam couldn’t smother the grin, but he draped an arm around the shorter man’s shoulders. “I’ll protect you from the evil toys.”
“Get off me.”
“It doesn’t look like it’s here.”
Dean nodded his agreement as they headed back towards the stairs. They’d searched five houses before lunch, and three right after. “Are we even sure this is something supernatural? It could be just some random kidnapper, y’know? Something human.”
“No, the signs all point to a rawhead, we just haven’t found its lair yet.” He tossed the keys at Dean, because it never failed to make Sam happy the way Dean tried to hide how much he enjoyed driving the impala.
“Where to now, then?”
“Back to the motel. I want to have a shower.”
“Yeah, you smell like mildew.”
“Thanks a lot. You don’t smell like a bushel of roses either.”
“I should hope not,” Dean muttered as he started the engine.
………………………………..
When Sam came out of the shower, Dean was seated on their king-size bed, still dripping-wet and clad only in a towel. It took Sam a moment to realize that Dean was talking, because though they had both agreed that the hunt took priority, towel-clad Dean was a very distracting Dean. “I feel like we’ve missed something,” Dean repeated.
“We checked the houses in the area,” Sam said as he put on his underwear and slipped on a pair of jeans. “Assuming we did everything right, and our calculations were accurate, then we probably did miss something.”
“But what, we’re just calling it a night?”
“We’re not going to be any good to anyone if we’re falling-over our own feet because we’re exhausted.” Dean shook his head, rising from the bed to get changed. “First thing in the morning, we’ll try to figure-out a new angle. Something we overlooked.”
“And tonight another kid goes missing.”
“Dean…”
“I know,” Dean said, pulling his grey T-shirt over his head and then rubbing his eyebrow.
“What?”
“I have a headache, Dude!” Dean snapped. “What did you think would happen? We’ve been talking to parents who were all freak-out about their kids! What are we supposed to tell them, ‘we think some kind of creature ate your son alive.’”?
Sam pulled his pain-relievers from his bag and handed two tablets to Dean who washed them down with a bottle of water. “We’re going to find it.”
“I know,” Dean sighed. “It just pisses me off. I’m not good with sitting still.”
Sam could understand that, and it wasn’t something he hadn’t figured-out already. He checked the salt he’d laid-out by the windows and door and checked beneath his pillow to make certain his knife was in place before he climbed into bed, flipping off the lamp. “Come here,” he coaxed, dragging Dean until he was settled at Sam’s side, their heads resting on the same pillow.
“Would you quit manhandling me?” Dean snarked as he draped a leg over Sam’s.
“Sure.”
“Liar.”
“Go to sleep.”
“Stop squirming, then.”
“I’m not squirming,” Sam denied.
“You’re humping my leg!”
“I’m lying here, perfectly still. If anyone is humping anyone’s leg, it’s you!”
“We wouldn’t be having this problem if you didn’t insist on using me like a six foot teddy-bear!”
Sam snickered a little and buried his face in Dean’s hair, which only resulted in the other man muttering a few more choice comments. Sam slid the hand that was draped over Dean’s hips down; reaching into the other man’s boxers and suddenly Dean was entirely silent. “What was that you were saying?” Sam teased.
“Harder,” Dean said, his voice cracked as he spoke. Sam kissed along the side of Dean’s face and as far down his neck as he could reach without shifting them. He gasped as Dean pressed a palm to the front of his boxer-briefs, mimicking Sam’s own rhythm.
The room was filled with the rustle of sheets and their open-mouth breaths, the sound of their short kisses and bitten-off groans harmonizing. “If you don’t stop I’m gonna come in my shorts,” Sam said, his voice dropped low and ripped at the edges, trying to laugh-off how much Dean got under his skin.
“Then come,” Dean said, sealing their lips together. Sam obeyed.
…………………………………..
Lillian McAffey greeted them with teary eyes, just as she had done the previous day, and invited the ‘two nice young officers of the law’ into her home. “Have you found anything?”
“No ma’am,” Sam said. “We’re still looking. We have a few more questions to ask you - about your daughter.” She nodded her head, eager to help in any way she could.
“I’m sorry to be a bother,” Dean interrupted as Lillian ushered them into her living room. “May I just use your bathroom?”
“Of course,” she said. “Just through there,” she gestured down the long hall they were passing. “Around the corner.” Dean flashed his most charming smile before he turned to locate the bathroom.
…………………………………..
“I’m telling you,” Dean said as they left the McAffey house. “The pipes were leaking beneath the sink.”
“I dunno, Dean. Rawheads don’t like clean spaces,” Sam said. “That house,” he shook his head. “It was pretty spotless. The abandoned house made more sense.”
