World's Forgotten Boys - Chapter 27a/28 - (Sam/Dean) - NC17
Fic title: World's Forgotten Boys (link goes to masterpost)
Chapter: 27a/28
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 6930
Summary: Ross Winchester knows three things to be true: his father, John, is a hero; he’s going to be the best hunter in the goddamn world; and his two older brothers are in love with each other. An AU-version of seasons one and two where the Winchester Brothers mean Dean and Sam and Ross, where John is still missing, where Mary and Jess are still dead, and where Dean and Sam are still obsessed with each other.
Warnings: This part contains scenes of some sexual violence, a dub-con situation caused by demon possession.
A/N: Okay, so this time, it only took me 8 months to get this chapter (almost) finished ;-) As with chapter 25, I've had to split this one into 2 parts, it was getting so damn long. The second part is taking me a while to write, so I've decided to post part one now, else I'll never get anything out! I hope to have the second part up within the next week, depending on how busy I get at work. As it's been such a long time, I've pasted below, a short "previously on" section to remind people what happened previous chapters.
A/N 2: This fic is unbeta-ed, I apologise for all grammar mistakes and Briticisms. The gorgeous and very sexy banner below was made by the awesome violateraindrop This is dedicated to my dear friend, andreth47
Previous chapter
Previously on... World's Forgotten Boys, aka, The Adventures of Dean and Sam and their horny younger brother, Ross.
John and the YED are dead, shot by Ross with the Colt. Torn apart by grief and guilt, Ross runs away from Sam and Dean, and takes refuge with his sort-of girlfriend, Sarah. Meanwhile Sam and Dean track down Ross's presumed-dead mother, Angela Harrison, and her son, George, Ross's never-before-seen younger half-brother, whose existences John has been keeping a secret from all 3 Winchester boys. Ross's depression and grief get worse away from his family, so Sam and Dean swoop in to take him away with them. Ross slowly starts to get better, helped along by the power of incestuous love and threesomes. Unfortunately, his one attempt at anal sex (courtesy of Sam) does not go well, and he retreats back into himself. Luckily, Sarah calls him and cheers him up with the promise of a high-class booty call at the Dallas Hilton. All three boys hot-foot it to Dallas, where Ross meets up with Sarah. Only, it's not Sarah waiting for him, but a demon wearing her meatsuit...
Chapter 27, Part I
“What do you think, honey-buns, Ridden Hard at the grill or Put Away Wet over there?”
I think you should shut the hell up.
“Aww,” mocks the demon. It picks up a spoon and twirls it between two fingers. Ross watches his own face appear in the back of the spoon, distorted and maniacal, a fun-house version of his reflection. The demon runs his tongue over his teeth, smacks his lips a couple of times. “C’mon, baby, you can do better than that. Personally, I’m leaning more toward Put Away Wet. Fat chicks are always so grateful.” It chuckles, drops the spoon back onto the table with a clatter. “Let’s go put this pretty packaging to work.”
What are you going to do to her?
“Don’t think I need a wingman for this one,” the demon says dismissively, and then that pressure is back, the enfolding encroaching darkness of the demon’s essence, dripping and pouring over him, and everything goes black once more.
He comes to in the men’s room. He - it - the demon’s leaning back against a damp cold wall, the waitress on her knees in front of him. Her head is tilted back at a painful angle, eyes wide and terrified, her mouth stuffed full of Ross’s cock. She’s spluttering and gasping, tears rolling down her chubby cheeks as he - no, not him, the demon, the fucking demon - brutally fucks her mouth.
“See what I told you,” the demon says, grasping a handful of her dyed blond hair and yanking her forwards on Ross’s cock. “Fat chicks, always so damn grateful. Ain’t ya, darlin’? That’s right, take it. Take his cock, you ugly bitch.”
The waitress splutters, tries to cough, moans and whimpers around her stuffed full mouth.
Stop it! You’re hurting her!
“Quit pretending this doesn’t turn you on. I know what you’ve been doing with your brothers, Ross. I can see right into your head.”
It’s not losing a beat, still thrusting, yanking her head forward, choking her, her tears splashing onto the dirty tiles. Ross thinks suddenly of Sam - of Sam on his knees for him, taking his cock - of Dean watching, a smirk on his face as he runs his mouth. “He’s good, ain’t he? So fuckin’ good at taking it. Such a slut for his brothers’ cocks, ain’t ya, Sammy?” Dean’s voice soft and tender as he steps in close and runs a hand tenderly through Sam’s hair, petting and stroking it back from his face. Sam murmurs something and the reverberation makes Ross shiver and his eyes flutter closed. He reaches for Dean, grasping hold of his shoulder as he pumps his release into Sammy’s mouth.
The demon chuckles. “Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about, Rossy-boy. Still, this bitch will do in a pinch.” It slides Ross’s cock out of her mouth, hand still fisted in her limp blond hair. It jerks her head back, jacks his cock a couple of times before he sprays her face, coating her wet reddened eyes and snotty nose. It takes a step back when it’s over, pulls Ross’s hand out of her hair and wipes it on his jeans in disgust.
“Clean yourself up, sweetheart, you look like shit,” it says.
She’s curled up on the floor, sobbing pitifully, her face pressed down into the dirty tile. There are red marks and bruises around her throat and wrists. The skirt of her diner uniform has ridden up her thighs, exposing wrinkled torn pantyhose and chubby thighs. Ross swallows, feeling a wave of nausea hit him. The demon chuckles again, goes to the sink to wash his hands and clean off his cock. Ross stares into the mirror and watches the demon staring back at him, eyes glinting with amusement. It zips up Ross’s fly, rolls its shoulders, smacks its lips.
“Things to do, places to be,” it says cheerfully. It turns up the collar on his jacket and heads out of there.
Where are we going?
“Huh, so it’s we now?” the demon says. They’re back in the car. It’s a LeBaron, 90’s model, he thinks. Dean would know.
You - I mean where are you taking me?
The demon glances into the driver’s mirror. It’s looking amused, gloating, like it’s scored some big fucking point. “It was pretty impressive, way you came round before. Most humans, you ride them, they stay quiet, buried deep. Just the occasional: oh please stop, why are you doing that, stop hurting me, stop, please, please, stop.” It breaks off, snorts a laugh. “Not you. Nah, you’re something else. You got stamina, just like your mom.”
What the fuck are you talking about?
“Oops.” The demon brings a hand to its mouth in mock horror. It smirks into the rearview, looking unbearably smug. “Let’s pretend I didn’t say that.”
It goes quiet again, leans down to fiddle with the radio, rolling its eyes as it passes through country station after country station. “Fucking Texas, so fucking redneck,” it mutters. The fragment of strings and a guitar and Mick Jagger’s voice hits the air and the demon cries, “Aha!” and scrambles the channel back, singing along, as loud and obnoxious as Dean on a good day. “You thought you were a clever girl, giving up your social whirl, but you can’t come back and be the first in line. You’re obsolete my baby, my poor unfaithful baby; I said, baby, baby, baby, you’re out of time; I said baby, baby, baby, you’re out of time...”
“Sweetheart,” the demon says when the song’s over, “you can’t sing for shit.”
Ross doesn’t say - think - anything, but he wonders: like, is that his voice or the demon’s? It’s not him singing, though it’s his voice-box, his lips, his tongue, his lungs making the sounds. And he knows the lyrics, he’s heard that Stones song on one of Dean’s mix-tapes hundreds of freaking times, but he wasn’t the one singing this time.
“Don’t bother. We all know thinking’s not your strong point,” the demon says. It goes quiet again, then suddenly chuckles. “Man, I wish I could see Dean and Sammy’s faces right now.
Shut up.
The demon laughs again, taps out a drum-beat on the steering wheel. “So... you’ve got no freakin’ clue at all where we’re going? None at all?”
Where are we going?
“Oh, let’s just say - we’re going to look up old friends.”
What old friends?
The demon is entirely too gleeful, though that seems to be its default setting, gleeful and gloating and smug, like it’s chanting, I’ve got a secret and you don’t know, nur-nur! into Ross’s ear all the fucking time. Of course, by asking it all these dumb-ass questions, he’s giving it exactly what it wants. He needs to shut the hell up.
“Oh you’ll see, hot stuff. Not long now.”
**
Sam sighs fretfully and snaps his phone shut. “Still no answer,” he says. He's biting his lip, his nose scrunched up, that crease between his eyebrows. It’s not his best look.
Dean presses pause on the porno playing on the laptop. It’s one of his favourite movies. The main guy reminds him of Sam, he’s tall and ripped and his cock is hella impressive (not as impressive as Sammy’s of course), and he’s got similar dorky hair. “Course he’s not answering. He’s got way better things to do than talk to you.”
“It’s been hours, Dean.”
“And? You want me to spell it out to you?” He cups his hand around his mouth, mock whispers, “They’re having sex. Lots and lots of sex.” He grins, leers at Sam. “In lots of different positions, if I know my boy.”
“Dean...”
