World's Forgotten Boys, Chapter 18/28 - (Sam/Dean - R)
Fic title: World's Forgotten Boys (tag-link to the full verse)
Chapter 18/28
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Word Count: 8,617
Summary: Season 1 AU. Ross Christopher Winchester knows three things to be true: that his father, John, is a hero, that he's going to be the best hunter in the goddamn world, and that his two older brothers are in love with each other. An AU-version of Season 1 where The Winchester Boys mean Dean and Sam and Ross, where John is still missing, where Mary and Jess are still crispy-fried, and where Dean and Sam are still obsessed with one another...
Previous Chapters Link to the Masterpost
Warnings I'm going to warn for some mild non-con in this one.
A/N Here be the self-pimp: I posted a short weechesters Ross-verse one-off written from Bobby's POV last weekend here called something like All Four Winchesters Visit Bobby or something equally inspiring (hah, yes, I have a problem thinking up titles) End of self-pimp.
Finally, heaps of thanks to my awesome beta and redneck consultant (tm-Andreth47) andreth47 for your help and comments and all round awesomosity ;D
Chapter 18
“You’re going the wrong fuckin’ way!”
“No, I am not going the wrong fucking way!”
“Yeah, you are! Fuck’s sake, just - look!” Ross slams his palm down on the road atlas spread across his lap. “This - this red fuckin’ line - this is the road north. You just took the wrong fuckin’ turning! I told you left, left, Sam! Make a U-turn! Like, now!”
“No!” snaps Sam. “No, we aren't going that way. Listen to me, Ross: running after them is what Meg wants us to do, she’ll have set a trap for us just like she set one for Dean and Dad. If we wanna get them back we gotta be smart about this.”
He grits his teeth, clenching his fingers around the edges of the worn torn pages. “So, where the fuck are we goin’ then?”
“Bobby Singer’s place.”
“Huh? What? But he and Dad -”
“- You remember his place?” Sam interrupts. “It’s fuckin’ demon-proof; he’s got enough traps and sigils to capture any and all demons after us. We go there, Meg comes after us and we trap her. Then we force her to tell us where she’s got Dean and Dad.”
He licks his lips, considering Sam’s words, trying to think this through like a normal, rational person, but there’s a part of his stupid brain that’s totally not cooperating, just hammering away against his skull like a freaking mantra: SAVE DEAN, SAVE DAD, GOT TO SAVE DEAN, SAVE DAD. DEMON’S GOT DEAN AND DAD. GOT TO SAVE DEAN, GOT TO SAVE DAD. He glances at Sam for back-up, but Sam’s totally focused on the road ahead, his foot jammed solidly to the gas, needle hovering around 90mph mark, teeth clenched and eyes narrowed, that muscle jumping at his jaw. Fuck it, he has no idea what to do, Sam’s demonic girlfriend has got Dad and Dean, and Dad and Dean are awesome hunters, no one’s better than Dad and Dean. Dad and Dean have pulled him out of so many tight corners, saved his life so many times… and now he and Sammy are supposed to save them? Fuck, where do they even start?
He jumps as one of Sam’s massive hand lands on his thigh, giving it a hard, tight squeeze, sending a bolt of heat flooding through his bloodstream, blending with the panic. Sam snaps his head around, dark, glittering eyes meeting Ross’s for a half-second before they’re back on the road, but it’s long enough for Ross to register that look in his brother’s eyes - that same deranged, desperate look as when they thought Dean was dying back in Nebraska - there’s no fucking way anyone can argue with Sam when he’s like this, even him.
“Ross, listen to me, we gotta play this smart, gotta play it right,” Sam insists forcefully. “If we agree to just meet with her, she’ll kill us before we get chance to find out where she’s got Dean. She’ll kill us and she’ll get the Colt and all this - all this shit - will have been for nothing, we’ll all be dead.”
He swallows, nods hopelessly, the fight suddenly drained from him, ‘cause Sammy’s right, he’s completely right. Sam gives a tight sort of ultra-focused nod of his head and squeezes Ross’s thigh again, fingers digging into the hard muscle. “Right, so, we have to force that bitch to tell us the truth. We trap her at Bobby’s; we force her to tell us where she’s got Dean and Dad. You’re with me on this, Ross? You got to be with me on this. It’s me and you, littlest bro, and we gotta save them, we gotta save Dean, just like all the times he’s saved us.”
“Yeah,” he says finally, “yeah, okay.”
Sam nods again, and removes his hand from Ross’s thigh, placing it back on the wheel. Ross bites his lip and stares out the window. This is the right thing to do, they’re not running away, they’re regrouping, playing it smart. This is what Dad would do.
They pull up in Bobby Singer’s yard just after 5 am. The sun’s still down, not set to rise for at least another thirty minutes, and it’s cold, really fucking cold. They climb out of the car, and Ross jumps up and down on the spot, trying to unstiffen his limbs, work some feeling into his tense, cramped muscles; he feels jittery, his gut hitching and rolling with nerves as he follows Sam through the yard.
Bobby’s standing in the doorway to the kitchen, watching them with a look on his face that makes Ross feel ten years old again, Bobby's eyes running over them and taking in every detail, their rumpled clothes and pale faces and sleep-deprived eyes, and seriously, ten years old.
“Sam, Ross,” he says finally. “It’s good to see you boys.”
“You too,” says Sam, and his voice sounds shaky, like he’s just as jittery as Ross feels, though he’s definitely doing a way better job of hiding it.
“So, just you two today? Where’s Dean? Last I heard, you three boys were huntin’ together.”
Ross hesitates, glances at Sam, Sam looks stricken for a fraction of a second before it’s buried back down again and he’s in control, nodding tightly and saying, “Yeah, well, that’s why we’re here, we need your help, Bobby. The demon’s got Dean, and Dad too.”
Bobby doesn’t hesitate, just holds the door open for them, “Well then, get your asses inside already.”
Bobby’s place looks exactly the same as it did the last time Ross was here which was nearly four fucking years ago now, the time Bobby and Dad had that knockdown, drag-out fight that ended with Bobby pulling out his shotgun and screaming get the hell offa my property, John Winchester! The place doesn’t look like it’s been cleaned at all since then; it looks like those houses you get on reality TV shows about people with dirty-ass houses, like it could do with a good fumigation and several visits to the Goodwill to get rid of all the clutter on every freaking surface.
“Here,” says Bobby, picking up and thrusting an enormous, ancient book into Sam’s hands. “This should help.”
Sam nods enthusiastically, sparing Bobby one of his Oooh! Books! smiles as he takes a seat at the desk and throws the book open.
“And you,” Bobby says, pinning Ross in place with a cool, taking-no-shit stare, “how about you tell me exactly what happened?”
“So, John Winchester got himself taken in by the demon,” Bobby says after Ross finishes up a garbled, pretty fucking incoherent account of the previous night - of him and Sam trying to kill the demon with the Colt, of Dad and Dean trying to trick Meg with the fake - all of it, down to the moment Meg called Sam with Dad’s phone to tell him that she had Dad and Dean and would be coming for them next.
“It was a trap!” he protests, blood surging angrily at the dismissive tone in Bobby’s voice. “He knew it was a trap, he was just distracting them - to give me and Sammy a chance at the demon.” He looks over at Sam for back up; but Sam’s ignoring them both, too busy leafing through the big-ass demon book, his face shifting into that super-intense don’t-distract-me-now look.
Bobby looks completely unfazed by Ross’s retort, just, like, coolly nodding his head, eyes set on him in that way that feels exactly like he’s having his head read, and again ten years old, and fuck that shit, they really don’t need that shit now. Sam’s demonic bunk-buddy is after them, Dad and Dean are wherever they are, in her clutches, and Sam’s just doing what he always fucking does: reading a fucking book.
They should be going after the damn demon already, maybe even giving up the stupid fucking gun, after all wasn’t like the useless piece of shit actually fucking worked ‘cause there’s no goddamn way he missed that shot, Ross Winchester doesn’t miss. Maybe the thing’s just as much of a fake as the one Dad toted across two states for the fake trade, except… it had worked on that lead vampire guy. Shit, maybe the Colt didn’t work ‘cause this demon is just too fucking bad-ass, after all, it has got Dad and Dean, and Dad and Dean are awesome hunters, there’s no freaking way they got taken by just some standard belly-crawling piece of demonic crap. The thought sends a prickle up his spine; he swallows, forcibly pushing the thoughts away as he turns around to confront Bobby again.
“What do you know about the demon?” he demands.
“Been helpin’ your daddy track it these past few months,” Bobby answers, all calm and nonchalant and like Ross is totally supposed to know this shit, when doesn’t Bobby fucking know that Dad was missing for, like, fucking months? And if he did know then why the fuck did he lie to them all those millions of times they called him and asked him if he’d heard from Dad, and does this mean that Bobby’s been lying to them for all this time, and if Bobby’s been lying, then have Dad’s other hunting buddies been lying to them too?
Sam’s head jerks up, something other than that stupid-ass book finally capturing his attention. “You've been helping Dad track the demon?”
“Uh-uh. He called me up, asked for my help, I agreed.” Bobby hesitates, looking uncomfortable for a moment, before he continues: “Look, I hated lying to you boys on the phone, but John had me promise not to tell you what he was up to, and boys, we never wanted you involved in any of this. This demon is one scary-ass sonofabitch, and your daddy, well, he can be one scary-ass sonofabitch too when he wants to be, and we both thought keeping you boys outta this would be the best thing…” he trails off, shaking his head irritably. “Jesus, this is one huge cluster-fuck your daddy’s gotten you into.”
Ross opens his mouth, about to retort, ‘cause fuck it, no one gets to say shit like that about his dad, even folk like Bobby who used to be practically, like, an uncle to them, and -
“Don’t, it’s okay,” Sam cuts in, darting Ross a warning look. Ross glares back at him but he does keep his mouth shut, after all, they’re here to ask Bobby to help them, pissing him off now ain’t gonna help at all. “It doesn't matter now,” Sam continues, “and I swear we’ll forgive everything if you just tell us how we can trap Meg when she turns up here.”
“You sure she’s gonna come here?”
“Dead sure,” says Sam grimly.
Ross swallows, his stomach is churning again, those same butterflies from the night before, and he knows that Sam’s right, something in his head, in his brain, his gut, whatever-it-is, maybe this sixth fucking sense he and Sammy seem to share, but something’s telling him that Meg is coming here, and she’s not very far behind them.
“Okay then, all you gotta do is make sure she walks under that,” Bobby says, tilting his head back so his eyes lock on the ceiling above them. Ross follows his gaze and sees the elaborate circle-shaped-magic-symbol-star thing painted on the ceiling, like Bobby’s own demonic Sistine Chapel, and fuck, that’s a… fuck, what’s it called…?
“A devil’s trap,” says Sam as if he’s answering Ross’s silent question.
Shit, a goddamn devil’s trap. Man, you really gotta appreciate a guy who’s so freaking paranoid he’ll actually paint a goddamn devil’s trap on his ceiling just in case… Wow, Sam was so fucking right when he drove them here.
“A devil’s trap,” Ross repeats. His eyes lock with Sam’s, and he can see the look of mad triumph glinting in his brother’s gaze. “Fuck, dude, we can, like, easily trap that bitch in this. We can really do this.”
