FIC: The Wandering Kind (SPN, Sam/Dean) (3/7)
ONE/ TWO/
PART THREE: Ran Into the Summer Yard
Another gap that Sam filled: partner. It was all too easy for them to get into character, pick up some cheap rental suits from a strip mall, and start asking questions around town.
Dean quickly saw that Sam hadn't been lying when he'd said he'd done this kind of thing before. He was pretty good at getting people to open up and share information. Not as good as Dean's dad had been - John Winchester had enough years of practice to make even his most haggard expression come off as rugged and trustworthy - but Sam had a practiced ease that Dean still lacked. He managed to get the full scoop from Mrs. Wentworth and her daughter Tammy in the same amount of time that Dean coaxed two words from Bob, the owner of the auto shop on the corner.
"Whatever this is, it's been going on for the past four months," said Sam. They had to speak quietly; it was a fairly small town, and odds were high that the diner would be filled with suspicious ears. "Louise Keller has been taking suitors from all over the county. They're offering an old-fashioned dowry, a piece of the family's estate… enough incentive that she's managed to draw in at least seven men, usually down-on-their-luck, desperate. She puts them to a series of tests. If they win, they get to marry her - if they don't, she kills them."
Dean stabbed viciously into his potato. Ketchup oozed out onto his plate, and he mushed the potato skin into it, no longer hungry. "And nobody thinks this is the tiniest bit, oh, psychotic?"
Sam looked tired. "Maybe they're just scared."
"Of what? Saving people? If everyone knows she's a killer, why wouldn't someone -" Dean broke off, stared at his bloodied potato.
"I know," said Sam.
Dean sawed off a piece of steak, pierced it on his fork, and shoved it in his mouth. He chewed absently. "So, what are we thinking? Obviously, there's something not right in Whoville."
Sam's mouth tightened. "And Louise Keller is a hell of a Grinch." He added: "It could be demonic influence. It fits with the other weirdness that's been going on - all of it started about four months ago, which was around the same time Louise started her dating game."
"We should check out her place," said Dean. "Look for any sulfur traces, figure out if dear Louise really is possessed. You gonna eat that?"
"Nah." Sam pushed his fries over to Dean. "Help yourself."
*
The Keller house was dark and foreboding, even by suburban standards. Dean couldn't see any lights on in the windows, and there were suspicious brown stains on the battered garage door. An American flag hung in the front window, but it looked faded from the sun.
Sam squinted at the upstairs windows. "Nobody home?"
"Looks quiet." Dean took out his gun and held it low in front of him, pointed toward the ground. "Let's check out the backyard before we go inside."
"We're breaking in?" Sam smirked at Dean. "I pick a mean lock."
"Yeah? So do I." He couldn't help returning Sam's grin, ignoring the way his chest warmed at the exchange. Damn it. Dean didn't usually go for guys, but at this rate, he was gonna be writing "Mrs. Sam Harvelle" all over his notebooks in a few days.
They crept around the side of the building, and Sam made quick work of the padlock on the gate latch. No sooner had the gate swung open than Dean heard Sam swear under his breath.
"What?" Dean shouldered his way around Sam and peered into the backyard. "What's the -- shit."
The stench was awful, sickly-sweet and rotten, made worse by the heat and the loud buzz of flies. Sam gagged for a moment, then swallowed audibly. Dean fumbled a handkerchief from his pocket - never knew when you were gonna have to wipe down surfaces for fingerprints - and pressed it over his nose and mouth before he went through the gate. It barely helped to breathe through the cloth, but it was something, at least.
There were seven tall poles in the overgrown backyard. Each stake held a severed head, the wood pole staked through the hole of the neck. Most were rotting and crawling with maggots, barely recognizable as human anymore, but the freshest of the heads was definitely that of Keller's latest suitor. Dean tried to identify some of the others, but finally had to look away.
Sam shuddered, but took a few steps closer to the display. He was keeping his arm in front of his mouth, breathing through the sleeve of his T-shirt; when he spoke, his words were muffled.
"Is this a 'keep out' warning, or some sort of trophy room?"
"No fucking clue," breathed Dean, and then the back of his neck prickled. Someone was watching them.
He turned around, brought his gun to bear, but Louise Keller was faster. She flashed in front of Dean, wrapped one dainty hand around Sam's neck and wrenched, bringing him to his knees, coughing and gagging in front of her. Dean couldn't get a clear shot, but he kept the gun aimed at her anyway.
"Now, now," Keller said. She was about twenty years old, a redhead, with her pretty lipstick mouth twisted into an ugly grin. "I don't believe either of you were invited. It's not nice to trespass on someone else's property. In some places, I'd be perfectly within my rights to shoot you both."
Dean's gaze flickered to Sam, who twisted angrily in Keller's hold. Sam wasn't a small guy; there was no way that this tiny little thing could have wrestled him to the ground - with one hand, no less - without some supernatural help.
"Christo," Dean snapped, and Keller's eyes blinked black. Demon, then.
"Oh," she snarled, "You're hunters. Put the gun down, hunter-boy."
Dean bared his teeth. "And if I don't?"
Keller cocked her head, glanced down at Sam. Sam scrabbled at her fingers, but Dean could tell that he wasn't going to be able to break her grip easily. "If you don't, I rip your friend's head off with my bare hands," she said.
"Fine," said Dean. He lowered his gun. Keller gave him a suspicious look, like she'd expected that to be a lot harder. "But you're wrong, we're not hunters."
Sam raised his eyebrows at Dean. Dean ignored him - he was just glad that Sam still had a head to raise eyebrows on. Beyond that, Sam could just be quiet. Dean had a plan.
He cleared his throat, tried to ignore the stink of rotting flesh. A fly landed on Keller's cheek, but she didn't even twitch. "We - or rather, I - have come to ask you, uh, your hand in marriage," Dean said.
Keller stared at him. Dean tried a smile. It was his crazy psychotic smile, not his flirty one, but he was betting that a demon wouldn't notice the difference.
"Really," she said flatly.
"Really," said Dean. "We didn't mean to offend you, we just - wanted to see where you lived. You're so beautiful that, uh, I thought your house must be just as, uh, beautiful. Which it is. Beautiful."