“Jesus, will you relax already? Why don’t you get over here? Jerk me off while I watch your lookalike rimming this twinky dude.”
Sam makes a face. “Oh God, are you still watching that?” But he’s shifting his ass at last, shuffling over to crowd up behind Dean. He presses up against Dean’s back, hooks his chin over Dean’s shoulder to peer down at the computer screen.
“He looks nothing like me,” Sam says a trifle snittily, as the Sammy-like raises his head to lick his lips in an obscene way. His lips, chin and mouth are covered in spit, glinting shiny and greasy in the soft-focus light. Actually, Sam does have a point, the dude doesn’t look that much like him at all, he’s no way near as pretty for a start. But he’s also not a total fug like most guys in porn, and he’s got this look in his eyes, this sort of wicked glint as he does more obscene lip-licking, that totally reminds Dean of the look Sam gets in his eyes when he’s about to go down on him.
“Mmmm,” Dean groans and grinds his ass back against his brother, who is, despite the bitching and complaining, getting rock hard in his jeans.
“Okay, that’s enough,” Sam murmurs. He reaches over Dean and slams the laptop shut.
“Hey! I was watching that!”
Sam suffocates any further protests with his mouth on Dean’s, pummelling on Dean’s shirt until he’s flat on his back on the bed.
“Unf, okay, Sammy,” Dean pants as Sam presses him down and crawls all over him.
Twenty minutes and one orgasm apiece later, Sam’s back to fretting about Ross. He’s standing with his shoulder propped up against the bathroom doorjamb, phone in his hands and lips pursed into the constipated concerned look. It’s partly mitigated by the fact he’s also buck naked and flushed from sex, used condom hanging off the end of his deflating cock, but still, time and a place.
“Something isn’t right.”
Dean rolls his eyes and props himself up on one elbow. “Sam.”
“Seriously. Something doesn’t feel right.”
Dean groans. Damn it, Sam’s concern is beginning to worry him now too. After all, it’s not like Sam and Ross share some big freaky psychic connection…
Shit.
“Look,” he starts to say, trying to keep his voice even. One of them at least has to remain calm. “If it’ll make you feel better, then we’ll go pay them a call. They’re not exactly far away, right?”
Sam nods gratefully. He goes back into the bathroom and Dean hears the toilet flush a few seconds later. He sighs and pushes himself off the bed, strolling across the floor to snatch up his boxers from where Sam had thrown them in his crazy lust.
“Hey.” An arm snakes around Dean from behind, Sam’s mouth burying down to press a kiss against the top nub of his spine. “It’s probably nothing, but.”
“You got this feeling,” Dean finishes.
“Yeah.” The word vibrates against Dean’s skin. He pats Sam’s hand where it’s resting against his bare chest. “It’s alright, Sammy. Better safe than sorry.”
They’re staying in the same hotel. The intention was not to let Littlest Bro discover that fact. Knowing him, the little punk would bitch and whine about them smothering him and not trusting him. And maybe… just perhaps he has a point. But, whatever, considering everything that’s gone down over the past few months - Christ - the past few years - Dean’s not taking any chances, and if Sam’s got one of his freaky feelings then he’s going to run with it.
He slides his favourite Colt into the inside pocket of his jacket, gives the room a quick scan to make sure any and every other piece of weaponry is well hidden. They leave the DO NOT DISTURB sign dangling anyway, but unlike most of the dumps they stay in, this is a classy joint. Incognito is definitely the way forward.
Sarah’s room is on the third floor, so they take the stairs. Sam’s looking wary as they approach room 305, and Dean jostles him, waggles his eyebrows. Sam rolls his eyes back at him, and makes one of his patented Sammy pissy faces, but the tense lines around his mouth are still there and he clutches onto Dean’s arm when they reach the door of 305.
“Dude, what?” Dean hisses.
“Just - I got a really bad feeling, Dean. Something’s wrong. Something’s really fucking wrong. I know it.”
Dean feels his heart skip a beat, though he keeps his expression bland as he nods back at Sam. “Okay.” He raps a couple of times on the door, calls out, “Ross! It’s us! Open up!”
There’s no answer. He swallows, exchanges a tense look with Sam. Sam’s got his bottom lip caught between his teeth, one of his hands balled up into a fist. Dean tries again, this time raising his voice: “Ross! Quit fucking around! Open up!” No answer. He looks at Sam. “Maybe they’ve gone out.”
“No.” Sam’s voice is definite. “They haven’t gone out.”
Behind them, Dean hears the sound of a door creak open, someone ask, “Is something going on out here? Is everything okay?”
Dean ignores the dude, but Sam pulls away, goes to get rid of whoever it is. Dean waits for the nosy dude’s door to slam shut once more before he slides out his picks and goes to work on the lock. He shoulders the door open when he feels the lock give, feeling Sam close behind him, practically breathing down his neck.
The room is a mess. Bedcovers are tossed across the floor, the glass coffee table overturned and smashed, one of the desk chairs is broken, its legs and arms lying shattered and splintered. In the middle of the chaos, Sarah lies on the bed, naked except for her panties and bra. Her arms are trussed up above her head, tied to the one of the bedposts with a leather belt, her ankles are cuffed together and she’s been gagged.
“Ross!” he shouts as his eyes rake through the destruction.
Sam pushes past him, falling to the floor beside the bed and getting out his knife to work on Sarah’s restraints. Dean drags his gaze away from them and stalks through the room, into the bathroom. It’s empty. He yanks aside the shower curtain. No Ross.
“Where is he? Where’d he go?” he says, coming back into the room.
Sam has removed Sarah’s gag and cut through the leather belt (one of Dean’s own belts) with his blade. He’s crouched over her, fiddling with his lock picks as he works on the cuffs around her ankles. She’s bent over herself, her arms hugged around her body. Dean can see the tremors running through her, the way she clutches at her knees and cringes away from Sam’s touch. The cuffs finally give and spring open, falling to the bed. There are bruises around her ankles where the metal has chafed and dug into her skin.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay, you’re okay now,” Sam says. He drops to his knees on the floor and peers up at her with big concerned eyes. “Dean, get her a robe,” he says.
Dean goes back to the bathroom and snatches a clean robe off the hook on the back of the door. He tosses it over to Sam and watches Sam help her into it. He’s frustrated by how long this is taking, by how slow and painstaking Sam’s behaving. And sure, he gets it, he does. She’s traumatised; she’s been bound to a fucking bed for fuck knows how long. But Ross is not here, Ross is gone and this doesn’t look good. It really, really doesn’t look good, and he can’t - Goddamnit - he can’t allow something else to happen to his little brother. Ross has been through enough.
“Sarah, can you tell us what happened?” Sam says. His voice is soft, comforting and he’s still kneeling in front of Sarah. “Dean, get her a drink,” he says.
Dean goes to the mini-bar, which is still miraculously stocked. He grabs a couple of the mini-bottles, twisting off the caps and taking a long swig from one of them before passing the other over to Sam. Sam holds it out to Sarah, saying softly, “Drink this, believe me, it will help.”
She gives him an unreadable look before she chugs down the contents, spluttering and coughing when she’s done.
“You need to tell us what happened,” Sam says quietly. “Where is Ross?”
She licks her lips, looks down into Sam’s face. “He left. It took him,” she says.
“What took him?” Dean demands.
Sam throws him an irritated glance and focuses his attention back on Sarah. “It. It took him," she repeats. "It took his body. Took over him, like - like-“
“Possession?” Sam says. “Is he possessed? Did a demon possess him?”
She blinks, a couple of tears seep free and roll down her face. “It took me. I don’t remember - I don’t know - I don’t know how I got here, Sam. I remember I was at work and it was just a normal day, I was going out to get lunch, and then - then I just.” Her voice catches, a choking sob, and more tears flow down her cheeks unheeded. “I don’t know, but something took over me. Like there was this person, this thing inside me and I couldn’t breathe and then I think I blacked out. I don’t remember anything, except waking up here, in this room. And Ross is here and he’s - he’s not acting like Ross. And he’s doing things, he’s tying me to this bed and he’s hurting me, and he’s laughing in my face and telling me all this stuff about how stupid I am and about…” Her breath catches again, and she seems to shrink back, pulling herself away from Sam, her expression turning wary and afraid. “About you. About the three of you.”
Dean holds his breath, his gaze darting between his brother’s face and Sarah’s. She’s staring at them like she’s in shock, like she’s wondering how quickly she can get away from them and call 911. She’s staring at them like she’s afraid of them.
“Sarah, please, listen to me. Whatever he said - whatever it said. It wasn’t Ross. It was a demon. And demons lie,” Sam says, his voice low and urgent. “They say whatever they think is going to fuck you up the most. Demons are evil and they tell lies. Whatever it said to you it was looking to hurt you. You got to remember that.”
Dean can imagine what the sonofabitch said about them, he knows exactly what kind of crap it would’ve whispered in her ear. Sam’s wrong about one thing, it wouldn’t have to be lies, not in this case, not when there are so many fucked-up truths to work with. But Sam’s working the magic eyes on Sarah, giving her the pleading sincere look. He leans in, says, “Okay?”