“Yeah,” says Sam, nodding, his mouth curling upwards, eyes shining and voice trembling in a way that makes him sound hysterical, hell, they both probably sound hysterical. “Yeah, yeah. Bobby, seriously, man, you’re awesome.”
The thing that Ross forgets is that demons are fucking scary sonsofbitches. Hell, they are demons, not human, so fucking unnatural that they make every hair stand up on the back of his neck, and he knows people say that, use that analogy all the time, but sometimes those kinda clichés are true. They have her caught in the devil’s trap, tied to the chair and knocked out, but it doesn’t matter none. She jerks awake, her eyes flash black and her gaze locks directly on him, and he can’t help it, but the rush of gooseflesh all over him has the breath catch in his chest and the hairs on his arms sparking up like he’s just put his finger in an electric outlet. Just like that moment last night, like the second he and Sam bust into that nursery to see the shape looming over the crib, the flash of gleaming yellow eyes, so freaking unnatural and wrong that… shit… he did hesitate, and maybe it wasn’t the Colt that fucked up, maybe it was him, maybe he was too slow, fluffed the shot, reflexes letting him down for the first time ever, letting them all down, letting the demon go free, the one time it really and truly counted.
“Aww, don’t beat yourself up, Littlest Bro,” she coos, lips curling over the words, smirk in her eyes.
“You don’t get to call me that,” he grits out, chest clenching up at the familiar nickname coming from her evil mocking mouth.
She laughs at him, mouth twisting into a sneer. “You did the best you could, pity it was so damn pathetic. But what can we expect from you? You’re nothing special, Ross, you know that. Even your brothers know that, it’s why they don’t let you play along anymore. You’re just not good enough to be one of them.”
“Don’t listen to her!” snaps Sam, drowning out her scornful laughter. Ross jerks his head to the side, sees his brother getting up from his spot at Bobby’s desk, holding a book in one hand. “Demons lie, we all know that.”
“Not always,” she retorts, gaze narrowing in on Sam.
“Yeah, well, doesn't matter all that much now ‘cause you're not gonna be around much longer, sweetheart,” says Sam, baring his teeth at her in a way that reminds Ross with a lurch of Dean. He watches Sam cross the floor, holding out the book in his hand so she can read the title. “You know what this is?”
She gives a contemptuous eye-roll. “Oh, please, an exorcism? Seriously, Sammy, this all you got? You gonna exorcise me?”
“You’re damn fuckin’ right I’m gonna exorcise you,” says Sam matter-of-factly. “But first, you’re gonna tell me where you got my brother.”
She gives another laugh, tilting her head back like some coquettish college chick trying to flirt, “What about your daddy? You don’t want to know where I’m keeping your daddy? Or you’re just too damn eager to get your little love-bunny back, Sammy, that you’re willing to let your daddy go? After all, can’t blame you, when that’s what you’ll be left with if Dean buys it.” She cocks her head dismissively in Ross’s direction.
“Shut up!” Ross snarls out, suddenly far too aware of Bobby in the room with them. “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, you goddamn bitch!”
“Oh, I think I do,” she says, “I think I know exactly what’s been going on these past few months, Littlest Bro -“
Thank God Sam cuts her off then with a torrent of Latin, his big deep voice drowning out her sickly, tinkling laugh.
”Regna terrae, cantate Deo, psallite Domino, qui fertis super caelum, caeli ad Orientem, Ecce dabit voci Suae, vocem virtutis, tribuite virtutem Deo.”
She shudders, groans, eyes snapping to black as she jerks her head towards Sam: “I’m going to kill you, I’m going to rip the skin from your bones. And when I’m done with you, I’m going to do the same to your little brother!”
Sam pauses in his reading and raises his head, smirking slightly as he says, “No, you’re not, you’re gonna burn in hell, ‘cause I’m gonna keep reading unless you tell us where you’ve got Dean and our father.”
She doesn’t answer, teeth clenched, eyes burning black as they bore into Sam’s face.
“Fine, then I’ll continue,” says Sam coolly, looking back down at the page as if there’s no one else in the room with him but the demon. “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio, infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta, diabolica.”
She’s really shaking now, shuddering and panting for breath like she’s having a goddamn fit, eyes rolling and any minute now she’s gonna start foaming at the mouth.
“Daddy’s dead, Sam! I killed him!” she cries out.
Sam’s ignores her, calmly reading: “Ergo draco maledicte, et omnis legio diabolica adjuramus te, cessa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque aeternae Perditionis, venenum propinare.”
“He begged for his life!” she grits out, but Sam’s still ignoring her, the deadly words still spilling from his mouth.
“Vade, Satana, inventor et magister, omnis fallaciae, hostis humanae salutis. Humiliare sub potenti manu dei, contremisce et effuge, invocato a nobis sancto et terribili nomine, quem inferi tremunt.”
It’s really going fucking crazy now, a goddamn wind spilling and whipping up Bobby’s pages from his desk, sending them twirling to the floor, but Sam’s completely oblivious, pacing in front of the demon, and she’s thrashing in the chair, spitting curses and shaking, a full-on exorcist style freak-out.
“I’m gonna finish reading this, you know,” Sam says, and it’s almost like he’s having a regular conversation with a regular person, as if he’s completely unaware of the crazy, supernatural wind that’s blown up around them, of the chair that’s started moving of its own accord, of the psychotic, murderous demon bitch spitting and cursing at him.
Ross swallows, and for the first time since he can remember he feels genuinely afraid of his brother ‘cause right now - in this knockout match between that demon and his pain-in the-ass middle brother - he’d call it for Sam.
“I’m gonna send your skanky ass back to hell. But first, you’re gonna tell me what you did with my brother. And my father,” he adds as if it’s an afterthought, and for Sam, it probably is.
He gulps, feeling his fingers curl into fists by his side as he watches Sam lean over her, and Jesus fucking Christ, Sam is so big. And his hand, Sam’s putting his hand on her throat and pressing her back into the chair so it’s tilting on its back legs, and God - but Sam’s hands are goddamn huge, easily spanning her throat, making it look stupidly fragile underneath.
“Where. Is. Dean?” Sam spells out slowly. His voice is calm, like, preternaturally calm, like he’s about to break out the psychotic Darth Vader, apology accepted, Admiral shit.
“Dean is dead!” she cries out, trying to laugh through his chokehold.
Sam goes deadly still for a moment, then he takes a step back, raises his fist, and punches her.
It’s a thrill to his blood, a surge of warmth in his gut, a buzzing in his brain that is alarmingly close to arousal, and when his eyes meet Sam’s, he can feel everything mirrored in Sam’s body too. He can feel his brother’s wildly beating heart, can feel the thump-thump of his pulse and the pounding in his groin, and fuck, it’s overwhelming, it’s too much, and he still can’t truly believe that that was Sam. Sam’s mouth crooks up at the corner, Sam actually fucking smirks at him, then he turns around, and punches her again.
Sam’s always been the considerate, conscientious one, the one who told them that using “bitch” as an insult was degrading to women, (naturally that just meant that he and Dean, like, used it all the fucking time just to piss Sammy off), but Sam opens doors for women, Sam doesn’t have one night stands - sure that’s probably because he’d rather fuck his brother - but Sam also thinks one night stands are “disrespectful”, and Jesus Christ, Sam - the same old Sammy - just hit a girl. Twice.
But he should’ve known that this would happen. He should’ve expected this. Sam’s nice as pie, his prissy, gigantor, geek brother… until it comes to Dean, and then all fucking bets are off, ‘cause there’s one thing Ross’s realized over the years and that is Sam loses all grip on his sanity when anything threatens Dean.
She spits out a mouthful of blood and jerks her head back towards him, snarling. Sam shrugs in this totally whatever way, and moves forward again, grabbing her chin in his huge hand and pushing her head back almost enough to snap her neck.
“Where. Is. Dean?”
“Ross?” Ross jumps when he feels Bobby’s hand on his arm, dragging him backwards, an urgent look on his face.
“What?” he hisses. He doesn’t want to look away from Sam and the demon right now; he can feel that Sam’s getting somewhere, that maybe Sam might be right after all, that perhaps, Dad and Dean are okay and that they’re gonna find them…
He swallows; his mouth feels dry, barely picking up what Bobby’s saying to him. “That’s a girl, Ross, that’s a girl possessed by a demon. Sam’s gotta be careful with her. There’s an innocent girl in there.”
Ross hears him, but the thing is, he doesn’t care. If this bitch knows where Dean and Dad are, and he’s beginning to believe that she does, then there’s no fucking way they’re not getting the information right the fuck now, whatever happens to the girl inside her.
He glances at Bobby, and nods, “Okay, we can work with that.”
Bobby stares back at him in confusion, his face going slowly horrified when Ross grabs the silver flask of holy water, steps forward and throws it at her. Her cries and screams are satisfying, the writhing and begging even more so, this bitch has got Dean and Dad, she deserves everything she gets. Sam spins around, mouth wide open in surprise, until it quirks into a half-smile when his eyes land on Ross. Behind Sam, she’s still crying out in pain, snarling, chair shuddering full-on exorcist again.
“Sammy, you finish readin’. I’ll dose the bitch when she needs it,” he says calmly.
Sam nods, giving him an approving look. When they turn to face her, they’re shoulder to shoulder.
*******************************************************
The first thing Dean’s aware of is his head, a pounding ache at the back of his skull, a heavy deadness in his limbs, his head and brain and eyes like stuffed cotton, mouth filled with sand. He can’t move, brain slowly grinding open.
Sam? he thinks, his brain latching automatically onto that one thought: Sam?
But Sam’s not here, he can remember that now, Sammy went to college, left him. It’s just him and Ross hunting together, because Dad left them too.
Ross? Goddamnit, he needs some painkillers, and some water. Usually, Ross is so good at this shit; Littlest Bro’s got a freaky metabolism, can’t take his booze, but never ever suffers from hangovers, not like his poor aching big brother. Ross? he thinks again. Fuck, where is that goddamn kid? He’s suffering here.
“Dean?”
Huh? That’s a voice, a familiar voice…
“Dean? Wake up!”
The voice sounds gruff and irritable and disappointed in him, and there’s really only one person in the entire world who sounds like that.
Dad?
But what the fuck is Dad doing here? Dad’s been missing for months. He left him and Ross alone, so they went to get Sammy, the three of them are hunting together. Shit, yes, that’s right, Sam’s not at college anymore, Sam’s here, with him.
Sam?
“Your brother’s not here,” Dad’s voice says flatly. “It’s just you and me, Dean. Now, wake up, open your eyes.”
He tries to obey, he really does, he always tries to do what Dad tells him. But it’s so hard; his eyelids feel like someone’s wrapped duct tape over them. He tries to blink, tries to murmur: Where is Sam? Where is Ross? Why is just Dad here? What’s going on?
Sam? Ross?
“Dean!” Dad sounds really pissed now, and Dean has the absurd urge to laugh, break the tension. “Your brothers are not here. You have to wake up. They injected you with something, but you have to fight it, son. C’mon. Fight it.”
Ohhhh, well that makes everything soooo much clearer. Of course he’s been drugged. Well, that ain’t fair. How can Dad expect him to fight against that? Dad always expects so much, always wants too much. It’s exhausting. Why can’t Dad just let him sleep a bit longer? He was having such a nice dream before, it was a Sammy dream and they’re always his favorites, and this one was really special. Sam was wearing Speedos in this dream, and Sam looks good in Speedos, Sam looks good in everything, but especially good in Speedos, it’s a crying shame he doesn’t get to wear them more often.