Sam was glaring daggers at him now, but he kept his mouth shut. Keller was perplexed enough that she'd loosened her grip on Sam's neck. Dean was pretty sure that was a point in his favor.
"You want to undergo the tests, then?" Keller asked. She eyed them both. "You still have to make an appointment, you know."
"Not him," Dean said quickly. "Just me. He's not interested. Not that he wouldn't be, I mean, you're beautiful and all -" shit, she was looking suspicious again. Dean grabbed at the first thing that came to mind. "Uh, he's my brother. Here for emotional support, you know. He can be best man at our wedding, whaddaya say?"
Keller crinkled her nose at Dean, then let out a very undemonic giggle. "Aren't you getting a little ahead of yourself, stud?"
Dean flashed her another serial killer smile. "A-head? Naw. Not that I don't hope to, but I believe in ladies first."
A blank look for a second, then a slow dissolve into lustful. It made Dean's skin crawl. "Really."
"So, uh," said Dean. "Tomorrow work okay for you?"
Keller finally took her hand off Sam's neck. Sam scrabbled backwards on his heels and got to his feet, but Keller wasn't paying any attention to him; she pulled out a pen and scribbled on a napkin. Then, as her eyes met Dean's, she brought the napkin to her lips. She stayed where she was for one long moment, then stepped forward and pressed the napkin into Dean's hands.
"See you tomorrow, stud," she said breathily, then swept past him into the house. The screen door banged shut behind her, and Dean and Sam were left alone in a garden full of dead men.
*
"I can't believe you're doing this!" Sam was angrier than Dean had ever seen him, his cheeks bright and nostrils flared. "Dean, just don't. Just walk away."
"No," said Dean. "I won't."
"We'll go in together," said Sam. "I know some exorcism rituals -"
"So do I, dude." He dug out the book of exorcisms from his duffel bag and waved it at Sam, just to make his point. "But she's stronger than both of us, and there's no way to get the drop on her. If you show up with me, it'll just look suspicious." Dean set the book down and looked at the napkin again: a smeared red lipstick print and the words, meet me at 8am. 359 redwood st. She'd even added a little drawing of a heart.
"We don't even know where this place is," Sam said. "Is it some abandoned house, or is it full of other demons? What's involved in these tests? We don't know anything about this situation, but you want to go charging in -"
"What else am I supposed to do, Sam?" Dean snapped. "You've heard the same stories as me - people never know where she is, unless she's at home, and we can't sneak up on her there, we tried. Our best bet right now is to play along - besides, I know what she is, what she's capable of. Her other suitors didn't."
Sam glared at him, nostrils flared. "Do you even hear how dumb that sounds? Shit, Dean, do you want to die?"
"Don't be an idiot," Dean said, but he must have paused too long or something, because Sam went pale.
"Dean," said Sam, and something in Sam's tone grabbed Dean by the lungs and squeezed. He ignored it.
"Listen, if you want, you can wait right outside the building. Play cavalry if something goes wrong."
"Something's already gone wrong," said Sam. His face was all pinched up, and it was starting to piss Dean off. "Why don't we call someone?" Sam added. "There's people we could call, people who deal with demons all the time."
"There's no time," said Dean. "She's dumb enough to buy the suitor excuse once, but if I don't show up there tomorrow, she'll know something's up."
"Man, you - god. You do. You have a fucking death wish." Sam shook his head and turned away.
Dean said, "Hey." Then again, when Sam didn't move: "Hey." He reached out and grabbed Sam by the shoulder, spinning him around. Sam hissed a breath, and Dean realized it was the first time he'd actually touched him - they'd come so close before, sharing car space, even sharing breath, but Dean had never reached across that last distance, and neither had Sam. Sam's shoulder was tense under his grip, the muscles tight and quivering.
"Let's not do this," said Dean. "Please." Sam looked at him for a long time.
"Just go, then," Sam said finally. "Go get yourself killed, and tomorrow maybe I'll even cry over it. Would you like that?"
Dean dropped his hand. "Fuck you."
"Fuck you," said Sam, sounding like his chest was being ripped open, and Jesus Christ, Dean had never been worth that tone of voice before, ever. Dean wasn't the kind of person that someone would care about.
"I'm sorry," said Dean. He didn't know what else to say.
Sam reached out one hand, cautious, and touched Dean's chest, his fingers pressing hard on Dean's sternum. "Do you know what she'll do to you?" Sam asked. "She'll rip you open, Dean." He swallowed thickly. Dean could hear his throat click. "Do you want that?"
"No," said Dean. "I don't want that."
Sam nodded, almost to himself. "So you're going to live," he said. "That's what you're going to do."
"Sam -"
"Shut up," said Sam.
He tugged hard at the neck of Dean's T-shirt, twisting the fabric around his fingers. His face was - Jesus. Dean had to look away, but he got with the program: he stepped closer, clutched at Sam's hips, and from the harsh sound that Sam made, Dean knew he'd been right. Sam wanted this.
Sam twisted them both down onto the bed, which let out an ominous squeal of springs, but Dean couldn't even care. Sam was straddling him, rubbing against Dean's hip. Dean could feel him through the layers of denim, half-hard and getting harder.
"Is this okay?" Sam asked breathlessly, still tearing at Dean's clothes. He sat up, stopped messing with the T-shirt long enough to trace careful fingers over Dean's belly. Dean grabbed his hand.
"Yeah, yeah, just -" and Dean leaned up and forced their mouths together, biting at Sam's lower lip. Their teeth clacked. It was too open and raw to be a kiss. Sam let out a weird little groan, rolled off Dean, then grabbed Dean by the belt loops and yanked until Dean was practically sitting in Sam's lap.
Dean hadn't been with a guy before, but it wasn't too hard to figure out that dicks must play a pretty big role. Sam's dick was a logical next step. He extracted one of his hands from where it'd been tangled in Sam's hair, and made a valiant effort of getting Sam's jeans off his hips. He couldn't work the top button very well without looking, though, so he had to settle for rubbing at the outline of Sam's cock through the jeans. Sam tensed when Dean stroked his hand down the hard ridge of dick, let a tiny whine come out of the back of his throat.