She nods jerkily, swallows hard. “Okay.”
Sam exhales, gives her a pained smile. “Okay. So, did it say anything, anything at all, about where it might be headed with Ross?”
“He, uh, said something about Texas.”
“We’re in Texas,” Dean says.
“Oh.” Her expression falls. She bites her lip, looks down at Sam. “Shit. I’m in Texas?”
“Dallas,” says Sam. “We’re in Dallas, this is the Dallas Hilton. You booked a room here, then you called Ross to meet you. We came here with him. Our room is on the sixth floor.”
“I called Ross?” she repeats. “But I didn’t. I don’t remember. Why am I in Texas?”
“It wasn’t you, it was the demon,” says Sam. He gets to his feet, sighs heavily, rakes both his hands through his hair. “Sarah, it used you to get at him. And we’re, Jesus, we’re so sorry for that.” He drops his hands to his sides, looks down at her. “I mean it.”
Dean watches her mouth work, her jaw wobble as she nods and looks around her, at the chaos and the destruction. All things considered, she’s keeping it together pretty fucking well. If it were any other situation he’d be sitting down and congratulating her. As it is, he doesn’t have time, they need to find out where Ross went, where that bastard took him. They need to get Ross back.
“Oh God, how am I supposed to explain all this?” she says, looking around helplessly. “How am I going to get home? I don’t even know if I have any money, and it could’ve taken all my money and drained my accounts and taken my cards and I don’t know what to do. What am I supposed to tell the hotel? They’ll want to call the police and-“
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Sam says, sinking down to perch on the bed beside her. “Here.” He hands over another tiny bottle of whiskey. “Drink up and don’t think about all that crap. Listen. We have an old family friend, someone we trust. I’ll call him and he can come here and deal with everything. I promise you. It’ll be okay, he’ll sort it all out. He’ll look after you. He’ll make sure you’re safe.”
“I’m in danger?” She jerks to her feet, rounding to confront them, feeling out to steady herself on the damaged nightstand.
“Maybe,” Dean says. “It’s not certain. Usually, demons don’t possess the same person twice. They obviously used you to get to Ross. And now it’s got Ross. You should be okay.”
“But we’re not taking any chances,” Sam butts in. “We won’t let anything happen to you.”
She laughs then, high and hysterical and her entire face crumpling. “It’s a bit late for that. I should never - Christ, I’ve been so stupid! I should’ve known. I should’ve! Oh God.” She breaks off again, raises her hand to smear the tears across her face.
Dean bites his tongue, slants Sam a look. He licks his lips, says tentatively, “Hey, um, maybe you should take a shower? It’ll make you feel better. Maybe?”
She raises her head, her hands catching in her hair as she pushes it back off her tear-stained face. “You’ll be here the whole time?”
“We can leave if you prefer?” Sam says, his smile faint.
She shakes her head, and crosses to the bathroom. She disappears inside and emerges with a plastic beaker of water and a couple of packets of salt, the kind of salt packets you find on room-service trays or get from a drive-thru. She tears open both packets and empties them into the water.
“Salt,” she says. “They don’t like salt. I know that. Ross told me that. So they wouldn’t be able to do this.” She stirs the water with a finger and then raises it to her lips to take a couple of gulps. She makes a face and lowers the glass and holds it out to Dean. “Your turn.”
Dean looks down at the glass and then at her face. He’s impressed, he can see what Ross sees in this girl. She’s smart and resourceful, even in the face of - all this. He takes the glass and swallows a couple of mouthfuls. It’s not too bad; the saltiness kinda reminds him of the taste of come, though the temperature is all wrong. He hands it off to Sam who finishes up the rest of the glass. Sam holds up the glass when he’s done and places it on the nightstand.
“We’re all clean,” he says.
Sarah swallows hard, nods a couple of times. “Okay, good, good. I’ll uh-“ She gestures towards the bathroom, gives them both one last nod before she slams and locks the bathroom door behind her.
Sam gives him a look before he ducks out the room, muttering something about going to fetch his laptop. Dean exhales a long breath, pushes his hand through his hair, trying to calm his breathing. He scrolls through his contacts, lands on Bobby’s name and presses send. Sam comes back as he’s half-way through his call. He perches on the end of the destroyed bed and opens up his laptop.
Bobby’s only a couple of hours away, which is the one piece of good news all freaking day. Dean snaps the phone closed before the old guy gets a chance to ask too many questions about Ross and about just what the hell they’re doing at the Dallas Hilton.
“Anything?” he asks Sam as he pockets his phone.
Sam ignores him, staring intently at his laptop screen as he taps away.
“Sam?” Dean prompts, louder. Behind the bathroom door, he can hear the shower running. She’ll probably be in there for a while, after what happened. He knows what it’s like to have a demon touch you, to have someone you love be taken over by one of those sonsofbitches-
He swallows hard, pushes the memory away, rounds on Sam. “Dude, speak to me. What you got?”
“You expect me to pull this out of my ass?” Sam snaps, darting him a dark look. He glances back down at the screen. “Shit!”
“What?” Dean drops down on the bed beside him, tries to look down at the screen. “You’re tracking the GPS in his cell?” he says, blinking at the website.
“I was trying to,” Sam says. “Except, look,” he flicks a disgusted finger at the screen, “there’s nothing. It’s not even registering. Which means it’s either turned off, or…”
“It’s been destroyed,” Dean completes. “Of course.” He sighs. “Fuck. He’ll have bought an entirely new fucking phone by now. Close that up, we should think about moving anyway. Bobby’s gonna be here soon.”
Sam jerks his head back, blinks up at him. “We can’t just leave, Dean. Not before we know where he’s going. Besides, we can’t leave her alone.” He nods his head towards the closed bathroom door.
“Well, we can’t just sit here and wait for the old guy to turn up,” Dean snaps back.
“You got any better ideas? You just gonna drive around, hoping we run into him?”
Dean looks over to the bathroom again. “Maybe she knows something. Something she’s not told us.” He doesn’t give Sam a chance to respond or shoot him down before he strides over to the closed door and taps a couple of times. “Sarah? Hey, you okay in there?”
There’s a muffled response, then the door opens. She’s still wearing the robe, a towel rolled up on her head turban-style. She doesn’t meet his eyes as she pushes past him and back into the room. He watches her head for the mini-bar, feeling helpless. Sam’s still sitting on the edge of the bed, looking after her with his big concerned eyes.
“So, Sarah?” he hazards. She snaps her head up, turns to look at him, her expression a cross between baleful and wary. “We need your help. We need you to tell us what you know. We need to know if it - if the demon - if when it was inside you, if it said anything. Anything at all. About what it was doing, where it was going, why it might want Ross? Demons - they’re arrogant sons of bitches, they like the sound of their own voice, they say a lot of shit,” he adds, thinking of Yellow Eyes, of the cabin. That bastard had had plenty to say.
She stares back at him, takes a pull from one of the mini-bottles. “I don’t know. I guess it did say some stuff.”
“Anything you can remember would help us,” Sam adds gently.
She looks at him, blinks. “It said a lot about family. I think it was talking about Ross’s family.”
“About us?” Dean says.
“No, not you two. Though, it had plenty to say about you two.” She pauses, swallows, glancing between them. “But this was - it was different. It mentioned Ross’s parents.”
“Dad?”
“Yeah, but not just him. I think it was talking about his mother. It kept saying she, kept talking about a surprise for her. But Ross’s mother is dead, that’s what he told me.”
Sam raises his head; his eyes are burning when they meet Dean’s. Angela, Dean thinks, of course, of freaking course. That is where it’s headed. It’s taking Ross to see his mom. Fuck, as if things couldn’t get any worse.
“Sam, we gotta go,” he growls, “we don’t know how long it’s got on us. If it’s headed for Odessa-“
“Wait, Dean, no!” Sam says. He gets up from the bed, looks back towards Sarah, who’s watching the two of them warily, the tiny bottle clutched pathetically in her hand. “One of us has to stay behind,” he gestures at Sarah, “it’s not fair to leave Sarah on her own.” He straightens up, pulling himself up to his full height as he sets his shoulders. He’s about to say something Dean’s not going to like, he can see this. Sam fixes him with his dad-like stare. “You should stay here with Sarah. Wait for Bobby.”
“What, no! No fucking way, man. If one of us is gonna stay then you should-“
“No,” Sam interrupts, his eyes set in that stubborn-ass way that Dean just fucking knows. God damn him. God damn Sam. “No, Dean. I need to go. You know it has to be me. I’m the one with the freaky psychic whatever! I’m the one with that connection to Ross.”
“You saying I don’t have a connection to him?”
“No,” Sam says and he’s infuriatingly calm now, his eyes still burning with stubborn-ass intent. “I’m not saying that. You’re not listening to me. I’m reminding you that Ross and me, we share something that you don’t. Something none of us understand, but it’s something that has saved our asses more than once, Dean, whether you like it or not! We can’t just ignore that because you’ve got this freakin’ big brother complex. You think Ross will be happy knowing that you’ve left Sarah on her own?” He shakes his head, glares at him. “No, no way. We are not doing that. This is the best thing to do.”
