don't ever play with guns - SN fic - R
Title: don’t ever play with guns
Fandom: “Supernatural”
Disclaimer: not my characters, Victor or Dean or Sam or John. just for fun. Title from Johnny Cash’s “Folsom Prison Blues”
Warnings: spoilers for “Folsom Prison Blues.” This also most probably AU.
Pairings: Hendrickson/Dean, implied Dean/Sam, Hendrickson/Hendrickson’s wife
Rating: R
Wordcount: 1515
Point of view: third
Notes: So, this show I’ve discovered, “Queer as Folk”? I think it’s making me branch out a little.
He answers the phone expecting Mike, so when he hears that voice say, “You know, if you really looked, you’d see that-”
Holy fucking hell.
“-the killings happen before we show up and stop after we leave.”
“Why you callin’ me, Dean?” he asks, trying to hook up the tracking system. He’s the only one in the office, as it’s Christmas Day.
“Just to say hi,” Winchester answers with a laugh. “Merry Christmas, Vic.”
Dial tone. Shit.
-
He rages the next day, demands to know how Winchester got his number, how the hell he’d have the balls to actually call.
Victor rewatches all the footage they have on the Winchesters, listens to every tape again. There must be some clue he’s missed.
-
A month after Christmas and his cellphone rings. He’s at supper with his wife, an apology dinner for all the time he spends at work.
With a quick smile and kiss, he takes the call outside.
“She’s pretty, your Nicole,” Winchester’s voice purrs in his ear. “Think she knows ‘bout that whore you fucked last week? Tight little ass on that boy. Wonder how old he was.”
Victor freezes. “How’d you get this number?”
“I can go anywhere, Vic. Do anything. You’ll never catch us unless we want to be caught.” His laughter is soft and mocking. “Good luck, Vic.”
Silence. He clenches his fist around the cell and fantasizes about breaking Winchester’s face with his hand, shattering Winchester’s spirit brutally-then he returns to dinner and his wife, convincing her she’s the most important person in the world.
-
The Winchesters fall off the map. Vanish completely, and no one will admit to knowing where they are.
Victor knows someone out there is hiding them but he can’t begin to fathom why. They’re killers and thieves, possibly the most dangerous men in the country-and wherever they go, they leave behind people who love them.
Two months after the second call, Winchester calls again. Victor answers, “What?”
“Now, is that any way to greet a friend, Vic?” Dean coos in his ear. Victor grinds his teeth.
“When I finally catch you, I will delight in snapping your ribs, beating that cocky smirk right off your face,” he snarls.
“Even if you caught me, Hendrickson,” Winchester says, suddenly serious, “you’d never be able to hold me. And I won’t let anyone beat me.”
Victor scoffs. “You let your dad beat you, Dean. We have records of the scars.”
Silence. Victor smirks. “No argument? No smart-ass remark? Color me stunned.”
“You know nothing about my father,” Winchester growls and hangs up.
Victor laughs and closes his cell.
-
It’s a whole year before he talks to Winchester again. Nicole has divorced him and moved out; Victor only goes home for hours at a time.
It’s been a year of fruitless searching. No sign or hint of either Winchester anywhere.
His phone rings. He’s alone and watching TV, having been demoted because of his obsessive search for that fucking pair of brothers. He knows it’s not healthy, how they’ve taken over his life.
He answers with, “Fuck off.”
Victor doesn’t recognize the voice at first. “I need your help, sir.” Sounds desperate and young and familiar.
“Sam?” he asks when it hits him. “Sam Winchester?”
“Please, Agent Hendrickson. Dean’s hurt and there’s-” He sounds like he’s been crying, maybe still is. “There’s nowhere else to go.”
Victor’s laughter is loud and mocking. “You and that bastard brother of yours ruined my life. And now you come to me for help?”
“Please. I’m sorry, but I need-”
Victor cuts him off. “I hope the both’a you burn in hell.” He hangs up.
-
Next day, phone rings again. He answers with, “Fuck off.”
Dean’s chuckle is barely there. “A friendly warning, Vic. If I’d’a died ‘cause you refused Sam help, my brother’d gone on a rampage. I bet you’d be his first stop.” Dean sighs, sounding resigned. “He’s a good guy, Sammy. The best I’ve ever known. And I’m the only thing he has in the world.” This time, when Dean chuckles, there’s no humor to be found. “Remember that, Victor. If Sammy has nothing, there’s no hope at all.”
Victor shudders and holds the phone to his ear long after Dean’s gone.