"You want to fuck me?" Dean asked, his lips brushing Sam's. "Jesus, you've got a huge dick. You could fucking ream my ass, fuck me flat."
Sam's hips stuttered, and he groaned deep and low. Christ, Sam made so much noise. Dean wanted to eat those sounds from his mouth, make Sam fucking howl. He wanted to feel Sam driving into him, he wanted, wanted everything -
"Okay," Sam was saying, his voice ragged. He had one of his big hands on the side of Dean's face, thumb stroking Dean's cheekbone like he was soothing a horse. "Okay, Dean, yeah."
Dean shuddered. Fuck. He'd never felt like this before; he felt like maybe his skin would just crawl off without him if he didn't have all of Sam, right now. He ground down on Sam's dick, once, again, rubbing himself against Sam's stomach, and next thing he knew, his back hit the mattress. Sam leaned over him, breathing hard. He was still between Dean's legs, hips pressed up tight against him, but he drew away enough to pull off his shirt and help Dean with his. Then Sam managed to get their jeans off, too, and they were both naked, and Jesus. Jesus fucking Christ.
Sam braced his hands on either side of Dean's head, breathing hot in his face. His cock dragged velvety wet over Dean's, a careful thrust that almost had Dean losing it. Sam was nothing but skin, skin everywhere, skin that was Dean's. He dragged his hands over Sam's back, squeezed his ass, then dived in with his mouth, needing to taste. He bit at one of Sam's nipples and was rewarded with another groan.
"Shit, Dean, hold on - do you have lube? Condoms?" Sam sat up a little, breaking contact with Dean's mouth.
"Lotion," said Dean. "In my bag. Don't need condoms." Sam had backed off enough that other things were beginning to filter into Dean's consciousness, which meant he was becoming aware of his own arousal; his dick was flushed nearly purple, curved up tight against his belly. If Sam didn't hurry up, Dean was probably gonna go crazy from blue balls, or else jizz all over himself without even a touch.
Sam looked like he was ready to argue about the condom thing, but then he just swallowed and leaned over to dig through Dean's bag, which was, thankfully, within easy reach of the bed. He found the old bottle of lotion and squirted some into his hands. Dean spread his legs farther apart, drawing his knees up so it was easier for Sam to reach down there. He shut his eyes tight, knew he couldn't look at Sam without spurting hot all over the place.
"Just do it already," Dean said.
Next thing he felt was one of Sam's long fingers, greasy and slick, circling his asshole. Sam pressed the tip of his finger in, then there was a twist and a slight burn and the whole thing was up there, down to the last knuckle. It felt weird. Dean bit his lip, pressed back against Sam's hand.
"Have you done this before?" Sam asked.
It was a little late to be asking that, Dean thought, but whatever. "It's fine," he said, not really answering. "Give me another."
A harsh exhale from Sam; another finger stretching Dean, and it was a stretch this time - a spark of something, right at the base of his spine. Sam's knuckles rubbed against Dean's insides, rough and perfect.
"That's - that's good," said Dean, "and more lube." He wondered if he should open his eyes; the patterns bursting across the insides of his eyelids were making him dizzy.
Sam didn't say a word, just smeared more lotion into Dean's hole, worked it in until his fingers could slide smoothly in and out. Dean found himself flexing against the fingers, fucking himself against Sam's hand. Sam crooked his fingers and rubbed against something in there, and Dean's dick got even harder; he hadn't even known that was anatomically possible.
"Now," Dean gasped. Shit, he would never live this down. "Damnit, Sam, fuck me now."
And - fuck, it hurt. Dean hadn't thought it would hurt. Sam's dick breached his asshole only slightly before Dean locked down, squeezing his muscles tight at the feeling of intrusion, of wrong. He tried not to let on, just took a couple deep breaths. Well, that took care of his erection, at least.
"Are you okay?" Sam asked worriedly.
"I'm fine," Dean said hoarsely, "Why, why wouldn't I be fine?"
"Because you're squeezing the hell out of my arm," said Sam. And sure enough. Dean made himself let go, watched as the handprint standing out white on Sam's arm turned red. It might even bruise.
"We don't have to do this," said Sam. He was being really careful not to move, but as Dean failed to respond right away, Sam started to withdraw. It hurt less coming out, but Dean still had to take a careful breath.
"Don't," said Dean. Sam halted.
"I don't want to hurt you," Sam said.
Dean couldn't explain it, just: "I need this. Sam..." Especially if he was gonna die tomorrow. It made him itch, being that open in front of someone who was practically a stranger, but it wasn't as hard as he had thought it would be. He trusted Sam.
Dean's heart gave a sudden stammer. Trusted him. Fuck.
Sam looked at Dean for a long moment. Then he fumbled for the lotion again, squirting some right where the head of his cock pressed against Dean's hole. Dean almost flinched at the sensation, but Sam leaned against him and pressed his lips to the side of Dean's mouth. He rubbed the lotion into Dean's ass, over his own cock, then wrapped a slippery hand around Dean's half-hard dick and gave him a few tugs. But it wasn't quite working, not quite, not until Dean turned his head and slid their mouths together.
It was gentler, this time. Dean opened his mouth and let Sam lick his way inside, their tongues meeting in a wet clash of muscle. Sam's breath was stale, and he tasted a little like cigarettes. He leaned in, hot moist breath, forcing Dean's head back against the pillow and practically fucking his mouth. Dean felt a whimper building in his gut.
They kissed for long minutes, until Dean's jaw ached. Then Sam shifted position and Dean felt blunt hardness against his asshole. He barely had a chance to think about it before Sam was pressing forward, a wet pop as the head of his dick slid in.
Sam broke away from Dean's mouth, panting. "Oh, fuck. Is this better? Are you okay?"
Dean tried to nod. 'Okay' might be an understatement. Sam was in him.
"Dean - you're so goddamn tight, shit." Sam slid into him the rest of the way, all the way to the hilt. Dean gasped, wordless. No pain this time, or not enough for Dean to notice past the rest. He could feel Sam in the back of his fucking throat, the hard pressure of Sam's dick ringing bells of sensation all over his body. A few deep breaths brought Dean back, helped him center himself, but his muscles were still quivering and he felt feverish.