Dean glares at Sam’s back mutely as he turns to pick up the laptop and slide it under his arm. Sam takes a couple of steps towards Sarah, and Dean can tell from the position of his shoulders that he’s using the softly-softly skittish horse approach again. “Hey, listen,” he says, “you’ll be okay here with Dean. And Bobby’s a great guy, I don’t know if Ross mentioned him to you, but he’s an old friend of the family. He’s like an uncle to us. And he knows his shit, he’ll know how to protect you. He won’t let anything happen to you.”
“A little too late for that,” she says, and there’s such helplessness and bitterness in her voice that Dean feels suddenly terrible. He hasn’t thought - he hasn’t given it any thought - but this girl, this cute, hot, smart girl who genuinely cares about his little brother, has been possessed. She’s been fucking possessed by a demon. And it’s their fault. They’re supposed to stop shit like this from happening. This is why they do what they do, why they fight. For good people like her. Sam’s right. They can’t just abandon her. Still, knowing that doesn’t make him feel any better about letting Sam go off on his own.
He makes Sam take the Impala, which he accepts with a grateful tight smile. After all, he and Bobby can take his ride when the old guy gets here. And he feels better knowing that Sam’s got his baby with him, that she’ll be looking after him.
“Just - be careful,” he says, fingers enclosed around Sam’s wrists as they say their goodbyes. “And don’t. Don’t do anything stupid, okay?”
Sam leans in, presses their foreheads together. He cups the back of Dean’s neck, caresses his fingers over the short hair at his nape. “It’ll be okay, Dean. I’ll get him back.”
Dean holds his breath, nods a couple of times. He bows his head as Sam leaves and doesn’t look up again until he hears the car roar out of there.
**
Once Sarah’s dressed, they move upstairs to Sam and Dean’s room. Dean takes time to monster-proof the room, scattering salt lines across the doorway and windows and drawing devils traps. Sarah watches him from the couch, not even pretending to watch the TV playing in the corner. She’s wearing jeans and a sweater, her hair bound up into a pony-tale. She’s white-faced, her eyes reddened and sore. She keeps scratching the side of her face, like she’s got a phantom itch. He explains everything as he does it, like he’s on a freaking TV cookery show. And now, I’m laying down this salt line on the window. And now, I’m scratching this devil’s trap with magic marker onto the ceiling.
“You want anything to eat?” he asks when he’s done.
She shakes her head. “Not hungry.”
He nods. He gets it. He’s really not hungry too. Christ, where the fuck is Bobby? The one time he needs the old guy to get here fast…
He shouldn’t have let Sammy go after Ross on his own. It was a really fucking bad decision, and Jesus, he knows from bad decisions. He should be there with Sam right now, not kicking his heels, waiting around on the sidelines. Sam needs him. When has anything good ever come out of them splitting up? He’s no psychic - he’ll leave that crap to Sam and Ross - but this feels wrong. Deep down in his gut, it feels wrong.
He throws himself down on the other end of the couch, taps his fingers against his thigh. He stares at the TV. Will the demon have gotten to Odessa by now? It’s a six hour drive, not that a fucking demon’s going to be worried about breaking the speed limit, and they have no idea what kind of head start it had. It could be there already, at The Roadhouse with Angela and that little kid, taking great delight in telling Ross just how his dad and his big brothers have lied to him his entire life.
They should’ve told Ross about Angela and George. They could’ve done it at any point in the last few months. Maybe when things were sort of good (relatively speaking), they should’ve told him then. So why didn’t he do it? What was the real reason he didn’t tell Ross about his non-Winchester family? Was it really for Ross’s benefit? Or was it because he was afraid that if Ross knew he had a mom and a little brother out there, he might go running to them, he might want to build a life with them, as far away as possible from Dean and Sam and their fucked-up incestuous co-dependency?
He flinches at the thought, tries to bury it away deep. It doesn’t even matter now. It’s all fucking moot. Everything’s fucked to hell and back anyway. Even if they do get Ross back, he’s never going to forgive him and Sammy for keeping that from him.
If they do get him back.
“Dean?”
He jumps as Sarah’s voice breaks the silence. He jerks his head her way. “Yeah?”
“The demon, the stuff he said to me, I know it wasn’t all lies. Some of the things it said makes so much sense.” She pauses, hesitating. She’s not looking at him, staring ahead at the TV screen. Dean’s frozen in place, he knows what she’s about to say. He can almost hear the words before she actually makes the sounds with her lips. “It said that Ross lied to me about you. He told me that you’re an old family friend, that you’re just Sam’s boyfriend. But you’re not. I know you’re not now. You’re Sam’s brother, you’re all brothers, all three of you. And I believe it. It makes sense.”
He wants to find the words to speak the denial, to tell her that demons lie, that they’re lying sonsofbitches and can’t be trusted. She can’t listen to them, it’s all bullshit, all lies. But he can’t find the words. He’s not even sure if he can deny this. Not now, not after everything she’s been through, she deserves some truth at least.
She turns her head slowly to look at him, she’s pale, a muscle twitching at the corner of her mouth. “I can see from the look on your face that it’s the truth. Ross is your brother, isn’t he?”
He nods, forces his lips to form the word. “Yes.”
“You’re all brothers,” she says dully. She sighs, bows her head, picks at a thread on her jeans. “Ross told me this fantasy one time. Well, it wasn’t really a fantasy, I suppose, it was something he’d done. With you. In a men’s room somewhere. He felt so guilty, I think he just wanted to talk to someone about it. He told me he made a pass at you, and you let him go through with it because you cared about him. But he knew the whole time that you didn’t really want it. I remember thinking it was hot, the idea of the two of you together. But I felt jealous too, because I could see how much he loved you. And that just made me sad. I know what it’s like to want someone and not have them want you back. And I could tell that you would never feel the same way about him that you do about Sam.”
He can feel the dull ache in the back of his throat, the churning in his belly. He thinks about Ross, about what he’d let Ross do in that men’s room all that time ago. How his guilt had made him give into Ross, allowed Ross to push him up against that stall wall and put his hand down his pants. But that had just been the start of it, just the tip of the iceberg, considering everything they’ve done since. Her words reverberate around his head: I could tell that you would never feel the same way about him that you do about Sam.
“He’s my brother,” Dean says at last, because that much is true. “And Sam’s my brother too. But me and Sam, we.” He hesitates, curls his fingers around the arm of the couch. “It’s complicated. I can’t explain it, and I won’t excuse it. Because - there are no excuses, I know that. And still. It’s never gonna change,” he finishes quietly. “But Ross. He’s my brother too.”
It’s lame, it sounds lame in his ears, just a jumbled blur of words, just a swirling and knotting in his gut that he can’t explain. But there’s no other way he can say it. Ross is his little brother and he would do anything for him. There is nothing he wouldn’t do for that kid. Ever since the morning they woke up with the strange dark-haired boy in their bed. Ever since Dad gave him the order: Ross is his responsibility just like Sammy. And he’s fucked up with him, just like Sam. And now - now he’s letting Sam go out there and try and fix it, while he hangs around here, on the sidelines.
“I don’t think I want to see him, or any of you, again,” Sarah says. He glances at her, there are tears rolling down her cheeks again. She’s not bothering to wipe the tears away, letting them roll down her cheeks and chin and splash onto her jeans. “I don’t think I want to get involved in whatever this is. Whatever you’re all doing together. And it’s not. It’s not that it’s just that, just what you’ve told me. What happened - it - it would never have happened to me if I didn’t know you. But I still care about him, Dean. I want him to be happy. Despite all of this. But I just. I can’t.”
He nods, doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t think there’s anything he can say to make her feel better. He holds out a tissue from the box he placed on the coffee table. She takes it from him with a thin, watery quiver of her lips. She’s right. It is their fault. She’s been possessed, violated by a demon, and there’s nothing he can say to make it go away.
He’s immensely relieved when Bobby knocks on the door not long afterwards. He chucks holy water in the old dude’s face; watches Bobby shake his head and wipe it away with a roll of his eyes.
“Just checking,” he mutters.
Bobby snorts, flicks some water droplets at him. He wipes his hand on his pants, holds it out to Sarah. “Sarah, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Bobby.”
She takes his hand nervously, looking between him and Dean. “”What’s going to happen now?” she says.
“I’ll take you to the airport, or wherever you want to go. But I got something to give you first,” Bobby says. “Both of you.” He fishes a couple of amulets from his pocket, holds them out, the charms dangling and glinting on their leather thongs. “Wear one of these and don’t take it off. Ever. They’re anti-possession charms. God knows why you’ve never done this before, but thinking smart has never been a Winchester strong point. I got a couple more for your idjit brothers too when you catch up with them.” He tosses two more of the charms over to Dean.
Sarah passes the charm over her head. For the first time since they found her, she looks relieved. “Thanks,” she says.