“We didn’t really check out that cupboard, though. The entire back section looks like it pops right out. It looks like nobody ever goes in there -- dank and dark, and abandoned. Now tell me that doesn’t sound exactly like a rawhead’s ideal hideaway. In fact, it bears a striking resemblance to that helpful little description in that book you have. Word for word, am I right?”
Dean had a point. “So, how are we gonna get in, then?” Sam said, stopping when they reached the impala.
“Why are you asking me? I’m not the one who does this for a living.”
Sam looked back at the house. “She’s probably going to be going to mass.”
“What?”
“Church, you heathen. It is Sunday.”
“Okay,” Dean said. “So while she’s off praying for lost souls, we go in there and waste this son-of-a-bitch.”
…………………………………….
Sam kept an eye on Dean, because though he had been waltzing into people’s homes, breaking locks and telling tales taller than the Eiffel Tower since he could walk, he figured this was all new for Dean. The memory of Dean walking out of the Shyre house, as casual as you’d please, flashed through Sam’s head. Maybe Dean wasn’t so new to it after all, he hadn’t even flinched when Sam had flashed a badge and offered-up a different name to go with an occupation he’d never dream of holding. Dean had stepped right in, flashing a wide charming smile and creating his own name right there on the spot, carrying on the spin. Sam had asked him after they’d stopped by the first house and spoken with the parents, why it hadn’t freaked him out to be lying, committing crimes so casually. Dean had only shrugged: “We’re saving lives, right?” he’d asked.
“How do they fit in these places, anyway?” Dean said. “Sam. Hey Sam! Earth to Sammy!”
“What?”
“Dude, you’re zoning-out all over the place. What’s up?”
“Nothing,” Sam said. In truth, Sam couldn’t help thinking about Dean and how they had fallen so easily into hunting with each other - right from the start, when they were facing the shtriga - it was a balance he had never had before, more a partnership than he’d ever had. It goes beyond their both being psychic - though that has united them in a way Sam had never expected. It’s something else, and Sam is hard-pressed to imagine how he ever existed without Dean. “Sorry,” Sam added, when Dean continued to frown at him. Dean still looked concerned but didn’t say anything.
The bathroom was entirely white, and Sam couldn’t picture a rawhead going anywhere near it. Dean crouched by the sink and opened the cupboard beneath it, poking his head in to look inside and then crawling partially inside it. Sam could hear movement, something shifting, and then Dean sat-back, a piece of plywood in his hands, one side painted white. “Looks like something Lillian or her husband made themselves.” He waved the wood a little, then cocked his head to the side, indicating that Sam should take a look.
The water pipe was rusted and leaking, a puddle of water building at the bottom of the cupboard, but Sam noticed that the wood that created the bottom shelf was tilted backwards - the water draining towards the piece of wood that Dean had removed. It reeked of mildew and Sam leaned in further at the pipes and part of the wall that had been exposed. He cursed and leaned back, “It leads directly into the basement.”
“What basement?” Dean asked.
“The basement of the house! They just clapped this together - clearly for aesthetic purposes as opposed to practical - but that thing,” he gestured to the plywood Dean was still holding, “Covers the pipes and a huge space that is just a direct drop into the basement.”
“The McAffey’s don’t have a basement,” Dean said. “Trust me, I’ve been all over this place.” Which under any other circumstances, Sam would have only been too happy to do. He had been the one to distract first both grieving and worried parents, and then the mother, while Dean had searched the house. Everything had been spotless - except they’d missed this.
“Well, there’s something beneath this house.”
“Wait wait,” Dean said. “Rose had something like this. She moved into her new place, and it was a run-down, but the people who lived there before had this indoor pool that was a complete mess, and the amount of money it would take to fix it up wasn’t worth it, so she just had them build a floor right overtop of it - like it was never there.”
“You think they did something similar here?”
“Well, you’re talking about a basement they don’t have, it seems like the most likely case.”
“Okay,” Sam said. “So, how do we get down there?”
“We don’t. I mean, Rosemary had them do a complete floor, there’s no way into the basement, she didn’t see the point.”
Sam huffed. “Then what are we gonna do?” Dean frowned then stood-up. “Where are you going?”
“Pass me the keys, would ya?”
“What are you gonna do? Bash a hole through the floor?” Dean looked steadily back at Sam and Sam jerked to his feet. “Dude! We’re not bashing a hole through this family’s floor!”
“Well, you have a better idea?”
“Okay,” Sam said, trying to think. “This place might be different. Maybe the McAffey’s thought they might need the space - maybe there’s a door or something.” Dean rolled his eyes at the likelihood, but followed Sam out into the hall where they proceeded to tap on the floorboards, listening for something hollow that might hint that there was a hidden door to the basement. They found nothing.