"Dean?" Sam smoothed a sticky palm over Dean's face, tracing his brow, and Dean couldn't even bring himself to be embarrassed at leaning into the touch.
"Yeah," Dean said hoarsely.
"You ready for more?" Sam didn't wait for an answer, just drew out a little bit and pushed back in, a gentle nudge that made Dean's nerves light up again in a weird mix of pleasure and ache. He wanted to tell Sam to stop for a minute, just until he figured out which it was, but by that time, Sam was doing it again and Dean just went with it.
Sam went slow, barely withdrawing before he was thrusting back in, a steady rock against Dean's body. Dean was hard again, but he didn't want to touch himself; he just wanted to feel Sam inside him. The lotion-lube was starting to dry up and get sticky, changing the rhythm of Sam's fucking from a smooth glide to a rough, too-tender perfection; one particularly ragged thrust had Dean curling up from the intensity of the feeling. Sam's mouth was hanging open, and he was breathing out small curses and prayers that Dean could barely hear.
It went on forever, or something close to it. Dean wouldn't have minded longer, but Sam was getting close; he let out a moan sounding almost like Dean's name, and leaned back, pulling Dean's legs up over his shoulders and fucking into him harder. The new angle made Dean's hands and feet go numb, made something catch fire inside his gut. His cock was swollen and oversensitive, leaving wet streaks of precome all over his belly.
Sam smoothed his hands over Dean's thighs, his hips jerking slightly, his dick stiff and throbbing in Dean's ass. When he started fisting Dean's dick, at first nothing happened, and Dean wondered for a second if he was too worked up to come - but then he was coming, the intensity climbing another notch, striping his stomach with strands of white. He shivered all over, and black crept in at the corners of his vision.
Sam watched Dean's face, and it wasn't until the last vestige of Dean's orgasm had bled from his body that Sam's eyes rolled back. He gave a shudder - just one - and filled Dean's ass with come.
*
Dean watched as Sam padded back to bed, all long limbs and sweaty skin, carrying a glass of tap water and a wet rag. "You thirsty?"
"Yeah," said Dean, and Sam handed him the glass. He took a big swallow of water, trying to ignore the funky taste. There was a reason Dean mostly drank beer - he never knew what kinds of chemicals and shit might end up in local tap water. But he was parched, so he drank it all and tried not to think of mercury poisoning.
Sam watched him swallow, a tiny smile on his face. When Dean was done, he took the glass and put it on the bedside table, then stretched out over Dean and kissed him.
Dean sighed into the kiss, and Sam gently ran the warm washrag down Dean's stomach, making his skin prickle. He wiped Dean's stomach clean, then moved to Dean's dick, then reached back and ran the washrag over Dean's asshole in small, gentle circles that made Dean want to purr.
"Feel good?" Sam asked, and Dean nodded. It felt amazing. Sam kept bathing Dean, letting his fingers press softly at Dean's opening, the rough texture of the washrag making the swollen flesh throb. His touch traveled away again, then back, then away, until Dean was dizzy with it.
Sam finally drew back and tossed the washrag in the direction of the bathroom. Dean raised up on his elbows, about to kiss Sam senseless and maybe go for round two, if his dick was up for it - but his elbows slid out from under him.
"What the -" Dean started, but his words were slurred, like he'd just downed half a bottle of tequila.
"Shh," Sam whispered. "It's okay, Dean, you're fine."
What?
"Sam," Dean managed to get out, "Sam, what did you…"
Sam just shook his head, and then Dean's eyelids were too heavy to stay open.
*
When Dean woke up, groggy and pissed off, night had already fallen. Sam was sitting in the shadows by Dean's bed, his large frame perched awkwardly in a chair.
"Dude," said Dean blurrily. "You drugged me?"
"Yeah. Sorry about that," said Sam.
"What the - why did you do that." Dean rolled over to face Sam, got twisted in the sheets and kicked at them weakly. "Sam. Sam?"
"I messed up," Sam said. "I was going to take care of it for you, Dean, but she wasn't there. Not anywhere. Not at the Keller house, not at the address she gave you. She probably lives somewhere else and just uses the other places for her games. I couldn't find her in time."
Dean closed his eyes. "Sam - how is you getting yourself killed any better?"
"Well, I didn't get killed, did I?" Sam looked away, and the shadow of the window curtain hid his face. "I scoped out the place on Redwood, laid a few devil's traps under some rugs. I don't think she'll notice them. She might even get caught in one before you get there."
Dean's insides were screaming. He had opened up to Sam, trusted him, fucking let him inside - all the way inside. And - even after that, Sam had drugged him and gone behind his back. Dean couldn't wrap his head around it; he felt like his heart was being yanked out of his chest. Fuck, if it were just two days ago, Sam would have been dead already. Dean would have killed him for this.
For a second, Dean wondered if he could just nod and accept Sam's actions, if he could say, "Okay, thanks," and go in and kill that bitch with Sam by his side. But the sick twist in his gut was telling him that wasn't gonna work.
"We're in California," Dean said. "That's where you needed to go, right? You weren't lying about that, too?"
"Dean -"
"I think you can make it the rest of the way on your own."
Sam flinched, shot back: "Can you?"
Dean got out of bed and pulled on his jeans, then his T-shirt, ignoring both Sam's eyes and the painful twinge in his ass where he could still feel the hard fucking. Then Dean jammed his shaky feet into his boots and grabbed the book of exorcisms from the table.
"Don't wait up," said Dean.
"Wait, Dean. Please. Take this," said Sam, and he pressed a piece of paper into Dean's hand. It was a roughly sketched map of the house on Redwood.
Dean swallowed. The map crumpled between his fingers. "I don't get it," he said. "I just don't get why you'd even care so much about this, man. We've only - it's only been four days."
Sam shook his head. "I don't know. I don't know. I just." He didn't go on. His eyes were wide and scared.
Dean had to leave. He had to. "See you around," said Dean. Sam made a noise like he'd been punched in the stomach.
Dean looked away from Sam's face, and he left the room and closed the door carefully behind him. It felt like he'd lost a fucking limb.