Dean’s mouth slides into a lazy grin, the warmth flooding through his body at the memory. God, he feels kinda good right now, Dad should leave him alone, let him be, whatever they’ve drugged him with, it’s nice, Dad should definitely let him go back to dreaming about Sammy again.
“Dean!”
Dean’s arm is jerked so hard it almost feels like it’s being tugged out of his socket, the sudden stab of pain pushing him out of his dreamy, soporific state and into a sudden heat-beating, painful reality.
He’s on a bed. And that’s -
Dad.
That shape next to him, the human mass giving off warmth and smelling kinda gross… that’s Dad.
He wrinkles his nose, maybe he should tell Dad that he really needs to shower. But then again, maybe he should keep his mouth shut, Dad probably wouldn’t appreciate it.
“You awake now?” barks Dad’s voice, and Dean’s arm is pulled sharply once more, his shoulder socket twinges… and ow... why does Dad keep doing that?
He focuses his hazy eyes on his arm, and realizes with dismay that they’re handcuffed together. He and Dad are handcuffed together. His left wrist handcuffed to Dad’s right arm. And shit, did Ross play a prank on them again? Stupid little idiot, Dad’s gonna be so pissed about that.
“Dean?” Dad repeats sharply.
“Uh, yeah, yeah, I’m awake,” he mumbles, though he feels like he’s lying, the words barely managing to get past his dry, slow lips.
“Good. ‘Cause we need to figure out how to get outta here.”
Here? Where’s here?
Slowly, Dean focuses on the room around them. It’s a normal room, a bedroom in someone’s apartment, and he’s on the bed. No, scratch that, he and Dad are both on the bed. No scratch that again, he and Dad are tied to the bed. They’re not only handcuffed together, but they’re also tied to a freaking bed, and that’s… that’s kinda weird. Sure, he’s pretty grateful, ‘cause as experiences go, being tied to a bed with his clothes on and his dad beside him, is way better than some of the shit he’s had happen to him, way better than that time he was chained naked in some witch’s cellar about to be ritually deflowered, or that time he and Ross were tied to that stupid sacred apple-tree, or that time he was chained naked in some warlock’s cellar about to be ritually deflowered… He feels the absurd urge to laugh, but manages to stifle it, ‘cause Dad would really not appreciate that right now. Dad’s pretty humorless about being tied up, which he really should get over because it happens to them kinda a lot.
So, the next question is: why are they here? And who’s taken them prisoner?
And okay, so that’s two questions, but they’re both pretty fucking valid, and he’s gotta get his piece of shit memory working again. He’s tied to a bed with Dad, so that begs yet another burning question: where are Sam and Ross? And as questions go, that’s kinda the most important one ever.
“Where’s Sam and Ross?” he slurs.
“They’re not here, Dean,” Dad says exasperatedly. “But I’m sure they’re on their way to rescue us.”
“Oh,” he says, and okay, so that’s kinda fucked-up, a bit opposites-day-ish, but he can live with that. He’s quite happy to lie here on this bed and wait for Sammy and Ross to turn up and rescue them. “Oh, that’s good,” he adds.
It’s all slowly sliding back into place, his memory finally catching up to his newly awakened state. The Demon. The Demon with capital letters, they were hunting The Demon. The one that killed Mom and Jessica and probably lots of other people. But he and Dad were meeting with Meg, that stupid blond bitch that wanted to sleep with Sam, not that Sam would sleep with her, Sam’s totally in love with him, which is how it should be…
Which reminds him -
Oh God.
Dad knows. Dad knows about him and Sam. It’s all coming back now. That conversation in Dad’s truck.
What the two of you do together, I can’t have it in my family. I can’t have sons that do - that do that - anywhere near me.
Oh God, a wave of grief hits him, oh God, oh God, knotting up his chest and making his eyes start to burn.
He promised Dad. After this, if they get out of this, he promised Dad that he’d leave, stay away from Sam and Ross.
Suddenly, he doesn’t care if he gets rescued.
A chuckle breaks the silence, a cloying, slithering chuckle. “Ohhh, this is just too damn easy, I can’t play along any longer, you’re just too fuckin’ pathetic, Dean.”
“Huh? What? Dad?”
“Dad? Seriously? You think this is your daddy speaking, boy? How dumb are you? No, wait, don’t answer that one, we know the answer to that one.” He breaks off, laughs again, that same cloying slimy sound, like water running down a rusty drainpipe, like nails on steel, all the worst sounds in the world coming out his father’s mouth.
Dean shudders, tries hopelessly to lift his hands, his weak, dead limbs refusing to cooperate, tugging pathetically at the bonds tying him to the bed, the handcuffs shackling him to Dad -
“I - what - what did you give me?” he stammers, the fear starting to take hold of him, adrenalin pumping uselessly, his body too weak to make use of it.
“Just a little something to make you sweet, prettyboy. Just so you can’t say no to Daddy.”
And then Dad’s moving, the bonds tying him to the bed slipping away, his big hand cupping Dean’s cheek, thumb brushing over Dean’s cheekbone, cruel-edged smirk and flash of yellow-glinted eyes as Dad’s face leans over him.
And no, God, no, this isn’t, no, this isn’t happening, Dad, please, he can’t, why’s he letting this happen? Why’s Dad doing this… he can’t, no -
Dad leans down, and his pitiless, smirking mouth is on Dean’s, thick, rough tongue pushing past Dean’s swollen lips and plundering his mouth. And, oh God, no, it’s dirty, like beetles crawling across his face, nightmares about graves and the maggots that hatch out of bodies, and his father’s tongue… a wet pink slithery maggot, and that’s still better than the reality, that’s still better than knowing that this is Dad’s tongue in his mouth, this is Dad’s mouth kissing his mouth.
He’s not aware how long it goes on, how long Dad lies on top of him grinding down into him, Dad’s tongue licking and sucking and dirtying and wiping away years and years of love and trust and belief, ‘cause Dean’s switched off, his eyes squeezed shut, brain shut off, trying to take him away from here -
“C’mon, sweetheart, you can’t tell me you didn’t like that,” Dad’s voice breathes out when he finally finishes. He sounds amused, like he’s in love with his own voice. “Not you, Dean. Not the boy who likes to fuck his little brother up the ass. You can’t tell me you ain’t thought about what it would be like to taste your daddy’s spit? Not when your little brother's tastes so damn good.”
“Get the fuck outta my Dad, you sonofabitch!” he croaks, but it’s so feeble, so weak and watery, the world already fading away, eyes fluttering closed. He’s gotta, he can’t -
What did you give me? he thinks, ‘cause his lips aren't working anymore, aren’t shaping the words right. And he can’t go to sleep, he can’t… not when Sam and Ross are coming here, they’re coming to rescue them, and he’s chained to this - this - thing - this -
“Yeah, that’s right,” says the demon in Dad’s soft rumbling voice. “Your baby brothers are on their way. Man, this is gonna be sweet. This is gonna be one helluva family reunion.”
He can see the hypodermic now, through his lurching, swimming vision, see it in Dad’s familiar capable hand, and there’s not even any time to panic, no time for anything, before everything’s gone for good.
****************************************
“Oh God, thank God,” breathes Sam in this totally dramatic way as they slam the door open. But Ross hasn’t got time to judge Sam for his typical drama-queen shit, ‘cause Dad and Dean are there, right there in front of them, tied to the bed and looking completely out of it, and that means they’ve done it, they’ve found them. He and Sam working together - they’ve done it.
Sam quickly sets to, laying a thick salt line at the door as Ross rushes towards the bed to untie them. “Wait! No, Ross!” Ross hesitates on Sam’s warning cry, spins around. “No, wait! They might be possessed.”
Right, yeah, course, yeah, they should totally check that. He pulls the flask out of the duffle on his shoulder, tosses the holy water over both Dad and Dean’s legs. There’s no sizzle, no spasm, no smoking cloud. He exchanges a quick glance with Sam, sees Sam’s exhale of relief, flash of teeth. Awesome. They’re good to go.
“I’ll get Dean, you get Dad,” Sam tells him.
Huh, of course it would be that way round. But whatever, that’s so not a priority right now. He scrambles to Dad’s side, pressing his fingers to his neck to check for a pulse as Sammy does the same to Dean, ‘cause they really, really don’t want this big happy moment to be ruined by Dad and Dean -
He gulps, okay, so he’s not gonna finish that thought, and whatever, it don’t matter, ‘cause that’s definitely a pulse and he can actually see Dad’s chest rising and falling as he saws away at the ropes binding him to the bed with his knife, all the time hissing out Dad’s name, trying to rouse him as he hears Sam call for Dean. Dad lets out a long groan, his eyelids starting to flutter, and Ross freezes, the crazy euphoric grin edging across his face, ‘cause he’s okay, Dad’s okay.
He glances up, at Sam, at Dean, but Dean’s not responding to Sam’s voice, to Sam’s hands on his shoulders, shaking him gently. Sam’s gotten him untied, but Dean’s still completely out of it, face cold and pale and totally impassive.
“Is he - is he okay?” Ross stammers, the euphoric feeling starting to ebb away.
Sam’s head jerks his way, blinks at him. “He, uh, he’s still breathing, he’s just - I think he’s been drugged. We’re gonna have to carry him. Look, just - let me get these cuffs off.”
He’s already fumbling out his pick, eyebrows and nose all scrunched up into Sam’s concentrating face as he gets to work on the handcuffs binding Dad and Dean together, and not for the first time, Ross is briefly grateful for Sam’s crazy lock-picking skills as the cuffs click open with an awesome chinking sound.
“Right, so, uh, you gotta go through the window.” He waves a hand towards the window he’s already scoped out. It’s their only exit after all, that or through the rest of the apartment, and those two demons won’t be kept quiet in that freaking closet for much longer. Sam nods at him, clenches his teeth, his expression set and determined as he pulls Dean into his arms, steadying himself so he’s got Dean across his shoulders in a fireman’s lift.
Ross watches Sam drag up the window and wrap those enormous long arms of his around Dean’s body as he climbs outside. He needs to get a goddamn grip, hell, this is hardly the first time he’s seen Dean look like that. Dean’s been drugged, poisoned and bitten by supernatural creatures plenty of times in the past, and he’s always gotten through it, always woken up fine, this is just another time like that, all they need to do is to get him to a hospital, he’ll be okay.
He turns back to Dad, Dad’s blinking blearily, big hand coming up to knot in Ross’s jacket, pull him in.
“Ross, Ross? That you?”
“Yeah, yeah it’s me, Dad, it’s me,” he breathes out, the smile starting to flicker again. “We’re here to rescue you.” I’m Luke Skywalker, and I’m here to rescue you.
Dad huffs out a small breath, an indulgent fond look that makes Ross’s insides feel warm. “Can you? Can you walk, I can help you, but we gotta move now, Dad, we gotta go out that window.”
“I can do that,” says Dad. And Ross knows, can feel it in every single pore - the relief, the belief - of course Dad can do this, it’s Dad.
Sam’s already at the bottom of the ladder, he’s gotten Dean propped up against the side of the wall, and he’s crouching over him, tongue slicking over his lips in that nervous way he has as his attention flits between watching Dean and watching him and Dad edge down the ladder.