“So, can I have the keys now?” Sam sighed but they trekked back to the impala, retrieving the sledgehammer that was among the equipment. Sam only had the one, and he refused to give it to Dean. “You’re a pain in the ass,” Dean muttered.
“Move that,” Sam said, pointing to an ornate table that stood in the hallway.
“What for?” Dean was already shoving the table aside, however.
Sam hefted the sledgehammer and used the momentum in his body to increase the force of his stroke, the wood broke beneath the hammer but Sam hadn’t gotten all the way through. “This way, we can push the table back over-top and they won’t notice - or fall through it.”
“They’re not going to notice a giant hole in their floor?” Sam glowered and then swung the heavy sledge again. “At least you’re not gonna drive-out and get supplies to completely re-do their floor.”
“We don’t have enough time. They went to church, not out-of-town.” Another hit and there was a big enough hole for a person to fit down. “Okay, you’re gonna belay me,” Sam said, tossing the sledge-hammer aside and grabbing at the equipment they’d brought in so that they could get down, but more importantly - up - from the basement. “Hurry, if the rawhead’s down there it definitely knows something is coming.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Dean muttered, tightening the straps so he could support the other man. “I’m good, whenever you’re ready.”
“Here,” Sam passed over one of the tazers. “Keep your eyes open, if you see anything, you point this at it and shoot.”
“Wait, hold on a second,” Dean said. “I point this where, again?” Sam rolled his eyes and slid towards the hole. “I’m not an idiot.”
“Prove it,” Sam retorted, and then dropped into the hole. He had his flashlight, and his tazer, and that was pretty much it. Sam was suspended in a black room that smelled of dust and disuse, the beam of his light revealed cobwebs and the dark outlines of furniture that had been sealed-up beneath the house. “Creepy,” Sam muttered.
There was the steady drip-drip from the pipes that ran from the bathroom. Once his feet were on the ground, Sam turned towards the sound and realized that almost half of the floor was covered in water. “Their basement is slowly flooding and they don’t even know,” he muttered.
“What did you say?” Dean called.
“Nothing,” Sam said. “It’s gross down here.”
“No shit.” Sam rolled his eyes, mildly disappointed that Dean couldn’t appreciate it, and crossed towards the pipes.
With the amount of dust that had settled in the room, the clear-spots stood-out as if floodlights were pointing on them, along with the growing number of Sam’s footprints in the dust, there were drag-marks that ran to a corner of the room behind a wingback chair. Sam didn’t exactly want to look, but he knew he had to - a pile of small clothes and a few bones - Sam didn’t sort through the collection to see how many children the rawhead had taken.
There was a rustling sound, and Sam turned quickly and directly into the rawhead’s punch - it knocked him to the ground but he rolled with the strike, ending back on his feet and with his tazer ready. By that point, the thing was already scaling the pipes. “Dean!” Sam called, rushing back to the hole in the floor. “Dean!” He tugged on the ropes that connected him to Dean. “Dean, it’s coming to you!”
“What?” Dean’s called, then there was a loud thud from above that echoed in the closed chamber that Sam was standing in. “Jesus!” Dean cursed, and the ropes Sam was desperately clutching started to jerk in his fist.
“Dammit, dammit,” Sam cursed. He couldn’t climb-up because Dean was clearly grappling with the thing. Another thud echoed in he darkness, disturbing more dust. Sam grabbed the wingback chair that was hiding the pile of children’s bones in the corner of the room and dragged it towards the pool of light that was pouring in through the opening in the floor. Standing on the seat, he was able to stretch-up and almost reach the edges of the floor. Above him, the familiar zap of the tazer rang through the air and Sam’s frantic movements stilled as he listened. A thud, and then silence. He almost forgot to breathe.
“Dean?” Sam said, his voice a broken croak that barely reached above a whisper. “Dean!”
A scraping-dragging sound, and then the light above Sam was blocked. “What are you screaming about down there?” Dean asked.
Sam let-out a relieved breath. “Did you get it?”
“Course I did! Now quit hanging around, we have to get out of here. Lillian and her husband will be back soon.”
“Well, help me up then, jerk!” Dean rose to his feet and Sam hooked himself back into the equipment, climbing slowly up through the hole - the first thing he saw, besides Dean’s boot-clad feet, was the rawhead lying in a heap on the floor.
“Burn it?” Dean asked.
“Salt and burn it.” He kicked at the body, and then turned to Dean. Dean had left the tazer on the floor by the table they had moved, out of reach of the rawhead. His clothes were spotless - unlike Sam’s that were covered in dust - except on his right sleeve where a set of clawmarks had ripped his shirt but didn’t appear to have struck flesh. There was a bruise on Dean’s right cheekbone, but he looked none the worse for wear. “Come on,” Sam said.