“You’re welcome,” Bobby says. “Now let’s get moving.”
Onto next part
**
Chapter: 27a/28
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 6930
Summary: Ross Winchester knows three things to be true: his father, John, is a hero; he’s going to be the best hunter in the goddamn world; and his two older brothers are in love with each other. An AU-version of seasons one and two where the Winchester Brothers mean Dean and Sam and Ross, where John is still missing, where Mary and Jess are still dead, and where Dean and Sam are still obsessed with each other.
Warnings: This part contains scenes of some sexual violence, a dub-con situation caused by demon possession.
A/N: Okay, so this time, it only took me 8 months to get this chapter (almost) finished ;-) As with chapter 25, I've had to split this one into 2 parts, it was getting so damn long. The second part is taking me a while to write, so I've decided to post part one now, else I'll never get anything out! I hope to have the second part up within the next week, depending on how busy I get at work. As it's been such a long time, I've pasted below, a short "previously on" section to remind people what happened previous chapters.
A/N 2: This fic is unbeta-ed, I apologise for all grammar mistakes and Briticisms. The gorgeous and very sexy banner below was made by the awesome violateraindrop This is dedicated to my dear friend, andreth47
Previous chapter
Previously on... World's Forgotten Boys, aka, The Adventures of Dean and Sam and their horny younger brother, Ross.
John and the YED are dead, shot by Ross with the Colt. Torn apart by grief and guilt, Ross runs away from Sam and Dean, and takes refuge with his sort-of girlfriend, Sarah. Meanwhile Sam and Dean track down Ross's presumed-dead mother, Angela Harrison, and her son, George, Ross's never-before-seen younger half-brother, whose existences John has been keeping a secret from all 3 Winchester boys. Ross's depression and grief get worse away from his family, so Sam and Dean swoop in to take him away with them. Ross slowly starts to get better, helped along by the power of incestuous love and threesomes. Unfortunately, his one attempt at anal sex (courtesy of Sam) does not go well, and he retreats back into himself. Luckily, Sarah calls him and cheers him up with the promise of a high-class booty call at the Dallas Hilton. All three boys hot-foot it to Dallas, where Ross meets up with Sarah. Only, it's not Sarah waiting for him, but a demon wearing her meatsuit...
Chapter 27, Part I
“What do you think, honey-buns, Ridden Hard at the grill or Put Away Wet over there?”
I think you should shut the hell up.
“Aww,” mocks the demon. It picks up a spoon and twirls it between two fingers. Ross watches his own face appear in the back of the spoon, distorted and maniacal, a fun-house version of his reflection. The demon runs his tongue over his teeth, smacks his lips a couple of times. “C’mon, baby, you can do better than that. Personally, I’m leaning more toward Put Away Wet. Fat chicks are always so grateful.” It chuckles, drops the spoon back onto the table with a clatter. “Let’s go put this pretty packaging to work.”
What are you going to do to her?
“Don’t think I need a wingman for this one,” the demon says dismissively, and then that pressure is back, the enfolding encroaching darkness of the demon’s essence, dripping and pouring over him, and everything goes black once more.
He comes to in the men’s room. He - it - the demon’s leaning back against a damp cold wall, the waitress on her knees in front of him. Her head is tilted back at a painful angle, eyes wide and terrified, her mouth stuffed full of Ross’s cock. She’s spluttering and gasping, tears rolling down her chubby cheeks as he - no, not him, the demon, the fucking demon - brutally fucks her mouth.
“See what I told you,” the demon says, grasping a handful of her dyed blond hair and yanking her forwards on Ross’s cock. “Fat chicks, always so damn grateful. Ain’t ya, darlin’? That’s right, take it. Take his cock, you ugly bitch.”
The waitress splutters, tries to cough, moans and whimpers around her stuffed full mouth.
Stop it! You’re hurting her!
“Quit pretending this doesn’t turn you on. I know what you’ve been doing with your brothers, Ross. I can see right into your head.”
It’s not losing a beat, still thrusting, yanking her head forward, choking her, her tears splashing onto the dirty tiles. Ross thinks suddenly of Sam - of Sam on his knees for him, taking his cock - of Dean watching, a smirk on his face as he runs his mouth. “He’s good, ain’t he? So fuckin’ good at taking it. Such a slut for his brothers’ cocks, ain’t ya, Sammy?” Dean’s voice soft and tender as he steps in close and runs a hand tenderly through Sam’s hair, petting and stroking it back from his face. Sam murmurs something and the reverberation makes Ross shiver and his eyes flutter closed. He reaches for Dean, grasping hold of his shoulder as he pumps his release into Sammy’s mouth.
The demon chuckles. “Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about, Rossy-boy. Still, this bitch will do in a pinch.” It slides Ross’s cock out of her mouth, hand still fisted in her limp blond hair. It jerks her head back, jacks his cock a couple of times before he sprays her face, coating her wet reddened eyes and snotty nose. It takes a step back when it’s over, pulls Ross’s hand out of her hair and wipes it on his jeans in disgust.
“Clean yourself up, sweetheart, you look like shit,” it says.
She’s curled up on the floor, sobbing pitifully, her face pressed down into the dirty tile. There are red marks and bruises around her throat and wrists. The skirt of her diner uniform has ridden up her thighs, exposing wrinkled torn pantyhose and chubby thighs. Ross swallows, feeling a wave of nausea hit him. The demon chuckles again, goes to the sink to wash his hands and clean off his cock. Ross stares into the mirror and watches the demon staring back at him, eyes glinting with amusement. It zips up Ross’s fly, rolls its shoulders, smacks its lips.
“Things to do, places to be,” it says cheerfully. It turns up the collar on his jacket and heads out of there.
Where are we going?
“Huh, so it’s we now?” the demon says. They’re back in the car. It’s a LeBaron, 90’s model, he thinks. Dean would know.
You - I mean where are you taking me?
The demon glances into the driver’s mirror. It’s looking amused, gloating, like it’s scored some big fucking point. “It was pretty impressive, way you came round before. Most humans, you ride them, they stay quiet, buried deep. Just the occasional: oh please stop, why are you doing that, stop hurting me, stop, please, please, stop.” It breaks off, snorts a laugh. “Not you. Nah, you’re something else. You got stamina, just like your mom.”
What the fuck are you talking about?
“Oops.” The demon brings a hand to its mouth in mock horror. It smirks into the rearview, looking unbearably smug. “Let’s pretend I didn’t say that.”
It goes quiet again, leans down to fiddle with the radio, rolling its eyes as it passes through country station after country station. “Fucking Texas, so fucking redneck,” it mutters. The fragment of strings and a guitar and Mick Jagger’s voice hits the air and the demon cries, “Aha!” and scrambles the channel back, singing along, as loud and obnoxious as Dean on a good day. “You thought you were a clever girl, giving up your social whirl, but you can’t come back and be the first in line. You’re obsolete my baby, my poor unfaithful baby; I said, baby, baby, baby, you’re out of time; I said baby, baby, baby, you’re out of time...”
“Sweetheart,” the demon says when the song’s over, “you can’t sing for shit.”
Ross doesn’t say - think - anything, but he wonders: like, is that his voice or the demon’s? It’s not him singing, though it’s his voice-box, his lips, his tongue, his lungs making the sounds. And he knows the lyrics, he’s heard that Stones song on one of Dean’s mix-tapes hundreds of freaking times, but he wasn’t the one singing this time.
“Don’t bother. We all know thinking’s not your strong point,” the demon says. It goes quiet again, then suddenly chuckles. “Man, I wish I could see Dean and Sammy’s faces right now.
Shut up.
The demon laughs again, taps out a drum-beat on the steering wheel. “So... you’ve got no freakin’ clue at all where we’re going? None at all?”
Where are we going?
“Oh, let’s just say - we’re going to look up old friends.”
What old friends?
The demon is entirely too gleeful, though that seems to be its default setting, gleeful and gloating and smug, like it’s chanting, I’ve got a secret and you don’t know, nur-nur! into Ross’s ear all the fucking time. Of course, by asking it all these dumb-ass questions, he’s giving it exactly what it wants. He needs to shut the hell up.
“Oh you’ll see, hot stuff. Not long now.”
**
Sam sighs fretfully and snaps his phone shut. “Still no answer,” he says. He's biting his lip, his nose scrunched up, that crease between his eyebrows. It’s not his best look.
Dean presses pause on the porno playing on the laptop. It’s one of his favourite movies. The main guy reminds him of Sam, he’s tall and ripped and his cock is hella impressive (not as impressive as Sammy’s of course), and he’s got similar dorky hair. “Course he’s not answering. He’s got way better things to do than talk to you.”
“It’s been hours, Dean.”
“And? You want me to spell it out to you?” He cups his hand around his mouth, mock whispers, “They’re having sex. Lots and lots of sex.” He grins, leers at Sam. “In lots of different positions, if I know my boy.”
“Dean...”
“Jesus, will you relax already? Why don’t you get over here? Jerk me off while I watch your lookalike rimming this twinky dude.”