They manage to make it to the car without anyone spotting them, and that’s got to be the first fucking break they’ve ever caught, though that fact - just them catching a motherfucking break - is kinda weird, and it feels strangely off. God, maybe he’s getting as freakishly paranoid as Dad, as Bobby, as all the other freakishly paranoid hunters they know.
He pushes the uneasy feelings to the back of his mind and helps Sam slide Dean into the backseat. He climbs in there after him, Dad taking shotgun while Sam’s in the driver’s seat again.
“Well that was -“ Sam starts to say.
“- A bit too easy,” finishes Dad gruffly.
“Yeah,” says Ross, “yeah, I was just thinkin’ that. You think they mighta done something to the car? Like, a tracking device?”
“Dude, this isn’t Star Wars,” snaps Sam.
Ross glares at the back of his head, shifts in his seat. He’s got Dean’s head pillowed in his lap, his hand hovering an inch above his brother’s mouth, he can feel the soft, warm huff-huff of Dean’s breath tickling the skin of his palm, reassuring him that Dean is still alive, still breathing.
“No, your brother’s right, Sam,” says Dad, and Ross clamps back on the desire to shout: So there! in Sam’s ear. “It was too easy. Which means they're probably following us, they’re not gonna let us or the Colt get away so easily. Speaking of, what did you do with it?”
“Oh, it’s safe,” says Sam. “We left it in the trunk, chalked a few devil’s traps onto the outside. Don’t worry, sir, no demon’s gonna be able to get at that.”
Dad makes a noise that sounds oddly like a cross between a grunt of approval and a huff of annoyance, but then again, it’s kinda hard to tell sometimes with Dad. But, whatever, it doesn’t matter, ‘cause Sam’s wrong about that, the Colt isn’t in the trunk, it’s tucked away in the inside pocket of Ross’s jacket, though he’s not about to admit that right now. There was no freaking way Ross was going into this rescue mission empty handed and the Colt was their best weapon, their only line of defense, Sam was totally wrong about insisting on leaving it behind. Perhaps when they stop somewhere he can sneak it back into the trunk, make out like it was there all the time.
They all go silent for a moment and Ross traces his finger over the soft strip of skin of Dean’s throat, gently caressing the spot where his brother’s pulse beats slow and steady under his fingertips. He sucks in a breath, watches Dean’s eyelashes flutter like he’s dreaming something. A surge of protectiveness and love wells up in his chest and he clamps back on the urge to curl himself around Dean, cradle him close and kiss him, hold him like Dean’s held him so many times in the past. Instead he bites his lip and turns his attention to the outside, to the dark landscape flashing past as Sam drives them wherever he’s driving them.
“He doing okay?”
Sam’s voice wrenches him from his thoughts and he glances up at the driver’s mirror, see Sam’s eyes reflected in it, his big furrowed brow.
“Yeah, yeah, he’s okay. Still breathing.”
“Good,” Sam exhales. “We’re gonna be at a hospital soon.”
“Sam, we are not going to a hospital!” Dad’s voice breaks in, commanding and rough.
“What? Yes we are!”
“No, we are not. The hospital is the first place they’re gonna come looking for us. Use your brain, boy, it’s far too risky!”
“I don’t care,” says Sam through gritted teeth. “Dean needs medical attention. They could’ve given him anything; he might be permanently damaged if we don’t get him to a hospital now.”
“Sam, that was an order.”
Dad’s getting really pissed now and Sam’s getting red-faced, teeth clenched and breathing heavy. Shit, this is… this is really fucking not good. God, Dad and Sam fighting, why is it always Dad and Sam fighting? And why isn’t Dean awake to stop them? To come between them and quietly resolve everything? Sam will never give in to Dad now, there’s no fucking way Sam’s gonna do what Dad’s telling him. Dad didn’t see Sam this morning with Meg, Dad doesn’t get exactly how crazy bat-shit insane Sam is about Dean.
Dad hisses out a long drawn-out barely restrained breath; when he speaks, his voice is dripping with anger: “There is a cabin, about seventy miles along Route 73, we hole up there. It’s good and safe and we can see to your brother there, regroup, figure out our next move, how we’re gonna tackle this sonofabitch.”
“No,” Sam repeats stubbornly.
“Sam…”
“No, Dad! Just - no! Fighting the demon - killing the demon - that’s your fight. Some things are more important than that, and Dean is - Dean is. We just gotta get him to a hospital. We do that, we make sure he’s okay, then we figure out how to handle the demon. Until Dean’s okay, I ain’t doin’ a goddamn thing you tell me.”
“Sam, I am your father, and you will do -“
“I said no!”
***************
Sam can’t remember the first time he fell in love with Dean, can’t remember the first occasion he looked at his brother and felt that - that scary overwhelming tug in his belly that was lust and admiration and adoration and so much more - but he can remember the first time he realized that his feelings might be reciprocated.
He was fifteen, finally starting to grow upwards, finally topping Ross by a couple of inches, his clothes getting too small on him, pants falling comically above his ankles, shirts stretching across his shoulders and falling short of his waistband. Dean was nineteen, and he was so beautiful and so desirable that it used to make Sam ache inside just to look at him. He would lie in their shared bed, and watch Dean sleep, want so desperately to run his fingers over Dean’s face, trace his delicate cheekbones, kiss his eyelashes and run his tongue through his glinting gold stubble, and just worship him, show him how much he loved him. But he was so frightened, so repulsed by his own wrong feelings for Dean, so terrified of Dean’s rejection, of seeing the disgust in his beloved brother’s face, so he never did anything.
That night he was lying on the floor on his belly in front of the TV, leafing through a book that Pastor Jim had recently sent Dad. Dean was on the couch with Ross, the two of them watching one of those lame sitcoms, Happy Days or My Two Dads,, or Married With Children, something like that. Ross lay on his side with his head pillowed on Dean’s thighs, his arm hanging off the couch, fingers brushing against the carpet, while Dean was idly stroking one hand through Ross’s short, dark hair, the other curled loosely around a bottle of Bud.
He can remember the dirty coil of envy deep his belly as he watched Dean and Ross sprawled together so easily, so innocently. Sam wanted so badly to be touching Dean, to be the one lying with his head on Dean’s lap, Dean’s hands in his hair; but he knew he couldn’t be that little brother. Just brushing up against Dean’s body made his treacherous dick perk up; he couldn’t be close to Dean without Dean catching his dirty little secret. But Ross… Ross just demanded affection from Dean so easily, with this pure-hearted need that Sam used to feel a long time ago, but that had long since twisted into this perverted fucked-up yearning. As for Dean, he couldn’t get enough of Ross’s neediness and affection, he loved playing the big brother and protector, loved being needed. It made them the perfect symbiosis, and left Sam lying on the floor, watching from the sidelines, odd brother out.
He knew that Ross must’ve fallen asleep, he’d stopped laughing and started snoring, soft little huff-huff’s of breath. Sam closed his book and stretched his arms out in front of him, palms brushing against the stiff, scratchy carpet. He turned his head to glance at his brothers, and froze. Dean was staring at him, his gaze fixated on the dip of Sam’s spine, on the bare skin revealed where his badly fitted t-shirt had rucked up, on the curve of his ass in his faded jeans. Sam felt the breath seep from his lungs, every hair on his body perk up as he realized where and how Dean was looking at him. Dean flinched, his eyes going wide and terrified as they caught Sam’s; he made a small choking sound in the back of his throat and dragged his gaze away, a startling pink flush springing to his cheeks and the tips of his ears.
Sam gulped and twisted his head sharply, going back to staring at the carpet. He could feel his dick, hard as steel in his pants, pressing down painfully into the floor, a sensation like butterflies in his belly, his heart beating like he’d just finished a six mile run. Dean had been watching him, looking at him with the same look in his eyes that Sam felt when he watched Dean, and he’d caught him doing it.
It hadn’t been long after that moment that he’d made his first move on Dean. Dean had rejected him, had rejected him the next three or four times too, but that moment had changed everything. He’d realized that he wasn’t alone, and that had changed everything, it had given him hope.
Sam rubs the heels of his palms over his eyes and turns his gaze back to his brother’s still, white face. The doctors figured out what Dean’d been drugged with quickly and reassured them that it wasn’t serious, just a heavy dose of Rohypnol, causing Ross to exclaim disbelievingly, “He was roofied? Seriously? What kinda lame-ass demon fuckin’ roofies you? Fuck.”
Dad had stayed in the waiting room, avoiding both him and Ross. He’d taken care of the hospital staff, given them whatever story he’d cooked up to explain his son’s Rohypnol experience which wouldn’t cause them to call the police, Dad was always good at that, always so believable and commanding. Dad had stayed in the waiting room, stony faced and pissed, while Sam and Ross had demon-proofed the room, laying what salt lines they could without the staff noticing, graffiting devil’s traps and other sigils from Bobby’s demon book into the window ledges and doorframes. Dad hadn’t even entered the room to say goodbye to Dean before he’d taken off, dragging Ross along with him, to check into the motel they’d noticed a couple of blocks away. He didn’t bother suggesting Sam join them.
It hurts that Dad couldn’t be bothered to check on Dean properly before he left, that Dad barely directed a word his way before he dragged Ross away. It hurts, but it’s not surprising. Sam disobeyed, so Sam is persona-non-grata once more. It’s always been that way with Dad, you’re either with him, or you’re not, and once again, Sam is not. But it’s hard to bring himself to truly care about that right now, not while Dean’s still unconscious, not when he’s got his brother back, the two of them against all odds coming out of this alive. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen next, there’s a part of him that thinks maybe him and Dad… they’re through, that bridge is finally razed to the ground, but as long as he has Dean, he can deal with anything.
Dean stirs, moans softly, and Sam’s heartbeat quickens, eyes darting hungrily to his brother’s face for any sign of movement. Dean’s eyelids are fluttering weakly, and Sam forces himself to wait, to be patient, to let Dean wake up gradually, in his own time.
“Sam,” Dean murmurs, his voice weak and cracked. “Sammy.”
“I’m here,” he says, leaning over and pressing his lips to Dean’s warm, clammy cheek. “I’m here, Dean, I’m here.”
Dean’s mouth twitches, amusement, exasperation, concern, fondness, a mixture of all four. He blinks, swallows, mouths: “Ross?”
“It’s okay, he’s okay. He’s with Dad,” he whispers reassuringly.
At that, Dean’s mouth really starts to work, an agitated, frightened look flitting across his face. He blinks and his eyes finally manage to lock on Sam’s face.
“No, no, not Dad…”
“No, shush, it’s okay,” Sam reassures him. “Dean, it’s okay. Dad’s okay. We rescued you. Me and Ross, we rescued you both. Dad and Ross are okay, they’re in a motel, just -“
“No, no, Sammy, no, no, no,” Dean protests hopelessly, getting more and more agitated. The heart-rate monitor’s getting agitated too, steady beep-beep-beep getting faster and faster.
Sam swallows, gaze flicking between the machine - the dip and fall of red lines, the proof of Dean’s rapidly increasing heart-rate, of his distress - and Dean’s face.
“Dean, please, what is it, man? Dean, tell me.”
“No, no, Sammy, no, you gotta - Ross - gotta save Ross. He’s not safe.”
“But he’s with Dad -“
“It’s not Dad!” Dean cries out, his fingers claw at Sam’s shirt, eyes blazing. “Sammy, it’s not Dad, it’s the demon!”