Together, they shoved the table back to cover the hole. Dean took the sledgehammer and the climbing equipment, clearing any sign that they had been in that house, while Sam dragged the rawhead’s body towards the door. “What are you gonna do with that? Pack it in the back seat?”
Sam looked down at the body he was dragging, and then stooped to throw it over his shoulder. “Naw, the trunk will do. It might ruin the upholstery.”
“Well, this has gotta be the weirdest road-trip I’ve ever been on.”
“It’s the only road-trip you’ve been on.” Dean shrugged and shut the door behind them.
……………………………………………
Sam tossed the keys on the table and ran a hand through his sweat-matted hair. They’d gone to the outskirts of town to burn the remains of the rawhead, and now he was covered with soot as well as dust. Dean had a smudge of black across the bridge of his nose, partially covering the darkening bruise on his cheekbone. All Sam wanted was a warm shower and to collapse into bed and not move for several days, with Dean beside him.
He pulled-off his hooded zip-top and kicked-off his shoes before he’d really made it into the room - and then Dean was pressing against his back, one hand lying across Sam’s belly and his breaths coming in slow, hot bursts against Sam’s neck and shoulder. Dean stepped-back only enough for Sam to turn, and then he was lurching-up onto the balls of his feet and pulling on Sam’s neck until their mouthes were pressed together, their tongues shared between.
When they tumbled onto the bed Sam was surprised to find himself held-down, Dean’s teeth nipping at his neck only the sink into the soft flesh at the juncture of neck and shoulder, making Sam gasp and jerk his hips off the bed. He was well and truly overpowered in a way that he had never been before, and even if the offer was there - in the loose grasp of Dean’s hand on Sam’s wrist, and the questioning thrust of Dean’s hips against Sam’s - Sam did not wish to take-back the control. There was a need in Dean’s kisses that made their explorations more frantic than they had ever been before. It was hard and rough - nails and teeth across sweat-slick, soot-smudged skin and the taste of fire filled their mouthes, but Dean was relentless, stripping them both bare and keeping Sam pinned and wanting.
Dean worked himself open atop Sam with a hand reaching behind his back and skilled fingers, and Sam could only watch and try to remember how to breathe. He pressed his tongue to that place behind Dean’s left ear and watched the other man’s hips jerk forward unconsciously, heard the long broken groan and could only smile when Sam’s steady suction on that place that drove Dean crazy resulted in Dean biting again, nipping at Sam’s skin as he rolled the condom down Sam’s leaking cock and then - in a smooth, swift motion that had them both sharing choked moans - sinking down onto him.
Fast, furious movements, hips bumping and bodies glued by perspiration, mouthes barely parting to take-in oxygen - Sam was fairly certain they were exorcising something from each other - bad memories, adrenaline and the worry of ‘what if’. And they were realizing something as well, buried deep and shared between them, until Sam was rearing off the bed, one hand cradling Dean’s face and the other around his back pulling him close, until Sam could whisper into Dean’s ear filth like love sonnets that had the other man keening -- though Sam was certain Dean would deny it later. “Come with me,” Sam said, a split moment a split decision, and Dean’s eyes snapped open, wide and bewildered and though he came and took Sam with him, they both knew that Sam had meant something else - something more.
<< END CHAPTER >>
[MASTER POST]
yahoo online personals
Author: revenant_scribe
Chapter Eight: SPLIT
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Warnings: wincest, semi-spoilers for 1.18 'Something Wicked'.
A/N: AU. This is difficult to summarize fully without also spoiling fully. All I can say is that there is no new Winchester being added into the mix. This is definitely not one of those fics.
Summary: Sam knows there are a lot of things about his father that he will never understand, or agree with -- the first and foremost being why John Winchester is so unnerved by his son's visions. It's why Sam goes alone to Fitchburg when images of the town's 'welcome' sign flash through his head while he's driving and leave him reeling for hours after. He's only looking for a hunt, but what he finds is about to turn Sam's entire world upside-down, and threaten its very foundations.
chapter eight | SPLIT
“Rawhead and Bloody Bones, steals naughty children from their homes, takes them to his dirty den, and they are never seen again,” Dean murmured - almost singing -- as he followed Sam down the stone staircase into the cellar.
“Stop it,” Sam said. “I knew I shouldn’t have shown you that rhyme. It’s creepy. ”
“No, this place is creepy,” Dean corrected, sweeping his flashlight in a slow arch around the basement. “What are we doing here, exactly? I thought rawheads liked water.”
“They do like water.” There was a large wine-rack along one wall on the left, but the rest of the cellar was cluttered with old toys and cardboard boxes. “Ouch,” Sam muttered as he almost tripped-over a rocking horse. “This area of town is exactly in the centre of the disappearances. We have to check all the houses to be certain.”