/ FOUR/ FIVE/ SIX/ SEVEN
PART THREE: Ran Into the Summer Yard
Another gap that Sam filled: partner. It was all too easy for them to get into character, pick up some cheap rental suits from a strip mall, and start asking questions around town.
Dean quickly saw that Sam hadn't been lying when he'd said he'd done this kind of thing before. He was pretty good at getting people to open up and share information. Not as good as Dean's dad had been - John Winchester had enough years of practice to make even his most haggard expression come off as rugged and trustworthy - but Sam had a practiced ease that Dean still lacked. He managed to get the full scoop from Mrs. Wentworth and her daughter Tammy in the same amount of time that Dean coaxed two words from Bob, the owner of the auto shop on the corner.
"Whatever this is, it's been going on for the past four months," said Sam. They had to speak quietly; it was a fairly small town, and odds were high that the diner would be filled with suspicious ears. "Louise Keller has been taking suitors from all over the county. They're offering an old-fashioned dowry, a piece of the family's estate… enough incentive that she's managed to draw in at least seven men, usually down-on-their-luck, desperate. She puts them to a series of tests. If they win, they get to marry her - if they don't, she kills them."
Dean stabbed viciously into his potato. Ketchup oozed out onto his plate, and he mushed the potato skin into it, no longer hungry. "And nobody thinks this is the tiniest bit, oh, psychotic?"
Sam looked tired. "Maybe they're just scared."
"Of what? Saving people? If everyone knows she's a killer, why wouldn't someone -" Dean broke off, stared at his bloodied potato.
"I know," said Sam.
Dean sawed off a piece of steak, pierced it on his fork, and shoved it in his mouth. He chewed absently. "So, what are we thinking? Obviously, there's something not right in Whoville."
Sam's mouth tightened. "And Louise Keller is a hell of a Grinch." He added: "It could be demonic influence. It fits with the other weirdness that's been going on - all of it started about four months ago, which was around the same time Louise started her dating game."
"We should check out her place," said Dean. "Look for any sulfur traces, figure out if dear Louise really is possessed. You gonna eat that?"
"Nah." Sam pushed his fries over to Dean. "Help yourself."
*
The Keller house was dark and foreboding, even by suburban standards. Dean couldn't see any lights on in the windows, and there were suspicious brown stains on the battered garage door. An American flag hung in the front window, but it looked faded from the sun.
Sam squinted at the upstairs windows. "Nobody home?"
"Looks quiet." Dean took out his gun and held it low in front of him, pointed toward the ground. "Let's check out the backyard before we go inside."
"We're breaking in?" Sam smirked at Dean. "I pick a mean lock."
"Yeah? So do I." He couldn't help returning Sam's grin, ignoring the way his chest warmed at the exchange. Damn it. Dean didn't usually go for guys, but at this rate, he was gonna be writing "Mrs. Sam Harvelle" all over his notebooks in a few days.
They crept around the side of the building, and Sam made quick work of the padlock on the gate latch. No sooner had the gate swung open than Dean heard Sam swear under his breath.
"What?" Dean shouldered his way around Sam and peered into the backyard. "What's the -- shit."
The stench was awful, sickly-sweet and rotten, made worse by the heat and the loud buzz of flies. Sam gagged for a moment, then swallowed audibly. Dean fumbled a handkerchief from his pocket - never knew when you were gonna have to wipe down surfaces for fingerprints - and pressed it over his nose and mouth before he went through the gate. It barely helped to breathe through the cloth, but it was something, at least.
There were seven tall poles in the overgrown backyard. Each stake held a severed head, the wood pole staked through the hole of the neck. Most were rotting and crawling with maggots, barely recognizable as human anymore, but the freshest of the heads was definitely that of Keller's latest suitor. Dean tried to identify some of the others, but finally had to look away.
Sam shuddered, but took a few steps closer to the display. He was keeping his arm in front of his mouth, breathing through the sleeve of his T-shirt; when he spoke, his words were muffled.
"Is this a 'keep out' warning, or some sort of trophy room?"
"No fucking clue," breathed Dean, and then the back of his neck prickled. Someone was watching them.
He turned around, brought his gun to bear, but Louise Keller was faster. She flashed in front of Dean, wrapped one dainty hand around Sam's neck and wrenched, bringing him to his knees, coughing and gagging in front of her. Dean couldn't get a clear shot, but he kept the gun aimed at her anyway.
"Now, now," Keller said. She was about twenty years old, a redhead, with her pretty lipstick mouth twisted into an ugly grin. "I don't believe either of you were invited. It's not nice to trespass on someone else's property. In some places, I'd be perfectly within my rights to shoot you both."
Dean's gaze flickered to Sam, who twisted angrily in Keller's hold. Sam wasn't a small guy; there was no way that this tiny little thing could have wrestled him to the ground - with one hand, no less - without some supernatural help.
"Christo," Dean snapped, and Keller's eyes blinked black. Demon, then.
"Oh," she snarled, "You're hunters. Put the gun down, hunter-boy."
Dean bared his teeth. "And if I don't?"
Keller cocked her head, glanced down at Sam. Sam scrabbled at her fingers, but Dean could tell that he wasn't going to be able to break her grip easily. "If you don't, I rip your friend's head off with my bare hands," she said.
"Fine," said Dean. He lowered his gun. Keller gave him a suspicious look, like she'd expected that to be a lot harder. "But you're wrong, we're not hunters."
Sam raised his eyebrows at Dean. Dean ignored him - he was just glad that Sam still had a head to raise eyebrows on. Beyond that, Sam could just be quiet. Dean had a plan.
He cleared his throat, tried to ignore the stink of rotting flesh. A fly landed on Keller's cheek, but she didn't even twitch. "We - or rather, I - have come to ask you, uh, your hand in marriage," Dean said.
Keller stared at him. Dean tried a smile. It was his crazy psychotic smile, not his flirty one, but he was betting that a demon wouldn't notice the difference.
"Really," she said flatly.
"Really," said Dean. "We didn't mean to offend you, we just - wanted to see where you lived. You're so beautiful that, uh, I thought your house must be just as, uh, beautiful. Which it is. Beautiful."