Sam makes a face. “Oh God, are you still watching that?” But he’s shifting his ass at last, shuffling over to crowd up behind Dean. He presses up against Dean’s back, hooks his chin over Dean’s shoulder to peer down at the computer screen.
“He looks nothing like me,” Sam says a trifle snittily, as the Sammy-like raises his head to lick his lips in an obscene way. His lips, chin and mouth are covered in spit, glinting shiny and greasy in the soft-focus light. Actually, Sam does have a point, the dude doesn’t look that much like him at all, he’s no way near as pretty for a start. But he’s also not a total fug like most guys in porn, and he’s got this look in his eyes, this sort of wicked glint as he does more obscene lip-licking, that totally reminds Dean of the look Sam gets in his eyes when he’s about to go down on him.
“Mmmm,” Dean groans and grinds his ass back against his brother, who is, despite the bitching and complaining, getting rock hard in his jeans.
“Okay, that’s enough,” Sam murmurs. He reaches over Dean and slams the laptop shut.
“Hey! I was watching that!”
Sam suffocates any further protests with his mouth on Dean’s, pummelling on Dean’s shirt until he’s flat on his back on the bed.
“Unf, okay, Sammy,” Dean pants as Sam presses him down and crawls all over him.
Twenty minutes and one orgasm apiece later, Sam’s back to fretting about Ross. He’s standing with his shoulder propped up against the bathroom doorjamb, phone in his hands and lips pursed into the constipated concerned look. It’s partly mitigated by the fact he’s also buck naked and flushed from sex, used condom hanging off the end of his deflating cock, but still, time and a place.
“Something isn’t right.”
Dean rolls his eyes and props himself up on one elbow. “Sam.”
“Seriously. Something doesn’t feel right.”
Dean groans. Damn it, Sam’s concern is beginning to worry him now too. After all, it’s not like Sam and Ross share some big freaky psychic connection…
Shit.
“Look,” he starts to say, trying to keep his voice even. One of them at least has to remain calm. “If it’ll make you feel better, then we’ll go pay them a call. They’re not exactly far away, right?”
Sam nods gratefully. He goes back into the bathroom and Dean hears the toilet flush a few seconds later. He sighs and pushes himself off the bed, strolling across the floor to snatch up his boxers from where Sam had thrown them in his crazy lust.
“Hey.” An arm snakes around Dean from behind, Sam’s mouth burying down to press a kiss against the top nub of his spine. “It’s probably nothing, but.”
“You got this feeling,” Dean finishes.
“Yeah.” The word vibrates against Dean’s skin. He pats Sam’s hand where it’s resting against his bare chest. “It’s alright, Sammy. Better safe than sorry.”
They’re staying in the same hotel. The intention was not to let Littlest Bro discover that fact. Knowing him, the little punk would bitch and whine about them smothering him and not trusting him. And maybe… just perhaps he has a point. But, whatever, considering everything that’s gone down over the past few months - Christ - the past few years - Dean’s not taking any chances, and if Sam’s got one of his freaky feelings then he’s going to run with it.
He slides his favourite Colt into the inside pocket of his jacket, gives the room a quick scan to make sure any and every other piece of weaponry is well hidden. They leave the DO NOT DISTURB sign dangling anyway, but unlike most of the dumps they stay in, this is a classy joint. Incognito is definitely the way forward.
Sarah’s room is on the third floor, so they take the stairs. Sam’s looking wary as they approach room 305, and Dean jostles him, waggles his eyebrows. Sam rolls his eyes back at him, and makes one of his patented Sammy pissy faces, but the tense lines around his mouth are still there and he clutches onto Dean’s arm when they reach the door of 305.
“Dude, what?” Dean hisses.
“Just - I got a really bad feeling, Dean. Something’s wrong. Something’s really fucking wrong. I know it.”
Dean feels his heart skip a beat, though he keeps his expression bland as he nods back at Sam. “Okay.” He raps a couple of times on the door, calls out, “Ross! It’s us! Open up!”
There’s no answer. He swallows, exchanges a tense look with Sam. Sam’s got his bottom lip caught between his teeth, one of his hands balled up into a fist. Dean tries again, this time raising his voice: “Ross! Quit fucking around! Open up!” No answer. He looks at Sam. “Maybe they’ve gone out.”
“No.” Sam’s voice is definite. “They haven’t gone out.”
Behind them, Dean hears the sound of a door creak open, someone ask, “Is something going on out here? Is everything okay?”
Dean ignores the dude, but Sam pulls away, goes to get rid of whoever it is. Dean waits for the nosy dude’s door to slam shut once more before he slides out his picks and goes to work on the lock. He shoulders the door open when he feels the lock give, feeling Sam close behind him, practically breathing down his neck.
The room is a mess. Bedcovers are tossed across the floor, the glass coffee table overturned and smashed, one of the desk chairs is broken, its legs and arms lying shattered and splintered. In the middle of the chaos, Sarah lies on the bed, naked except for her panties and bra. Her arms are trussed up above her head, tied to the one of the bedposts with a leather belt, her ankles are cuffed together and she’s been gagged.
“Ross!” he shouts as his eyes rake through the destruction.
Sam pushes past him, falling to the floor beside the bed and getting out his knife to work on Sarah’s restraints. Dean drags his gaze away from them and stalks through the room, into the bathroom. It’s empty. He yanks aside the shower curtain. No Ross.
“Where is he? Where’d he go?” he says, coming back into the room.
Sam has removed Sarah’s gag and cut through the leather belt (one of Dean’s own belts) with his blade. He’s crouched over her, fiddling with his lock picks as he works on the cuffs around her ankles. She’s bent over herself, her arms hugged around her body. Dean can see the tremors running through her, the way she clutches at her knees and cringes away from Sam’s touch. The cuffs finally give and spring open, falling to the bed. There are bruises around her ankles where the metal has chafed and dug into her skin.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay, you’re okay now,” Sam says. He drops to his knees on the floor and peers up at her with big concerned eyes. “Dean, get her a robe,” he says.
Dean goes back to the bathroom and snatches a clean robe off the hook on the back of the door. He tosses it over to Sam and watches Sam help her into it. He’s frustrated by how long this is taking, by how slow and painstaking Sam’s behaving. And sure, he gets it, he does. She’s traumatised; she’s been bound to a fucking bed for fuck knows how long. But Ross is not here, Ross is gone and this doesn’t look good. It really, really doesn’t look good, and he can’t - Goddamnit - he can’t allow something else to happen to his little brother. Ross has been through enough.
“Sarah, can you tell us what happened?” Sam says. His voice is soft, comforting and he’s still kneeling in front of Sarah. “Dean, get her a drink,” he says.
Dean goes to the mini-bar, which is still miraculously stocked. He grabs a couple of the mini-bottles, twisting off the caps and taking a long swig from one of them before passing the other over to Sam. Sam holds it out to Sarah, saying softly, “Drink this, believe me, it will help.”
She gives him an unreadable look before she chugs down the contents, spluttering and coughing when she’s done.
“You need to tell us what happened,” Sam says quietly. “Where is Ross?”
She licks her lips, looks down into Sam’s face. “He left. It took him,” she says.
“What took him?” Dean demands.
Sam throws him an irritated glance and focuses his attention back on Sarah. “It. It took him," she repeats. "It took his body. Took over him, like - like-“
“Possession?” Sam says. “Is he possessed? Did a demon possess him?”
She blinks, a couple of tears seep free and roll down her face. “It took me. I don’t remember - I don’t know - I don’t know how I got here, Sam. I remember I was at work and it was just a normal day, I was going out to get lunch, and then - then I just.” Her voice catches, a choking sob, and more tears flow down her cheeks unheeded. “I don’t know, but something took over me. Like there was this person, this thing inside me and I couldn’t breathe and then I think I blacked out. I don’t remember anything, except waking up here, in this room. And Ross is here and he’s - he’s not acting like Ross. And he’s doing things, he’s tying me to this bed and he’s hurting me, and he’s laughing in my face and telling me all this stuff about how stupid I am and about…” Her breath catches again, and she seems to shrink back, pulling herself away from Sam, her expression turning wary and afraid. “About you. About the three of you.”
Dean holds his breath, his gaze darting between his brother’s face and Sarah’s. She’s staring at them like she’s in shock, like she’s wondering how quickly she can get away from them and call 911. She’s staring at them like she’s afraid of them.
“Sarah, please, listen to me. Whatever he said - whatever it said. It wasn’t Ross. It was a demon. And demons lie,” Sam says, his voice low and urgent. “They say whatever they think is going to fuck you up the most. Demons are evil and they tell lies. Whatever it said to you it was looking to hurt you. You got to remember that.”
Dean can imagine what the sonofabitch said about them, he knows exactly what kind of crap it would’ve whispered in her ear. Sam’s wrong about one thing, it wouldn’t have to be lies, not in this case, not when there are so many fucked-up truths to work with. But Sam’s working the magic eyes on Sarah, giving her the pleading sincere look. He leans in, says, “Okay?”