“Well, I’m not seeing water anywhere, Sam. A whole lot of creepy shit, but ... Hey, check it out!”
Sam turned around, automatically directing his flashlight towards Dean and was greeted with a toy clown wearing a red and yellow silk clown-suit with big blue buttons. Its face was painted white with red clown make-up and its hat matched its suit. It had a round red nose that lit-up because Dean was pressing its tummy. “Oh, Jesus!” Sam said, jerking back a little. “Put that back!”
“Scared of clowns, Sammy?”
“Shut up,” Sam muttered. Dean’s snickering echoed through the dank cellar as Sam moved away from the other man. “Have you found anything else?” Pop goes the Weasel started playing - apparently Dean had found a jack-in-the-box. “Besides toys?” Sam added.
“Dude, I used to hate these as a kid.”
Sam couldn’t see Dean, but it sounded like he was on the opposite side of the cellar. “Then why are you playing with it?” he asked. The tune started slowing down - no doubt Dean was anticipating the thing springing open at any moment.
“What kind of a sadistic bastard thought this up, anyway?”
“Don’t shoot it when it startles you.” Sam was answered by the clatter of metal and a thud that sounded like something impacting with a cardboard box. A moment later, Dean stepped into the pool of light from Sam’s flashlight.
“What?” Dean asked casually when Sam couldn’t quite smother his smirk.
“Did you throw the jack-in-the-box across the room?” Dean snorted derisively but couldn’t quite meet Sam’s eye. Of course, Sam couldn’t smother the grin, but he draped an arm around the shorter man’s shoulders. “I’ll protect you from the evil toys.”
“Get off me.”
“It doesn’t look like it’s here.”
Dean nodded his agreement as they headed back towards the stairs. They’d searched five houses before lunch, and three right after. “Are we even sure this is something supernatural? It could be just some random kidnapper, y’know? Something human.”
“No, the signs all point to a rawhead, we just haven’t found its lair yet.” He tossed the keys at Dean, because it never failed to make Sam happy the way Dean tried to hide how much he enjoyed driving the impala.
“Where to now, then?”
“Back to the motel. I want to have a shower.”
“Yeah, you smell like mildew.”
“Thanks a lot. You don’t smell like a bushel of roses either.”
“I should hope not,” Dean muttered as he started the engine.
………………………………..
When Sam came out of the shower, Dean was seated on their king-size bed, still dripping-wet and clad only in a towel. It took Sam a moment to realize that Dean was talking, because though they had both agreed that the hunt took priority, towel-clad Dean was a very distracting Dean. “I feel like we’ve missed something,” Dean repeated.
“We checked the houses in the area,” Sam said as he put on his underwear and slipped on a pair of jeans. “Assuming we did everything right, and our calculations were accurate, then we probably did miss something.”
“But what, we’re just calling it a night?”
“We’re not going to be any good to anyone if we’re falling-over our own feet because we’re exhausted.” Dean shook his head, rising from the bed to get changed. “First thing in the morning, we’ll try to figure-out a new angle. Something we overlooked.”
“And tonight another kid goes missing.”
“Dean…”
“I know,” Dean said, pulling his grey T-shirt over his head and then rubbing his eyebrow.
“What?”
“I have a headache, Dude!” Dean snapped. “What did you think would happen? We’ve been talking to parents who were all freak-out about their kids! What are we supposed to tell them, ‘we think some kind of creature ate your son alive.’”?
Sam pulled his pain-relievers from his bag and handed two tablets to Dean who washed them down with a bottle of water. “We’re going to find it.”
“I know,” Dean sighed. “It just pisses me off. I’m not good with sitting still.”
Sam could understand that, and it wasn’t something he hadn’t figured-out already. He checked the salt he’d laid-out by the windows and door and checked beneath his pillow to make certain his knife was in place before he climbed into bed, flipping off the lamp. “Come here,” he coaxed, dragging Dean until he was settled at Sam’s side, their heads resting on the same pillow.
“Would you quit manhandling me?” Dean snarked as he draped a leg over Sam’s.
“Sure.”
“Liar.”
“Go to sleep.”
“Stop squirming, then.”
“I’m not squirming,” Sam denied.
“You’re humping my leg!”
“I’m lying here, perfectly still. If anyone is humping anyone’s leg, it’s you!”
“We wouldn’t be having this problem if you didn’t insist on using me like a six foot teddy-bear!”
Sam snickered a little and buried his face in Dean’s hair, which only resulted in the other man muttering a few more choice comments. Sam slid the hand that was draped over Dean’s hips down; reaching into the other man’s boxers and suddenly Dean was entirely silent. “What was that you were saying?” Sam teased.