Sam was glaring daggers at him now, but he kept his mouth shut. Keller was perplexed enough that she'd loosened her grip on Sam's neck. Dean was pretty sure that was a point in his favor.
"You want to undergo the tests, then?" Keller asked. She eyed them both. "You still have to make an appointment, you know."
"Not him," Dean said quickly. "Just me. He's not interested. Not that he wouldn't be, I mean, you're beautiful and all -" shit, she was looking suspicious again. Dean grabbed at the first thing that came to mind. "Uh, he's my brother. Here for emotional support, you know. He can be best man at our wedding, whaddaya say?"
Keller crinkled her nose at Dean, then let out a very undemonic giggle. "Aren't you getting a little ahead of yourself, stud?"
Dean flashed her another serial killer smile. "A-head? Naw. Not that I don't hope to, but I believe in ladies first."
A blank look for a second, then a slow dissolve into lustful. It made Dean's skin crawl. "Really."
"So, uh," said Dean. "Tomorrow work okay for you?"
Keller finally took her hand off Sam's neck. Sam scrabbled backwards on his heels and got to his feet, but Keller wasn't paying any attention to him; she pulled out a pen and scribbled on a napkin. Then, as her eyes met Dean's, she brought the napkin to her lips. She stayed where she was for one long moment, then stepped forward and pressed the napkin into Dean's hands.
"See you tomorrow, stud," she said breathily, then swept past him into the house. The screen door banged shut behind her, and Dean and Sam were left alone in a garden full of dead men.
*
"I can't believe you're doing this!" Sam was angrier than Dean had ever seen him, his cheeks bright and nostrils flared. "Dean, just don't. Just walk away."
"No," said Dean. "I won't."
"We'll go in together," said Sam. "I know some exorcism rituals -"
"So do I, dude." He dug out the book of exorcisms from his duffel bag and waved it at Sam, just to make his point. "But she's stronger than both of us, and there's no way to get the drop on her. If you show up with me, it'll just look suspicious." Dean set the book down and looked at the napkin again: a smeared red lipstick print and the words, meet me at 8am. 359 redwood st. She'd even added a little drawing of a heart.
"We don't even know where this place is," Sam said. "Is it some abandoned house, or is it full of other demons? What's involved in these tests? We don't know anything about this situation, but you want to go charging in -"
"What else am I supposed to do, Sam?" Dean snapped. "You've heard the same stories as me - people never know where she is, unless she's at home, and we can't sneak up on her there, we tried. Our best bet right now is to play along - besides, I know what she is, what she's capable of. Her other suitors didn't."
Sam glared at him, nostrils flared. "Do you even hear how dumb that sounds? Shit, Dean, do you want to die?"
"Don't be an idiot," Dean said, but he must have paused too long or something, because Sam went pale.
"Dean," said Sam, and something in Sam's tone grabbed Dean by the lungs and squeezed. He ignored it.
"Listen, if you want, you can wait right outside the building. Play cavalry if something goes wrong."
"Something's already gone wrong," said Sam. His face was all pinched up, and it was starting to piss Dean off. "Why don't we call someone?" Sam added. "There's people we could call, people who deal with demons all the time."
"There's no time," said Dean. "She's dumb enough to buy the suitor excuse once, but if I don't show up there tomorrow, she'll know something's up."
"Man, you - god. You do. You have a fucking death wish." Sam shook his head and turned away.
Dean said, "Hey." Then again, when Sam didn't move: "Hey." He reached out and grabbed Sam by the shoulder, spinning him around. Sam hissed a breath, and Dean realized it was the first time he'd actually touched him - they'd come so close before, sharing car space, even sharing breath, but Dean had never reached across that last distance, and neither had Sam. Sam's shoulder was tense under his grip, the muscles tight and quivering.
"Let's not do this," said Dean. "Please." Sam looked at him for a long time.
"Just go, then," Sam said finally. "Go get yourself killed, and tomorrow maybe I'll even cry over it. Would you like that?"
Dean dropped his hand. "Fuck you."
"Fuck you," said Sam, sounding like his chest was being ripped open, and Jesus Christ, Dean had never been worth that tone of voice before, ever. Dean wasn't the kind of person that someone would care about.
"I'm sorry," said Dean. He didn't know what else to say.
Sam reached out one hand, cautious, and touched Dean's chest, his fingers pressing hard on Dean's sternum. "Do you know what she'll do to you?" Sam asked. "She'll rip you open, Dean." He swallowed thickly. Dean could hear his throat click. "Do you want that?"
"No," said Dean. "I don't want that."
Sam nodded, almost to himself. "So you're going to live," he said. "That's what you're going to do."
"Sam -"
"Shut up," said Sam.
He tugged hard at the neck of Dean's T-shirt, twisting the fabric around his fingers. His face was - Jesus. Dean had to look away, but he got with the program: he stepped closer, clutched at Sam's hips, and from the harsh sound that Sam made, Dean knew he'd been right. Sam wanted this.
Sam twisted them both down onto the bed, which let out an ominous squeal of springs, but Dean couldn't even care. Sam was straddling him, rubbing against Dean's hip. Dean could feel him through the layers of denim, half-hard and getting harder.
"Is this okay?" Sam asked breathlessly, still tearing at Dean's clothes. He sat up, stopped messing with the T-shirt long enough to trace careful fingers over Dean's belly. Dean grabbed his hand.
"Yeah, yeah, just -" and Dean leaned up and forced their mouths together, biting at Sam's lower lip. Their teeth clacked. It was too open and raw to be a kiss. Sam let out a weird little groan, rolled off Dean, then grabbed Dean by the belt loops and yanked until Dean was practically sitting in Sam's lap.
Dean hadn't been with a guy before, but it wasn't too hard to figure out that dicks must play a pretty big role. Sam's dick was a logical next step. He extracted one of his hands from where it'd been tangled in Sam's hair, and made a valiant effort of getting Sam's jeans off his hips. He couldn't work the top button very well without looking, though, so he had to settle for rubbing at the outline of Sam's cock through the jeans. Sam tensed when Dean stroked his hand down the hard ridge of dick, let a tiny whine come out of the back of his throat.