She nods jerkily, swallows hard. “Okay.”
Sam exhales, gives her a pained smile. “Okay. So, did it say anything, anything at all, about where it might be headed with Ross?”
“He, uh, said something about Texas.”
“We’re in Texas,” Dean says.
“Oh.” Her expression falls. She bites her lip, looks down at Sam. “Shit. I’m in Texas?”
“Dallas,” says Sam. “We’re in Dallas, this is the Dallas Hilton. You booked a room here, then you called Ross to meet you. We came here with him. Our room is on the sixth floor.”
“I called Ross?” she repeats. “But I didn’t. I don’t remember. Why am I in Texas?”
“It wasn’t you, it was the demon,” says Sam. He gets to his feet, sighs heavily, rakes both his hands through his hair. “Sarah, it used you to get at him. And we’re, Jesus, we’re so sorry for that.” He drops his hands to his sides, looks down at her. “I mean it.”
Dean watches her mouth work, her jaw wobble as she nods and looks around her, at the chaos and the destruction. All things considered, she’s keeping it together pretty fucking well. If it were any other situation he’d be sitting down and congratulating her. As it is, he doesn’t have time, they need to find out where Ross went, where that bastard took him. They need to get Ross back.
“Oh God, how am I supposed to explain all this?” she says, looking around helplessly. “How am I going to get home? I don’t even know if I have any money, and it could’ve taken all my money and drained my accounts and taken my cards and I don’t know what to do. What am I supposed to tell the hotel? They’ll want to call the police and-“
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Sam says, sinking down to perch on the bed beside her. “Here.” He hands over another tiny bottle of whiskey. “Drink up and don’t think about all that crap. Listen. We have an old family friend, someone we trust. I’ll call him and he can come here and deal with everything. I promise you. It’ll be okay, he’ll sort it all out. He’ll look after you. He’ll make sure you’re safe.”
“I’m in danger?” She jerks to her feet, rounding to confront them, feeling out to steady herself on the damaged nightstand.
“Maybe,” Dean says. “It’s not certain. Usually, demons don’t possess the same person twice. They obviously used you to get to Ross. And now it’s got Ross. You should be okay.”
“But we’re not taking any chances,” Sam butts in. “We won’t let anything happen to you.”
She laughs then, high and hysterical and her entire face crumpling. “It’s a bit late for that. I should never - Christ, I’ve been so stupid! I should’ve known. I should’ve! Oh God.” She breaks off again, raises her hand to smear the tears across her face.
Dean bites his tongue, slants Sam a look. He licks his lips, says tentatively, “Hey, um, maybe you should take a shower? It’ll make you feel better. Maybe?”
She raises her head, her hands catching in her hair as she pushes it back off her tear-stained face. “You’ll be here the whole time?”
“We can leave if you prefer?” Sam says, his smile faint.
She shakes her head, and crosses to the bathroom. She disappears inside and emerges with a plastic beaker of water and a couple of packets of salt, the kind of salt packets you find on room-service trays or get from a drive-thru. She tears open both packets and empties them into the water.
“Salt,” she says. “They don’t like salt. I know that. Ross told me that. So they wouldn’t be able to do this.” She stirs the water with a finger and then raises it to her lips to take a couple of gulps. She makes a face and lowers the glass and holds it out to Dean. “Your turn.”
Dean looks down at the glass and then at her face. He’s impressed, he can see what Ross sees in this girl. She’s smart and resourceful, even in the face of - all this. He takes the glass and swallows a couple of mouthfuls. It’s not too bad; the saltiness kinda reminds him of the taste of come, though the temperature is all wrong. He hands it off to Sam who finishes up the rest of the glass. Sam holds up the glass when he’s done and places it on the nightstand.
“We’re all clean,” he says.
Sarah swallows hard, nods a couple of times. “Okay, good, good. I’ll uh-“ She gestures towards the bathroom, gives them both one last nod before she slams and locks the bathroom door behind her.
Sam gives him a look before he ducks out the room, muttering something about going to fetch his laptop. Dean exhales a long breath, pushes his hand through his hair, trying to calm his breathing. He scrolls through his contacts, lands on Bobby’s name and presses send. Sam comes back as he’s half-way through his call. He perches on the end of the destroyed bed and opens up his laptop.
Bobby’s only a couple of hours away, which is the one piece of good news all freaking day. Dean snaps the phone closed before the old guy gets a chance to ask too many questions about Ross and about just what the hell they’re doing at the Dallas Hilton.
“Anything?” he asks Sam as he pockets his phone.
Sam ignores him, staring intently at his laptop screen as he taps away.
“Sam?” Dean prompts, louder. Behind the bathroom door, he can hear the shower running. She’ll probably be in there for a while, after what happened. He knows what it’s like to have a demon touch you, to have someone you love be taken over by one of those sonsofbitches-
He swallows hard, pushes the memory away, rounds on Sam. “Dude, speak to me. What you got?”
“You expect me to pull this out of my ass?” Sam snaps, darting him a dark look. He glances back down at the screen. “Shit!”
“What?” Dean drops down on the bed beside him, tries to look down at the screen. “You’re tracking the GPS in his cell?” he says, blinking at the website.
“I was trying to,” Sam says. “Except, look,” he flicks a disgusted finger at the screen, “there’s nothing. It’s not even registering. Which means it’s either turned off, or…”
“It’s been destroyed,” Dean completes. “Of course.” He sighs. “Fuck. He’ll have bought an entirely new fucking phone by now. Close that up, we should think about moving anyway. Bobby’s gonna be here soon.”
Sam jerks his head back, blinks up at him. “We can’t just leave, Dean. Not before we know where he’s going. Besides, we can’t leave her alone.” He nods his head towards the closed bathroom door.
“Well, we can’t just sit here and wait for the old guy to turn up,” Dean snaps back.
“You got any better ideas? You just gonna drive around, hoping we run into him?”
Dean looks over to the bathroom again. “Maybe she knows something. Something she’s not told us.” He doesn’t give Sam a chance to respond or shoot him down before he strides over to the closed door and taps a couple of times. “Sarah? Hey, you okay in there?”
There’s a muffled response, then the door opens. She’s still wearing the robe, a towel rolled up on her head turban-style. She doesn’t meet his eyes as she pushes past him and back into the room. He watches her head for the mini-bar, feeling helpless. Sam’s still sitting on the edge of the bed, looking after her with his big concerned eyes.
“So, Sarah?” he hazards. She snaps her head up, turns to look at him, her expression a cross between baleful and wary. “We need your help. We need you to tell us what you know. We need to know if it - if the demon - if when it was inside you, if it said anything. Anything at all. About what it was doing, where it was going, why it might want Ross? Demons - they’re arrogant sons of bitches, they like the sound of their own voice, they say a lot of shit,” he adds, thinking of Yellow Eyes, of the cabin. That bastard had had plenty to say.
She stares back at him, takes a pull from one of the mini-bottles. “I don’t know. I guess it did say some stuff.”
“Anything you can remember would help us,” Sam adds gently.
She looks at him, blinks. “It said a lot about family. I think it was talking about Ross’s family.”
“About us?” Dean says.
“No, not you two. Though, it had plenty to say about you two.” She pauses, swallows, glancing between them. “But this was - it was different. It mentioned Ross’s parents.”
“Dad?”
“Yeah, but not just him. I think it was talking about his mother. It kept saying she, kept talking about a surprise for her. But Ross’s mother is dead, that’s what he told me.”
Sam raises his head; his eyes are burning when they meet Dean’s. Angela, Dean thinks, of course, of freaking course. That is where it’s headed. It’s taking Ross to see his mom. Fuck, as if things couldn’t get any worse.
“Sam, we gotta go,” he growls, “we don’t know how long it’s got on us. If it’s headed for Odessa-“
“Wait, Dean, no!” Sam says. He gets up from the bed, looks back towards Sarah, who’s watching the two of them warily, the tiny bottle clutched pathetically in her hand. “One of us has to stay behind,” he gestures at Sarah, “it’s not fair to leave Sarah on her own.” He straightens up, pulling himself up to his full height as he sets his shoulders. He’s about to say something Dean’s not going to like, he can see this. Sam fixes him with his dad-like stare. “You should stay here with Sarah. Wait for Bobby.”
“What, no! No fucking way, man. If one of us is gonna stay then you should-“
“No,” Sam interrupts, his eyes set in that stubborn-ass way that Dean just fucking knows. God damn him. God damn Sam. “No, Dean. I need to go. You know it has to be me. I’m the one with the freaky psychic whatever! I’m the one with that connection to Ross.”
“You saying I don’t have a connection to him?”
“No,” Sam says and he’s infuriatingly calm now, his eyes still burning with stubborn-ass intent. “I’m not saying that. You’re not listening to me. I’m reminding you that Ross and me, we share something that you don’t. Something none of us understand, but it’s something that has saved our asses more than once, Dean, whether you like it or not! We can’t just ignore that because you’ve got this freakin’ big brother complex. You think Ross will be happy knowing that you’ve left Sarah on her own?” He shakes his head, glares at him. “No, no way. We are not doing that. This is the best thing to do.”