“Harder,” Dean said, his voice cracked as he spoke. Sam kissed along the side of Dean’s face and as far down his neck as he could reach without shifting them. He gasped as Dean pressed a palm to the front of his boxer-briefs, mimicking Sam’s own rhythm.
The room was filled with the rustle of sheets and their open-mouth breaths, the sound of their short kisses and bitten-off groans harmonizing. “If you don’t stop I’m gonna come in my shorts,” Sam said, his voice dropped low and ripped at the edges, trying to laugh-off how much Dean got under his skin.
“Then come,” Dean said, sealing their lips together. Sam obeyed.
…………………………………..
Lillian McAffey greeted them with teary eyes, just as she had done the previous day, and invited the ‘two nice young officers of the law’ into her home. “Have you found anything?”
“No ma’am,” Sam said. “We’re still looking. We have a few more questions to ask you - about your daughter.” She nodded her head, eager to help in any way she could.
“I’m sorry to be a bother,” Dean interrupted as Lillian ushered them into her living room. “May I just use your bathroom?”
“Of course,” she said. “Just through there,” she gestured down the long hall they were passing. “Around the corner.” Dean flashed his most charming smile before he turned to locate the bathroom.
…………………………………..
“I’m telling you,” Dean said as they left the McAffey house. “The pipes were leaking beneath the sink.”
“I dunno, Dean. Rawheads don’t like clean spaces,” Sam said. “That house,” he shook his head. “It was pretty spotless. The abandoned house made more sense.”
“We didn’t really check out that cupboard, though. The entire back section looks like it pops right out. It looks like nobody ever goes in there -- dank and dark, and abandoned. Now tell me that doesn’t sound exactly like a rawhead’s ideal hideaway. In fact, it bears a striking resemblance to that helpful little description in that book you have. Word for word, am I right?”
Dean had a point. “So, how are we gonna get in, then?” Sam said, stopping when they reached the impala.
“Why are you asking me? I’m not the one who does this for a living.”
Sam looked back at the house. “She’s probably going to be going to mass.”
“What?”
“Church, you heathen. It is Sunday.”
“Okay,” Dean said. “So while she’s off praying for lost souls, we go in there and waste this son-of-a-bitch.”
…………………………………….
Sam kept an eye on Dean, because though he had been waltzing into people’s homes, breaking locks and telling tales taller than the Eiffel Tower since he could walk, he figured this was all new for Dean. The memory of Dean walking out of the Shyre house, as casual as you’d please, flashed through Sam’s head. Maybe Dean wasn’t so new to it after all, he hadn’t even flinched when Sam had flashed a badge and offered-up a different name to go with an occupation he’d never dream of holding. Dean had stepped right in, flashing a wide charming smile and creating his own name right there on the spot, carrying on the spin. Sam had asked him after they’d stopped by the first house and spoken with the parents, why it hadn’t freaked him out to be lying, committing crimes so casually. Dean had only shrugged: “We’re saving lives, right?” he’d asked.
“How do they fit in these places, anyway?” Dean said. “Sam. Hey Sam! Earth to Sammy!”
“What?”
“Dude, you’re zoning-out all over the place. What’s up?”
“Nothing,” Sam said. In truth, Sam couldn’t help thinking about Dean and how they had fallen so easily into hunting with each other - right from the start, when they were facing the shtriga - it was a balance he had never had before, more a partnership than he’d ever had. It goes beyond their both being psychic - though that has united them in a way Sam had never expected. It’s something else, and Sam is hard-pressed to imagine how he ever existed without Dean. “Sorry,” Sam added, when Dean continued to frown at him. Dean still looked concerned but didn’t say anything.
The bathroom was entirely white, and Sam couldn’t picture a rawhead going anywhere near it. Dean crouched by the sink and opened the cupboard beneath it, poking his head in to look inside and then crawling partially inside it. Sam could hear movement, something shifting, and then Dean sat-back, a piece of plywood in his hands, one side painted white. “Looks like something Lillian or her husband made themselves.” He waved the wood a little, then cocked his head to the side, indicating that Sam should take a look.
The water pipe was rusted and leaking, a puddle of water building at the bottom of the cupboard, but Sam noticed that the wood that created the bottom shelf was tilted backwards - the water draining towards the piece of wood that Dean had removed. It reeked of mildew and Sam leaned in further at the pipes and part of the wall that had been exposed. He cursed and leaned back, “It leads directly into the basement.”
“What basement?” Dean asked.
“The basement of the house! They just clapped this together - clearly for aesthetic purposes as opposed to practical - but that thing,” he gestured to the plywood Dean was still holding, “Covers the pipes and a huge space that is just a direct drop into the basement.”