Next Chapter
Chapter 18/28
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Word Count: 8,617
Summary: Season 1 AU. Ross Christopher Winchester knows three things to be true: that his father, John, is a hero, that he's going to be the best hunter in the goddamn world, and that his two older brothers are in love with each other. An AU-version of Season 1 where The Winchester Boys mean Dean and Sam and Ross, where John is still missing, where Mary and Jess are still crispy-fried, and where Dean and Sam are still obsessed with one another...
Previous Chapters Link to the Masterpost
Warnings I'm going to warn for some mild non-con in this one.
A/N Here be the self-pimp: I posted a short weechesters Ross-verse one-off written from Bobby's POV last weekend here called something like All Four Winchesters Visit Bobby or something equally inspiring (hah, yes, I have a problem thinking up titles) End of self-pimp.
Finally, heaps of thanks to my awesome beta and redneck consultant (tm-Andreth47) andreth47 for your help and comments and all round awesomosity ;D
Chapter 18
“You’re going the wrong fuckin’ way!”
“No, I am not going the wrong fucking way!”
“Yeah, you are! Fuck’s sake, just - look!” Ross slams his palm down on the road atlas spread across his lap. “This - this red fuckin’ line - this is the road north. You just took the wrong fuckin’ turning! I told you left, left, Sam! Make a U-turn! Like, now!”
“No!” snaps Sam. “No, we aren't going that way. Listen to me, Ross: running after them is what Meg wants us to do, she’ll have set a trap for us just like she set one for Dean and Dad. If we wanna get them back we gotta be smart about this.”
He grits his teeth, clenching his fingers around the edges of the worn torn pages. “So, where the fuck are we goin’ then?”
“Bobby Singer’s place.”
“Huh? What? But he and Dad -”
“- You remember his place?” Sam interrupts. “It’s fuckin’ demon-proof; he’s got enough traps and sigils to capture any and all demons after us. We go there, Meg comes after us and we trap her. Then we force her to tell us where she’s got Dean and Dad.”
He licks his lips, considering Sam’s words, trying to think this through like a normal, rational person, but there’s a part of his stupid brain that’s totally not cooperating, just hammering away against his skull like a freaking mantra: SAVE DEAN, SAVE DAD, GOT TO SAVE DEAN, SAVE DAD. DEMON’S GOT DEAN AND DAD. GOT TO SAVE DEAN, GOT TO SAVE DAD. He glances at Sam for back-up, but Sam’s totally focused on the road ahead, his foot jammed solidly to the gas, needle hovering around 90mph mark, teeth clenched and eyes narrowed, that muscle jumping at his jaw. Fuck it, he has no idea what to do, Sam’s demonic girlfriend has got Dad and Dean, and Dad and Dean are awesome hunters, no one’s better than Dad and Dean. Dad and Dean have pulled him out of so many tight corners, saved his life so many times… and now he and Sammy are supposed to save them? Fuck, where do they even start?
He jumps as one of Sam’s massive hand lands on his thigh, giving it a hard, tight squeeze, sending a bolt of heat flooding through his bloodstream, blending with the panic. Sam snaps his head around, dark, glittering eyes meeting Ross’s for a half-second before they’re back on the road, but it’s long enough for Ross to register that look in his brother’s eyes - that same deranged, desperate look as when they thought Dean was dying back in Nebraska - there’s no fucking way anyone can argue with Sam when he’s like this, even him.
“Ross, listen to me, we gotta play this smart, gotta play it right,” Sam insists forcefully. “If we agree to just meet with her, she’ll kill us before we get chance to find out where she’s got Dean. She’ll kill us and she’ll get the Colt and all this - all this shit - will have been for nothing, we’ll all be dead.”
He swallows, nods hopelessly, the fight suddenly drained from him, ‘cause Sammy’s right, he’s completely right. Sam gives a tight sort of ultra-focused nod of his head and squeezes Ross’s thigh again, fingers digging into the hard muscle. “Right, so, we have to force that bitch to tell us the truth. We trap her at Bobby’s; we force her to tell us where she’s got Dean and Dad. You’re with me on this, Ross? You got to be with me on this. It’s me and you, littlest bro, and we gotta save them, we gotta save Dean, just like all the times he’s saved us.”
“Yeah,” he says finally, “yeah, okay.”
Sam nods again, and removes his hand from Ross’s thigh, placing it back on the wheel. Ross bites his lip and stares out the window. This is the right thing to do, they’re not running away, they’re regrouping, playing it smart. This is what Dad would do.
They pull up in Bobby Singer’s yard just after 5 am. The sun’s still down, not set to rise for at least another thirty minutes, and it’s cold, really fucking cold. They climb out of the car, and Ross jumps up and down on the spot, trying to unstiffen his limbs, work some feeling into his tense, cramped muscles; he feels jittery, his gut hitching and rolling with nerves as he follows Sam through the yard.
Bobby’s standing in the doorway to the kitchen, watching them with a look on his face that makes Ross feel ten years old again, Bobby's eyes running over them and taking in every detail, their rumpled clothes and pale faces and sleep-deprived eyes, and seriously, ten years old.
“Sam, Ross,” he says finally. “It’s good to see you boys.”
“You too,” says Sam, and his voice sounds shaky, like he’s just as jittery as Ross feels, though he’s definitely doing a way better job of hiding it.
“So, just you two today? Where’s Dean? Last I heard, you three boys were huntin’ together.”
Ross hesitates, glances at Sam, Sam looks stricken for a fraction of a second before it’s buried back down again and he’s in control, nodding tightly and saying, “Yeah, well, that’s why we’re here, we need your help, Bobby. The demon’s got Dean, and Dad too.”
Bobby doesn’t hesitate, just holds the door open for them, “Well then, get your asses inside already.”
Bobby’s place looks exactly the same as it did the last time Ross was here which was nearly four fucking years ago now, the time Bobby and Dad had that knockdown, drag-out fight that ended with Bobby pulling out his shotgun and screaming get the hell offa my property, John Winchester! The place doesn’t look like it’s been cleaned at all since then; it looks like those houses you get on reality TV shows about people with dirty-ass houses, like it could do with a good fumigation and several visits to the Goodwill to get rid of all the clutter on every freaking surface.
“Here,” says Bobby, picking up and thrusting an enormous, ancient book into Sam’s hands. “This should help.”
Sam nods enthusiastically, sparing Bobby one of his Oooh! Books! smiles as he takes a seat at the desk and throws the book open.
“And you,” Bobby says, pinning Ross in place with a cool, taking-no-shit stare, “how about you tell me exactly what happened?”
“So, John Winchester got himself taken in by the demon,” Bobby says after Ross finishes up a garbled, pretty fucking incoherent account of the previous night - of him and Sam trying to kill the demon with the Colt, of Dad and Dean trying to trick Meg with the fake - all of it, down to the moment Meg called Sam with Dad’s phone to tell him that she had Dad and Dean and would be coming for them next.
“It was a trap!” he protests, blood surging angrily at the dismissive tone in Bobby’s voice. “He knew it was a trap, he was just distracting them - to give me and Sammy a chance at the demon.” He looks over at Sam for back up; but Sam’s ignoring them both, too busy leafing through the big-ass demon book, his face shifting into that super-intense don’t-distract-me-now look.
Bobby looks completely unfazed by Ross’s retort, just, like, coolly nodding his head, eyes set on him in that way that feels exactly like he’s having his head read, and again ten years old, and fuck that shit, they really don’t need that shit now. Sam’s demonic bunk-buddy is after them, Dad and Dean are wherever they are, in her clutches, and Sam’s just doing what he always fucking does: reading a fucking book.
They should be going after the damn demon already, maybe even giving up the stupid fucking gun, after all wasn’t like the useless piece of shit actually fucking worked ‘cause there’s no goddamn way he missed that shot, Ross Winchester doesn’t miss. Maybe the thing’s just as much of a fake as the one Dad toted across two states for the fake trade, except… it had worked on that lead vampire guy. Shit, maybe the Colt didn’t work ‘cause this demon is just too fucking bad-ass, after all, it has got Dad and Dean, and Dad and Dean are awesome hunters, there’s no freaking way they got taken by just some standard belly-crawling piece of demonic crap. The thought sends a prickle up his spine; he swallows, forcibly pushing the thoughts away as he turns around to confront Bobby again.
“What do you know about the demon?” he demands.
“Been helpin’ your daddy track it these past few months,” Bobby answers, all calm and nonchalant and like Ross is totally supposed to know this shit, when doesn’t Bobby fucking know that Dad was missing for, like, fucking months? And if he did know then why the fuck did he lie to them all those millions of times they called him and asked him if he’d heard from Dad, and does this mean that Bobby’s been lying to them for all this time, and if Bobby’s been lying, then have Dad’s other hunting buddies been lying to them too?
Sam’s head jerks up, something other than that stupid-ass book finally capturing his attention. “You've been helping Dad track the demon?”
“Uh-uh. He called me up, asked for my help, I agreed.” Bobby hesitates, looking uncomfortable for a moment, before he continues: “Look, I hated lying to you boys on the phone, but John had me promise not to tell you what he was up to, and boys, we never wanted you involved in any of this. This demon is one scary-ass sonofabitch, and your daddy, well, he can be one scary-ass sonofabitch too when he wants to be, and we both thought keeping you boys outta this would be the best thing…” he trails off, shaking his head irritably. “Jesus, this is one huge cluster-fuck your daddy’s gotten you into.”
Ross opens his mouth, about to retort, ‘cause fuck it, no one gets to say shit like that about his dad, even folk like Bobby who used to be practically, like, an uncle to them, and -
“Don’t, it’s okay,” Sam cuts in, darting Ross a warning look. Ross glares back at him but he does keep his mouth shut, after all, they’re here to ask Bobby to help them, pissing him off now ain’t gonna help at all. “It doesn't matter now,” Sam continues, “and I swear we’ll forgive everything if you just tell us how we can trap Meg when she turns up here.”
“You sure she’s gonna come here?”
“Dead sure,” says Sam grimly.
Ross swallows, his stomach is churning again, those same butterflies from the night before, and he knows that Sam’s right, something in his head, in his brain, his gut, whatever-it-is, maybe this sixth fucking sense he and Sammy seem to share, but something’s telling him that Meg is coming here, and she’s not very far behind them.
“Okay then, all you gotta do is make sure she walks under that,” Bobby says, tilting his head back so his eyes lock on the ceiling above them. Ross follows his gaze and sees the elaborate circle-shaped-magic-symbol-star thing painted on the ceiling, like Bobby’s own demonic Sistine Chapel, and fuck, that’s a… fuck, what’s it called…?
“A devil’s trap,” says Sam as if he’s answering Ross’s silent question.
Shit, a goddamn devil’s trap. Man, you really gotta appreciate a guy who’s so freaking paranoid he’ll actually paint a goddamn devil’s trap on his ceiling just in case… Wow, Sam was so fucking right when he drove them here.
“A devil’s trap,” Ross repeats. His eyes lock with Sam’s, and he can see the look of mad triumph glinting in his brother’s gaze. “Fuck, dude, we can, like, easily trap that bitch in this. We can really do this.”
“Yeah,” says Sam, nodding, his mouth curling upwards, eyes shining and voice trembling in a way that makes him sound hysterical, hell, they both probably sound hysterical. “Yeah, yeah. Bobby, seriously, man, you’re awesome.”