"You want to fuck me?" Dean asked, his lips brushing Sam's. "Jesus, you've got a huge dick. You could fucking ream my ass, fuck me flat."
Sam's hips stuttered, and he groaned deep and low. Christ, Sam made so much noise. Dean wanted to eat those sounds from his mouth, make Sam fucking howl. He wanted to feel Sam driving into him, he wanted, wanted everything -
"Okay," Sam was saying, his voice ragged. He had one of his big hands on the side of Dean's face, thumb stroking Dean's cheekbone like he was soothing a horse. "Okay, Dean, yeah."
Dean shuddered. Fuck. He'd never felt like this before; he felt like maybe his skin would just crawl off without him if he didn't have all of Sam, right now. He ground down on Sam's dick, once, again, rubbing himself against Sam's stomach, and next thing he knew, his back hit the mattress. Sam leaned over him, breathing hard. He was still between Dean's legs, hips pressed up tight against him, but he drew away enough to pull off his shirt and help Dean with his. Then Sam managed to get their jeans off, too, and they were both naked, and Jesus. Jesus fucking Christ.
Sam braced his hands on either side of Dean's head, breathing hot in his face. His cock dragged velvety wet over Dean's, a careful thrust that almost had Dean losing it. Sam was nothing but skin, skin everywhere, skin that was Dean's. He dragged his hands over Sam's back, squeezed his ass, then dived in with his mouth, needing to taste. He bit at one of Sam's nipples and was rewarded with another groan.
"Shit, Dean, hold on - do you have lube? Condoms?" Sam sat up a little, breaking contact with Dean's mouth.
"Lotion," said Dean. "In my bag. Don't need condoms." Sam had backed off enough that other things were beginning to filter into Dean's consciousness, which meant he was becoming aware of his own arousal; his dick was flushed nearly purple, curved up tight against his belly. If Sam didn't hurry up, Dean was probably gonna go crazy from blue balls, or else jizz all over himself without even a touch.
Sam looked like he was ready to argue about the condom thing, but then he just swallowed and leaned over to dig through Dean's bag, which was, thankfully, within easy reach of the bed. He found the old bottle of lotion and squirted some into his hands. Dean spread his legs farther apart, drawing his knees up so it was easier for Sam to reach down there. He shut his eyes tight, knew he couldn't look at Sam without spurting hot all over the place.
"Just do it already," Dean said.
Next thing he felt was one of Sam's long fingers, greasy and slick, circling his asshole. Sam pressed the tip of his finger in, then there was a twist and a slight burn and the whole thing was up there, down to the last knuckle. It felt weird. Dean bit his lip, pressed back against Sam's hand.
"Have you done this before?" Sam asked.
It was a little late to be asking that, Dean thought, but whatever. "It's fine," he said, not really answering. "Give me another."
A harsh exhale from Sam; another finger stretching Dean, and it was a stretch this time - a spark of something, right at the base of his spine. Sam's knuckles rubbed against Dean's insides, rough and perfect.
"That's - that's good," said Dean, "and more lube." He wondered if he should open his eyes; the patterns bursting across the insides of his eyelids were making him dizzy.
Sam didn't say a word, just smeared more lotion into Dean's hole, worked it in until his fingers could slide smoothly in and out. Dean found himself flexing against the fingers, fucking himself against Sam's hand. Sam crooked his fingers and rubbed against something in there, and Dean's dick got even harder; he hadn't even known that was anatomically possible.
"Now," Dean gasped. Shit, he would never live this down. "Damnit, Sam, fuck me now."
And - fuck, it hurt. Dean hadn't thought it would hurt. Sam's dick breached his asshole only slightly before Dean locked down, squeezing his muscles tight at the feeling of intrusion, of wrong. He tried not to let on, just took a couple deep breaths. Well, that took care of his erection, at least.
"Are you okay?" Sam asked worriedly.
"I'm fine," Dean said hoarsely, "Why, why wouldn't I be fine?"
"Because you're squeezing the hell out of my arm," said Sam. And sure enough. Dean made himself let go, watched as the handprint standing out white on Sam's arm turned red. It might even bruise.
"We don't have to do this," said Sam. He was being really careful not to move, but as Dean failed to respond right away, Sam started to withdraw. It hurt less coming out, but Dean still had to take a careful breath.
"Don't," said Dean. Sam halted.
"I don't want to hurt you," Sam said.
Dean couldn't explain it, just: "I need this. Sam..." Especially if he was gonna die tomorrow. It made him itch, being that open in front of someone who was practically a stranger, but it wasn't as hard as he had thought it would be. He trusted Sam.
Dean's heart gave a sudden stammer. Trusted him. Fuck.
Sam looked at Dean for a long moment. Then he fumbled for the lotion again, squirting some right where the head of his cock pressed against Dean's hole. Dean almost flinched at the sensation, but Sam leaned against him and pressed his lips to the side of Dean's mouth. He rubbed the lotion into Dean's ass, over his own cock, then wrapped a slippery hand around Dean's half-hard dick and gave him a few tugs. But it wasn't quite working, not quite, not until Dean turned his head and slid their mouths together.
It was gentler, this time. Dean opened his mouth and let Sam lick his way inside, their tongues meeting in a wet clash of muscle. Sam's breath was stale, and he tasted a little like cigarettes. He leaned in, hot moist breath, forcing Dean's head back against the pillow and practically fucking his mouth. Dean felt a whimper building in his gut.
They kissed for long minutes, until Dean's jaw ached. Then Sam shifted position and Dean felt blunt hardness against his asshole. He barely had a chance to think about it before Sam was pressing forward, a wet pop as the head of his dick slid in.
Sam broke away from Dean's mouth, panting. "Oh, fuck. Is this better? Are you okay?"
Dean tried to nod. 'Okay' might be an understatement. Sam was in him.
"Dean - you're so goddamn tight, shit." Sam slid into him the rest of the way, all the way to the hilt. Dean gasped, wordless. No pain this time, or not enough for Dean to notice past the rest. He could feel Sam in the back of his fucking throat, the hard pressure of Sam's dick ringing bells of sensation all over his body. A few deep breaths brought Dean back, helped him center himself, but his muscles were still quivering and he felt feverish.