-
Few months after, he comes home to both Winchesters in his house.
Sam’s in the kitchen preparing a meal and Dean’s flipping through a magazine in the den.
Dread forms a pit in his stomach. His gun is across the room, closer to Dean than him.
Dean smirks.
“You look healthy for a guy who nearly died,” Victor observes.
Now, Dean chuckles. “He always does,” Sam says, entering the room. He stands in the doorway, looking larger than Victor remembers. “No thanks to you.”
Victor stares at Sam. He doesn’t just seem larger or older, but-more powerful, almost. His eyes sear through Victor and Victor shivers. “You come to kill me?” He directs the question to Dean and turns to face him.
“No.” Dean shakes his head. “Me and Sammy were just passin’ through. Wanted to tell you bye.” He stands and winces, bringing a hand to his ribs.
Sam hurries to him, murmurs, “You alright?”
“Fine, Sammy,” Dean mutters. “Stop hoverin’.”
Victor watches in shock. “That left over?”
Sam glares and something dark peers out his eyes. “Count yourself lucky, Victor. Be glad he’s fine.”
He shudders. Watches as they leave his house and take off into the night, that car of Dean’s growling. He could call the FBI, the police-they’re wanted in a dozen states. He should. But he doesn’t.
He tastes the meal Sam cooked-Chicken Marsala. He had it once before, and craved it ever since.
Victor wonders if this is a pay-off or poisoned and doesn’t care. He’s worn out, tired of chasing them.
He eats a helping and crawls into bed, dreams of beating Dean Winchester into submission and fucking him till he passes out.
It’s a good dream.
-
He hears from Dean once more. It’s a good ten years later and he’s long since quit the Bureau, moved out to the desert. He’s published a couple of thrillers and watches the sunrise every day.
“Why did you hate me so much?” Dean asks from behind him and Victor jumps, lunges to his feet. He’d nearly forgotten Dean, in the quiet life he lives now.
Victor turns, takes in Dean. Still inhumanly beautiful, though he has a scar up at his hairline. Still those eyes, those lips, that cocky smirk.
“Lose Sam?” Victor asks, since he can’t think of anything else to say.
“Nope.” Dean shakes his head. “But he didn’t want to see you.” Dean looks across Victor’s yard. “You’re hard to find, when you wanna be.”
“But you found me,” Victor counters. “I never could find you.”
Dean laughs. “What about that one time in Arkansas?”
Victor scoffs. “You wanted to get caught. Never could figure out why.”
Dean looks back at him, trails his eyes along Victor’s body. “You wouldn’t believe me.” He steps forward, offers a hand. “I’m Dean Winchester.”
Victor cock his head, but takes his hand. “Victor Hendrickson.” Dean shakes with a firm grip.
“Nice to meet you,” Dean chuckles then pulls Victor forward and kisses him.
It’s the most violent kiss Victor has ever experienced, but he’s not complaining. Instead he takes control and backs Dean into the wall.
Dean snickers into the kiss and Victor pauses, asks, “Somethin’ funny?”
“No.” Dean leans down and trails his tongue along Victor’s neck, lightly nips at the skin. “Just rememberin’ our first conversation.”
“Back in Milwaukee?” Victor gasps, bringing a hand to the back of Dean’s head.
“You were a bastard, Vic.” Dean bites hard and Victor arches up. “Wanted to smash your face against a wall.”
“Sam know why you’re here?” Victor grabs Dean’s hands, raises them above his head.
Dean laughs in disbelief. “You really wanna talk about my brother now?”
Victor considers that for a second, gaze sliding from Dean’s eyes to his lips and then further south.
Time has made this cocky sum’bitch even more attractive, and knowing what he looked like before?
“No,” Victor decides and gets back to what’s more important.
-
He wakes alone, thoroughly satisfied, still without any clue what either Winchester is about. But he doesn’t care anymore.
He walks to the kitchen naked to find a jump-drive on his counter, and a note-Been called crazy before. Have fun.
Victor picks up the drive, studies it. Then he loads it in the computer. He’ll probably be more confused after seeing what’s on the stick, but he’s been wondering for near-on twenty years now, and curiosity’s eating him alive.
There’s a file that says READ so he clicks on it. A Word document opens and the very first line says This is Sam. Everything on this drive is the truth. If you want to remain oblivious, stop now.
Victor does consider it, for one brief moment. But then he continues reading and almost imagines that he hears Dean purr, “Good boy.”