The thing that Ross forgets is that demons are fucking scary sonsofbitches. Hell, they are demons, not human, so fucking unnatural that they make every hair stand up on the back of his neck, and he knows people say that, use that analogy all the time, but sometimes those kinda clichés are true. They have her caught in the devil’s trap, tied to the chair and knocked out, but it doesn’t matter none. She jerks awake, her eyes flash black and her gaze locks directly on him, and he can’t help it, but the rush of gooseflesh all over him has the breath catch in his chest and the hairs on his arms sparking up like he’s just put his finger in an electric outlet. Just like that moment last night, like the second he and Sam bust into that nursery to see the shape looming over the crib, the flash of gleaming yellow eyes, so freaking unnatural and wrong that… shit… he did hesitate, and maybe it wasn’t the Colt that fucked up, maybe it was him, maybe he was too slow, fluffed the shot, reflexes letting him down for the first time ever, letting them all down, letting the demon go free, the one time it really and truly counted.
“Aww, don’t beat yourself up, Littlest Bro,” she coos, lips curling over the words, smirk in her eyes.
“You don’t get to call me that,” he grits out, chest clenching up at the familiar nickname coming from her evil mocking mouth.
She laughs at him, mouth twisting into a sneer. “You did the best you could, pity it was so damn pathetic. But what can we expect from you? You’re nothing special, Ross, you know that. Even your brothers know that, it’s why they don’t let you play along anymore. You’re just not good enough to be one of them.”
“Don’t listen to her!” snaps Sam, drowning out her scornful laughter. Ross jerks his head to the side, sees his brother getting up from his spot at Bobby’s desk, holding a book in one hand. “Demons lie, we all know that.”
“Not always,” she retorts, gaze narrowing in on Sam.
“Yeah, well, doesn't matter all that much now ‘cause you're not gonna be around much longer, sweetheart,” says Sam, baring his teeth at her in a way that reminds Ross with a lurch of Dean. He watches Sam cross the floor, holding out the book in his hand so she can read the title. “You know what this is?”
She gives a contemptuous eye-roll. “Oh, please, an exorcism? Seriously, Sammy, this all you got? You gonna exorcise me?”
“You’re damn fuckin’ right I’m gonna exorcise you,” says Sam matter-of-factly. “But first, you’re gonna tell me where you got my brother.”
She gives another laugh, tilting her head back like some coquettish college chick trying to flirt, “What about your daddy? You don’t want to know where I’m keeping your daddy? Or you’re just too damn eager to get your little love-bunny back, Sammy, that you’re willing to let your daddy go? After all, can’t blame you, when that’s what you’ll be left with if Dean buys it.” She cocks her head dismissively in Ross’s direction.
“Shut up!” Ross snarls out, suddenly far too aware of Bobby in the room with them. “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, you goddamn bitch!”
“Oh, I think I do,” she says, “I think I know exactly what’s been going on these past few months, Littlest Bro -“
Thank God Sam cuts her off then with a torrent of Latin, his big deep voice drowning out her sickly, tinkling laugh.
”Regna terrae, cantate Deo, psallite Domino, qui fertis super caelum, caeli ad Orientem, Ecce dabit voci Suae, vocem virtutis, tribuite virtutem Deo.”
She shudders, groans, eyes snapping to black as she jerks her head towards Sam: “I’m going to kill you, I’m going to rip the skin from your bones. And when I’m done with you, I’m going to do the same to your little brother!”
Sam pauses in his reading and raises his head, smirking slightly as he says, “No, you’re not, you’re gonna burn in hell, ‘cause I’m gonna keep reading unless you tell us where you’ve got Dean and our father.”
She doesn’t answer, teeth clenched, eyes burning black as they bore into Sam’s face.
“Fine, then I’ll continue,” says Sam coolly, looking back down at the page as if there’s no one else in the room with him but the demon. “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio, infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta, diabolica.”
She’s really shaking now, shuddering and panting for breath like she’s having a goddamn fit, eyes rolling and any minute now she’s gonna start foaming at the mouth.
“Daddy’s dead, Sam! I killed him!” she cries out.
Sam’s ignores her, calmly reading: “Ergo draco maledicte, et omnis legio diabolica adjuramus te, cessa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque aeternae Perditionis, venenum propinare.”
“He begged for his life!” she grits out, but Sam’s still ignoring her, the deadly words still spilling from his mouth.
“Vade, Satana, inventor et magister, omnis fallaciae, hostis humanae salutis. Humiliare sub potenti manu dei, contremisce et effuge, invocato a nobis sancto et terribili nomine, quem inferi tremunt.”
It’s really going fucking crazy now, a goddamn wind spilling and whipping up Bobby’s pages from his desk, sending them twirling to the floor, but Sam’s completely oblivious, pacing in front of the demon, and she’s thrashing in the chair, spitting curses and shaking, a full-on exorcist style freak-out.
“I’m gonna finish reading this, you know,” Sam says, and it’s almost like he’s having a regular conversation with a regular person, as if he’s completely unaware of the crazy, supernatural wind that’s blown up around them, of the chair that’s started moving of its own accord, of the psychotic, murderous demon bitch spitting and cursing at him.
Ross swallows, and for the first time since he can remember he feels genuinely afraid of his brother ‘cause right now - in this knockout match between that demon and his pain-in the-ass middle brother - he’d call it for Sam.
“I’m gonna send your skanky ass back to hell. But first, you’re gonna tell me what you did with my brother. And my father,” he adds as if it’s an afterthought, and for Sam, it probably is.
He gulps, feeling his fingers curl into fists by his side as he watches Sam lean over her, and Jesus fucking Christ, Sam is so big. And his hand, Sam’s putting his hand on her throat and pressing her back into the chair so it’s tilting on its back legs, and God - but Sam’s hands are goddamn huge, easily spanning her throat, making it look stupidly fragile underneath.
“Where. Is. Dean?” Sam spells out slowly. His voice is calm, like, preternaturally calm, like he’s about to break out the psychotic Darth Vader, apology accepted, Admiral shit.
“Dean is dead!” she cries out, trying to laugh through his chokehold.
Sam goes deadly still for a moment, then he takes a step back, raises his fist, and punches her.
It’s a thrill to his blood, a surge of warmth in his gut, a buzzing in his brain that is alarmingly close to arousal, and when his eyes meet Sam’s, he can feel everything mirrored in Sam’s body too. He can feel his brother’s wildly beating heart, can feel the thump-thump of his pulse and the pounding in his groin, and fuck, it’s overwhelming, it’s too much, and he still can’t truly believe that that was Sam. Sam’s mouth crooks up at the corner, Sam actually fucking smirks at him, then he turns around, and punches her again.
Sam’s always been the considerate, conscientious one, the one who told them that using “bitch” as an insult was degrading to women, (naturally that just meant that he and Dean, like, used it all the fucking time just to piss Sammy off), but Sam opens doors for women, Sam doesn’t have one night stands - sure that’s probably because he’d rather fuck his brother - but Sam also thinks one night stands are “disrespectful”, and Jesus Christ, Sam - the same old Sammy - just hit a girl. Twice.
But he should’ve known that this would happen. He should’ve expected this. Sam’s nice as pie, his prissy, gigantor, geek brother… until it comes to Dean, and then all fucking bets are off, ‘cause there’s one thing Ross’s realized over the years and that is Sam loses all grip on his sanity when anything threatens Dean.
She spits out a mouthful of blood and jerks her head back towards him, snarling. Sam shrugs in this totally whatever way, and moves forward again, grabbing her chin in his huge hand and pushing her head back almost enough to snap her neck.
“Where. Is. Dean?”
“Ross?” Ross jumps when he feels Bobby’s hand on his arm, dragging him backwards, an urgent look on his face.
“What?” he hisses. He doesn’t want to look away from Sam and the demon right now; he can feel that Sam’s getting somewhere, that maybe Sam might be right after all, that perhaps, Dad and Dean are okay and that they’re gonna find them…
He swallows; his mouth feels dry, barely picking up what Bobby’s saying to him. “That’s a girl, Ross, that’s a girl possessed by a demon. Sam’s gotta be careful with her. There’s an innocent girl in there.”
Ross hears him, but the thing is, he doesn’t care. If this bitch knows where Dean and Dad are, and he’s beginning to believe that she does, then there’s no fucking way they’re not getting the information right the fuck now, whatever happens to the girl inside her.
He glances at Bobby, and nods, “Okay, we can work with that.”
Bobby stares back at him in confusion, his face going slowly horrified when Ross grabs the silver flask of holy water, steps forward and throws it at her. Her cries and screams are satisfying, the writhing and begging even more so, this bitch has got Dean and Dad, she deserves everything she gets. Sam spins around, mouth wide open in surprise, until it quirks into a half-smile when his eyes land on Ross. Behind Sam, she’s still crying out in pain, snarling, chair shuddering full-on exorcist again.
“Sammy, you finish readin’. I’ll dose the bitch when she needs it,” he says calmly.
Sam nods, giving him an approving look. When they turn to face her, they’re shoulder to shoulder.
*******************************************************
The first thing Dean’s aware of is his head, a pounding ache at the back of his skull, a heavy deadness in his limbs, his head and brain and eyes like stuffed cotton, mouth filled with sand. He can’t move, brain slowly grinding open.
Sam? he thinks, his brain latching automatically onto that one thought: Sam?
But Sam’s not here, he can remember that now, Sammy went to college, left him. It’s just him and Ross hunting together, because Dad left them too.
Ross? Goddamnit, he needs some painkillers, and some water. Usually, Ross is so good at this shit; Littlest Bro’s got a freaky metabolism, can’t take his booze, but never ever suffers from hangovers, not like his poor aching big brother. Ross? he thinks again. Fuck, where is that goddamn kid? He’s suffering here.
“Dean?”
Huh? That’s a voice, a familiar voice…
“Dean? Wake up!”
The voice sounds gruff and irritable and disappointed in him, and there’s really only one person in the entire world who sounds like that.
Dad?
But what the fuck is Dad doing here? Dad’s been missing for months. He left him and Ross alone, so they went to get Sammy, the three of them are hunting together. Shit, yes, that’s right, Sam’s not at college anymore, Sam’s here, with him.
Sam?
“Your brother’s not here,” Dad’s voice says flatly. “It’s just you and me, Dean. Now, wake up, open your eyes.”
He tries to obey, he really does, he always tries to do what Dad tells him. But it’s so hard; his eyelids feel like someone’s wrapped duct tape over them. He tries to blink, tries to murmur: Where is Sam? Where is Ross? Why is just Dad here? What’s going on?
Sam? Ross?
“Dean!” Dad sounds really pissed now, and Dean has the absurd urge to laugh, break the tension. “Your brothers are not here. You have to wake up. They injected you with something, but you have to fight it, son. C’mon. Fight it.”
Ohhhh, well that makes everything soooo much clearer. Of course he’s been drugged. Well, that ain’t fair. How can Dad expect him to fight against that? Dad always expects so much, always wants too much. It’s exhausting. Why can’t Dad just let him sleep a bit longer? He was having such a nice dream before, it was a Sammy dream and they’re always his favorites, and this one was really special. Sam was wearing Speedos in this dream, and Sam looks good in Speedos, Sam looks good in everything, but especially good in Speedos, it’s a crying shame he doesn’t get to wear them more often.