"Dean?" Sam smoothed a sticky palm over Dean's face, tracing his brow, and Dean couldn't even bring himself to be embarrassed at leaning into the touch.
"Yeah," Dean said hoarsely.
"You ready for more?" Sam didn't wait for an answer, just drew out a little bit and pushed back in, a gentle nudge that made Dean's nerves light up again in a weird mix of pleasure and ache. He wanted to tell Sam to stop for a minute, just until he figured out which it was, but by that time, Sam was doing it again and Dean just went with it.
Sam went slow, barely withdrawing before he was thrusting back in, a steady rock against Dean's body. Dean was hard again, but he didn't want to touch himself; he just wanted to feel Sam inside him. The lotion-lube was starting to dry up and get sticky, changing the rhythm of Sam's fucking from a smooth glide to a rough, too-tender perfection; one particularly ragged thrust had Dean curling up from the intensity of the feeling. Sam's mouth was hanging open, and he was breathing out small curses and prayers that Dean could barely hear.
It went on forever, or something close to it. Dean wouldn't have minded longer, but Sam was getting close; he let out a moan sounding almost like Dean's name, and leaned back, pulling Dean's legs up over his shoulders and fucking into him harder. The new angle made Dean's hands and feet go numb, made something catch fire inside his gut. His cock was swollen and oversensitive, leaving wet streaks of precome all over his belly.
Sam smoothed his hands over Dean's thighs, his hips jerking slightly, his dick stiff and throbbing in Dean's ass. When he started fisting Dean's dick, at first nothing happened, and Dean wondered for a second if he was too worked up to come - but then he was coming, the intensity climbing another notch, striping his stomach with strands of white. He shivered all over, and black crept in at the corners of his vision.
Sam watched Dean's face, and it wasn't until the last vestige of Dean's orgasm had bled from his body that Sam's eyes rolled back. He gave a shudder - just one - and filled Dean's ass with come.
*
Dean watched as Sam padded back to bed, all long limbs and sweaty skin, carrying a glass of tap water and a wet rag. "You thirsty?"
"Yeah," said Dean, and Sam handed him the glass. He took a big swallow of water, trying to ignore the funky taste. There was a reason Dean mostly drank beer - he never knew what kinds of chemicals and shit might end up in local tap water. But he was parched, so he drank it all and tried not to think of mercury poisoning.
Sam watched him swallow, a tiny smile on his face. When Dean was done, he took the glass and put it on the bedside table, then stretched out over Dean and kissed him.
Dean sighed into the kiss, and Sam gently ran the warm washrag down Dean's stomach, making his skin prickle. He wiped Dean's stomach clean, then moved to Dean's dick, then reached back and ran the washrag over Dean's asshole in small, gentle circles that made Dean want to purr.
"Feel good?" Sam asked, and Dean nodded. It felt amazing. Sam kept bathing Dean, letting his fingers press softly at Dean's opening, the rough texture of the washrag making the swollen flesh throb. His touch traveled away again, then back, then away, until Dean was dizzy with it.
Sam finally drew back and tossed the washrag in the direction of the bathroom. Dean raised up on his elbows, about to kiss Sam senseless and maybe go for round two, if his dick was up for it - but his elbows slid out from under him.
"What the -" Dean started, but his words were slurred, like he'd just downed half a bottle of tequila.
"Shh," Sam whispered. "It's okay, Dean, you're fine."
What?
"Sam," Dean managed to get out, "Sam, what did you…"
Sam just shook his head, and then Dean's eyelids were too heavy to stay open.
*
When Dean woke up, groggy and pissed off, night had already fallen. Sam was sitting in the shadows by Dean's bed, his large frame perched awkwardly in a chair.
"Dude," said Dean blurrily. "You drugged me?"
"Yeah. Sorry about that," said Sam.
"What the - why did you do that." Dean rolled over to face Sam, got twisted in the sheets and kicked at them weakly. "Sam. Sam?"
"I messed up," Sam said. "I was going to take care of it for you, Dean, but she wasn't there. Not anywhere. Not at the Keller house, not at the address she gave you. She probably lives somewhere else and just uses the other places for her games. I couldn't find her in time."
Dean closed his eyes. "Sam - how is you getting yourself killed any better?"
"Well, I didn't get killed, did I?" Sam looked away, and the shadow of the window curtain hid his face. "I scoped out the place on Redwood, laid a few devil's traps under some rugs. I don't think she'll notice them. She might even get caught in one before you get there."
Dean's insides were screaming. He had opened up to Sam, trusted him, fucking let him inside - all the way inside. And - even after that, Sam had drugged him and gone behind his back. Dean couldn't wrap his head around it; he felt like his heart was being yanked out of his chest. Fuck, if it were just two days ago, Sam would have been dead already. Dean would have killed him for this.
For a second, Dean wondered if he could just nod and accept Sam's actions, if he could say, "Okay, thanks," and go in and kill that bitch with Sam by his side. But the sick twist in his gut was telling him that wasn't gonna work.
"We're in California," Dean said. "That's where you needed to go, right? You weren't lying about that, too?"
"Dean -"
"I think you can make it the rest of the way on your own."
Sam flinched, shot back: "Can you?"
Dean got out of bed and pulled on his jeans, then his T-shirt, ignoring both Sam's eyes and the painful twinge in his ass where he could still feel the hard fucking. Then Dean jammed his shaky feet into his boots and grabbed the book of exorcisms from the table.
"Don't wait up," said Dean.
"Wait, Dean. Please. Take this," said Sam, and he pressed a piece of paper into Dean's hand. It was a roughly sketched map of the house on Redwood.
Dean swallowed. The map crumpled between his fingers. "I don't get it," he said. "I just don't get why you'd even care so much about this, man. We've only - it's only been four days."
Sam shook his head. "I don't know. I don't know. I just." He didn't go on. His eyes were wide and scared.
Dean had to leave. He had to. "See you around," said Dean. Sam made a noise like he'd been punched in the stomach.
Dean looked away from Sam's face, and he left the room and closed the door carefully behind him. It felt like he'd lost a fucking limb.
/ FOUR/ FIVE/ SIX/ SEVEN