“The McAffey’s don’t have a basement,” Dean said. “Trust me, I’ve been all over this place.” Which under any other circumstances, Sam would have only been too happy to do. He had been the one to distract first both grieving and worried parents, and then the mother, while Dean had searched the house. Everything had been spotless - except they’d missed this.
“Well, there’s something beneath this house.”
“Wait wait,” Dean said. “Rose had something like this. She moved into her new place, and it was a run-down, but the people who lived there before had this indoor pool that was a complete mess, and the amount of money it would take to fix it up wasn’t worth it, so she just had them build a floor right overtop of it - like it was never there.”
“You think they did something similar here?”
“Well, you’re talking about a basement they don’t have, it seems like the most likely case.”
“Okay,” Sam said. “So, how do we get down there?”
“We don’t. I mean, Rosemary had them do a complete floor, there’s no way into the basement, she didn’t see the point.”
Sam huffed. “Then what are we gonna do?” Dean frowned then stood-up. “Where are you going?”
“Pass me the keys, would ya?”
“What are you gonna do? Bash a hole through the floor?” Dean looked steadily back at Sam and Sam jerked to his feet. “Dude! We’re not bashing a hole through this family’s floor!”
“Well, you have a better idea?”
“Okay,” Sam said, trying to think. “This place might be different. Maybe the McAffey’s thought they might need the space - maybe there’s a door or something.” Dean rolled his eyes at the likelihood, but followed Sam out into the hall where they proceeded to tap on the floorboards, listening for something hollow that might hint that there was a hidden door to the basement. They found nothing.
“So, can I have the keys now?” Sam sighed but they trekked back to the impala, retrieving the sledgehammer that was among the equipment. Sam only had the one, and he refused to give it to Dean. “You’re a pain in the ass,” Dean muttered.
“Move that,” Sam said, pointing to an ornate table that stood in the hallway.
“What for?” Dean was already shoving the table aside, however.
Sam hefted the sledgehammer and used the momentum in his body to increase the force of his stroke, the wood broke beneath the hammer but Sam hadn’t gotten all the way through. “This way, we can push the table back over-top and they won’t notice - or fall through it.”
“They’re not going to notice a giant hole in their floor?” Sam glowered and then swung the heavy sledge again. “At least you’re not gonna drive-out and get supplies to completely re-do their floor.”
“We don’t have enough time. They went to church, not out-of-town.” Another hit and there was a big enough hole for a person to fit down. “Okay, you’re gonna belay me,” Sam said, tossing the sledge-hammer aside and grabbing at the equipment they’d brought in so that they could get down, but more importantly - up - from the basement. “Hurry, if the rawhead’s down there it definitely knows something is coming.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Dean muttered, tightening the straps so he could support the other man. “I’m good, whenever you’re ready.”
“Here,” Sam passed over one of the tazers. “Keep your eyes open, if you see anything, you point this at it and shoot.”
“Wait, hold on a second,” Dean said. “I point this where, again?” Sam rolled his eyes and slid towards the hole. “I’m not an idiot.”
“Prove it,” Sam retorted, and then dropped into the hole. He had his flashlight, and his tazer, and that was pretty much it. Sam was suspended in a black room that smelled of dust and disuse, the beam of his light revealed cobwebs and the dark outlines of furniture that had been sealed-up beneath the house. “Creepy,” Sam muttered.
There was the steady drip-drip from the pipes that ran from the bathroom. Once his feet were on the ground, Sam turned towards the sound and realized that almost half of the floor was covered in water. “Their basement is slowly flooding and they don’t even know,” he muttered.
“What did you say?” Dean called.
“Nothing,” Sam said. “It’s gross down here.”
“No shit.” Sam rolled his eyes, mildly disappointed that Dean couldn’t appreciate it, and crossed towards the pipes.
With the amount of dust that had settled in the room, the clear-spots stood-out as if floodlights were pointing on them, along with the growing number of Sam’s footprints in the dust, there were drag-marks that ran to a corner of the room behind a wingback chair. Sam didn’t exactly want to look, but he knew he had to - a pile of small clothes and a few bones - Sam didn’t sort through the collection to see how many children the rawhead had taken.
There was a rustling sound, and Sam turned quickly and directly into the rawhead’s punch - it knocked him to the ground but he rolled with the strike, ending back on his feet and with his tazer ready. By that point, the thing was already scaling the pipes. “Dean!” Sam called, rushing back to the hole in the floor. “Dean!” He tugged on the ropes that connected him to Dean. “Dean, it’s coming to you!”
“What?” Dean’s called, then there was a loud thud from above that echoed in the closed chamber that Sam was standing in. “Jesus!” Dean cursed, and the ropes Sam was desperately clutching started to jerk in his fist.