Dean’s mouth slides into a lazy grin, the warmth flooding through his body at the memory. God, he feels kinda good right now, Dad should leave him alone, let him be, whatever they’ve drugged him with, it’s nice, Dad should definitely let him go back to dreaming about Sammy again.
“Dean!”
Dean’s arm is jerked so hard it almost feels like it’s being tugged out of his socket, the sudden stab of pain pushing him out of his dreamy, soporific state and into a sudden heat-beating, painful reality.
He’s on a bed. And that’s -
Dad.
That shape next to him, the human mass giving off warmth and smelling kinda gross… that’s Dad.
He wrinkles his nose, maybe he should tell Dad that he really needs to shower. But then again, maybe he should keep his mouth shut, Dad probably wouldn’t appreciate it.
“You awake now?” barks Dad’s voice, and Dean’s arm is pulled sharply once more, his shoulder socket twinges… and ow... why does Dad keep doing that?
He focuses his hazy eyes on his arm, and realizes with dismay that they’re handcuffed together. He and Dad are handcuffed together. His left wrist handcuffed to Dad’s right arm. And shit, did Ross play a prank on them again? Stupid little idiot, Dad’s gonna be so pissed about that.
“Dean?” Dad repeats sharply.
“Uh, yeah, yeah, I’m awake,” he mumbles, though he feels like he’s lying, the words barely managing to get past his dry, slow lips.
“Good. ‘Cause we need to figure out how to get outta here.”
Here? Where’s here?
Slowly, Dean focuses on the room around them. It’s a normal room, a bedroom in someone’s apartment, and he’s on the bed. No, scratch that, he and Dad are both on the bed. No scratch that again, he and Dad are tied to the bed. They’re not only handcuffed together, but they’re also tied to a freaking bed, and that’s… that’s kinda weird. Sure, he’s pretty grateful, ‘cause as experiences go, being tied to a bed with his clothes on and his dad beside him, is way better than some of the shit he’s had happen to him, way better than that time he was chained naked in some witch’s cellar about to be ritually deflowered, or that time he and Ross were tied to that stupid sacred apple-tree, or that time he was chained naked in some warlock’s cellar about to be ritually deflowered… He feels the absurd urge to laugh, but manages to stifle it, ‘cause Dad would really not appreciate that right now. Dad’s pretty humorless about being tied up, which he really should get over because it happens to them kinda a lot.
So, the next question is: why are they here? And who’s taken them prisoner?
And okay, so that’s two questions, but they’re both pretty fucking valid, and he’s gotta get his piece of shit memory working again. He’s tied to a bed with Dad, so that begs yet another burning question: where are Sam and Ross? And as questions go, that’s kinda the most important one ever.
“Where’s Sam and Ross?” he slurs.
“They’re not here, Dean,” Dad says exasperatedly. “But I’m sure they’re on their way to rescue us.”
“Oh,” he says, and okay, so that’s kinda fucked-up, a bit opposites-day-ish, but he can live with that. He’s quite happy to lie here on this bed and wait for Sammy and Ross to turn up and rescue them. “Oh, that’s good,” he adds.
It’s all slowly sliding back into place, his memory finally catching up to his newly awakened state. The Demon. The Demon with capital letters, they were hunting The Demon. The one that killed Mom and Jessica and probably lots of other people. But he and Dad were meeting with Meg, that stupid blond bitch that wanted to sleep with Sam, not that Sam would sleep with her, Sam’s totally in love with him, which is how it should be…
Which reminds him -
Oh God.
Dad knows. Dad knows about him and Sam. It’s all coming back now. That conversation in Dad’s truck.
What the two of you do together, I can’t have it in my family. I can’t have sons that do - that do that - anywhere near me.
Oh God, a wave of grief hits him, oh God, oh God, knotting up his chest and making his eyes start to burn.
He promised Dad. After this, if they get out of this, he promised Dad that he’d leave, stay away from Sam and Ross.
Suddenly, he doesn’t care if he gets rescued.
A chuckle breaks the silence, a cloying, slithering chuckle. “Ohhh, this is just too damn easy, I can’t play along any longer, you’re just too fuckin’ pathetic, Dean.”
“Huh? What? Dad?”
“Dad? Seriously? You think this is your daddy speaking, boy? How dumb are you? No, wait, don’t answer that one, we know the answer to that one.” He breaks off, laughs again, that same cloying slimy sound, like water running down a rusty drainpipe, like nails on steel, all the worst sounds in the world coming out his father’s mouth.
Dean shudders, tries hopelessly to lift his hands, his weak, dead limbs refusing to cooperate, tugging pathetically at the bonds tying him to the bed, the handcuffs shackling him to Dad -
“I - what - what did you give me?” he stammers, the fear starting to take hold of him, adrenalin pumping uselessly, his body too weak to make use of it.
“Just a little something to make you sweet, prettyboy. Just so you can’t say no to Daddy.”
And then Dad’s moving, the bonds tying him to the bed slipping away, his big hand cupping Dean’s cheek, thumb brushing over Dean’s cheekbone, cruel-edged smirk and flash of yellow-glinted eyes as Dad’s face leans over him.
And no, God, no, this isn’t, no, this isn’t happening, Dad, please, he can’t, why’s he letting this happen? Why’s Dad doing this… he can’t, no -
Dad leans down, and his pitiless, smirking mouth is on Dean’s, thick, rough tongue pushing past Dean’s swollen lips and plundering his mouth. And, oh God, no, it’s dirty, like beetles crawling across his face, nightmares about graves and the maggots that hatch out of bodies, and his father’s tongue… a wet pink slithery maggot, and that’s still better than the reality, that’s still better than knowing that this is Dad’s tongue in his mouth, this is Dad’s mouth kissing his mouth.
He’s not aware how long it goes on, how long Dad lies on top of him grinding down into him, Dad’s tongue licking and sucking and dirtying and wiping away years and years of love and trust and belief, ‘cause Dean’s switched off, his eyes squeezed shut, brain shut off, trying to take him away from here -
“C’mon, sweetheart, you can’t tell me you didn’t like that,” Dad’s voice breathes out when he finally finishes. He sounds amused, like he’s in love with his own voice. “Not you, Dean. Not the boy who likes to fuck his little brother up the ass. You can’t tell me you ain’t thought about what it would be like to taste your daddy’s spit? Not when your little brother's tastes so damn good.”
“Get the fuck outta my Dad, you sonofabitch!” he croaks, but it’s so feeble, so weak and watery, the world already fading away, eyes fluttering closed. He’s gotta, he can’t -
What did you give me? he thinks, ‘cause his lips aren't working anymore, aren’t shaping the words right. And he can’t go to sleep, he can’t… not when Sam and Ross are coming here, they’re coming to rescue them, and he’s chained to this - this - thing - this -
“Yeah, that’s right,” says the demon in Dad’s soft rumbling voice. “Your baby brothers are on their way. Man, this is gonna be sweet. This is gonna be one helluva family reunion.”
He can see the hypodermic now, through his lurching, swimming vision, see it in Dad’s familiar capable hand, and there’s not even any time to panic, no time for anything, before everything’s gone for good.
****************************************
“Oh God, thank God,” breathes Sam in this totally dramatic way as they slam the door open. But Ross hasn’t got time to judge Sam for his typical drama-queen shit, ‘cause Dad and Dean are there, right there in front of them, tied to the bed and looking completely out of it, and that means they’ve done it, they’ve found them. He and Sam working together - they’ve done it.
Sam quickly sets to, laying a thick salt line at the door as Ross rushes towards the bed to untie them. “Wait! No, Ross!” Ross hesitates on Sam’s warning cry, spins around. “No, wait! They might be possessed.”
Right, yeah, course, yeah, they should totally check that. He pulls the flask out of the duffle on his shoulder, tosses the holy water over both Dad and Dean’s legs. There’s no sizzle, no spasm, no smoking cloud. He exchanges a quick glance with Sam, sees Sam’s exhale of relief, flash of teeth. Awesome. They’re good to go.
“I’ll get Dean, you get Dad,” Sam tells him.
Huh, of course it would be that way round. But whatever, that’s so not a priority right now. He scrambles to Dad’s side, pressing his fingers to his neck to check for a pulse as Sammy does the same to Dean, ‘cause they really, really don’t want this big happy moment to be ruined by Dad and Dean -
He gulps, okay, so he’s not gonna finish that thought, and whatever, it don’t matter, ‘cause that’s definitely a pulse and he can actually see Dad’s chest rising and falling as he saws away at the ropes binding him to the bed with his knife, all the time hissing out Dad’s name, trying to rouse him as he hears Sam call for Dean. Dad lets out a long groan, his eyelids starting to flutter, and Ross freezes, the crazy euphoric grin edging across his face, ‘cause he’s okay, Dad’s okay.
He glances up, at Sam, at Dean, but Dean’s not responding to Sam’s voice, to Sam’s hands on his shoulders, shaking him gently. Sam’s gotten him untied, but Dean’s still completely out of it, face cold and pale and totally impassive.
“Is he - is he okay?” Ross stammers, the euphoric feeling starting to ebb away.
Sam’s head jerks his way, blinks at him. “He, uh, he’s still breathing, he’s just - I think he’s been drugged. We’re gonna have to carry him. Look, just - let me get these cuffs off.”
He’s already fumbling out his pick, eyebrows and nose all scrunched up into Sam’s concentrating face as he gets to work on the handcuffs binding Dad and Dean together, and not for the first time, Ross is briefly grateful for Sam’s crazy lock-picking skills as the cuffs click open with an awesome chinking sound.
“Right, so, uh, you gotta go through the window.” He waves a hand towards the window he’s already scoped out. It’s their only exit after all, that or through the rest of the apartment, and those two demons won’t be kept quiet in that freaking closet for much longer. Sam nods at him, clenches his teeth, his expression set and determined as he pulls Dean into his arms, steadying himself so he’s got Dean across his shoulders in a fireman’s lift.
Ross watches Sam drag up the window and wrap those enormous long arms of his around Dean’s body as he climbs outside. He needs to get a goddamn grip, hell, this is hardly the first time he’s seen Dean look like that. Dean’s been drugged, poisoned and bitten by supernatural creatures plenty of times in the past, and he’s always gotten through it, always woken up fine, this is just another time like that, all they need to do is to get him to a hospital, he’ll be okay.
He turns back to Dad, Dad’s blinking blearily, big hand coming up to knot in Ross’s jacket, pull him in.
“Ross, Ross? That you?”
“Yeah, yeah it’s me, Dad, it’s me,” he breathes out, the smile starting to flicker again. “We’re here to rescue you.” I’m Luke Skywalker, and I’m here to rescue you.
Dad huffs out a small breath, an indulgent fond look that makes Ross’s insides feel warm. “Can you? Can you walk, I can help you, but we gotta move now, Dad, we gotta go out that window.”
“I can do that,” says Dad. And Ross knows, can feel it in every single pore - the relief, the belief - of course Dad can do this, it’s Dad.
Sam’s already at the bottom of the ladder, he’s gotten Dean propped up against the side of the wall, and he’s crouching over him, tongue slicking over his lips in that nervous way he has as his attention flits between watching Dean and watching him and Dad edge down the ladder.