Dean glares at Sam’s back mutely as he turns to pick up the laptop and slide it under his arm. Sam takes a couple of steps towards Sarah, and Dean can tell from the position of his shoulders that he’s using the softly-softly skittish horse approach again. “Hey, listen,” he says, “you’ll be okay here with Dean. And Bobby’s a great guy, I don’t know if Ross mentioned him to you, but he’s an old friend of the family. He’s like an uncle to us. And he knows his shit, he’ll know how to protect you. He won’t let anything happen to you.”
“A little too late for that,” she says, and there’s such helplessness and bitterness in her voice that Dean feels suddenly terrible. He hasn’t thought - he hasn’t given it any thought - but this girl, this cute, hot, smart girl who genuinely cares about his little brother, has been possessed. She’s been fucking possessed by a demon. And it’s their fault. They’re supposed to stop shit like this from happening. This is why they do what they do, why they fight. For good people like her. Sam’s right. They can’t just abandon her. Still, knowing that doesn’t make him feel any better about letting Sam go off on his own.
He makes Sam take the Impala, which he accepts with a grateful tight smile. After all, he and Bobby can take his ride when the old guy gets here. And he feels better knowing that Sam’s got his baby with him, that she’ll be looking after him.
“Just - be careful,” he says, fingers enclosed around Sam’s wrists as they say their goodbyes. “And don’t. Don’t do anything stupid, okay?”
Sam leans in, presses their foreheads together. He cups the back of Dean’s neck, caresses his fingers over the short hair at his nape. “It’ll be okay, Dean. I’ll get him back.”
Dean holds his breath, nods a couple of times. He bows his head as Sam leaves and doesn’t look up again until he hears the car roar out of there.
**
Once Sarah’s dressed, they move upstairs to Sam and Dean’s room. Dean takes time to monster-proof the room, scattering salt lines across the doorway and windows and drawing devils traps. Sarah watches him from the couch, not even pretending to watch the TV playing in the corner. She’s wearing jeans and a sweater, her hair bound up into a pony-tale. She’s white-faced, her eyes reddened and sore. She keeps scratching the side of her face, like she’s got a phantom itch. He explains everything as he does it, like he’s on a freaking TV cookery show. And now, I’m laying down this salt line on the window. And now, I’m scratching this devil’s trap with magic marker onto the ceiling.
“You want anything to eat?” he asks when he’s done.
She shakes her head. “Not hungry.”
He nods. He gets it. He’s really not hungry too. Christ, where the fuck is Bobby? The one time he needs the old guy to get here fast…
He shouldn’t have let Sammy go after Ross on his own. It was a really fucking bad decision, and Jesus, he knows from bad decisions. He should be there with Sam right now, not kicking his heels, waiting around on the sidelines. Sam needs him. When has anything good ever come out of them splitting up? He’s no psychic - he’ll leave that crap to Sam and Ross - but this feels wrong. Deep down in his gut, it feels wrong.
He throws himself down on the other end of the couch, taps his fingers against his thigh. He stares at the TV. Will the demon have gotten to Odessa by now? It’s a six hour drive, not that a fucking demon’s going to be worried about breaking the speed limit, and they have no idea what kind of head start it had. It could be there already, at The Roadhouse with Angela and that little kid, taking great delight in telling Ross just how his dad and his big brothers have lied to him his entire life.
They should’ve told Ross about Angela and George. They could’ve done it at any point in the last few months. Maybe when things were sort of good (relatively speaking), they should’ve told him then. So why didn’t he do it? What was the real reason he didn’t tell Ross about his non-Winchester family? Was it really for Ross’s benefit? Or was it because he was afraid that if Ross knew he had a mom and a little brother out there, he might go running to them, he might want to build a life with them, as far away as possible from Dean and Sam and their fucked-up incestuous co-dependency?
He flinches at the thought, tries to bury it away deep. It doesn’t even matter now. It’s all fucking moot. Everything’s fucked to hell and back anyway. Even if they do get Ross back, he’s never going to forgive him and Sammy for keeping that from him.
If they do get him back.
“Dean?”
He jumps as Sarah’s voice breaks the silence. He jerks his head her way. “Yeah?”
“The demon, the stuff he said to me, I know it wasn’t all lies. Some of the things it said makes so much sense.” She pauses, hesitating. She’s not looking at him, staring ahead at the TV screen. Dean’s frozen in place, he knows what she’s about to say. He can almost hear the words before she actually makes the sounds with her lips. “It said that Ross lied to me about you. He told me that you’re an old family friend, that you’re just Sam’s boyfriend. But you’re not. I know you’re not now. You’re Sam’s brother, you’re all brothers, all three of you. And I believe it. It makes sense.”
He wants to find the words to speak the denial, to tell her that demons lie, that they’re lying sonsofbitches and can’t be trusted. She can’t listen to them, it’s all bullshit, all lies. But he can’t find the words. He’s not even sure if he can deny this. Not now, not after everything she’s been through, she deserves some truth at least.
She turns her head slowly to look at him, she’s pale, a muscle twitching at the corner of her mouth. “I can see from the look on your face that it’s the truth. Ross is your brother, isn’t he?”
He nods, forces his lips to form the word. “Yes.”
“You’re all brothers,” she says dully. She sighs, bows her head, picks at a thread on her jeans. “Ross told me this fantasy one time. Well, it wasn’t really a fantasy, I suppose, it was something he’d done. With you. In a men’s room somewhere. He felt so guilty, I think he just wanted to talk to someone about it. He told me he made a pass at you, and you let him go through with it because you cared about him. But he knew the whole time that you didn’t really want it. I remember thinking it was hot, the idea of the two of you together. But I felt jealous too, because I could see how much he loved you. And that just made me sad. I know what it’s like to want someone and not have them want you back. And I could tell that you would never feel the same way about him that you do about Sam.”
He can feel the dull ache in the back of his throat, the churning in his belly. He thinks about Ross, about what he’d let Ross do in that men’s room all that time ago. How his guilt had made him give into Ross, allowed Ross to push him up against that stall wall and put his hand down his pants. But that had just been the start of it, just the tip of the iceberg, considering everything they’ve done since. Her words reverberate around his head: I could tell that you would never feel the same way about him that you do about Sam.
“He’s my brother,” Dean says at last, because that much is true. “And Sam’s my brother too. But me and Sam, we.” He hesitates, curls his fingers around the arm of the couch. “It’s complicated. I can’t explain it, and I won’t excuse it. Because - there are no excuses, I know that. And still. It’s never gonna change,” he finishes quietly. “But Ross. He’s my brother too.”
It’s lame, it sounds lame in his ears, just a jumbled blur of words, just a swirling and knotting in his gut that he can’t explain. But there’s no other way he can say it. Ross is his little brother and he would do anything for him. There is nothing he wouldn’t do for that kid. Ever since the morning they woke up with the strange dark-haired boy in their bed. Ever since Dad gave him the order: Ross is his responsibility just like Sammy. And he’s fucked up with him, just like Sam. And now - now he’s letting Sam go out there and try and fix it, while he hangs around here, on the sidelines.
“I don’t think I want to see him, or any of you, again,” Sarah says. He glances at her, there are tears rolling down her cheeks again. She’s not bothering to wipe the tears away, letting them roll down her cheeks and chin and splash onto her jeans. “I don’t think I want to get involved in whatever this is. Whatever you’re all doing together. And it’s not. It’s not that it’s just that, just what you’ve told me. What happened - it - it would never have happened to me if I didn’t know you. But I still care about him, Dean. I want him to be happy. Despite all of this. But I just. I can’t.”
He nods, doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t think there’s anything he can say to make her feel better. He holds out a tissue from the box he placed on the coffee table. She takes it from him with a thin, watery quiver of her lips. She’s right. It is their fault. She’s been possessed, violated by a demon, and there’s nothing he can say to make it go away.
He’s immensely relieved when Bobby knocks on the door not long afterwards. He chucks holy water in the old dude’s face; watches Bobby shake his head and wipe it away with a roll of his eyes.
“Just checking,” he mutters.
Bobby snorts, flicks some water droplets at him. He wipes his hand on his pants, holds it out to Sarah. “Sarah, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Bobby.”
She takes his hand nervously, looking between him and Dean. “”What’s going to happen now?” she says.
“I’ll take you to the airport, or wherever you want to go. But I got something to give you first,” Bobby says. “Both of you.” He fishes a couple of amulets from his pocket, holds them out, the charms dangling and glinting on their leather thongs. “Wear one of these and don’t take it off. Ever. They’re anti-possession charms. God knows why you’ve never done this before, but thinking smart has never been a Winchester strong point. I got a couple more for your idjit brothers too when you catch up with them.” He tosses two more of the charms over to Dean.
Sarah passes the charm over her head. For the first time since they found her, she looks relieved. “Thanks,” she says.
“You’re welcome,” Bobby says. “Now let’s get moving.”
Onto next part
**