“Dammit, dammit,” Sam cursed. He couldn’t climb-up because Dean was clearly grappling with the thing. Another thud echoed in he darkness, disturbing more dust. Sam grabbed the wingback chair that was hiding the pile of children’s bones in the corner of the room and dragged it towards the pool of light that was pouring in through the opening in the floor. Standing on the seat, he was able to stretch-up and almost reach the edges of the floor. Above him, the familiar zap of the tazer rang through the air and Sam’s frantic movements stilled as he listened. A thud, and then silence. He almost forgot to breathe.
“Dean?” Sam said, his voice a broken croak that barely reached above a whisper. “Dean!”
A scraping-dragging sound, and then the light above Sam was blocked. “What are you screaming about down there?” Dean asked.
Sam let-out a relieved breath. “Did you get it?”
“Course I did! Now quit hanging around, we have to get out of here. Lillian and her husband will be back soon.”
“Well, help me up then, jerk!” Dean rose to his feet and Sam hooked himself back into the equipment, climbing slowly up through the hole - the first thing he saw, besides Dean’s boot-clad feet, was the rawhead lying in a heap on the floor.
“Burn it?” Dean asked.
“Salt and burn it.” He kicked at the body, and then turned to Dean. Dean had left the tazer on the floor by the table they had moved, out of reach of the rawhead. His clothes were spotless - unlike Sam’s that were covered in dust - except on his right sleeve where a set of clawmarks had ripped his shirt but didn’t appear to have struck flesh. There was a bruise on Dean’s right cheekbone, but he looked none the worse for wear. “Come on,” Sam said.
Together, they shoved the table back to cover the hole. Dean took the sledgehammer and the climbing equipment, clearing any sign that they had been in that house, while Sam dragged the rawhead’s body towards the door. “What are you gonna do with that? Pack it in the back seat?”
Sam looked down at the body he was dragging, and then stooped to throw it over his shoulder. “Naw, the trunk will do. It might ruin the upholstery.”
“Well, this has gotta be the weirdest road-trip I’ve ever been on.”
“It’s the only road-trip you’ve been on.” Dean shrugged and shut the door behind them.
……………………………………………
Sam tossed the keys on the table and ran a hand through his sweat-matted hair. They’d gone to the outskirts of town to burn the remains of the rawhead, and now he was covered with soot as well as dust. Dean had a smudge of black across the bridge of his nose, partially covering the darkening bruise on his cheekbone. All Sam wanted was a warm shower and to collapse into bed and not move for several days, with Dean beside him.
He pulled-off his hooded zip-top and kicked-off his shoes before he’d really made it into the room - and then Dean was pressing against his back, one hand lying across Sam’s belly and his breaths coming in slow, hot bursts against Sam’s neck and shoulder. Dean stepped-back only enough for Sam to turn, and then he was lurching-up onto the balls of his feet and pulling on Sam’s neck until their mouthes were pressed together, their tongues shared between.
When they tumbled onto the bed Sam was surprised to find himself held-down, Dean’s teeth nipping at his neck only the sink into the soft flesh at the juncture of neck and shoulder, making Sam gasp and jerk his hips off the bed. He was well and truly overpowered in a way that he had never been before, and even if the offer was there - in the loose grasp of Dean’s hand on Sam’s wrist, and the questioning thrust of Dean’s hips against Sam’s - Sam did not wish to take-back the control. There was a need in Dean’s kisses that made their explorations more frantic than they had ever been before. It was hard and rough - nails and teeth across sweat-slick, soot-smudged skin and the taste of fire filled their mouthes, but Dean was relentless, stripping them both bare and keeping Sam pinned and wanting.
Dean worked himself open atop Sam with a hand reaching behind his back and skilled fingers, and Sam could only watch and try to remember how to breathe. He pressed his tongue to that place behind Dean’s left ear and watched the other man’s hips jerk forward unconsciously, heard the long broken groan and could only smile when Sam’s steady suction on that place that drove Dean crazy resulted in Dean biting again, nipping at Sam’s skin as he rolled the condom down Sam’s leaking cock and then - in a smooth, swift motion that had them both sharing choked moans - sinking down onto him.
Fast, furious movements, hips bumping and bodies glued by perspiration, mouthes barely parting to take-in oxygen - Sam was fairly certain they were exorcising something from each other - bad memories, adrenaline and the worry of ‘what if’. And they were realizing something as well, buried deep and shared between them, until Sam was rearing off the bed, one hand cradling Dean’s face and the other around his back pulling him close, until Sam could whisper into Dean’s ear filth like love sonnets that had the other man keening -- though Sam was certain Dean would deny it later. “Come with me,” Sam said, a split moment a split decision, and Dean’s eyes snapped open, wide and bewildered and though he came and took Sam with him, they both knew that Sam had meant something else - something more.
<< END CHAPTER >>
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