They manage to make it to the car without anyone spotting them, and that’s got to be the first fucking break they’ve ever caught, though that fact - just them catching a motherfucking break - is kinda weird, and it feels strangely off. God, maybe he’s getting as freakishly paranoid as Dad, as Bobby, as all the other freakishly paranoid hunters they know.
He pushes the uneasy feelings to the back of his mind and helps Sam slide Dean into the backseat. He climbs in there after him, Dad taking shotgun while Sam’s in the driver’s seat again.
“Well that was -“ Sam starts to say.
“- A bit too easy,” finishes Dad gruffly.
“Yeah,” says Ross, “yeah, I was just thinkin’ that. You think they mighta done something to the car? Like, a tracking device?”
“Dude, this isn’t Star Wars,” snaps Sam.
Ross glares at the back of his head, shifts in his seat. He’s got Dean’s head pillowed in his lap, his hand hovering an inch above his brother’s mouth, he can feel the soft, warm huff-huff of Dean’s breath tickling the skin of his palm, reassuring him that Dean is still alive, still breathing.
“No, your brother’s right, Sam,” says Dad, and Ross clamps back on the desire to shout: So there! in Sam’s ear. “It was too easy. Which means they're probably following us, they’re not gonna let us or the Colt get away so easily. Speaking of, what did you do with it?”
“Oh, it’s safe,” says Sam. “We left it in the trunk, chalked a few devil’s traps onto the outside. Don’t worry, sir, no demon’s gonna be able to get at that.”
Dad makes a noise that sounds oddly like a cross between a grunt of approval and a huff of annoyance, but then again, it’s kinda hard to tell sometimes with Dad. But, whatever, it doesn’t matter, ‘cause Sam’s wrong about that, the Colt isn’t in the trunk, it’s tucked away in the inside pocket of Ross’s jacket, though he’s not about to admit that right now. There was no freaking way Ross was going into this rescue mission empty handed and the Colt was their best weapon, their only line of defense, Sam was totally wrong about insisting on leaving it behind. Perhaps when they stop somewhere he can sneak it back into the trunk, make out like it was there all the time.
They all go silent for a moment and Ross traces his finger over the soft strip of skin of Dean’s throat, gently caressing the spot where his brother’s pulse beats slow and steady under his fingertips. He sucks in a breath, watches Dean’s eyelashes flutter like he’s dreaming something. A surge of protectiveness and love wells up in his chest and he clamps back on the urge to curl himself around Dean, cradle him close and kiss him, hold him like Dean’s held him so many times in the past. Instead he bites his lip and turns his attention to the outside, to the dark landscape flashing past as Sam drives them wherever he’s driving them.
“He doing okay?”
Sam’s voice wrenches him from his thoughts and he glances up at the driver’s mirror, see Sam’s eyes reflected in it, his big furrowed brow.
“Yeah, yeah, he’s okay. Still breathing.”
“Good,” Sam exhales. “We’re gonna be at a hospital soon.”
“Sam, we are not going to a hospital!” Dad’s voice breaks in, commanding and rough.
“What? Yes we are!”
“No, we are not. The hospital is the first place they’re gonna come looking for us. Use your brain, boy, it’s far too risky!”
“I don’t care,” says Sam through gritted teeth. “Dean needs medical attention. They could’ve given him anything; he might be permanently damaged if we don’t get him to a hospital now.”
“Sam, that was an order.”
Dad’s getting really pissed now and Sam’s getting red-faced, teeth clenched and breathing heavy. Shit, this is… this is really fucking not good. God, Dad and Sam fighting, why is it always Dad and Sam fighting? And why isn’t Dean awake to stop them? To come between them and quietly resolve everything? Sam will never give in to Dad now, there’s no fucking way Sam’s gonna do what Dad’s telling him. Dad didn’t see Sam this morning with Meg, Dad doesn’t get exactly how crazy bat-shit insane Sam is about Dean.
Dad hisses out a long drawn-out barely restrained breath; when he speaks, his voice is dripping with anger: “There is a cabin, about seventy miles along Route 73, we hole up there. It’s good and safe and we can see to your brother there, regroup, figure out our next move, how we’re gonna tackle this sonofabitch.”
“No,” Sam repeats stubbornly.
“Sam…”
“No, Dad! Just - no! Fighting the demon - killing the demon - that’s your fight. Some things are more important than that, and Dean is - Dean is. We just gotta get him to a hospital. We do that, we make sure he’s okay, then we figure out how to handle the demon. Until Dean’s okay, I ain’t doin’ a goddamn thing you tell me.”
“Sam, I am your father, and you will do -“
“I said no!”
***************
Sam can’t remember the first time he fell in love with Dean, can’t remember the first occasion he looked at his brother and felt that - that scary overwhelming tug in his belly that was lust and admiration and adoration and so much more - but he can remember the first time he realized that his feelings might be reciprocated.
He was fifteen, finally starting to grow upwards, finally topping Ross by a couple of inches, his clothes getting too small on him, pants falling comically above his ankles, shirts stretching across his shoulders and falling short of his waistband. Dean was nineteen, and he was so beautiful and so desirable that it used to make Sam ache inside just to look at him. He would lie in their shared bed, and watch Dean sleep, want so desperately to run his fingers over Dean’s face, trace his delicate cheekbones, kiss his eyelashes and run his tongue through his glinting gold stubble, and just worship him, show him how much he loved him. But he was so frightened, so repulsed by his own wrong feelings for Dean, so terrified of Dean’s rejection, of seeing the disgust in his beloved brother’s face, so he never did anything.
That night he was lying on the floor on his belly in front of the TV, leafing through a book that Pastor Jim had recently sent Dad. Dean was on the couch with Ross, the two of them watching one of those lame sitcoms, Happy Days or My Two Dads,, or Married With Children, something like that. Ross lay on his side with his head pillowed on Dean’s thighs, his arm hanging off the couch, fingers brushing against the carpet, while Dean was idly stroking one hand through Ross’s short, dark hair, the other curled loosely around a bottle of Bud.
He can remember the dirty coil of envy deep his belly as he watched Dean and Ross sprawled together so easily, so innocently. Sam wanted so badly to be touching Dean, to be the one lying with his head on Dean’s lap, Dean’s hands in his hair; but he knew he couldn’t be that little brother. Just brushing up against Dean’s body made his treacherous dick perk up; he couldn’t be close to Dean without Dean catching his dirty little secret. But Ross… Ross just demanded affection from Dean so easily, with this pure-hearted need that Sam used to feel a long time ago, but that had long since twisted into this perverted fucked-up yearning. As for Dean, he couldn’t get enough of Ross’s neediness and affection, he loved playing the big brother and protector, loved being needed. It made them the perfect symbiosis, and left Sam lying on the floor, watching from the sidelines, odd brother out.
He knew that Ross must’ve fallen asleep, he’d stopped laughing and started snoring, soft little huff-huff’s of breath. Sam closed his book and stretched his arms out in front of him, palms brushing against the stiff, scratchy carpet. He turned his head to glance at his brothers, and froze. Dean was staring at him, his gaze fixated on the dip of Sam’s spine, on the bare skin revealed where his badly fitted t-shirt had rucked up, on the curve of his ass in his faded jeans. Sam felt the breath seep from his lungs, every hair on his body perk up as he realized where and how Dean was looking at him. Dean flinched, his eyes going wide and terrified as they caught Sam’s; he made a small choking sound in the back of his throat and dragged his gaze away, a startling pink flush springing to his cheeks and the tips of his ears.
Sam gulped and twisted his head sharply, going back to staring at the carpet. He could feel his dick, hard as steel in his pants, pressing down painfully into the floor, a sensation like butterflies in his belly, his heart beating like he’d just finished a six mile run. Dean had been watching him, looking at him with the same look in his eyes that Sam felt when he watched Dean, and he’d caught him doing it.
It hadn’t been long after that moment that he’d made his first move on Dean. Dean had rejected him, had rejected him the next three or four times too, but that moment had changed everything. He’d realized that he wasn’t alone, and that had changed everything, it had given him hope.
Sam rubs the heels of his palms over his eyes and turns his gaze back to his brother’s still, white face. The doctors figured out what Dean’d been drugged with quickly and reassured them that it wasn’t serious, just a heavy dose of Rohypnol, causing Ross to exclaim disbelievingly, “He was roofied? Seriously? What kinda lame-ass demon fuckin’ roofies you? Fuck.”
Dad had stayed in the waiting room, avoiding both him and Ross. He’d taken care of the hospital staff, given them whatever story he’d cooked up to explain his son’s Rohypnol experience which wouldn’t cause them to call the police, Dad was always good at that, always so believable and commanding. Dad had stayed in the waiting room, stony faced and pissed, while Sam and Ross had demon-proofed the room, laying what salt lines they could without the staff noticing, graffiting devil’s traps and other sigils from Bobby’s demon book into the window ledges and doorframes. Dad hadn’t even entered the room to say goodbye to Dean before he’d taken off, dragging Ross along with him, to check into the motel they’d noticed a couple of blocks away. He didn’t bother suggesting Sam join them.
It hurts that Dad couldn’t be bothered to check on Dean properly before he left, that Dad barely directed a word his way before he dragged Ross away. It hurts, but it’s not surprising. Sam disobeyed, so Sam is persona-non-grata once more. It’s always been that way with Dad, you’re either with him, or you’re not, and once again, Sam is not. But it’s hard to bring himself to truly care about that right now, not while Dean’s still unconscious, not when he’s got his brother back, the two of them against all odds coming out of this alive. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen next, there’s a part of him that thinks maybe him and Dad… they’re through, that bridge is finally razed to the ground, but as long as he has Dean, he can deal with anything.
Dean stirs, moans softly, and Sam’s heartbeat quickens, eyes darting hungrily to his brother’s face for any sign of movement. Dean’s eyelids are fluttering weakly, and Sam forces himself to wait, to be patient, to let Dean wake up gradually, in his own time.
“Sam,” Dean murmurs, his voice weak and cracked. “Sammy.”
“I’m here,” he says, leaning over and pressing his lips to Dean’s warm, clammy cheek. “I’m here, Dean, I’m here.”
Dean’s mouth twitches, amusement, exasperation, concern, fondness, a mixture of all four. He blinks, swallows, mouths: “Ross?”
“It’s okay, he’s okay. He’s with Dad,” he whispers reassuringly.
At that, Dean’s mouth really starts to work, an agitated, frightened look flitting across his face. He blinks and his eyes finally manage to lock on Sam’s face.
“No, no, not Dad…”
“No, shush, it’s okay,” Sam reassures him. “Dean, it’s okay. Dad’s okay. We rescued you. Me and Ross, we rescued you both. Dad and Ross are okay, they’re in a motel, just -“
“No, no, Sammy, no, no, no,” Dean protests hopelessly, getting more and more agitated. The heart-rate monitor’s getting agitated too, steady beep-beep-beep getting faster and faster.
Sam swallows, gaze flicking between the machine - the dip and fall of red lines, the proof of Dean’s rapidly increasing heart-rate, of his distress - and Dean’s face.
“Dean, please, what is it, man? Dean, tell me.”
“No, no, Sammy, no, you gotta - Ross - gotta save Ross. He’s not safe.”
“But he’s with Dad -“
“It’s not Dad!” Dean cries out, his fingers claw at Sam’s shirt, eyes blazing. “Sammy, it’s not Dad, it’s the demon!”
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